Bored and unable to go back to sleep, you dismissed the flash as a trick of the sunlight coming through the window. Feeling strangely drawn to your yearbook, you picked it up.
As you opened the book, knowing your graduating class would be somewhere toward the middle, you wondered which girls you would see again, and which ones would become only memories in your college years.
Opening up just one page short of your own picture, you found the last page of the 11th grade class, one year below you. Your eyes were drawn to Michelle, a biracial girl with bouncy curls who you had gone on exactly one date with. You thought it went well, but apparently she didn’t.
Something was weird about Michelle’s picture, though. She wasn’t dressed how you remembered. In the picture, she seemed to be wearing the very same t-shirt you had gone to sleep in. The one you were wearing right now.
As you looked down to verify, you were surprised to find that you weren’t wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants like you thought. Incredibly, you were actually dressed in a form fitting purple and black striped sweater, tight black denim pants, and a pair of sensible black women’s flats. There was also a charm necklace around your neck, and your fingernails were manicured and coated with clear nail polish.
“What the hell?” You thought, sitting up and feeling your clothes. Curious, you brought your hands up to your chest. Sure enough, under your sweater was a bra. It was strange. You were almost sure that this was the outfit Michelle had worn on picture day.
Looking back down at the picture, Michelle was still dressed in your pajama shirt, smiling as if she was wearing her Sunday best. Puzzled, you turned the page. There was your class. And in your own picture, nothing seemed odd. There you were in your coat and tie.
Your eyes moved over to the next picture to the right. Pheoebe, your cousin on your father’s side. You definitely remembered what she had worn on picture day. A too-tight gold dress that you were shocked the principal had allowed, and tall gold heels that you thought were ridiculous since her feet weren’t going to even be in the picture.
Looking at Pheobe’s picture, though, you found more weirdness. Phoebe seemed to be pictured wearing Michelle’s striped sweater and charm necklace. But how could that be? Unless…
Suspecting that you had figured out what was going on, you once again looked down at your current clothes. As you suspected, you were now clad in Phoebe’s gold dress and heels.
“No way,” you whispered, feeling the smooth fabric against your skin and feeling weirdly turned on.
You looked at the next picture. Michael Beck. Nothing.
Frank Bradley? Nothing.
Erica Bradshaw? This one worked. Erica’s picture showed her now dressed in Phoebe’s dress, with her hair and makeup done just how Phoebe had done it that day. Erica was a pretty nerdy girl, and you were surprised by how attractive she actually looked dressed like Phoebe.
Looking down, you now saw a cable knit sweater, neck tie, black skirt, tights, and flats. The kind of thing girls wear at private schools. Reaching to your face, you found Erica’s glasses, but when you removed them, your vision got a bit blurry.
“Oh, wow,” you muttered, putting the glasses back on and sliding out of bed. You wondered if this only affected pictures, or if you would find more of Erica Bradshaw’s clothes in your closet.
Walking over and noting how the skirt swayed and tights brushed against each other, you opened up your closet door.
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