Your original plan was to buy clothes, but you didn’t plan any further. Well, other than to download and install the browser some other programs at the library, but that close call with Jimmy told you two things – you've been neglecting your friends a lot, and you haven’t been as careful as you thought. What if someone calls and people recognize your phone because of your ringtone, for example?
Run this along me, you tell Quentin in your mind. How about, instead of buying a hard drive, we buy another phone?
A burner? He answers, amused. Why?
That way, I can have you contact people through texts, maybe even some calls.
And that way you won’t heat up your phone, right? You hear him snort, which should be impossible for him. I like that idea.
You think they’ll sell cheap ones here?
Maybe flipping phones, he tells you. Harder to trace.
Good. You make a line to the dressing room, checking it. The place’s empty, both outside and inside, and other than a camera dome at the roof, no one will suspect you get in. You gesture as if someone was inside – Quentin's idea – and grab one of the hanger signs before slipping into one of the booths.
Fully closed, your heart begins to pump as you start undressing. Fully nude, you scrape the nape of your neck and slowly start to pull off your replacement skin. The cool air inside the store suddenly turns chilling as the moist, slimy substance that coats you gets exposed to the surface, though it almost immediately freezes into very thin flakes.
Stripping off from your replacement, your heartbeat intensifies further. This is the first time you’ve been outside your house as Quentin, which makes you self-conscious. Compared to you, Quentin is slimmer and taller, but also ganglier. His arms and legs are hairy, and so does his groin, but otherwise he’s clean-shaven – if having a little shadow – and only barely pockmarked by very old zits.
Perhaps the biggest feature you can notice is that he’s not exactly ugly, but not attractive either. He’s blond, with short hair and green eyes, but cursed with a crooked nose and an overbite. Even then, he looks younger than he appears, showing no signs of wrinkles or gray hairs, making him look nearly ten years younger than he is – for while he appears in his late twenties, he’s actually in his thirties.
And with that shirt and jeans, he could easily pass as a college student. You rip off the pack of briefs and slide one into your groin – they rest snugly, holding Quentin’s thing in place. The experience of wearing brand new underwear all over your borrowed body stirs it; it feels awkward to have a boner just from wearing briefs.
As you slide the jeans, you swallow. You know Harknell’s doesn’t have a policy against wearing clothes straight from the store, but you’ve never done that anywhere ever. Though skinny, they feel loose to you, though your thin fingers make it hard to close. You slip on the shirt, and you realize why Quentin said it was perfect – fitting loose, like everything.
You do notice two issues, though. Your replacement skin, even when you flatten and roll it, is too bulky to store in your bookbag, and the bag provided at Save-Mart would make it too obvious. And also, you didn’t account for buying some shoes to Quentin, meaning you’ll have to add that (and some socks) to your purchase. You hide the skin and cover it with your bookbag before stepping outside.
You make your way into the stand, feeling your feet crumpled by your shoes, when you notice the employee returning. “Oh, uh, hey.”
“Can I help you?”
“Yes,” you say in Quentin’s deep, nasal voice. “I was checking on these clothes – I'll wear them on my way out once I pay – when I got a little sprain on my foot arc and I nearly slipped. I think the sole’s about to tear. I left a bookbag and some clothes on that booth – you mind keeping an eye on them while I check on some shoes?”
“Sure!” she chirps. “Which one?”
“That one,” you say while pointing at the booth, as she grabs your hanger sign.
“Oh, alright. Go ahead.”
“Thanks,” you say before hissing. Quentin seems to be a shoe size larger, and you feel your feet cramping. It’s torturous to walk towards the shoes section, and as you do, you sit and rub them.
Compared to the clothes section, the shoe section takes more of your time. Most of the shoes aren’t your size, and the ones that do are in styles none of you would wear. There’s a pair of sneakers Quentin likes, but you balk at the price – obvious, since they’re a pair of Converse limited edition sneakers, and no manner of discount will lower it.
