Chapter #19A Change of Face, a Change of Routine by: Nostrum   Your heart’s racing as you pull on Mike Reyes’s leg. Though Jessica led you to a rather obscure side under the bleachers, the football team practice means the field will be crowded.
Seeing his flabby thing so close to yours isn’t helping either. His legs are well-toned and fully shaved, in contrast to your (mildly) hairy and lanky own. Jessica can’t answer if he trains or anything, but he has to jog at the very least – or perhaps it’s making trips to school on bicycle. It’s a mystery why he hides them in big cargo pants, though.
Maybe this is what Lindsey’s so attracted to? This kid being fit? If so, she’ll be happy to know that Mike’s well-endowed in that area. Though, another woman’s opinion might be preferable. “Babe,” you ask her, urging her to turn. She yelps, and you follow. “Who’s is bigger? His, or mine?”
“Why do you wanna know?” she asks, retching in disgust.
“To see if Lindsey’s more fortunate.”
She scowls, then grins. “His. But I’m not interested in his.”
“So...” You adjust his groin, growing closer. “You’re interested in mine?”
She snorts, her laugh sounding like a desperate sigh. “You saw me naked, so I think it’s fair I do the same. Now go on – we don’t have much time.”
“Jimmy said he’d be there at eight – it's still enough before he screws things up.”
“You still have to go to his house,” she tells you. “You can’t go with those clothes, y’know.”
She’s right, and you dread knowing it’s true. Mikey’s hoodie and cargo pants may be enough to blend in at school, but on a party, he needs something better. You’ll need to change if you want people noticing.
His fitness doesn’t just extend to his legs. He lacks abs, but his torso is firm, clean and fit. His arms – the only hairy spot – are just as firm.
With a big gulp of air, you adjust his face upon yours, your new hands touching his hair straightened by tons of hair gel. Soon, the skin closes up on you, leaving you to feel the cool air flowing through from a breeze in your borrowed, tan body.
“So,” you say in a very high note, shocking you. “How do I look?”
“Yummy.” You feel your blood boil on your chest and your cheeks, particularly as Jessica breaks into hilarity. “Oh, you should see your face! But hey – you asked, and to be honest, Mikey’s cute. Lindsey’s gonna be so lucky!”
“I felt you were gonna give me a heart attack,” you confess.
“Well - if you don’t finish in the next couple of minutes, you’re gonna give Missus Reyes one. That’s another reason you should go there.”
“You’ve been to his house?”
“A couple times, when there’s a big project. I’ll pin you the location and you can check with me afterwards. Now, dress up.”
--
You’re nervous as you approach the location Jessica pinned you at your phone. It’s pretty far away from your house, but close to school, so it doesn't take you long to arrive. You take your own phone from Mikey’s hoodie and start taking photos from all the houses surrounding you.
Soon, Jessica replies to one as the location. It’s a one-story house, almost a shack, with a run-down garage storing a muscle car. You move through the stony floor and into the front door, fiddling with your keys until you find the right one.
The place feels so distinct from your home – wide open yet still rather dark, with the living room and the dining room almost like one, only divided by the door leading to the garage. The corridor straight through should lead to Mikey’s room, so you dash in--
--but not fast enough to evade Mrs. Reyes, stopping you with a nag followed by rapid-fire Spanish. “Eh, eh, eh! Y tu madre, ¿que no existe o qué?”
You gulp hard, bugged by the faux-pas. “Sorry, Mom.”
She grabs your cheek, staring you intently. “Ay m’ijo, you look like if I were La Llorona! You’re so pale you could pass for white!”
“Mom, I stopped here ‘cos I need to change. Some of the girls from one of my classes invited me to a party.”
Mrs. Reyes stands back, projecting a very imposing figure. Other than her face, she could be Mrs. Martinez’s older sister – same tan, same slim figure, sagging breasts lifted into a sultry cleavage and hips that could crush a man’s skull. (Even the same light auburn hair!) You flinch, thanking his cargo pants as they hide the bulge in your groin. “I didn’t hear about no party, m’ijo.”
“I got invited today, Mom. It’s gonna be at six. B-but I’ll try to be here early, alright!?”
She looms closer, staring at you with suspicion. “I recall saying that I didn’t want you in no party, chamaco! Did you forget!?”
“But Mom!” you insist, feebly. “I--”
“Let the chamaco have some fun at least once in his life, Lorna!” You hear a loud, strained voice from the garage. “He’ll be young only once!”
