Britta wakes with a jolt. I don't remember setting an alarm. I don't remember my pillow smelling like lavender.
Annie's eyes flutter open. Why are my sheets so scratchy? Why is there a blonde hair on my shirt?
Britta sits up. Or she tries. Somehow she has underestimated the amount of force it takes to set her upper body upright. Something feels... off. Britta looks down. Oh. Wait... WHAT?
Annie stares at the ceiling. This is not her ceiling. She screams. She leaps out of bed. The first thing she notices are her feet. Her small, perfectly arched feet with toenails NOT painted pink like they were last night.
Britta's not sure where she is, and she's scrambling to find a mirror. It doesn't take long. There's a small one on the bedside table. She grasps at it and turns it toward what is definitely not her face. And her jaw drops.
Annie needs a mirror. But she can't find one in this room-sized pile of denim and leather and vinyl records and empty vodka bottles. She stumbles out of the room and across the hall into the bathroom. She could have guessed by now whose face she'd see, but she's still rendered speechless.
What the hell is going on? I need to call Annie. Does this mean she has my body? Oh, good lord. She's probably using it to hang floral cardigans and excessive blush on right now. Britta bends over to pick up Annie's phone from her bedside table and is distracted by the weight hanging off her chest. Holy. Shit. She sets the phone down. Well, until we figure this out, I might as well make the most of the situation...
Annie eventually finds Britta's phone in the pocket of the jacket she wore yesterday. She dials her own number frantically.
"Annie, is that you? Please say it's you!" It only makes sense that she speaks in Annie's voice, but hearing it sends both the girls into momentary shock.
"Yeah. It's me. Well, it's your voice. But I'm using it."
"Annie, what is happening?"
"I don't know, Britta. This kind of thing is impossible. I'm going to have to do some research. Meet me at school in an hour?"
"Ugh. It's Saturday."
"Britta! This is urgent! The sooner we figure this out, the less time you'll have to put my body in stripper boots and multi-zippered jackets."
"Really, Annie? That's your biggest concern? Because there are plenty worse things I could be doing right now."
"BRITTA! Are you touching my boobs? Those are my boobs! No one has ever touched my boobs! Not even me."
"Glad I could be your first. Look, I'm sorry. It's just so tempting."
"If you're not at Greendale in an hour, so help me, I will cut all your hair off and get a Celtic symbol tattooed on your lower back."
"Geez. I'll be there."
56 minutes later, Britta rushes into the study room in Annie's only pair of jeans and her hair in a ponytail. She had been mentally preparing herself for the shock of seeing herself already sitting at that table with hair blow-dried straight and clipped out of her eyes, but somehow, it doesn't make the moment any less jarring. Annie lets out a gasp.
"Just think, Annie. This is the first time we've ever seen our actual, in-the-flesh faces." Britta reaches out and pokes her own cheek, curiously.
"Ow! Britta stop!"
"Fine. What have you figured out so far?"
"Only nothing. There is no way this can be explained. I don't know how to reverse it! I might be stuck in a thin and pale body the rest of my life with people seeing me and thinking I'm a self-righteous, uppity, political bitch!"
"Excuse me? It's not like I'm thrilled to get stuck with the closet of a high-school Zooey Deschanel wannabe and a reputation for being an annoying, high-strung, man-stealing neurotic."
"Ugh. Let's just stop. Arguing isn't going to get us anywhere. I think we should tell the group."
"Are you kidding me? Even if they do believe us, it will only make things even stranger and more awkward. There is one person I think we should talk to, though..."
The girls knock on Abed's door.
"Oh, hey guys. What are you doing here?"
"Abed, something really weird is going on..."
They tell him everything, interrupting each other several times. Abed listens silently and nods his head on occasion.
"You guys pulled a Freaky Friday. I always thought we were a sitcom, but this seems more like Joss Whedon plot line. It all makes sense, though. You two haven't gotten along recently like you did last season- I mean last year. You need to spend some time literally in each other's shoes to learn a lesson. Once you figure out what that is and come to terms with it, you will be returned to your usual selves; I'm sure of it."
"So what do we do until then?"
"Well, Annie, you go back to Britta's condo. Britta, you go to Annie's apartment. Live life as each other, and it will all get sorted out soon."
"Um. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that." Annie squirmed a little as she said it.
"What else can we do? It's safer this way in case someone calls us or visits our homes. Just don't use my credit card, and remember to feed my cat."
"As long as you don't touch me inappropriately or let anyone else do so. And you had better study hard for that Anthropology final. If you don't get at least a B, I will do something crazy."
Britta trudges back into Annie's apartment and flops down on the bed. If I have to stay in this room, I'm at least entitled to take down this Twilight poster. So she does, but she's careful to roll it up and set it in the corner out of some delusional hope that things will go back to normal. She's stressed and confused and all she wants is to get plastered at The Red Door, but she knows Annie would throw a fit. She's already shredded Capricious Caroline Decker's ID, anyhow.
