A Wish Unwanted (Part 1)

by Limbo’s Mistress

I was attempting to finish prepping the last of my maps for an upcoming session of Dungeons & Dragons when Cindy burst into my room looking like a cross between a lottery winner and the cat who ate the canary.

“Sam! Thank god you’re not doing anything important!” she squealed, closing the door behind her. “I really need your help.”

I sighed and put the sharpie down, turning around in my chair to face her. Not that it was a really difficult task. Looking at Cindy Mueller was one of my all-time favorite things to do.

“The gang is heading into the Cave of Woe to retrieve the Amulet of M’kran. I’d say that’s pretty important.”

She rolled her bright blue eyes and stuck out her tongue at me. “You know what I mean,” she said. Her tone was jovial, but I noticed the way her gaze flickered over to the map on the desk behind me for a brief second. A longing, almost barely perceptible, appeared and vanished in a millisecond.

“You know,” I said, smiling. “If you wanted to join in …”

She opened her mouth, then closed it as she shook her head.

“I’ve got ballet and cheer pretty much eating up my entire weekend. Thanks, though.”

I merely nodded solemnly. “Of course.” Lacing my fingers behind my head, I turned my attention fully back to her. “Now, how may I be of assistance to the only cheerleader at Benson High who doesn’t think getting within ten feet of me is cause for taking a shower?”

Her unblemished complexion reddened and a tiny frown creased her mouth.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m trying to get them to stop picking on you.”

I waved my hand dismissively. “No worries. It takes more than the malicious snipes of mean girls with more boobs than brains to get me down.”

The frown deepened and I mentally smacked myself in the head.

“Cindy, I didn’t mean …”

She shrugged, glancing away. “It’s okay. You’re not wrong in your assessment.”

“I was not including you in that grouping. You know that.”

Another shrug.

I wanted to throttle myself. Cindy and I had been friends for almost ten years. Since second grade. Like me, she’d been a nerdy outcast interested in anime, rpgs, and science-fiction. The two of us were like peas in a pod. Everyone else could say what they wanted about us, as long as we had each other, they could all go take a flying leap.

Then the Puberty Fairy came to visit.

I got six inches in height, with none of the girth to fill out my form. I went from a short, gangly dork to a tall, even ganglier dork with runaway acne and a scalp which could have applied for membership in OPEC.

Cindy, however, got it better. Or worse, if you asked her.

She, too, gained inches. Not so much in height, but across the chest and hips. Her formerly stringy head of dirty blonde hair turned into waves of silky gold from the increased hormones. Her complextion, already decent, became pristine.

It was like the tale of the Ugly Duckling. Though I’d never considered Cindy ugly in the first place.

By the time we started our Freshman year, she was being drafted into all the popular cliques. Almost against her will.

The cheerleaders wanted her out helping them raise school spirit. The drama club wanted her to audition for every performance they were producing. And her own parents, mainly her father, pushed her to take ballet classes so she would have even more stuff to put on her college application.

Our time together dwindled to the occasional weekend movie get-together. She didn’t have time for role-playing, or discussing the latest Star Trek movie.

No matter how much she wanted it, her new obligations wouldn’t allow her the time.

“Seriously,” I said. “I really wasn’t talking about you.”

“I know, Sam. Still stung a bit, though.”

“I’m sorry.” Then I leaned forward, looking into her wide, blue eyes. “What do you need my help with?”

“This!” she said, pulling something out of her purse and holding it up.

It looked like an ordinary rock.

At least, it did at first. However, the longer I stared at it, the less “ordinary” it became. It was a dark green color, like an emerald, and perfectly square, around four or five inches on each side. The front of it had some type of carving on it. It resembled a man’s face in a way, though I thought the expression presented there was one of disgust.

Cindy held the stone out toward me, urging me to look closer at it.

Every molecule in my body wanted to recoil from the thing. No matter how irrational it might seem to be afraid of a simple piece of carved gemstone. That rock was bad. I could feel it.