“And ruin his chance for a good college, Miguel!?”
The door opens, and you meet a greasy man in his late forties in a stained heavy cotton jumpsuit showing an equally greased shirt. You see where Mikey gets his looks, though the man is heftier, his mullet and whiskers giving him a ganger look. “He already got accepted and got a scholarship, chula. I think he deserves a little fun once in a while.”
“I thought his idea of ‘fun’ was his Nintendo and helping you.”
“I thought I could go socialize with others,” you argue, hoping the bluff doesn’t get called immediately.
Whether it does or not, Mikey’s father supports you. “¿Ves? The kid’s got so swamped in studies, he hasn’t made friends there!”
“He doesn’t need to, Miguel. A poco de que Frankie and the Luzardo kid aren’t enough...”
“Yeah, but what’s with having some more! Tell you what – let him go, let him get the bruises. He can’t be sheltered all his life, ¡por Dios santo!”
She gives a good look at you and relents. “Ya valió madre... But if I hear you do something I don’t agree with, ¡la paliza que te espera, chamaco del...!”
“I know, Mom – I know.” You disappear as his parents begin arguing in fast, incomprehensible Spanish. (Fortunately, her tone was enough to tell you it’s not a good idea to screw up.)
Finally on his room, you can give yourself a better look. Miguel Reyes Jr. definitely looks like a kid with a fit teen’s body. His small coffee eyes dance with curious energy, and his smile reflects a childish glee. Perhaps it’s his height – you're pretty sure he’s shorter than you by at least two or three inches – or his baby face with puffy cheeks.
He’s got a surprisingly good and diverse sense of fashion, too. His closet's full of long-sleeved shirts and khakis, hoodies and cargo pants, but also shirts and slim jeans. There’s a slick-looking jacket on a hanger, a thick cotton one with a variety of patches, a pair of nice Converse sneakers hide in-between the others, and a Cuban-link necklace hangs from one side of the mirror that could make for an interesting look.
Add on some gel to change his ‘do, and you might even to start doubting your sexuality...
--
You make your way to Mackenzie’s house, at the richer part of town. Hers is a small marble mansion, up on a hill, with an entryway long enough to act as a parking lot of sorts. Of course, most of the kids arrived on a carpool, but you can see about nine cars stacked in, plus a couple more outside.
The music blaring from inside the house doesn’t fit the view, though. It’s loud and intense, contrasting the classical music so many of Mackenzie Flannigan’s neighbors might listen. She’s the only one of the kids at the area that studies at your school yet lives in leisure – supposedly, a dare to her parents to slide away from the posh private school outside of town, where the rest of her same-age neighbors would otherwise study.
Mackenzie’s parties are the only moments where rich and poor meet, and it shows. While school itself is a sea of faces, it’s easy to distinguish the wealthy from the riffraff – besides Mackenzie herself, a stunning blonde with a chubby cherub face but with the attitude of a devil. (And, from the looks of it, a party-hard girl.)
She sees you approach, hands on your pockets, and snorts. “Hey... Haven’t seen you around. Edgefield High or St. Lenore’s?”
“Edgefield,” you reply meekly.
“Oh, cool!” She must be on something, because she’s quite docile right now. “So, um...” She points at a couple stations, particularly the one full of bottles and cans. “Booze is there, canapes are there, pool’s on the back, changing rooms are also there. If you feel hot and bothered, ask me and I’ll assign one of the rooms.”
Wait, is she implying...? “Uh, alright. Um... thanks.”
“Sure thing!” She moves away, but not before pinching your bum. “Bye, cutie! Oooh – tight!”
You feel blushing, wondering if the real Mikey ever got a greeting like that. She’s not wrong, though – maybe it’s the attire, but he’s not bad looking by any means.
You step further, scanning the area. You don’t see Jimmy (he wouldn’t be showing off to anyone, you believe), nor any of your shared group of friends and acquaintances. You do see the cheer squad, surrounded by jocks like Jackson Myers and Kyle Portman hanging out with Anna Marquez and Kelly Miller, while the queen bee Sonya Xie stands in the middle, chumming it out with Ryan Chambers, the school council president.
You also notice Lindsey White trying to slide off one of the creeps. No wonder Mikey’s so interested in her – long platinum hair falling into her shoulders, small yet curvy on the right places... What Jessica would be if she chose to be a cheerleader.
Kelly notices you and jerks her chin, tapping Lindsey. No time to run away – it's go time.  You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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