Could have fooled me, Karyn scoffed as Sarah McMillan sashayed by with a coterie of hormone driven highschoolers. 'Kiss me, I'm Irish', proclaimed the tight green tank top the cheerleader had squeezed around her assets today. The declaration was reinforced by the two four leaf clovers on her chest...each in a location that certainly violated the dress code in spirit, if not in name. The poor testosterone animated automatons following Sarah certainly liked the look, but it was a pretty dubious claim. Dishwater-blond hair and thoroughly bronzed skin screamed California beach bunny rather than Celt. But then, the only thing Irish about Sarah was her name, and today, that shirt.
Appropriate though, the former redhead supposed, since there was nothing Irish about Karyn Black at all today. In truth, Karyn had never had any Irish heritage at all, and couldn't care less. St. Patrick's Day, whatever its origins, was easily the most useless of manufactured holidays. It wasn't like people needed an excuse to get drunk. Or hit on redheads...
As much as Sarah's vain, slutty attention seeking aroused a certain degree of jealousy in her along with the various other unpleasant emotions that tended to well up around the cheerleading captain; and as disgusted as she was with her accidental wish yesterday, Karyn was glad, for the next twenty four hours at least, that she was no longer a redhead. Without fail, every year around this time, guys started noticing her. And not the guys she'd want to notice her. A weak or so before the holiday,Karyn's auburn curls would suddenly overcome the attitude, the reputation, the total lack of cosmetics or desire to draw attention to herself, and yes, even Sarah's blond locks. Not only did she have to deal with the obnoxious 'flirting', but a massive spike in Sarah's passive-aggressivity. And that wasn't even a word.
Neither was the rending screech that at that instant pierced her protective layer of counter-culture. She felt herself losing consciousness immediately, but the black dominating her vision erupted into a burst of green just long enough for her to catch herself before she hit the ground. The pain was...gone. Something about her felt different. Her balance was off...and she found herself shivering briefly when the wind picked up, the cool breeze overcoming the warming spring sun.
But she was wearing a sweater. An inexplicably tight sweater. That didn't cover her midriff.
A whistle alerted her to a presence behind her.
"Hey babe, does the carpet match the drapes?" This happened at least once a year. Karyn couldn't help but groan as she rose to face the probably intoxicated jock.
But then she realized she didn't have red hair now, either.
The realization lasted just long enough to be murdered by the fall of a fiery curtain across her field of view. The hair lay heavy from her scalp, longer than she'd ever had it. Longer than it had been even after yesterday's wish. And it was no longer blond, but very red.
Rising, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a nearby window. Or what she presumed was now her reflection. The image was Karyn Black...sort of. But this Karyn had a massive fall of curls cascading down to the small of her back. Not her old auburn, but a bright orange-red, with here and there a hint of deeper copper. And now she was wearing something green. Something that, judging from how it strained against her still enlarged breasts, was most definitely not the old green sweater she purposefully left home on St. Patty's day. There were words printed on it, but a cloud that had been obscuring the sun floated past, the more intense light rendering the reflection too transparent to give any more information.
My God, Karyn thought."Saints and begorrah!" She exclaimed in a rich lilting accent. My voice...
"Nice accent." Karyn turned to see the owner of the voice. It was Travis Landers. And he was, in fact, an intoxicated jock. "Are you really Irish or something."
No! Get the hell away from me! "Aye, I'm Irish." She answered in a rich Celtic brogue. "Kiss me."
