Day 6337:Because your eyes shine like stars in the night sky.

0559 hours.

The constant ticking of the clock is unusually calming.

My eyes are still closed but I know exactly when the alarm will go off. And I dread it. This is why, for the first time in his life, Dylan Tom Robinson clamps down a hand on his alarm just the second before it rings.

I crawl out of bed reluctantly and slouch into the adjoining bathroom. The path leading to it is littered with soiled clothes and clean clothes mixed in unsanitary piles. As far as I try not to judge, some people just make me want to take them by the shoulders and shake some sense into them. Of course, that would mean shaking myself today.

Dylan is a troubled young fellow, I decide. His mind is full of images of girls, girls and... some boys. Images that push their way through the barrier I set between his mind and mine to resurface in my consciousness. Images that are so personal they make me want to cover my eyes to stop seeing them. There was Jean, Stacy, Lily, Heather and Marilyn, all of whom he had been intimate with in the previous month. Oh, and Hector, Heather's gay twin who he had experimented with just three weeks ago. Right the night after his sister had moaned her love atop Dylan.

I guess it makes sense. Heisgood-looking. If I am to be explicitly honest, he's the kind of guy who's so unnecessarily handsome that people can't differentiate between love and lust for him. Judging by the amount of mirrors he has in his bathroom, he probably knows it, too. But even with his mind full of those obscene images, they are simply distractions from the one person he truly desires. Who he really wants, he daren't hope for. I might just feel a bit of pity for him.

A good half-hour later, I walk out of the bath, still steaming from the hot shower with a towel wrapped around my waist, the way Dylan does it every day. He thinks it turns girls on. I wear it out of habit.Hishabit. I pull on some clothes and grab his schoolbag and car keys before heading downstairs. The walk down the stairs is both familiar and unfamiliar. Just like it has been every day of my life.

"Mom! I'm leaving!" I call out.

She shouts back a reply. But I am already out of the door. I don't need to hear it to know what she said. She had been saying the same thing since forever:Take care, sweetie. I love you.

I just know it. Dylan Robinson is one lucky dude.

0723 hours.

I have always loved rainy days. The damp, musky smell of water, the soft pattering of falling rain on the pavements and windows, the lightning and thunder and storms and flurry of umbrellas - I love it all. I watch dreamily as a raindrop slides down the windowpane, leaving a wet trail in its wake. A bell tinkles somewhere behind me as the doors swing open, letting in a whiff of cold, wet air.

"Hi, can I have a medium drip? And one of those cookies, please."

The barista mumbles something too soft to be heard. That's weird. Rachel is usually loud, boisterous and cheerful. Mostly just loud, though. She has never, ever, recognised me although I have frequented the counter every day for the past four months, ordering the same drink and sitting in the exact same seat. Except in a different body, of course. Well, if she had, she has never said anything or made any indications before.

A moment later, I find my thoughts taken over by the whirring and sputtering of the coffee-maker, followed by the sweet aroma of freshly-brewed coffee. Absently, I close my eyes and take in a deep breath, my lips are turned upwards into a relaxed smile. Coffee always has that calming effect on me. When I open them again, I find myself staring into a pair of the most gorgeous honey-coloured eyes I have ever seen. And they are staring right back into mine.

I feel my breath catch. This has never happened before. But strange as it is, I find it ever more puzzling how I cannot seem to avert my gaze from this handsome stranger. Then again, he doesn't turn away either. So there we sit, quietly: two strangers, two cups of cold, forgotten coffee and an unexplainable feeling that rises up my chest, making my heart pound.

I wonder what that was all about.

0841 hours.

I am barely out of the car when a redheaded bomb hurls herself at me, her breasts pressing against my arm as she clings to my side. Stacy isn't wearing a bra and her pebbled nipples are brushing against my arm, making my hair stand on its ends. Images of her, stark-naked, float into my mind immediately and I feel a surge of annoyance towards Dylan.

"Hello, hun." Stacy says seductively, or rather, Ithinkshe is trying to say it seductively. It sounds so much like the third-rate porn that John, a past host, had been getting off to that I feel a laugh coming on. I stifle it.

"Hey, Stace."

But she's already pulling me towards a quiet side of the school and fitting her lips onto my neck. Dylan is so accustomed to her whims that his body automatically responds, pushing a leg between hers and pinning her against the wall. She moans approvingly.

It is useless fighting Dylan's subconscious, especially when his urges are so strong. I control the mind. In fact, in each of my hosts' bodies, Iamthe mind. At least for 24 hours. But the mind is, after all, only but a part of the body. I close my eyes in defeat after a few moments of struggling.

As he kisses her, Dylan's mind automatically envisions a pair of green eyes. They look at him longingly, lovingly, as though looking at him was such a sad, sad thing. My jeans get impossibly tighter. When a soft hand palms the hardness, I groan aloud.

"You like that?" Stacy whispers hotly into my ear.

I snap out of it.

In the seconds that follow, I am deeply ashamed of myself. Stacy has now fallen over onto the ground, her entire attire in varying states of a dishevelled mess. She glares at me and I quickly move to help her up.

"What the hell, Dylan?" she demands.

"I'm really sorry," I say, really meaning it. "Let's break up, Stace."

