A Wish Unwanted – Part 2
by Limbo’s Mistress

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

The urgency and annoyance in my mom’s voice carried easily through the closed door of the bedroom, cutting right through the stupor which had descended over me the moment I glanced at the front of my driver’s license. As if to serve as universal confirmation, the name inscribed beneath the picture of the smiling brunette matched her words perfectly.

Penelope? That was bad enough. But Penelope Jean?? Wow, that had to be the perfect icing on the messed up cake Cindy’s wish had served me.

I had a younger cousin who was named Penelope who was quite the whiny little brat. Not only did she prance around like she was some sort of Beverly Hills teen heiress, she was also one of those types who steadfastly, vehemently, spurned any type abbreviated version of their full name.

“It’s Penelope,” she would remind me in a haughty tone I felt really required a derisive sniff of disdain afterwards. “Not Penny.”

Thirteen-year-old girls really could be such snots. Then again, considering the crowd I had to deal with on a daily basis, so could seventeen-year-old ones.

If I had to guess, it would my mother had snatched up the name first. You know, since she obviously had a daughter instead of a son. Which made me spend a half a second wondering what the former Penelope’s name was now. Probably Samantha.

I shook my head as I put the license back into the wallet and the wallet back into the purse. This was no time to continue the thrilling adventure of attempting to find out the important details of my new, hopefully temporary, existence. If I didn’t want my mom to come upstairs, knock down the door and drag me out by my silky new do, I better get dressed.

I walked over to the door, opened it a crack, and yelled, “I’m working on it!”

Without waiting for a response, I closed the door and went to the closet. I was halfway across the room when I suddenly stopped in mid-stride, realizing that I had no idea what day it was.

Cindy had come over with her +5 magic rock of screwing up sometime Saturday afternoon. Before dinner. Our little tête-à-tête may have lasted about thirty minutes, give or take. Which meant the wish had taken place approximately between six and six thirty.

However, the only thing I could recall since the moment we voiced our wishes was waking up a few minutes ago to start my first day as, ugh, Penelope. But what day?

Saturday all over again? I really hoped not. It seemed quite a bit of stuff from Cindy’s old life had carried over to be a part of my new one. Ballet being a prime example.

I honestly couldn’t count the number of times she’d whined and complained about how every single one of her Saturdays was devoted to dancing. First, it was two “excruciating” hours of instructional practice in the morning with a hardcase of a former ballerina who must have spent her formative years with the Klingon School of Dance.

After that, she was able to grab a quick, light lunch before enduring another two to three “exhausting” hours rehearsing for whatever production she’d been drafted by her folks into auditioning for. Not to mention all the “demeaning” ogling from every guy who noticed she was walking around in a leotard.

It was going to be tough enough to pretend to be Penelope by itself. If I attempted to pass myself off as someone who’d spent the last four years dancing, I was going to fail. Critically. Besides, even if I could roll a Nat 20 to Bluff, the last thing I wanted to do was spend my first day here pirouetting and posing.

No. Thank. You.

Maybe it was Sunday morning. It was possible the stone, even as powers as it seemed to be, might have required some time to completely remake my reality. That would certainly explain why I didn’t recall anything until waking up this morning. The magic had put me into some kind of suspended animation while it went about making me into a hot brunette.

I was able to dismiss that idea rather quickly. There would be no reason for mom to yell at me to hurry downstairs on a Sunday morning. There was nowhere to go for me to be late getting there. Our family didn’t attend church, so I usually slept in late, then spent the rest of the morning eating cereal and watching anime.

An idea popped into my head, sending me back to the purse on the desk. This time, I reached down inside, digging around inside. I finally managed to locate my cellphone beneath the heaps of makeup, gum, hairclips, hairbands, tissues, and other assorted crap living in the handbag of the average American teenaged girl.

The amount of stuff crammed inside the purse seemed as if it should far exceed its holding capacity. I mean, it was like the damned thing had been bought at a Gucci outlet on Gallifrey.

The smartphone, wrapped in a hot pink protective case, was one of the latest models. Of course. Though I was eternally grateful it was the kind that used a fingerprint to unlock. Since I wasn’t about to try to guess what sort of passcode “Penelope” might use to keep her digital life secured.