“What is it?” I asked, finally prying my gaze away from the disturbing thing. “Where did you get it?”

“It’s a Wish Stone,” she said. Again, she bounced up and down on her toes with excitement. Causing other parts of her to bounce as well. “It grants wishes.”

I blinked, daring to look at the ugly object in her grip again. This time, the face seemed to be a little less malicious. Rather than disdain, I saw impatience. It still made my skin creep, but not quite as badly as before.

“A Wish Stone?” I asked, giving her the same skeptical eyebrow raise we both used to do to imitate our favorite Vulcan. “Seriously?”

The shrugged in that way that people do when they know they are right, but can’t explain to you why they’re right. A sort of “what can you do?” gesture.

“It was in my ballet bag. I found it this afternoon when I got home.”

“Who put it in there?”

“No clue. But if I knew, I would thank them.”

I leaned back, shaking my head. “If you don’t know who gave it to you, how do you know what it is?”

She winked playfully at me, and turned the stone around.

The back side of it was smooth and flawless. Someone had taped a piece of paper to the surface. Slightly slanted black print flowed across it.

“This is the Stone of Invidia. It will grant a single wish to you and another.

Use it with someone you trust, for each of you will be wishing for the other.”

I snorted, drawing an annoyed look from Cindy.

“You don’t believe it?”

I pointed at the rock in her hand. “A magical stone that grants a single wish? No, I don’t believe it.” I shook my head. “Come on, Cin. Don’t tell me you actually think that thing is real? Someone is pulling a joke on you. You used to be smarter than that.”

A cloud of anger descended across her pretty face.

“Oh, so now I’m stupid? Is that what you think?”

I sat up, waving my hands in defense. One of these days, I was going to let my brain get fully engaged before opening my mouth.

“No. I just mean … come on. Wishing? Magic?”

She planted a hand on one curvy hip and pointed at the desk behind me.

“You would think you’d have a more open mind about these things. With all the fantasy crap you enjoy.”

I sighed. This was the problem our friendship had suffered over the past three years. Every time we got together, I started to feel inadequate. Like a peasant standing before a noblewoman. I’d been in love with Cindy since the fifth grade, but never behaved as more than just a pal.

Now that she was out of my league, it was hard not to be resentful of my own shortcomings.

“You used to like this crap, too, you know.”

A small pout formed on her face. “I still do. I miss it. I miss being goofy and hanging out all day on Saturday, eating pizza and doing dungeon crawls.” She held up the stone. “This can help me get that back.”

“You don’t need a wishing stone to do what you want, Cin. It’s your life.”

She looked away. “It’s not that easy. I can’t just walk away from everything.”

“Sure you can,” I said. “Just tell those skanks you don’t want to be a cheerleader anymore. Quit spending your free time in activities you hate. With people you hate.” I shrugged. “See? Easy peasy.”

The look she gave me screamed just how ignorant she thought I was about the matter.

“Everyone looks at me and expects … things. For me to act a certain way. Like specific things. Behave according to the way they believe I should behave. I’ve tried to fight against it, Sam. It’s like fighting a force of nature. Just easier to go along.” She glanced away and sighed.

“Is it really that bad?” I asked, trying not to sound too disbelieving. If she was really unhappy with the path her life had taken, she sure never showed it before. Not at school. Not with me.

“Did you know I signed up to take AP Physics at the beginning of the year? Mister H. denied my request on the grounds that it was too risky.”

Douglas Hauser was Benson High’s academic guidance counselor. It was his job to make sure that the students were happy, well-adjusted, and prepared for their futures. He was also a Class-A douchenozzle whose sensibilities were stuck back in 1985.

“Why would you taking AP Physics be risky?” I asked.

“Because, he thinks it will hurt my chances of getting into college if I flunk. Never mind the fact that I won three science fairs in a row back in middle school.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know.”

