... you're no longer by the machine but lying in Jessica's bed. The blinds are pulled down, the door shut, and even in the shadows her pink wallpaper nearly blinds you. Posters of Olympic gymnasts, boy bands, and cartoons block out some of the brightness, enough you can focus your eyes and try to lift yourself.
Your limbs refuse and tighten up, not because you're sore, tense or tired; not because of any immediately familiar reason. You try to feel the edge of her bed with your toes, yet it seems a few feet too far. It didn't take much stretching to cover the length of your bed... why should Jessica's mattress be longer? Besides her pillow resting under your neck, you feel a soft broom head too, its bristles sprawled around your head, climbing up your scalp, across your vision, red strands...
A red broom...? But that's not...
Why do you feel empty in a certain place, somewhere dark, under the covers...
Your eyes glance from the room to the Cinderella pajamas, fuzzy and sky-blue, sticking to a svelte body two feet shorter than what you're used to. One wayward turn of your head and the broom unfurls into an impenetrable wall of red. You blow it away and it returns, never flying too far; this broom head is a part of you. And that means...
Two minutes later you're bolting down the stairs, trying not to trip in these unfamiliar, daintier feet, aware the world stretches up and away, just out of reach. You cry in a cotton candy voice, so sweet you barely hear your own anger: "Mom! Mom!"
Your Mom walks out the kitchen with a sponge in hand. "What's the matter, dear?" she asks innocently. "Are you okay, Jessica?"
"I'm not Jessica!" you yell. Mom tries to pick you up but you jump back. "You put me in that machine with Jessica and then we... we switched bodies!"
"What's the li'l squirt whining about?" Your old body strolls out from behind Mom, dressed in the same clothes you'd put on that morning, munching a bagel with a lazy, glazed look in his eye. You try to spot a hint--small, big, anything--telling you this is really Jessica, but if it is she's putting a good front. "You say the stupidest things sometimes, Jess."
"Now Austin," Mom cooed, "let's not be mean to Jessica. It's wonderful she has such an active imagination." A migraine builds up behind your forehead. You clench your fists and restrain the urge to scream, but you're not sure how long you can hold...
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