The black screen flared to life, and the wallpaper that emerged was a selfie of my feminine and a girl named Sarah Strand. Sarah was a member of Benson High’s varsity cheerleading squad. Penelope had her arm draped across the shorter girl’s shoulder, with both of them flashing sassy smiles at the camera. A string of letters, in pink Comic Sans, was superimposed across the bottom of the picture, announcing that the two girls were: “BFFS 4-EVR”.

Oh, that’s just wonderful. I have a BFF. And my apparent font choice is Comic Sans.

In pink.

I looked at the photo again, trying to figure out how I could be best friends with Sarah Strand. She wasn’t a bad person, per se. At least compared to the rest of the popular clique. Actually, she was the second friendliest person in the whole damned bunch. Which basically meant that she chose to ignore me, rather than join in on the teasing and tormenting.

The thing was, I didn’t recall her and Cindy being that close. Sure they were both on the cheer squad and ran around with the same group of friends. However, they were certainly not “BFFs”. Not by a long shot.

I guess that was another difference between Penelope and Cindy.

Tearing my gaze from the picture, I looked at the top of the screen, where the date and time hovered in white block letters.

Monday, October 14th. 7:15 am.

Monday.

7:15 am.

Oh, shit. Panic quickly climbed into the cockpit of my brain, secured its five-point harness, and took over the controls like a fighter jockey on meth. Mom hadn’t been yelling at me to hurry up for ballet practice, or church, or some impromptu family meeting where they would explain I was actually an alien from a distant planet, sent here when I was a baby.

She was yelling because I was going to be late … for school.

I spun around twice, looking all around as I tried to decide which task to do first.

Shower? As a guy, particularly one with uber-greasy hair and skin, bathing in the morning meant I was able to keep the oil production under control until after lunch. However, just as I took that first step toward the bedroom door, I realized there was a towel hanging a hook protruding from the back of it.

I hurried over and discovered that it was still slightly damp. A small wave of relief washed over me. Apparently Penelope was the kind of girl who bathed before going to bed. Probably something along the lines of a two-hour bath bomb soak.

I filed that bit of data away in the mental folder I’d begun the second I’d awoken to my new situation.

Okay, I didn’t need to shower. So, should I get dressed first? No, wait, I needed to put on makeup first, right? I tried to remember any clues Cindy might have revealed about what her morning routine was like. The only problem with that was the fact that, even if she did go into minute detail about the steps she went through to get ready for her day, my reptilian guy brain would have completely tuned it out.

Way to go, Captain Testosterone.

Common sense, which I hoped wouldn’t let me down in my time of need, said that my putting on makeup before getting dressed was just asking to make a mess of my clothing.

Plus, I was about ninety-nine percent sure I was going to end up looking like an applicant for clown college. Since I didn’t have the slightest clue about the complex process of applying foundation, blush, eyeliner, or anything else found in vicinity of the cosmetics aisle.

Later this evening, should I survive, I knew I’d be chained to the laptop, watching a ton of MeTube videos on how to make myself even prettier with paint. That was one of the benefits of being a guy trapped in the body of a girl in the Twenty-first Century. Life-saving information was always at your fingertips.

For today, though, I was going to skip the whole song and dance and claim I was trying out some new, au natural skin regiment.

No shower. No makeup. That only left getting dressed.

When I opened the closet, I stared in dumbstruck horror at the sight before me. Inside was the equivalent of a trendy fashion boutique’s entire inventory. Dresses, skirts, tops, sweaters, slacks. In nearly every color and style dangled from the rack running the length of the space. Rather than spend lots of money on games, videos, and expensive collectables, it seemed Penny preferred to live the girlish stereotype.

I shook my head, glancing back over at the bed, wondering if I could get away with pretending to be sick. Unfortunately for me, my mom still seemed like my mom. Which meant I’d need to be bleeding from both eyes and have a fever of 105 if I was going to miss school.

Resigned to my fate, I snatched a pair of faded jeans from a hanger, as well a black turtleneck sweater. The outfit was probably far more casual than Penny normally wore to school, but it was going to have to do. I might be handling the changes the stone wrought better than expected, but I wasn’t anywhere close to being ready to prance around in a miniskirt.