Originally, I thought she’d opted to not take the advance class with me because she would rather hang out with her new besties. To hear otherwise made me feel guilty for being angry with her.

“I’m supposed to focus on cheering and doing things that are more social than academic. Mister H would only approve the most basic level of subjects for me. So, rather than learning about quantum mechanics and advanced number theory, I’m in beginner’s chemistry and rudimentary algebra.”

I was speechless. Cindy was almost as smart as me. Maybe smarter in some areas. I couldn’t imagine what torture it must be to sit in a boring lecture day after day with dummies who could barely follow the material. It’d be enough for me to claw my eyes out.

“What about your folks? Couldn’t they talk to Mister H. for you?”

“I tried that already. My dad just ended up agreeing with him.” She held up the stone again. “This is my one chance to change it.”

I shook my head, not wanting to look at the eerie block again.

“Even if it was real, Cin, you know how these things go. Magic wishes always come with hidden strings and pitfalls. How do you know you won’t make it worse?”

“Nothing could be worse than not being in control of your own life, Sammy.”

I opened my mouth, but realized I couldn’t really argue against her point. Sure, my life wasn’t a bed of roses by any stretch of the imagination. However, I could do what I want, when I wanted, and with whomever I wanted. The few friends I still had didn’t care one way or the other.

“I don’t know,” I said, finally looking back at the rock in her hand. “I still think this is a bad idea.”

I had to admit, there was something about the thing that led me to accept, at least partially, that maybe it did have some type of power. The uneasiness that had washed over me the first time I saw it was still there, but had lessened to a degree that didn’t seem possible. Was it making me more amicable to the idea of using it?

“You’ve got it lucky,” she said, pulling my attention back to her. “Just being a guy by itself opens a lot of doors us girls have very little hope of opening. It’s really not fair at all.”

I waved my hands dismissively. How could Cindy possibly be jealous of me? Surely she remembered I was a lanky, glasses-wearing dork with a face which looked like I’d been bobbing for French fries.

“It’s not all that and a bag of chips, you know. Being a guy isn’t like some cakewalk. We have our own issues to deal with.”

“I never said it was a cakewalk, Sam. Just that it was easier than being a girl.” She walked over to stand right next to me. “That’s what I want you to wish for me. To let me have more control over my life. Like guys do. I want to be free from all the bullshit pressure and societal obstacles that come with this.” She gestured at her body.

I glanced over at the stone. Now that it was closer, I realized there as a glow emanating from inside. Not extremely bright, but noticeable. Was there something inside it? Waiting for us to voice our desires? If so, it was a fair bet it wasn’t a friendly entity. The smart thing would be to throw the stone into the middle of the ocean and forget it ever existed.

Sighing, I looked away from the stone and up at Cindy with the intention of appealing once more to her common sense.

However, the wide, pleading eyes she stared at me with snapped my resolve like a tree in a hurricane. Even if we had drifted apart some over the past few years, she was my best friend in the whole world. If it was truly possible, didn’t I owe it to our friendship to give her what she wanted?

I also couldn’t silence the voice that perked up to whisper that a Cindy who was no longer beholden to her circle of shallow friends would probably be more agreeable to spending time with me. Something I couldn’t think of as a bad thing.

“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “You win. I’ll do it.”

The pouty look vanished in a second, replaced by a huge grin of happiness.

“Thank you, Sam!” she squealed. For a second, I honestly thought she was going to jump and down with giddiness. “You are the best friend ever!”

I shrugged, then turned to look the stone. Better to get this over with before the rational part of my brain talked me out of it.

“I wish,” I began, the words sending a chill up my spine the moment they passed between my lips. It was like being at the top of a rollercoaster. That sensation you get in the pit of your stomach when the car you’re in crests the apex of the climb. In that moment before gravity snatches you and drags you down into the abyss, you realize you’ve crossed the point of no return.

“I wish Cindy…”

“Wait!” She said, quickly placing her finger over my lips. “Better use my full name. Just to be safe.”

