Chapter #23Inside Jenny Ashton by: Seuzz   You're awake for a good long time before you stir. Goosebumps run up and down your frame, and you hold very still as tiny shudders ripple through you.
It was dark when you opened your eyes, and you blinked several times as you tried to orient yourself. On waking, you were of two minds—literally, you eventually realized. The thought Where the hell am I and what is Mr. Prescott trying to do to me? vied with Am I Jenny now? I'm lying in the school basement staring at the ceiling and I think I remember putting her mask on. So am I Jenny now? It took awhile for the thinker of the one thought and the thinker of the other thought to realize that they were the same person, and that they were you.
When that happened, that's when the goose bumps started.
It's very cool in the basement, but that's not the reason for the delicious shivers. Caleb had been talking about turning himself into a girl for the pleasure of it: the pleasure of putting himself inside a soft body with breasts and secret parts that could be fondled and fingered in the dark—it's dark in here—and when alone—and you're alone now.
But there's a difference between anticipating it, and actually feeling it. You are paralyzed, because you don't know whether to be horrified or delighted by the alteration.
It was different when it was your father. There, it was pure squick on putting yourself inside him. But with nothing else to do except deal with it, you got moving as soon as you had to. Also, you had your dad's very practical psychology to help.
Here and now? You're shy about feeling up a schoolmate anyway, particularly one that you're friends with. As for getting any help from Jenny's psychology, well: She's screaming at you to keep your hands off her body.
But you do have to get moving. You shift on the table, and it's like your joints are made out of stone. They seem to crack with the effort.
Slowly you sit up, and a shudder runs through you as you notice that there's no "package" between your legs to wobble and flop. Instead, you've got a couple of thing on your chest. Your hand automatically goes to them, to hold and support them. A sweat breaks out all over your body as you touch them.
But you don't let go of them, and with your free hand you brush your palm over your thigh and calves. There's a light stubble down there: Jenny will need to shave her legs in a day or two.
As for the other hairy parts of this body: Jenny has long, straight brown hair that falls halfway between her shoulders and elbows, and it's draping about you now. Her forearms are lightly downed with the same. And the bush?
That's the thought of that finally gets you in serious motion. The gears of Jenny's mind engage with yours, and she proves now as practical as your dad: The way to deal with an embarrassment of a naked body is to get dressed!
You feel about in the dark until you find her underthings, and with business-like dispatch you pull them on. There is a very brief, fumbling moment with the bra until you "remember" how to slip it on backward before clasping it and returning it to the front. Then on come the jeans and the t-shirt and the windbreaker. No socks, though: You slide your slim feet directly into a pair of ragged canvas sneakers. From the floor you retrieve the red trucker hat. You push your hair back and snap the hat on brim-forward.
All of that was easy, but you wobble a little on your feet once you stand up. Time for the impersonation. You feel your mouth settle into a firm line as you march up the stairs.
Outside, for just a moment, the world seems a little bigger than you're used to seeing it, and the sense doesn't entirely dissipate until you're settled behind the wheel of the car, which fits around you the way it has always fit around Jenny. You pull the cell phone from the nearby purse—
You pause, unsure whether to remind yourself that it is your purse, or to remind yourself that it isn't. Neither way feels right; both at the same time feel absolutely correct.
You check texts. Good, nothing new since the text from Brianna Kirschke asking if you're free tonight. You send back a short, chirpy, Don't know yet tell me later whats going on. Then you shoot one off to Will Prescott.
Not until you've hit "Send" do you realize that, although Will Prescott hasn't got Jenny's contact info, she has his.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Oh God, here comes Will," Eva moaned. She kept her expression neutral, though, and her eyes widened only a little with alarm.
It was the first week of September, and you were leaning against the wall of the school. Eva was waiting for cheerleader practice to start; you were waiting with her.
"What's wrong with Will?" you said.
"Nothing, except he's going to ask me about Lisa."
"Why did she break up with him?" you asked, more as a tease than because you were actually interested. Eva gave you a quick, dirty look. Luckily for her, someone called Will's name, and he dodged over to fall in with his friend Caleb.
"So set him up with someone," you suggested.
"You set him up," Eva retorts. "I don't know anyone who'd go out with him."
"When did you turn into a snob?"
"I'm not a snob!" She sounds genuinely wounded. "It's just—"
"I should tell him to ask you out."
"Jenny!"
"What's wrong with him?"
"What would you say if he asked you out?"
You shrugged. "I'd go out with him, we'd have a burger, talk, and I'd tell him who I could set him up with."
"Seriously?"
"Sure. There's nothing wrong with Will."
The bell had rung while you were talking, so Eva got no chance to call your bluff, and apparently she forgot about it, because Will never did ask you out. You saw him off and on over the next few weeks, for he and Caleb and Keith sometimes come out to eat with you and your friends on the quad in front of the school. You didn't pay a lot of attention to him. But a couple of times you found yourself contemplating him as he slouched on the grass with his lunch.
No, there's nothing wrong with Will Prescott, except that he could dress better, stand up straighter, get a hair cut, and more or less stop acting like he's still in middle school. You're not sure what the deal-breaker was with Lisa Yarborough—nor do you care much—but it's the last quality that would probably rule him out with your friends. You don't really object to the way Carson and James dress and slouch, but on the other hand they're really smart and ambitious, and if they dress like slobs it's mostly because they've got more important things on their minds, like their latest scheme for humiliating the basketball squad. You've no idea where Will's mind usually is—though if he's anything like his friend Keith, it's in the gutter.
About a week ago your friend Brianna actually asked you about Will. She didn't know who he was, or his name, and it took a little cross-examination before you figured out he was the guy she was asking about. She wanted to know about him, whether he was seeing anyone, what he was like. You told her that he was a nice guy, sweet but a little goofy, shy, and that as long as a girl was patient with him and didn't expect too much she stood a reasonable chance of having a good time with him. But you also said that you thought she could do better, even as you pulled out your phone to give her Will's contact info.
"No, not for me," she explained. "For Melanie."
You almost dropped your phone. "Melanie?"
"Sure. She likes sloppy guys like that, and she really needs someone to take her mind off of Eric."
You jammed your phone back in your pocket and told her that you'd shove Will into a tank of piranhas before feeding him to a tigress like Melanie. "What's wrong with Melanie?" was Brianna's cry.
"Nothing, except she's a high-maintenance psycho. Eric could deal with her because he's a fucking sociopath. Will couldn't."
Brianna sniffed and asked when you became such a snob. You were about to retort that you'd set Will up with Brianna so that she could judge for herself whether he could survive a date with Melanie, but just then the bell rang.
* * * * *
So why does Jenny Ashton have your cell number on her phone? Beats the hell out of you. Not even Jenny remembers putting it in. But she's got dozens and dozens of contacts, so why wouldn't she have yours too?
Mcdonalds on orlando, you told Will when he replied by asking where you want to meet. You twist the key in the ignition and set off for the rendezvous point.
You've already got your fries and are lounging in a back booth when he finally comes loping in. "You gonna get something?" you ask as he slides into the booth on the other side of the table.
He reaches for your fries. "How come, when I can just—?"
You slap his hand away. "Get your own. Get me some more too," you add as you drag three fries at once though the puddle of ketchup.
He does bring you fries, and he brings you an order of nuggets, too, when you ask him to. In fact, you keep him hopping up and down multiple times getting you refills and condiments and other little extra. "Are your legs broken?" he finally demands.
You scrunch your nose up over your smile. "No, but I got a pretty face."
He groans. "So what are you doing about getting me?"
"I've been thinking," you lie. "I've decided to get you—"   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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