I kicked the closet door closed with the heel of one foot, then threw the clothes onto the bed as I rushed over to the dresser on the other side of the room. In the top drawer, I found about ten quadrillion pairs of panties. In every possible color and shade imaginable. Grumbling, I began to dig around, finding with some dismay that they all seemed to be skimpy thongs.

This was a joke, right? Another big laugh from the entity inside the wishing stone. I mean, what girl only wears thong panties? Did anyone really enjoy having a continual wedgie throughout the whole day?

Maybe I could just skip wearing underwear. After all, I’d done it multiple times back when I was a guy. Then I realized that going commando as Penelope was just asking for trouble. If I ended up having to dress out for gym, or go to cheer practice, everyone was going to see my lady-bits.

Which was so not going to happen. Particularly since even I hadn’t seen them yet.

After a few more moments of searching, I finally located a small pile of non-butt-floss underwear at the back of the drawer. I pulled a pastel blue pair free and flung them over to where the jeans and sweater awaited. I closed the drawer and pulled open the next one down.

Bras. Silk, lace, cotton, satin, strapless, and sheer. The styles were almost as numerous as the colors. It was as if someone had just knocked over a Victoria’s Secret outlet. As with the panties, I had to root around for a bit to find a thickly padded one I hoped would do a good job of keeping my new assets contained and well-hidden from view.

It was an off-white color, not even close to matching the panties. Honestly, I didn’t care. It wasn’t as if I was going to be parading around in them. I was going for function over form.

Before I could hurl the brassier over to the bed, curiosity grabbed my attention and I turned the garment over and studied the small, white tag attached to one of the straps. 36-D. Okay, so I was larger than I expected, but not off the charts into porn star status. Acceptable.

It took me close to ten minutes to simply get out of my sleepwear and into my clothes. The biggest time eaters were figuring out how to put the bra on without leaving the strap twisted, and squeezing my generous ass into the jeans. I eventually had to resort to hopping up and down like a deranged bunny a few dozen times to finally pull them over my curvy hips.

Aren’t jeans supposed to be comfortable attire? Who in the hell would deliberately design comfortable attire that required a shoehorn, an engineer, and the patience of a saint to get into?

Maybe I should have rethought the skirt route.

The third, and final, drawer in the dresser contained about fifty thousand pair of socks. Dear god, did this girl think about anything other than accumulating clothing? I grabbed a pair at random, ending up with a set that was dark gray and decorated with little yellow and blue butterflies. Perfect! I guess. I slipped the socks on my bare feet, then followed them with a pair of black and pink Nikes.

If I wasn’t brave enough for skirts yet, I certainly wasn’t sure enough in my new womanhood to wear heels.

I bounced over to the mirror, made sure I looked sufficiently “girly”, then quickly finger-combed my hair. Luckily, Penelope’s chocolate tresses behaved much better than mine ever did. Was it simply a matter of genetics? Female chromosomes causing my body to produce healthier proteins and less oil? Or was it a part of the magic? After all, I had announced, loudly, that I didn’t have any idea what it felt like to be a beautiful girl. Made sense the stone would make sure my hair was as close to perfect as possible.

Enough of my biological introspection, I needed to get my cute hiney moving. Shoving the textbooks on the desk into a bright pink backpack, I grabbed the purse and vacated the room.

As I descended the stairs, I heard mom talking with someone in the kitchen. It wasn’t my dad, since he always left home around six on weekday mornings. Could it possibly be whomever Cindy had become? This mysterious “C” person?

I slapped what I thought was a sufficiently cheery smile and stepped into the room.

Almost immediately, I froze in shock and surprise, nearly falling flat on my face. The identity of mom’s morning companion was not who I expected it to be. Although, to be fair, I should have already known who it was.

“Oh-Em-Gee, Peej,” Sarah Strand said from where she perched on one of the barstools next to the large island with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand. “We thought you were, like, never coming down.”

The moisture in my mouth evaporated. I had planned on using the time before school to use Penny’s phone to try and figure out her schedule. As well as review her social media accounts to get advanced knowledge of who she got along with. And, more importantly, who she didn’t.

