Michelle Lisle entered her room, slumped. She just got a major scolding from her parents and now because of what she did, she also had a permanent criminal record. Oh, she got off on the charges, but the next time she pulled anything like that again, she wouldn't get off so easily.
She sat down on the edge of her bed, the large breasts tightly packed into her tube top wiggling a bit as she did so, then she drooped her head and cried.
During her brief crying fit, she swung her feet back and forth, and that's when it happened. She heard something rolling haphazardly across her hardwood bedroom floor. She had apparently kicked something that was under her bed. She stopped crying and turned around to see what it was. In the early morning sunlight coming through her bedroom window, she saw what looked like a red-tinted rock.
And then a flash of a memory flew through her head. A memory not her own, but one that felt like it should have been.
She was sitting on a bed in a little boy's room. Why she was there, she had no idea. Then she held that rock and said (and this part, she remembered clearly) "I wish that until I make a wish for it to stop ... whenever Jon gets undressed and takes a bath or shower, he goes into someone else's room and puts on the clothes there instead. I wish that no matter what he wears, it fits him, and that the more he wears the stuff, the more he changes, and that no one would notice anything was wrong and that whoever's clothes he's wearing would just wear something else ..." And then she remembered the rock glowing.
It was like something from a dream, but it felt all too real. But it couldn't be real. The person saying all that stuff was a boy. And Michelle certainly wasn't a boy. And who was this Jon person? She felt like she should know, but it was all out of reach.
She got off the bed and picked up the rock. That caused another memory to surface. It was from that boy's point-of-view again. He was peeking into a dark and dreary bedroom and then after seeing another boy, he laughed. But there was something weird going on. The boy in the bedroom was dressed like one of those Goth freaks. He turned towards Michelle (or rather, the boy in the hall) and yelled "What do you think is so fucking funny? Stay the fuck out of my room!" It was Jon. Michelle was sure of it. But who was Jon? She felt like she should know. But she just couldn't remember.
"Time for school, Michelle," her mother, who also had a thick French accent, said from the other side of her door. "And no problems today, okay?"
Michelle sighed, then said "I wish ..."