As you almost give up, you notice an employee approaching you. You meet him halfway, hissing with pain. “Hey - sorry to bother you, but I was wondering. Are there other styles besides the ones here?”
“What are you looking?”
“Okay. You know those sneakers over there?” you tell him, pointing at the expensive Converse. “Something that size and that style, but cheaper.”
He snorts. “Usually prices are low here, but you’re the first one who complains about it.”
“I’m on a tight budget,” you tell him.
“What I mean is, you’re probably the only one who doesn’t realize those are a scam.”
You chuckle. “Really? I mean, as long as they fit and last, I couldn’t care if they’re fakes.”
You notice him smile. “Hold on. Lemme talk to the manager.” You see him leave, and almost immediately, you take your own shoes off. The relief is instantaneous, but you notice how red they are – miraculously, they’re not swollen, which prompts you to check them closely.
There’s something that piques your attention – a blister near your big toe. It’s already blown, and you feel it sting, but as you rub the flesh it still feels like yours. The fact that you can feel the pain and the stinging sensation but not his flesh separating from yours makes you question – if you get cut, will the flesh tear or will yours as well?
Soon, you notice the employee returning with one of the managers, the former pointing at you. “This is the guy.”
“You were asking if there were more sneakers like that, right?”
“Just not at that price. I was checking others close to my size but they’re not my style, and that one--”
“That one has been sitting there for months now.” He checks your feet, snorting. “Wow. You’ve been walking here with those shoes all day?”
“Pretty much,” you lie, even if it’s strangely the truth.
“How much are you willing to pay for those?”
“Oh, I’m not asking you to--!” You notice him snickering, and you propose a bold price. “Twenty.”
“Twenty-five,” he tells you.
“Alright,” you respond. He grabs them for you, and as you test it on your non-blistered foot, you notice they’re very comfortable. You notice he grabs a red marker and slashes the price, writing “25.00” instead. He hands you the box, stunning you. “Uh, thanks.”
“I can see the tags on your clothes,” he tells you. “You need them more than us. They should honor the price.”
“Thank you, sir.” Before he goes, you figure you might have a way to smuggle your skin out. “Um, excuse me, but I left my clothes on one of the drawers and I was wondering if you could lend me a large bag for them. I also left my bookbag there. I asked the employee to check on them.”
“You can get one from the cashier, then return for your things.”
“Alright.” You replace your shoes and tie them, feeling instant relief other than the blister. As you go into the cashier, you hand everything then point at your clothes. “I’ll be going out with the shirt and the jeans, but can I get a larger bag for my other clothes? I was hoping to purchase a few more but I needed the shoes.”
“Will you look for them now?”
“As a matter of fact...” You look at the dressing rooms, nodding. “The box has the shoes I was wearing, so I’ll have to come back anyways.”
“Alright.” She hands you a large plastic bag while keeping the box at the counter. “Go ahead.”
With two of your problems solved, you make your way to the dressing room. You address the employee with a slight laugh. “Sorry about that. Had issues finding a shoe my size. I’ll be getting my stuff.”
“Sure, sure,” she says. “Go ahead.”
As you make your way in, you notice something odd. The door of the booth you changed in is slightly ajar. You step in, only to realize something.
Everything is gone. Your bookbag, your clothes, the Save-Mart bag with the briefs – but most importantly, your replacement skin.
You step back, checking all nearby booths in case you were mistaken – none have anything. You step outside, furious. “Did you step away from here?”
“No,” the employee claims. “Why?”
“Did you see someone step in or out with a bookbag and a Save-Mart bag?”
“You mean that guy over there?” She points at the direction of the door, confirming your worst fears. Someone - a complete stranger – had the gall to step inside the booth where you hid everything, and instead of reacting as any sane person would (with horror), they decided to wear your replacement skin and simply step away.
You need to intercept them. You’re still wearing unpaid clothes, which prevents you from moving away from the store. You can’t go and pay them, as that will waste valuable time. You must intercept him – fast.
There is a second option, though. The employee knows you left that stuff there. How about she calls the guard and stops them before they run away?
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