“Oh,” I said, attempting to recover from the shock of finding the other girl in my kitchen. “I … you know …” Hello!? Think, McFly! Think! Then, inspiration struck and I grinned wider, shrugging one shoulder. “I just couldn’t decide what to wear.” Sounds girlish enough, right?

Sarah arched one perfectly shaped brow as her hazel eyes drifted up and down my form. Then she tilted her head slightly to the side, a curious expression forming on her pretty face. As if she wasn’t completely sure that I was serious. Then she returned my shrug, settling back on the stool.

“Retro-casual,” she said. “I like it.”

I almost responded that there was nothing “retro” about jeans and a sweater, nor could you just take two words that didn’t belong together and Frankenstein a new term. Then I decided that it was possible Penelope wasn’t the kind of person to correct people in public and try to shame them.

Which Sam had done … on a regular basis.

So instead I simply said, “Thanks!”

It was then that it occurred to me that this wasn’t going to be quite as easy as I had believed. I wasn’t going to have to concentrate on acting like a girl. I was going to have to act like a specific girl in particular. One I really had no intimate information about. Well, other than her bra size.

“You girls better get going,” mom said, thrusting a silver coffee thermos at me. “Big day today.”

Somehow, I managed to keep from looking like I was having a stroke.

“Big day?” I parroted.

She glanced at Sarah, then back to me.

“Isn’t the first Homecoming Committee meeting this afternoon, Madame Chairperson? The first step in planning the, what did you call it, ‘second biggest social event’ of the school year?”

I was sure my facade would crack and send me over the edge into a screaming tirade that would a dozen phasers set to “stun” to quell. What the ever-living crap was this? Cheerleading and ballet weren’t enough extra-curricular activities? She also decided to be involved with school events as well?

Who the hell did I Quantum Leap into?

“Right,” I said, trying to sound like I was just being a momentary ditz. As if I weren’t fully awake yet. “Homecoming Committee. Yep. Big day. Have to stay late and do that planning thing. Of, you know, the Homecoming … thingy.”

Okay mouth. You better shut up before you get us dragged off for a padded jacket and a psych evaluation.

I quickly flashed my mom another forced smile, then turned to Sarah. “Ready?”

The other girl nodded, sliding off the stool and putting her cup on the island.

“Thanks, Mrs. D. I’ll have her back home immediately after the meeting.”

Mom nodded with a smile. “Just drive safe, girls.” She started to turn away, but quickly faced us again. “Sarah? Be sure to remind your mother that dinner is Saturday at seven. I mentioned it to her at bridge the other day, but you know how she can be.”

“I’ll be sure to reminder her. Bye, Mrs. D.”

I followed Sarah to the back door. However, before I got more than a few steps toward it, I felt a stare hit me in the back of the head. When I turned around, I saw my mother was giving me a strange, slightly hurt look.

Oh, dear god! Seriously? Mom and Penelope had that kind of relationship? All lovey dovey and shit? Gah! Sam’s mom was lucky if she even knew when he was coming and going. Expecting more than a half-mumbled greeting would have been expecting too much.

Of course, I wasn’t currently Sam, so I walked back over to my mother and put my arms around her in a hug I hoped didn’t feel too awkward.

“Bye, mom,” I said. Then added, “Love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetie. Have a good day.”

Once I was outside, I noticed that there were three cars in the driveway. One was Sarah’s Prius, which I recognized from the world before today. Not even the color had changed. It was still that same mint green that no other car in the world could respectfully pull off.

The second car was the red Buick SUV that my mom drove. Again, no change there.

The third vehicle was a little blue Jeep Wrangler with a black soft top. It was parked closest to the house, and when I walked around it toward Sarah’s car, I wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the license plate was personalized. PJD.

So, Penny had her own car. Probably a fracking present for her sixteenth birthday. Figures. My father, Sam’s father, had offered to buy me a car when I turned sixteen. However, the trade-off would be that I would have to spend my whole summer working with him at the law firm.

I wasn’t about to give up a chance to attend three of the biggest comic and gaming conventions of the year just so I could get my own wheels. So I’d told Dear Old Dad that he could keep his offer and I’d stick with public transportation.

Either Penny had been given a different deal, or else she’d gladly wasted three months pulling files and making photocopies. Hell, she probably got the Jeep just so she could drive herself to all her practices and recitals.

