Were there changes? Were there not? Jon was second-guessing himself.
Could he trust the mirror anymore? He thought the same person was looking back at him, but it was hard to tell.
A few days ago, he started seeing that cheerleader of his dreams, in his dreams. And then sometimes outside of them, out of the corner of his eye, in his reflection.
But then it would be gone. Just Jon. His blonde haired, pink lip glossed self. Or at least, what he remembered looking like. It was hard to keep straight.
"Again! One, two, three, four, and five, six, seven, eight..." Brittany Lynne's voice filled up the studio space as Jon locked in for another routine.
Paranoia aside, he really was beginning to love practice. At first the smile plastered on his face was forced, but now, so deep into it, Jon was smiling because he felt happy.
Dancing was pretty fun. The whole thing was kind of fun. The whole routine of it.
"Alright! That's a wrap! Wow. Wow. Wow."
Brittany-Lynne was beaming.
"You are amazing. I'm so proud of you."
The words felt good. Maybe that was part of it too. Jon never really felt like he was all that talented -- he was fine at things, but never extraordinary. But now, he was good at something. And getting better by the day. That was good right? So what if it was dancing and yelling? There was something that creeped him out about Brittany-Lynne, but all this was because of her. And he was grateful. Being good at something was addicting. He thought about Steph Curry draining threes, the crowd going wild. Sidney Crosby on a breakaway. Kylian Mbappe taking a free kick. All so good at something.
Jon looked back up at the mirror. His training outfit had changed over time, due to new safety regulations. The pants had long since become shorts, which got tighter and tighter, and shorter. "Supportive." The same with his top. A basic t-shirt, to a tank, to a crop, to thinner straps, and now this thing with cups on the front. "Supportive." Only now, he kind of felt like he actually needed that support -- having worn support tops like this for so long must have atrophied his muscles. They pushed out as the rest of him slimmed down.
Jon wasn't stupid. Anyone could see what was happening to him. He was in a sports bra and spandex shorts. He was a guy. Was? Is. Was. Am.
The outfit, the makeup, the hair, the smile, they sure weren't making a good case for his statement. It wasn't some kind of safety regulation that forced him to wear this outfit. He did it because the dancing was great. He wanted to do more of it. He was good at it. He didn't complain because at a certain point, he didn't want it to go away.
Brittney-Lynne may have been some kind of evil magician witch, drawing from deep powers to change him, but he wasn't sure of that. One thing he did know was that it was almost like she knew a deep dark unfulfilled corner of his life and gave it life.
Maybe he could have been good at something else, had he gotten the right direction. Woodworking, or business, or maybe even computer programming, but no one stepped up for him. His Dad was out of the picture, and the teaching staff didn't really spend time mentoring C students. But that was then. He didn't really care about those things now. He had given his heart to dancing, and cheering. All because of Brittany-Lynne. The evil monster she was.
Brittany-Lynne put her arm around Jon as they walked toward the exit. They were a few minutes late, and the next session in the studio should have started a few minutes ago.
The door opened, and another blonde-haired, deeply tanned girl appeared. She looked young, bratty, and a touch less polished - like she wasn't super comfortable, but determined nonetheless. She looked mad.
"FINALLY I can get started," the stranger said, rolling her eyes. "Make way for the Queens who don't respect other people's time."
The two of them had every intention of shrugging it off, until Jon stopped suddenly.
"ZOE?"
