After a few seconds, the fuzz seemed to stop doing whatever it was doing. Mark relaxed and then realized that the pain really was gone, and he really did feel great. He sat up a bit in bed and stretched.
The sleeves on his hospital gown slid down, revealing tanned and well-muscled arms.
Mark first thought he was seeing things, in the dim light of dawn, but moving a hand across one arm, he felt the enlarged musculature bulging under his skin.
He pulled the neck of the gown out and looked down to see a similarly muscular chest.
The steady beeping of his pulse monitor became faster. He took a couple of deep breaths.
A quiet voice came from the side. "Dad, are you okay?"
"I thought I was," he murmured.
"Do you, um, need the bedpan?" Claire asked.
"I don't think so," he answered, and turned to see her standing up while she tried not to jostle Tina.
He could have sworn she'd been wearing a T-shirt and jeans last night, but now she was dressed in shorts and a midriff-baring tank top -- and while she didn't suddenly have bulging muscles like he did, she did have an obviously well-toned body, complete with a abs forming a faint but visible 6-pack.
"What's wrong?" asked Claire, looking a bit frightened as she moved toward his bedside. He must have appeared shocked.
"I-I think --" His mouth was suddenly dry. "I need water," he croaked.
"Oh, okay," Claire said. There was a pitcher on the table next to him, which she poured into a plastic cup as he tried to figure out if she was taller -- she definitely seemed taller.
She handed him the cup, and he sipped. The monitor was back to its slow beeping as he'd managed to get his heart rate under control.
Mark distracted himself by looking over at Tina. "Ha, she's still asleep."
"She's a good sleeper," said Claire. "Last week, when I called that extra practice, I sent her 20 texts and tried calling 10 times -- I finally had to call her mother to wake her up from her nap."
"You called a practice?" Mark asked. "Isn't that the head cheerleader's job?"
Claire playfully put a hand on her father's forehead. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
"So you're the head cheerleader," Mark murmured.
"Ever since freshman year, when I beat Janine," Claire said.
Mark could have sworn Janine, an attractive-but-bitchy blonde, was the head cheerleader -- wait, did Claire say she'd beaten up Janine? "Beat Janine?" he asked.
"In the election," Claire replied. "80% of the squad voted for me. Did sleeping scramble your brain? Should I get a nurse, or a doctor? What's going on?"
Mark took a big gulp of water. "I can tell you what I think is going on, but I'm not sure you'd believe me."
Claire looked concerned, took a hold of her father's hand, and knelt beside the bed. "Try me."
Mark took a deep breath and looked into his daughter's eyes -- or, at least, the eyes of this altered version of his daughter.
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