“Hello?” Sarah said from the driver’s side of her car, drawing my attention from the four-wheel drive to her. “Earth to Peej! We’re going to be late.”

I blinked a few times, not immediately moving toward her. That was the second time Sarah had addressed me as “Peej.” The first time, when I’d entered the kitchen, I’d thought she’d said “Peach”. Which really didn’t make any sense. Not that “Peej” was that more logical.

Unless…

I groaned, internally, as I walked over to the Prius. Why was I not surprised?

Peej. A shortening of Pee-Jay. Which itself was short for Penelope Jean. Ugh. Really? Penny, while not great, was something I could deal with. Probably more than I could Penelope. But Pee-Jay, or Peej? I began to wonder if female me really was a bimbo.

Or maybe, just maybe, that was just Sarah’s pet name for her best friend. Like the way guys call their friends “Buttmuncher” or “Count Dorkus.” Something told me, though, that cutesy abbreviation ran deeper than just between a couple of girlfriends.

We climbed into the car and Sarah pressed the ignition button.

“I know it sucks to take my uber-lame Eco-Mobile to school,” she said, backing out of the driveway. “Hopefully your dad will let you have your car back before it gets too cold to put the top down.”

Oh? Well, wasn’t that was interesting? Apparently Little Miss Perfect was being punished for something. That punishment taking the form of the loss of her car. I wondered what she’d done that was so bad. Skipped a dance practice? Flunked a test? Caught making out with some dude?

I crinkled my nose a that last one. I certainly hoped I was way off base there.

As we rolled down the road, Sarah cut her eyes over at me.

“So …”

“So?” I asked, turning in my seat to look at her.

She waited a second before rolling her eyes impatiently. “Did he call you?”

Hold the phone. He? Who the hell was he? Why would this he be calling me? And what the hell was with that sing-song lilt in Sarah’s voice? Like she was auditioning for some Disney role.

“Did who call?” I asked, trying to sound teasing rather than confused.

I must have succeeded, because Sarah giggled and slapped me lightly on the thigh.

“I’m talking about Lee, dummy. Jeeze, Peej, what is with you this morning?”

Lee? Lee Who? I flipped open the imaginary yearbook in my mind. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee … Taylor? No. That couldn’t be right. Though that was the only Lee I could think of that went to our school.

Lee Taylor was a senior. Blonde hair and the face of a male model. He was an All-American athlete, lettering in both football and baseball. When it came to friends, he had more than his fair share. No one ever said anything negative about him. Actually, it was usually the opposite.

So, of course, Penny would be into him.

I gave Sarah a sly little smirk as I slipped my hand into the purse by my side. I turned on the phone and swiped over to the call log. Sure enough, Lee’s name was there. Six freaking times. The longest being almost two hours yesterday evening. Jesus, what did they talk about for that long? How great Mr. Wonderful was?

Shutting off the phone, I looked back at Sarah.

“As a matter of fact, he did.” I told her. “Six times.”

Her mouth dropped open into a perfect “O”. I wasn’t sure if she was shocked that the popular boy had called me. Or if her response was because he’d called so many times in a single day.

“Wow. The must have been one hell of a first date. I’m a little jealous. I mean, it took Chad almost a week to call me after our first date. Remember?”

No, actually, I don’t. Because it wasn’t me who was there.

I nodded, casting a little line. “Do I ever. You were totally freaking out about it.” That sounded plausible, right? In the movies, girls were always getting upset if some guy they liked didn’t immediately stop everything to call them and confess their feelings.

Mr. President, I know we only have ten minutes for me to defuse this nuclear warhead before it blows D.C. off the map, but I really need to pause so I can call this girl I shared a look with on the subway and tell her how she’s the love of my life. Back in a jiff.

Sarah winked at me. “Well, Lee’s a smarter guy than Chad. Like, light miles smarter.”

Years. Light years.

“He’s alright,” I said in a non-committal tone. “We had, uh, fun. Then he called yesterday, several times even, and we …talked. Apparently a lot.”

Sarah didn’t seem to notice my flailing conversation. She merely nodded, swinging the Prius around a corner a lot faster than the little car liked.