I started to protest that any magic that could rewrite reality should be competent enough to understand to whom I was referring. However, I merely nodded and began again.

“I wish Cynthia Joan Mueller had a life that was as free from pressure as mine.”

Out of my periphery, I could see Cindy practically bouncing out of her Nikes.

“Granted!” came a voice from front of the stone.

I turned back to Cindy.

“There you go,” I said with a playful tease in my voice. “One future free from the terrible burden of being a hot, popular girl. Have fun spending your Saturday nights studying with us nerds.”

Her eyes narrowed as her lips pressed together in anger.

“That was mean,” she said in a voice that sounded too much like one of her stuck-up cheer buddies. “And I haven’t given up my social life, Sam. Just broadened my future possibilities.”

I was taken aback at her reaction to my jest. “Whatever. At least you’re happy now.”

She arched a brow. “What about you? What’s your wish?”

I looked at the stone, then turned around in my chair, returning to the nearly completed map. “No thanks, I’m good.”

Cindy grabbed the back of the chair with her free hand and spun it back around.

“We both have to have a wish, Sam. Or else it doesn’t work.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want a wish, Cindy. I like my life as it is. Just take your rock and go.”

“The transaction is not complete,” the stone said. “The other party must declare.”

“What?” Cindy and I said in unison.

The stone, however, didn’t repeat itself.

Cindy turned to look up at me. “Looks like you don’t get a choice, Sammy,” she said as a smirk formed on her face. “I can’t get what I want until I give you something you want.”

“I told you that I don’t want anything.”

She gave me a skeptical look. “That’s bullshit. Tell me what you want and I’ll wish it for you.” Her eyes drifted down to my lap. “How about a larger penis? Guys always wish theirs was bigger.”

I quickly cupped my hands over my junk. “Stop that!”

I was instantly struck by the fear that she would utter the words, and I’d wake up tomorrow with a two-foot long schlong. Or one that reached the ground. I didn’t trust the wishing stone one bit.

She pouted again. “Stop being such a scared pussy, Sam. Tell me what you want so I can wish it. I can’t get mine until you get yours.”

“No thanks. I’m not shallow enough to need magic to make my life better.”

As soon as I said the words, I regretted them.

“Shallow? You think I’m shallow??”

“Cindy, look …”

“I can’t believe you! You know the shit I’ve had to put up with since puberty reared its ugly head. The leers, the stares, the rumors flying around like crazy. I smile at a guy, he starts thinking about how to get in my pants. I try to excel in academics, and people tell me I’m too pretty to worry about something as base as learning. I constantly have people pushing me to doing certain things and acting a certain way just because of how I look. Nobody sees the me beneath this body. I mean, I thought you did, but you’re as bad as the rest of them.”

I shook my head and stood up, practically leaning over her. A wave of anger I couldn’t explain rolled over me in a way I couldn’t begin to fathom, making my heart race and my head begin to hurt.

“Cry me a river, Prom Queen? You want to about annoying things that never stop? Your bitching. I’ve known you for over ten years, and for the last four of them, you’ve done nothing but complain about how things have changed for you. Guess what? We all go through changes. However, most of us don’t get the blessings you got. Yet, we learn to accept that and move on.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock at my outburst. However, the pounding in my head spurred me on before she could formulate a retort. It was as if my something inside me had broken open, preventing me from holding back from speaking my thoughts.

“Of course, you don’t mind using your ‘horrible’ lot in life when it suits you, though. You complain that people don’t look past your appearance, but then you jump right in and count yourself among them. If you had any real conviction, you would stand up to your so-called friends. Especially when they’re dumping on someone who is supposed to be your best friend!”

Her eyes hardened in a way I hadn’t seen them do since the day in fourth grade when I accidentally broke her favorite pencil. She was past angry at my outburst. She was furious.

“I can’t believe you, Sam. You’re passing judgement on a situation you have no clue about. You’ve never been popular in your life. You don’t understand the pressure I have to deal with. What I have to put up with on a daily basis.”

