“So, let me get this straight… My husband went out for a jog and accidentally bumped into a teenage girl. And that somehow put him inside of her body? Do you understand how crazy that sounds?” my wife, Mary, raised her eyebrows.
“I know how it sounds, Mary,” I sighed, “I don’t know what happened. I was running around a corner when I ran into her. And then I was her. That’s it! I didn’t know what else to do, so I came home, and …well, here I am…”
Mary crossed her arms and paced the living room, “You expect me to believe that you’re my husband trapped in some teenage girl’s body?”
I looked down at my –her– body, clad in a bright pink tank top and black leggings. Her breasts pushed out against the fabric, an unmistakable reminder of my current predicament.
“Prove it,” she challenged, “Tell me something only my husband would know.”
This went back and forth like this for an hour until I finally managed to convince her.
“Okay, let’s say I believe you. What do we do now? How do we get you back into your body? What was her name? Maybe we can find something about her —something in her life might hold the key.”
“Uh… I think it’s Grace,” I replied hesitantly, “At least that’s what I heard someone yell before I stumbled into her.”
“Alright, Grace it is. We need to find out more about her.”
I nodded, “But how do we even start? I don’t know where she lives or… anything.”
“Let’s look on social media. If she’s, what, sixteen? She must have profiles somewhere.”
We moved to the couch where Mary grabbed her phone and began scrolling through Facebook and Instagram.
“Here!” Mary exclaimed suddenly, “This must be her. Grace Thompson. She has a public account.”
“She seems to have a pretty normal life… school, friends, the usual teenage drama,” Mary scrolled through the posts, pausing occasionally to read comments, “Wait, look at this.”
“It says here she’s part of the school track team. Maybe something about running triggered this. Whatever it is that happened to you.”
“You think?”
“Remember that big race you lost back in high school? The one you always talk about?”
“It says here she’s training for a big meet next week.”
I nodded, “So, I run as her? And win? Is that the idea?”
May shrugged, “Beats me. But none of this makes any sense anyway.”
“If running as Grace can somehow reverse this… whatever this is… I’m willing to try.”
“Shit, what time is it? Her parents are probably expecting her home soon. We have to get to her house before they realize she’s missing,” Mary said, “Do you have any idea where she lives?”
I shook my head, “Not a clue.”
Mary swiped through Grace’s social media until she found a post that showed a picture of Grace in front of a familiar white house with bright blue shutters, “Wait, I recognize that house from the neighborhood. It’s just a few blocks over from us!”
Mary grabbed her keys and we hopped into the car. As we drove, I caught glimpses of my reflection in the side mirror —long brown hair cascading down to my shoulders and youthful, feminine features.
“It feels so surreal,” I murmured, “I’m in a girl’s body…”
Mary glanced sideways at me, “We’ll figure this out. Just stick to the plan —act like Grace, don’t draw attention to yourself.”
“Right,” I replied, trying to mirror the confidence I used to feel in my own skin, “Just act like a typical teenager …How hard can that be?”
As we pulled up in front of the blue-shuttered house, my heart raced. The porch looked inviting, with flower pots lined neatly and a wind chime gently clinking in the breeze. This was Grace's life.
“I’ll see you in a week,” I sighed, “I hope…”
Mary placed a reassuring hand on my knee, “Just be yourself… her self. You can do this.”
With a deep breath, I stepped out of the car.
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