“Well, I hope it’s the start of something. He’s only been asking you out for months now. I didn’t think you were ever going to say yes.”

“You know me,” I said dryly. “Not like other girls.”

Putting it mildly

“Man, if you and Lee start actually dating? Oh-Em-Gee, Jen would completely lose her shit. Like, totally.”

Jen. That could only be Jennifer Winters. Prom Queen. Head Cheerleader. All around Total Bitch. She was also the self-proclaimed it-girl of Benson High. Beautiful and extremely stuck-up. Most of the school lived in fear of getting on her bad side since she was known to hold grudges and was mean enough to make Regina George look like an angel.

When it came to Jen Winters, you were either with her, against her, or completely beneath her notice.

She had a special, extreme dislike for me. Well, for Sam. It was Jen who saddled me with the nicknames “Grease Pit” and “Fister”. Freshman year, she told everyone she’d seen me skulking around downtown, prostituting myself to older men. The fact that I’d been hanging around because I was waiting for the anime store to open was considered irrelevant.

For the sake of complete transparency, however, it wasn’t like her animosity toward me wasn’t deserved. I mean, there was the time in fifth grade that I deliberately splashed red paint on the front of her pants, then yelled to everyone that she’d gotten her period.

The teacher, Mrs. Miller, had made a big fuss over trying to explain to the crying girl, in front of the rest of the class, that she shouldn’t be upset. That the stain only meant that she was becoming a woman. Jen had been a county mile past mortified. Even after it was revealed that she was wearing paint, not blood.

At the time, I’d thought it was hilarious. Actually, I still found it hilarious.

Of course, seeing as how I was now a card-carrying member of the Monthly Flow Club, I had a feeling I would find it less humorous when my time came.

“So,” I said, this time not having to pretend I had different feelings. “Let her be pissed about it.”

Sarah blinked and then nodded in agreement. “Good point. After all, she was the one who dumped Lee to go out with that boy from Uni. Not your fault that Lee saw it as an opportunity to move up the dating ladder.”

I was a little shocked at her candor. Mainly because I always had the impression that those stuck-up cheer bitches were always chummy with each other. Through thick or thin. To find out otherwise was quite the eye-opener.

Sarah pulled us into the parking lot, angling her car into a tiny open space with a deftness that bordered on the supernatural. Then she shut off the engine and glanced over at me.

“Seriously, though. Watch your back. Jen might have thrown Lee out without so much as a backward look. That doesn’t mean she won’t get shitty about you and he hooking up. She’s the kind of brat who wants her cake and to eat it, too.”

“As well as other people’s cake,” I added.

“Totally.”

We climbed out of the car and joined the other arriving students in a death march toward the school’s entrance. My palms began to sweat as each step brought us closer to the doors. To a situation where I would be completely lost. I hadn’t had the chance to check Penny’s phone. Where was her locker? Did she even have one? If so, what was the combination?

I felt if I could get away from Sarah, even for just five minutes, I could at least get a clue or two. However, I couldn’t just abandon her out of the blue. It would be way too out of character for someone like Penny.

My salvation arrived in the hulking form of one of Benson’s star football players. He swooped in from just behind us, and scooped Sarah into his arms, spinning her around several times. For a second, I fully expected him to finish her off with a body-slam. Instead, he put the giggling girl down and kissed her quickly on the lips.

Enter Chad Barrow. Varsity linebacker of Benson High’s championship football team and eternal provider of toilet swirlies and nuclear wedgies to any nerd who had the misfortune of crossing his path.

I wondered how big of a shock it would be to him if his girlfriend’s bestie just up and kicked him square in the balls. Just for the sheer hell of it.

Chad kissed Sarah once more, then slung a beefy arm over her shoulder as he looked over at me.

“Pee-Jay,” he said, greeting me in a slow drawl that made him sound even dumber than he was. “How’s tricks?”

Well, shit. Looks like I really am a Pee-Jay after all.

“Hey, Chad,” I responded, trying to sound pleased to see him. Well, maybe not pleased. More like … accepting. Sort of.

He nuzzled at Sarah’s neck for a second, then cut his eyes back over to me.

“I heard from a little birdy that you and my boy, Lee, had quite the time Saturday night.”