I threw my hands in the air, my exasperation with her pushing rational thought aside.

“Well, excuse me. I’m sorry that I can’t understand what it’s like to be a beautiful girl who’s wanted by everyone.”

She narrowed her eyes as she stuck out her chin. “Well, I wish you did understand what it’s like.”

“Granted!”

Cindy’s eyes widened. I felt mine do the same. We both looked at the stone in her hand.

“The transaction is complete!”

**********************************************************

“You better get up,” a voice that sounded very much like my mother’s called to me through the darkness. “You’re going to be late!”

As I swam up toward the waking world, I tried to recall the horrible nightmare which had dogged my sleep. Cindy had wanted me to do something for her. Something I was reluctant to do. The more I focused, the more my memories came flooding back. Bit by bit until the very last thing I remembered slammed into my mind.

My eyes flew open as I sat up, gasping from shock.

I was in bed. Only, it wasn’t my bed. Nor my bedroom.

Not exactly.

The stream of sunlight drifting in through the part in the curtains illuminated the scene before me.

Gone were the posters of Jedi and Sith battling for the fate of the universe. Absent were the multitudes of miniature figures ranging from half-elf barbarian to dwarfish cleric that used to line the shelves. The pile of dirty clothes resting in the corner, a constant staple at least five days a week, was absent. The desk against the far wall, under the window, was no longer cluttered with maps, dice, and monster manuals.

Instead, the walls were adorned with blue and white pennants broadcasting spirited slogans such as “Go Raiders!” and “Benson High Football!” There was also a pair of framed posters hanging on another wall. One a photograph of the lower legs and feet of a ballerina standing on pointe. The other a marquis advertisement for the New York Ballet Company’s production of The Nutcracker.

The shelves held small photographs surrounded by decorative frames. From my position on the bed, I couldn’t see the people in the photos clearly. The white whicker hamper in the corner of the room, however, I could definitely make out. Particularly with the way the yellow sunflower affixed to the front of it seemed to capture, and amplify, the sunlight.

The desk was neatly organized and relatively clutter-free. Other than a laptop computer smaller than the one that was previously sat there, I spotted a couple of textbooks stacked next to a dark brown purse.

I sighed and flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“This is exactly the thing I was worried about,” I said aloud. Even though the words came out in a breathy alto, rather than my usually scratchy baritone, I didn’t bother to act surprised. The very nanosecond the words were out of Cindy’s mouth, I knew what my fate beheld.

Yeah, I know. Every story where a guy changes into a girl has the obligatory scene of him freaking out as he checks, at least a dozen times, for his missing dick. From there, it’s the wide-eyed and slack-jawed groping at his new breasts, followed by the tentative “I can’t look” event with a mirror. That’s when it finally dawns on him that he’s no longer a member of Dudeville.

Tres cliché.

I lifted one arm up for examination. The limb was almost as slender as is used to be, but possessed more definition, and a lot less hair. The ends of each of the thin fingers at the end of it were tipped with perfectly manicured nails painted a glossy peach shade.

“Well, isn’t that so cute,” I murmured in a mocking tone. “I hope I don’t accidentally chip one doing girly stuff.”

I remained where I was for another five minutes, listening to the sound of the robin outside my window. The song she sang seemed rather joyous and I found myself daydreaming about finding a bottle of nail polish to throw at her. Once my homicidal tendency toward avians passed, I figured I should go ahead and take a full survey of the damages.

Tossing back the covers, I discovered I was the proud, well maybe not proud, owner of a pair of shapely and toned legs. They emerged from the bottom of a pair of pink silk sleep shorts and terminated in ten little digits, all sporting nails painted the same shade as my fingers. I wiggled the toes, feeling a tiny twinge of pain from the big toe on the right foot. The area around the nail, I noticed, was a bit bruised.

