Chapter 1

The impact knocked both of them off balance. Emmy’s coffee cup flew from her hand, arcing through the air before landing directly on the boy’s chest, soaking his gray hoodie in lukewarm, milky coffee.

"Oh my god!" Emmy gasped, her face flushing. "I am so sorry!"

The boy—tall, with dark hair that fell across his forehead, and piercing blue eyes—looked down at the spreading stain on his clothes, then up at her. His expression was not forgiving. "Are you kidding me?" he said, his voice low and clipped. "This is a brand new hoodie."

Emmy felt her apology wither on her tongue. There was something about the way he looked at her, like she was an inconvenience, a bug he wanted to squash, that made her defenses rise. "Well, maybe you shouldn't have been walking so fast," she shot back, her own voice turning sharp.

His eyebrows shot up. "Me? You were the one with your face in your phone. You didn't even look where you were going."

"I was checking my schedule. Not that it's any of your business." Emmy straightened her blouse, trying to salvage some dignity. "Look, I said I was sorry. What more do you want?"

"How about new hoodie fund?" he said dryly, plucking at the wet fabric.

Emmy rolled her eyes. "Give me your number, and I'll transfer you the money later. I have to go."

He stared at her for a long moment, then let out a humorless laugh as he pulled out his phone. They exchanged numbers quickly and curtly, and Emmy hurried away, annoyed that her morning had gotten even worse.

Hours later, after her classes ended, Emmy sat in the library, thinking about the encounter. She was not usually so rude. She liked to think of herself as warm and friendly. But something about that boy had rubbed her the wrong way. He was arrogant. Condescending. He had looked at her like she was beneath him. She hated that.

She was startled by a message notification on her phone. It was from a number she didn't have saved: "Hey, it's Jack. Jack Henderson. From the coffee shop. Your coffee baptism victim."

Emmy bit back a smile despite herself. She typed back: "I remember. I haven't forgotten. I'm still sorry."

A moment later, he replied: "You should be. Do you know how hard it is to get coffee stains out of a good hoodie?"

"How much do I owe you?"

"Fifty bucks."

Emmy stared at the screen. "Fifty?! That's ridiculous."

"It's designer."

"You're lying."

"Am I?"

"Yes. You're trying to scam me."

"Fine. Forty."

"Twenty."

"Thirty and we'll call it even."

Emmy sighed and transferred the money. She expected that to be the end of it. But it wasn't.

The next day, she saw him at the campus quad. He was sitting on a bench with a group of friends, laughing at something on his phone. When he spotted her, his smile faded. He gave her a short, cold nod, which she returned with an equally cold one. They passed each other like distant planets, neither willing to cross the orbit of the other.

But the universe, it seemed, had other plans.

They started running into each other everywhere. The library, the cafeteria, the parking lot. Each encounter was like a tiny battle. A pointed comment about how she took too long at the coffee machine. A sarcastic remark about how he was "so important" that he couldn't wait five seconds. Their mutual dislike grew like a weed, sprawling and taking root.

Emmy found herself venting about him to her roommate, Mia. "He's insufferable. He thinks he's so much better than everyone. He walks around like he owns the place."

Mia shrugged, scrolling through her phone. "Maybe he's not that bad. Maybe you just got off on the wrong foot."

"No, I'm right. He's awful." Emmy crossed her arms. "I don't know why he gets under my skin so much."

"Sounds like you like him."

"What? No!" Emmy nearly choked. "I despise him."

"You keep talking about him."

"Because he keeps showing up where I am!"

Mia gave her a knowing look but said nothing.

A week later, Emmy was heading home from a late study session. The library had closed, and the campus was dark and quiet. She walked toward the parking lot, her bag heavy on her shoulder, her mind still half on her notes. She didn't notice the figure leaning against her car until she was almost at the driver's door.

Jack Henderson straightened as she approached. "Finally," he said. "I've been waiting for you."

Emmy's stomach flipped—partly with surprise, partly with annoyance. "What do you want?"

"Your car. It's parked like a jerk. You're taking up two spaces."

Emmy looked at her car. It was a beat-up old sedan, and yes, it might have been slightly over the line. But only slightly. "It's late. You waited here to tell me that?"

"I have nothing better to do." He shrugged, a faint smirk on his lips.

"You're insane."

"And you're a terrible parker."

"Move aside." She unlocked the door, and he stepped back, still smirking. She got in, started the engine, and rolled down the window. "Good night, Jack."

"Good night, princess. Try not to hit anything on your way home."

Emmy drove off, her hands tight on the steering wheel. She hated him. She really, truly hated him.

But as she drove, her thoughts lingered on the smirk. The way his eyes had glinted in the darkness. She shook her head, trying to banish the image. It didn't work.

A few days later, on a rainy Friday afternoon, Emmy was driving back from the grocery store. The roads were slick, and visibility was poor. She was almost at the intersection near her apartment when her phone buzzed. Against her better judgment, she glanced at it.

It was a message from Jack: "Saw your post about the art exhibit. That's the worst take I've ever heard."

Emmy rolled her eyes, still smiling despite herself. She started typing a reply: "You wouldn't know good art if it hit you in the face."

She never hit send.

A set of headlights appeared out of nowhere, blindingly bright, cutting through the rain. The crash was a sickening screech of metal, the shattering of glass, and the violent wrenching of her body sideways. The world spun—lights, pain, confusion—and then everything went black.

When Emmy opened her eyes, she was lying in a hospital bed. The room was white, sterile, and quiet except for the steady beep of machines. Her head was pounding, and her whole body ached. She blinked, trying to focus on the ceiling tiles. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

She tried to sit up, but her limbs felt strange, heavy and unfamiliar. She looked down at her hands. They were not her hands. These hands were larger, with broader palms and longer fingers. There were small scars on the knuckles that she had never seen before.

Panic rose in her throat. She scrambled out of bed, ignoring the sharp pain in her ribs, and stumbled to the small mirror on the wall.

Staring back at her was Jack.

Not a cousin. Not a stranger. Jack. His dark eyes. His angular jaw. His hair, slightly tousled.

Emmy's scream echoed through the quiet hospital room.

Across the hall, in another room, a boy opened his eyes to find himself in a body that was too small, too light, with long hair spilling over his shoulders. He looked down at his slender fingers and felt a surge of raw terror.

Jack Henderson looked in the mirror of his own room and saw Emmy's face staring back at him, her green eyes wide with horror.

They had swapped souls.

And now, for reasons neither could yet understand, the journey from enemies to lovers had officially begun.