Sarah gasped and elbowed him in the ribs, giving me her most-innocent look even as her cheeks reddened. Looks like someone’s been telling private girl-to-girl information.

“Chad, you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“I didn’t,” he insisted, managing to look hurt that his woman would suggest otherwise. “I promise. I’m just poking fun at Miss Pointy Toes.”

Sarah’s face seemed to relax a bit, though she still gave me a wary look. Like she expected me to rip her hair out for saying anything about my date with Lee to Chad.

“Well, just as long as you don’t go spreading it around school, I guess I can forgive you.”

“Cool,” Chad responded, already seeming to have lost interest in the conversation. He glanced from Sarah’s face, down to her chest, then over to me.

“Hey Pee-Jay, think you can survive without my girl attached to your hip? I need a little one on one time before the first period bell.”

Before I could sarcastically ask why I would die from Sarah not being by my side, she poked him in the ribs again and rolled her eyes at me as her mouth twisted into a giddy smile.

Guess the Neanderthal needed a little lip and tongue action in order to jumpstart his tiny brain.

“Sure,” I said, giving Sarah a return eye-roll. “Just make sure you return her to me in the same condition you found her.”

Chad looked momentarily confused at my request, then grinned and winked at me.

“I won’t break her, P. At least, not here. I can’t make that same promise after hours.”

Ah, yes. There’s the overt boasting about sexual prowess that I was expecting. I was just surprised Chad didn’t plant his hand on Sarah’s curved apple ass the moment he joined us. Guys like Chad always made it a point to do things like that in public, just in case someone else thought about horning in on their turf.

And heaven help you if you were an unpopular dork who accidentally bumped into Sarah because the two of you had lockers next to each other. A faux pas like that could result in a trip to the nearest garbage can. Inside said garbage can.

Sarah grabbed Chad’s hand and started walking toward the small grove of trees near the corner of the building. She flashed me an embarrassed smile.

“See you in first period,” she said.

I waved to them as they left, then continued my journey toward the doors, pulling my phone out of my purse. According to the clock, I had approximately eleven minutes to figure out Penny’s schedule and prepare myself for an entire day of smiling, nodding, and trying not to act too out of character.

Several people called my name in greetings as we passed each other. Well, they called Penny’s name. It took me a few times to realize that they were actually speaking to me. That they were actively noticing me, in a friendly way. Then I wasn’t sure if I should respond back or simply give them a nod to let them know I’d heard them.

Sue me. It wasn’t like I had a ton of experience receiving warm greetings from random peers.

One of the voices, however, was really insistent.

“Pee-Jay,” it said. “Hey, Pee-Jay. Wait up.”

Something in the tone caused me to stop perusing the phone in my hand and stop walking. I turned around, looking up just in time to see Lee Taylor step up to me, closing to within a foot of my personal space.

If not for the huge, beaming smile on his face, I would have likely taken two large steps backward. Managing to keep myself planted firmly in place, I looked up into his bright blue eyes.

“Hey,” he said.

I arched a brow, still peering at the boy standing a good foot taller than me. “Hello.”

His smile faltered, just a bit. Then it reemerged. Like a cloud momentarily passing before the sun.

“I just wanted to tell you that I really had a good time Saturday.”

I nodded in response. Lee might have been a member of the In-Crowd, but he’d never done anything mean to Sam. At least, not personally or directly. Conversely, he’d never done anything to stop or call out his friends when they decided to be a bunch of dicks. So, while he wasn’t exactly a saint, he also wasn’t particularly evil.

However, I could hear the clock ticking down in my mind, and I didn’t really have time to waste chatting with a boy. No matter how cute he might be.

“So you’ve said,” I replied, holding up the phone. “I’m glad it was fun.” I hooked my thumb at the entrance. “I really need to go.”

His face fell, even as he tried to keep it from happening. A tiny stabbing sensation formed in my chest and I realized I couldn’t just blow him off. It wouldn’t be the Pee-Jay thing to do.

“What I mean is, um, I really need to get inside … to the bathroom. Yeah.” I placed my hand over my stomach. “I’m having some … issues. Can we talk later?”