She walks to Annie's fridge and pours herself a glass of milk. Annie doesn't have a TV, but she has a pretty prolific bookshelf. Britta likes to play down that she loves to read because she'd rather seem like a woman of action, but she's a secret bookworm. It's probably too much to hope Annie has anything by Palahniuk. And it is. Turns out she doesn't have any Salinger, either. Mostly Austin and Bronte novels. Britta looks a little harder. To her surprise, she finds Lolita. One of her favorites. There are notes in the margin, and Britta remembers Annie saying something about having to read it for a literature class and being offended. That makes more sense.
Annie fumbles with Britta's keys a bit before she's able to unlock the door. She slips in and closes it behind her. How am I supposed to live in this mess? She decides to clean the place, starting in Britta's bedroom. It's miserable work, and it's slow going. She hangs up several jackets from the floor, makes the bed, dusts the windowsills, vacuums the floor and throws away the vodka bottles.
Britta's a couple chapters in when she remembers something. Oh shit! I was supposed to meet Jeff for drinks tonight! She pulls out Annie's phone and dials her own number.
"Hey. I forgot I was gonna go out drinking with Jeff tonight. Can you call him and tell him I- er you... whatever- can't make it?"
"Wait. You were going to go hang out with Jeff and not the rest of us?"
"Oh, don't take it personally. I mean, after what happened last time, do you really want to go drinking with us again?"
"Not really, but still... Fine, I'll call him."
And she does.
"Hey, Jeff. Um, I can't meet you tonight. Sorry."
"Why not, Britta? What's up?"
"Uh. I... I don't feel well."
"You don't? Let me come over, then."
"No, no. That's fine. Don't do that. I'm okay."
"You don't need to be a hero, Britta. I have nothing else to do since I cancelled my other plans to hang out with you. I'll bring pizza and liquor."
"Don't feel like you need to do that. Seriously. Don't."
"Too late. On my way."
Oh shit oh shit oh shit.
Annie spends the next half hour perfecting her Britta impression and coming up with reasons to make Jeff leave. When he finally knocks on the door, she's shaking all over.
"Heeeeeeyyyyyy, Jeff."
"What's up? ...Can I come in?"
"Uh. No?"
"Britta, what is going on? You're acting really weird."
"Nothing. Nothing's going on. Come in."
Annie decides the best way to cover is to let Jeff stay and just hope he leaves soon. They sit on Britta's couch eating pizza and watching TV. Annie refuses to drink any alcohol or let Jeff drink any. She takes the bottle he brought and puts it in Britta's cabinet. If they get back to normal, she'll probably appreciate that. Jeff sits a lot closer to Annie when she's in Britta's body. Against every ounce of judgment, Annie leans Britta's head on Jeff's shoulder. It's just so nice to feel him like that. To rise and fall with him as he inhales and exhales.
"Jeff?"
"Yeah?"
"What do you think of Annie?"
"Britta, I don't want to talk about this again, okay? I'm sorry I made out with her and all. It was a lapse in judgment, and I'm sorry it hurt you so much. I get it. I do. But you need to let it go."
This is when Annie realizes that maybe she has hurt Britta more than she thought. She had always assumed Britta just couldn't handle the blow to her ego. But maybe she had been in the wrong.
"Do I talk about this too much?"
"In all honesty, yes. I think you just need to have an honest conversation with Annie about it instead of pretending you're over it. You know I'm not a huge fan of spraying feelings and vulnerability everywhere, and I know you're not, either. But I think that until you help her realize that what she did really hurt you, you're just going to be bitter and you're going to take it out on me. Which I do not appreciate."
"Yeah. You're right. I should talk to her. I'll do that. Um. It's getting kind of late. You should probably go."
"Well, fine then. See you Monday?"
"Sure. Drive safely, Jeff."
"Since when do you care about my safety, Britta?"
They both laugh a little, and Jeff walks out the door, pausing just a moment in front of Annie as if he wants to kiss her. But he doesn't. He turns, and he leaves.
Annie's phone is ringing. The contact name is "MegaBitch". Britta knows better than to take Annie's phone calls, but she's just really curious. There has to be an interesting back story here. So she picks up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Annie? Oh, thank the Lord you answered!"
"Um. Yeah. What's up?"
"Oh, Annie. Why didn't you answer all this time? It's been 4 months since we've heard from you. Look, we're sorry. Your father and I. We're so sorry. We know you're trying to get your life back in order and be adult, but it's just so hard to be comfortable with it all. Do you understand? I keep thinking of my little girl out on her own in that terrible neighborhood, and it scares me. We're sorry we haven't trusted you. It's hard to recover from your perfect, straight-A daughter getting addicted to drugs and having a breakdown and dropping out of school. But we should have believed you when you said we could trust you. I'll do anything if you'll just come home. If you'll at least just let me see you again. Let me know you're okay. Annie, do you realize I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you, and I knew I hadn't done anything in my power to save you? Please, sweetie. Please come home."