Probably from ballet. Considering the pictures on the wall, not to mention the complaints from Cin, it’s a fair bet I’m also a tutu-wearing leaper.

I climbed out of bed, instantly aware of the shifting of flesh around my torso. My hands almost flew up to grab at them, but I managed to refrain. Probably be plenty of time to grope myself later.

There was a full-length mirror attached to the front of the closet door. It’d been there before my friend’s ill-spoken wish, but then it had been covered in a myriad of superhero and sci-fi stickers. Leaving only a tiny clear spot where I could look at my face, if I desired.

This mirror had the same dimensions and identical wooden frame. However, the only item blocking any portion of its reflective surface was a small photograph, like those you would get taken at a carnival photo booth, jammed in one of the upper corners.

“Moment of truth, Sammy,” I said softly as I walked over to the mirror.

I paused for a good while, staring at the person in the looking glass who stared back at me.

She wasn’t blonde, to which I was immediately grateful. Instead, silky strands of chestnut, parted in the middle, hung down in a cut that stopped just at the top of her shoulders and curled the slightest bit at the end. Her eyes were a strikingly rich green, and wider than I expected, giving her a look that was equal parts surprise and sultry.

Her pale lips were full, just the tiniest bit pouty. They sat pursed together beneath a nose that was a smidge wider than thin. Coupled with high cheekbones, a nearly perfect complexion, and a smooth rounded chin, the whole package was, to put it mildly, beautiful.

Beneath the face, she had a body that was obviously accustomed to extensive exercise. Dressed in a white, v-neck half-tee, it was easy to see the curve of her biceps and the slightly ripped muscles of her abdomen. I turned slightly, causing the girl’s midsection to twinkle.

Reaching down, my fingers brushed against a knob of chilly metal bisecting the skin of my navel.

A belly ring? You’ve got to be kidding me. I swear, if I turn around and see a tramp stamp, I’m going to kill Cin.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them to perform a cursory inspection on the two remaining areas.

As I could have guessed, my new body was well-endowed. Not so much as to be worthy of a porn star, but definitely a noticeable size. The tightness of the tee showcased the mounds, and the perky nipples attempting to pierce the thin cotton. Figures that girl-me wouldn’t sleep in a bra or anything decent.

I shook my head and placed my hands over them, giving a slight squeeze. Yep, firm and squishy. Houston, we have boobage!

In most of those stories, the guy immediately cops a feel and announces to himself that his new girlish form is a 36-C. Or some other random bra size. For myself, the only tits I’d had the luxury of touching, other than the ones currently hanging from my chest, belonged to Tracy Mallory.

It had been a long evening of playing Pathfinder, filled with a little too much sexual innuendo and a lot too much Mike’s Hard Lemonade. When the rest of the gang left, Tracy offered to help me clean up the mess. We’d chatted while picking up bits of trail mix and popcorn from the floor. Then, just as I was turning around from emptying the dustpan, she tackled me.

The kisses were sloppy, full of inexperience and wanton lust. After seventeen years on planet Earth, I thought I was finally going to find out what real sex, rather than the fake porn channel stuff, was all about. However, when I dared to slip one of my hands up under her sweater to fondle one of her flabby breasts, she recoiled from my touch and slapped me across the face.

I couldn’t help the adorable smirk that appeared on my new face. I might not know what size I was, but I sure as hell knew my breasts felt a lot better under my hand than Tracy’s.

Finally, I turned to the side to look at my ass. Considering the flair of my hips, I wasn’t surprised to see I now had some junk in my trunk. The curve of my backside was generous without being too bubbly. And the way the sleep shorts clung to the cheeks simply served to draw additional attention to just how well-formed it really was.

“Well, I can’t say I’m disappointed with what I see. Definitely a step up from a sweaty, pimple-faced dork.”

Don’t get me wrong, I never harbored any desire to be a female. Other than the occasional hormone-fueled daydream. I liked being a guy, with guy parts and guy thoughts.