His brow crinkled a bit as he looked down at my hand. I hoped the expression on his face wasn’t because he thought I was talking about diarrhea. After a moment, he nodded and that happy smile appeared again. When it did, the pokey feeling in my chest vanished.

“Of course. I’ll see you in English, then.”

I started say something in response. Before I could, he moved closer and gave me a hug and a light peck at the corner of my mouth.

“See you, Pee-Jay,” he said, moving off to join the flow of students heading up the steps.

I stood there, unmoving. I was stunned. Speechless. Flabbergasted. Stupefied.

I’d been a girl for a little over an hour and already experienced more attention from the opposite sex than all my years as a guy. Granted, I looked and smelled better than I did as Sam, but that didn’t change the facts. Lee Taylor liked me. Sarah Strand liked me.

And from the way the rest of the students waved or spoke, they liked me as well.

For the first time in years, I didn’t feel the need to look over my shoulder for threats coming from my blind side. I didn’t have to pay attention to where my eyes landed, to keep from getting accused of leering at some jock’s squeeze. I could head into the halls of the school, safe in the knowledge that I wouldn’t get my head pushed into a toilet or my books knocked askew.

It was a delightful feeling.

I smiled at no one in particular and jogged up the steps into the school. In the phone, I’d located a notepad app with a dragon’s horde of information. Not the least of which was a class schedule, a calendar for Penelope’s extra-curricular activities, and a locker number. With combination.

Perhaps this was going to be an easier gig than I thought after all.

A hand grabbed my upper arm as I walked past the girls’ restroom. It yanked me sideways, causing me to nearly drop my phone. Before I could recover from the sudden attack enough to protest of fight back, I was pulled into the bathroom and released.

I turned around to see a Tracy Mallory walk over and lock the door, trapping me inside with her.

“What’s the big idea?” I asked her.

Tracy ignored my question. Instead, she went over to push open every stall door, checking to make sure they were empty. Apparently satisfied that we were alone, she walked back over to me.

She was a big girl. Not obese, exactly. Just a little thicker than average. Her jet black hair was slightly limp, and hung down to her shoulders. She was wearing a pair of green cargo pants, a grey t-shirt imprinted with a Borg cube and the phrase, “You will be assimilated.” Her green eyes were nestled behind a pair of thick glasses, giving them a slightly fishbowl appearance.

Tracy wasn’t ugly. She just wasn’t … pretty. However, she was one of the few girls at Benson High who actually liked sci-fi and gaming stuff. Which is how she ended up in our Pathfinder group.

We hadn’t spoken in the six months since our two minute make-out and groping session. She always seemed to have an excuse why she couldn’t make it to the sessions. Or would claim to be feeling unwell whenever we invited her to the movies.

I knew it was because she didn’t want to be around me. Around Sam. But I could never fully understand why.

“I said, what’s the big idea?” I put what I thought might be the right level of snobby in my voice. I hadn’t discovered if Penny was one of those mean types of girls or not yet, but it was a safe bet she wouldn’t take kindly to being manhandled. Particularly not from one of the members of the Dork Patrol.

She blinked a few times, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Then she shook her head, grinning like someone who knows they are several chess moves ahead of their opponent.

“Wow,” she said in a hushed tone, leaning in closer. “Holy shit! Look at you!”

Her eyes roved over my body, like the way someone might gawk at a shiny new sports car. One that no one else had ever seen before.

I remained rooted to the spot, staring back at her.

“Never, not in a million years, would have expected this.” She took a step backward, crossing her arms over her chest. “That thing really did a number on you, didn’t it?”

A sudden shudder ran through my body, raising goose pimples on my arms. As if someone was stepping on my grave, while I broke a mirror as walking under a ladder with a black cat in my arms. Absolute dread swam in my soul and tried to choke reason from my thoughts. It wasn’t just the way the other girl was acting. It was what she was saying.

What she was implying.

Still, as caught off guard as I was, I couldn’t stop myself from asking the asinine question hovering on the edge of my lips.

“What did a number on me?”

She laughed, it was an ugly, tortured sound. Like amusement, being drowned in a lake of heartache and sorrow. It was the sound someone might make right before the gallows platform dropped from under them.

“The Stone of Invidia, Sammy.” She shook her head again. “You used the wishing stone.”