1154 hours.

"Hey, D!" Ethan shouts across the crowded hallway. "Wait up! Wait for me!"

I spin around to see Dylan's best friend charge towards me, parting the herds of students in that brash manner of his. My lips twitch involuntarily. He is as clumsy as always.

"You're in a good mood," he pants, struggling to get his books in order. I offer my arms as help and he gratefully releases the heavy stack onto them. "What's up?"

"I finally did it," I said.

"Did what?" Ethan holds out his bag for me to dump the books into. I gladly oblige, unceremoniously stuffing them in.

"You know...Stacy."

"I thought that was last Christmas."

I roll my eyes and laugh. "Notthatthat.That." I make a slight tilt of my head towards a weeping Stacy and her group of girlfriends. They are glaring at me with furious glances, whispering in a huddle like they always do. Ethan blinks and it is the prettiest thing I have ever seen.

"Oh—oh! Seriously?" his face lights up in realisation. He starts laughing as well. "But she's hot."

"So am I."

Ethan punches me on the arm. I punch him back. We're both grinning like idiots.

"So what are your plans now?" he asks, pulling the bag over his shoulder. The weight must be killing him. "Is Dylan Robinson going to fly solo for the first time since he could talk?"

"Nah," I nudge his shoulder with mine teasingly. "He's taking his bro out for dinner tonight because he'ssooooin love with him." He laughs along with me, but the blush on his face is unmistakable.

Without realising it, we've reached my Chemistry classroom. I grin at Ethan. "So, boys' night out?"

"Yeah," he grins back at me, fingers picking nervously at the straps of his bag. "We're going to the best restaurant in town! Wear a suit and a tie. Pick me up at six. I'll be waiting,darling!"

He waves as he walks away, his legs seemingly not quite working the way he wants them to. I am still laughing long after he leaves, carried away by the feeling of euphoria in Dylan's subconscious.

2032 hours.

I take a walk with Ethan after dinner at an Italian restaurant. He made a valiant attempt of ordering the least expensive dish on the menu, but Dylan knew his best friend well enough. I ended up ordering for him, disregarding his weak protests. It is now dark out and we walk aimlessly, talking about anything and everything, really. Something is different tonight, and Ethan knows it.

Finally, I relent and allow Dylan his control. He is aware of his time-limit, and he plans to make full use of it. His hands tremble in anticipation. They ache to reach over and touch Ethan, to pull him into his arms and kiss him hard on the mouth. But he doesn't. I honestly admire his self-control around Ethan.

"So what about the rest of the girls you were dating?" Ethan is asking, his hands scuttling everywhere: his bag, his pockets, his hair. Dylan is trying not to hit himself for wanting to take them in his and intertwine their fingers.

"I broke up with them," he says simply. "All of them."

"W-what? You broke up with all of them? But why? Is there someone else? You must be serious about this new... girl."

Dylan laughs softly, the laugh quickly turning into a sigh. "I don't even know if it's worth it or not. I mean, what if I had made all this up in my head? What if this person doesn't even like me?"

"Don't be silly. Who in the world doesn't like Mr Dreamy-Pants?" Ethan scoffs. "Don't worry. She'll fall for you in a second. She'll be an idiot not to."

A long pause.

"Would you?" Dylan summons up all his courage to ask. "Would you fall for me?"

He grins as he says it, as if in jest. But we both know that his palms are sweating and his heart is thumping as he waits for Ethan to reply. Ethan stares at him, lost for words. His ice-green eyes have never looked more beautiful to Dylan. He opens his mouth but no words are said.

With shaking hands, Dylan cups his best friend's face gently and brings his lips down on Ethan's. That draws a surprised gasp from Ethan and a sharp intake of breath on his own part. This is the kiss he has always dreamt of.

Ethan gives into the kiss with a hungered longing. He wraps his arms around Dylan's neck and presses harder against his best friend. His heart is shuddering in his chest and his legs are giving way from the impossibility of it all. When they finally pull away, Dylan doesn't let go of him. They are still in an embrace too close for friends to be in. His hands are around Ethan's slender waist, tracing the skin under his shirt very slightly. Ethan shivers involuntarily, whacking his friend's arm with a shy grin, his ears flushed red.

They both laugh, happily, giddily, not letting go for a long, long while. And suddenly I realise, some replies are redundant.

2312 hours.

There is the clock again: ticking, ticking, ticking.

It's nice to know that there is something in life that stays constant even though I never am. At midnight, I will be forcibly dragged out of Dylan's body and into another. The switch hurts like I would imagine it physically to. I've tried staying awake and willing it away when I was younger. But every new day, I still find myself in another boy's body.

I thrash around listlessly on the bed, hoping that sleep will come before the clock strikes twelve. I am completely able to empathise with Cinderella. Taking a deep breath, I concentrate on the rush of joy I felt when Dylan and Ethan kissed and the dissatisfied complains in my head shimmer to a stop. I achieved something great today. I should be happy.

For the next twenty minutes, I force myself to sleep.

Just before I fall asleep, Dylan pokes into my consciousness just long enough to say:Thank you. Good luck to you, too.

I know I will never wake up as Dylan Tom Robinson again.