This choice: He wakes up the next morning, two years older (and thus bigger) • Go Back... When Simon woke up the next morning, he instantly felt different, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Just getting out of bed felt different, as if his body was heavier. Remembering the night before, he quickly ran to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, shocked at what he saw: he appeared to be a full two years older. He was about five inches taller than before, and his body was noticeably more developed, though he still was still very skinny.
"Wow!" he exclaimed aloud. "That's pretty cool."
He waited for a moment, not quite sure if he should be expecting a response or not, but when nothing answered him back, he shrugged, smiled, and went back to his room to start getting ready for school. Looking through his closet, he noticed that his clothes, while still very much the same style he had worn before, now seemed to be a bit larger, as if they were made for a twelve year old. "That's strange," he wondered, "I guess they grew with me too."
It was even stranger, though, when he went downstairs and sat down at the breakfast table. He braced himself, waiting to see his parents' reaction, but neither of them seemed to bat an eye. Finally, after he was half-finished with a silent breakfast, he coughed slightly, and asked, "Mom?"
"Yes, Simon?" she replied.
"Ummm," he thought for a moment, not quite sure of what to say. "Do you notice anything... different about me this morning?"
She looked at him with a questioning look, but then shook her head. "No, I don't think so. Why?"
Simon decided to keep his secret for now. "No reason." He tried to think of a way to ask her how old she though he was, but he couldn't figure out how to do that without appearing to be crazy. He finished his breakfast and then headed off to school soon after, wondering if everyone else around him saw him as a twelve year old just like his mom apparently did.
That question was answered as soon as he saw where he was being dropped off for school. Instead of the elementary school that he was used to going to, he noticed that he was walking into the middle school a block over. It was a strange feeling, and he fought an instinct to turn around and run back to the elementary school, but he figured if that, with everyone else treating this day as normal, he just had to go with the flow.
Of course, the thrill of being, or at least appearing to be, two years older than he had been just the day before immediately subsided when he realized that being twelve years old in a middle school meant he was in the youngest group of students. And the difference between other twelve-year-old sixth graders like himself and the fourteen-year-old eighth graders was substantial. Even tall as he was for his age, there were boys who towered over him, and almost all of them could out-muscle him any day of the week. He took a deep breath as he walked down the halls, hoping not to get noticed, at least for now, and also wondering if in this reality he had any friends here -- or enemies, for that matter.
When the bell to start class rang, he soon realized that he had no idea where to go. Luckily, a teacher standing in the halls noticed his bewildered state and called out to him, "Well, Simon, will you be joining us in homeroom today or not?"
Simon breathed a sigh of relief as he quickly ran into the room. "Sorry," he said, quickly scanning the walls for signs of the teacher's name, "Mr. Corwall." The teacher smiled in acknowledgement, and Simon quickly hurried to the only empty seat left in the class.
As the roll began to be called, Simon looked around at the rest of the students in the class. No one seemed to notice him or object to his presence in the room, or even wonder who he was, but he didn't recognize a single face. He started to sweat a little. If reality had changed like this around him, even if it did mean that he had gotten a little older, it would be nice to have some sort of control, or at the very least a cheat sheet.
"Hey," he suddenly heard a voice whisper, "Simon."
He whirled around his head, looking for the source of the voice, but saw nothing. He quickly realized, however, that it was the same voice from last night. He started to say something, but then stopped, realizing that if the other students didn't notice the voice, and he began to talk back to it, he might be seen as deranged, or at the very least get in trouble.
"Don't worry about answering," the voice snorted, slightly indignant. "Yeah, yeah, I know you're in class. Fine, then I'll do all the talking. I hope you've enjoyed the first little surprise this morning. I sense, though, that you seem to be uncomfortable in this new situation, especially not knowing anyone around you. Tell you what. I'll fill you in with some of the information on this reality. Ready?"
Simon didn't quite know how to answer or what to expect, but after a second, his head suddenly began to fill with memories of the past two years, finishing elementary school, going through the first scary days of middle school, meeting all his classmates and teachers -- it all flooded in. In a moment, he knew every one of the other students' names, and he knew what the rest of his schedule was and where the classrooms were. It was as if he had actually lived the past two years that he had skipped overnight, but deep down, he knew that it wasn't the reality he had experienced.
"Hmm," the voice said, "I think something's missing. It looks like the way your backstory has unfolded, you don't have a single friend in your school. Well, I guess we can fix that. And this is where I can start to give you a choice. Look around the room here, and choose one of the other boys. I'll make it so that in his mind, and in yours, you two will have been best friends since you can remember-- a deep, lasting friendship. Just, whichever one you concentrate the hardest on, that'll be the one that I pick. 'Kay?"
Simon wanted to protest, to ask for more information, or another chance, but the voice seemed unable or unwilling to read his thoughts. So he had to pick somebody, it seemed. Looking around the room, he tried to decide which one looked like the best choice for a best friend, drawing upon what he knew of them from his newfound memories. Finally, he made his choice.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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