But if a wish was going to make me get more in touch with my feminine side, I was able to find comfort in the fact that she was hot.

“You’re going to be late!” my mother called from downstairs again.

I glanced over to check the time on the clock on the nightstand and suddenly froze in shock and confusion.

Batman informed me that it was currently seven o’clock in the morning.

“What the hell?” I breathed, unable to stop staring at the Dark Knight’s visage.

That same clock had been sitting on a completely different nightstand before Cindy made her wish. In fact, it had been the only source of timekeeping in my bedroom for the past six years.

I’d seen it on a shelf in a comic book store right before Christmas. Offhandedly, I mentioned to Cindy that I thought it would be super cool to wake up to the classic Batman theme every morning. However, I’d already spent all my allowance on an entire stack of cross-title sagas and couldn’t afford to get it.

The day after Christmas, Cindy had handed me a gift-wrapped box. She’d grinned like a fiend as she watched me tear off the paper to reveal the front of the box holding the clock. Since her transformation into a lovely young woman with ever-decreasing time for her best friend, the clock always reminded me of who she used to be.

I spun around and closed in on the mirror. More precisely, to the photograph stuck in the corner of the frame. I pulled it free and looked at the quartet of black and white photos.

The boy and girl, each of them attempting to outdo the other with goofy poses, were approximately twelve years old.

The boy had short, spiky hair that stood straight up in most places, and stuck out at weird angles in others. He was skinny in that way boys go through when their bodies are completely confused by the influx of unfamiliar adolescent chemicals. A pair of black-rimmed glasses set on the bridge of a square nose dotted with multiple clogged pores.

The girl had long, dark hair that hung down to the middle of her back. A set of braces crisscrossed a toothy smile in one of the snapshots. She, too, had a couple of pimples dotting her forehead and chin. However, they were nowhere near as populous as those on the boy. She was cute, but it was easy to see the beauty she would one day become lurking just beneath the surface.

The same beauty being reflected in the mirror before me.

The memory of posing for those pictures, or at least, the original set came back to me. The Summer Carnival that had taken place three weeks after the end of seventh grade. Cindy had practically dragged me into the booth, threatening me with an atomic wedgie if I didn’t comply. The resistance I attempted to put up, as the Borg would say, was “futile”.

When it was over, I pretended as if the event had pained me down to my soul. I even demanded she destroy the evidence, lest it fall into enemy hands. She’d responded by tacking the photo strip to the corkboard in her room, promising to use it against me should I eventually become a mad scientist bent on global domination.

I flipped the strip over. On the back, in exquisite cursive script was an inscription.

“P & C: 6/28.”

I knew without a doubt the photos showed myself and Cindy, or the male equivalent of Cindy, but the initials were confusing me. Which of us was “P”, and which “C”? I wanted to assume that Cindy’s parents would have named their baby boy something that started with the same letter. But that logic required my parents to have named their little girl something that started with an “S”. Possibly something as mundane as “Samantha”.

Not that I really expected anything to make total sense. After all, I was currently living in a reality formed by a snappy, off-the-cuff wish made to a magic rock by my former best friend. For all I knew, I could be the “C”.

Caroline. Carrie. Charlene. Candace. Plenty of tolerable names there.

Paige. Phoebe. Piper. Prue. Okay, so maybe the stone hadn’t actually turned me into a witch. But I knew for a fact magic was real and I did have the body of a CW starlet.

I stuck the photo back into its spot in the mirror’s corner, then went over to the desk.

“Elementary, my dear Miss Watson,” I said as I opened the purse and pulled out a black leather wallet. “If you want to know who you are, you should start with checking your identification.”

Unsnapping the clasp on the wallet, I flipped through more than a half-dozen credit cards before I found what I was looking for. A driver’s license. I pulled it free from the frosted plastic pouch and held it up before me.

My jaw dropped in disbelief at the same time my mother yelled upstairs for the third time.

“Penelope Jean Davenport, get your butt down here right now!”

Penelope????