Britta hangs up because she has no idea what to say. Her mind is flooded with memories of a father who yelled because he didn't know how else to voice his worry and a mother who left tearful voice messages every day for a year. Her heart breaks for Annie, because she's been there. She knows. She knows what it's like to let the bitterness overwhelm you to the point where it's just a part of you as integral as an arm or leg. She knows what it's like to close that door, lock it and bar it and refuse to hear anything that might suggest you were wrong.
But in other news, it's getting late, and this neighborhood is scary, and Britta just wants to be safe in her own bed. So she calls Annie again.
"Hey, Britta."
"Hey. Um. I really don't feel comfortable here. I guess I've gone soft after a few years of living in a nice condo. Can I come join you over at my place?"
"Sure. I think we could talk about some things, anyway."
"I was just thinking the same thing."
Britta arrives at her own house to see Annie crying over a bottle of vodka on the couch.
"Annie! What are you doing?"
"I only drank one sip. It's so nasty. I was going to get drunk and see if it made me less upset like you and Jeff and Shirley do, but I don't think that's going to happen."
"Oh, Annie. Don't go down that road. It doesn't make you an adult. It just makes you pathetic. Trust me."
"Britta, why didn't you ever tell me that you were still upset with me about Jeff?"
"I guess because it's stupid for me to still be upset. I should be able to be cool and leave this stuff in the past, you know?"
"But you can't help that you have feelings. I wish you would just tell me about these things. I'm sorry, Britta. I'm so sorry. I never realized how much I hurt you. I guess I just figured you were a tough woman, and you'd get over it. I was being selfish. I convinced myself you were only upset because it damaged your pride. I'm sorry. I really am. No more kissing guys you like, okay? I promise."
"Thanks. It's okay. And I'm sorry I didn't talk to you and opted to become this flaming ball of unspoken angst and judgment. I think the disintegration of our friendship is mostly due to me being too guarded and prideful to talk to you. There's something else, though. I really think you should call your parents."
"What? Why? Britta, they wouldn't let me go anywhere or do anything! They refused to give me an ounce of trust. The only way to be able to live my life was to get away from them."
"Annie, I know how you feel. I do. I know what it's like to mess up once and to feel like they won't let you recover. I know what it's like to run away because it's the easiest option. I know what it's like to break all ties, burn all bridges and think it makes you an adult. But most of all, I know what it's like to destroy the most meaningful relationships in your life and hurt the people who cared about you most because you were too wrapped up in yourself to try to understand their point of view."
Annie choked out a fresh sob and buried her face in her hands. "What is there to understand? If they really cared about me, and not just controlling me, they'd understand that I know what's best for me and let me do that."
"What there is to understand is this: Your parents don't exclusively see you as you are now like you and I do. They don't only see you as Annie Edison, 4.0 student, member of every existing committee and club, almost 20 years old and capable of fending for herself. They see you as a partly that, partly the bug-eyed dollbaby memorizing her alphabet just as soon as she could speak, and partly the strung-out rehab patient who had almost completely thrown her life away. One thing I've learned as I grow older is that parents take more of a Slaughterhouse-Five approach when it comes to viewing their children."
"A what approach?"
"Never mind. What I mean is, I'm sure a level-headed discussion about all this with your parents would do you a lot good. If I had done that at your age, who knows? Chances are I wouldn't be a broke, lonely 30 year old with a GED and one and a half years of community college credits to her name."
"I guess I could give them a call... If we ever get this all sorted out."
"If..."
"What are we going to do if we're stuck like this forever?"
"I was thinking move to Britain and start all over again."
"Can I come? We could be roommates."
"Ha! Sure. I'll miss everyone here, though, to be honest. But I'd rather be able to be myself. I'm sure you feel the same."
"Yeah. I could go to Oxford! Or I could try, anyway. It might be hard if I have to use your record."
"If anyone could find a way in, it would be you. I could find a nice non-profit to work for, maybe. I don't know."
"Sounds like a plan."
Annie and Britta fall asleep watching Saturday Night Live on the couch.
Britta slowly opens her eyes. She catches a glimpse of brown hair against her cheek and decides she must still be in Annie's body. With a discouraged sight, she sits upright. The brown hair is no longer against her cheek. Confused, Britta looks to her right and sees Annie's head resting on the back of the couch.
Britta looks at her hands. No pink nail polish. She runs to the bathroom and looks in the mirror. Her blonde hair. Her exaggerated cheekbones. Her B-cup chest. A grin spreads over her face and she bolts back to Annie on the couch.
"ANNIE WAKE UP!"
Annie sleepily opens her eyes. "What's going on, Britta?"
"Look at yourself!"
"What are you talking about- Oh! Oh my god! I'm me! We're fixed!"
"Yeah. I guess Abed was right after all."
"So we learned our lesson, then?"
"I guess so."
"Wanna get breakfast and go shopping?"
"Sounds like a plan to me. But we'd better call Shirley."