"It's not funny," Karyn said, clearly disturbed by Jon's “joke.”
Jon just smiled, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Okay, how about this?” His body shimmered, twisted—and suddenly there were two Karyns in the room. The duplicate smirked and cocked her head. “How about now?”
The real Karyn recoiled. “Jon—no.” She shoved him back, staring at her own face with a mixture of anger and unease. “Isn’t it weird being me? Being a woman?”
Jon—still in Karyn’s form—barely seemed to hear her. He was busy examining himself in the mirror, running his hands along the curves of his borrowed figure, pressing at his chest, testing the weight of his hips. His voice came out in her perfect pitch.
“No, it actually feels kind of nice. Different… but nicely different. Like it becomes normal fast, you know?”
Karyn rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Jon, stop that! That’s my body you’re playing with. If you’re going to fondle yourself, at least become someone else.”
Jon grinned like a cat caught with cream. “Alright, someone else…” His body shimmered again, reshaping into a tall, graceful figure: the Good Witch from Wicked. The full costume, gown, and perfect likeness of the actress herself.
Karyn froze. Her jaw dropped. “Jon… that’s not fair. You know I love her. She’s my number one favorite! And now you’re her!”
Jon smirked, slipping easily into a playful, exaggerated impression. “Babe, I’m Ariana Grande. Do you, like, want an autograph?” He looked down at the sparkling dress and grinned. “God, this is so hot.”
“I hate you,” Karyn muttered—but her smile betrayed her. She snatched up her phone and rushed to Jon’s side, holding it up for selfies. “But you have no idea how much I love this.”
Jon wrapped an arm around her and posed like a pro, laughing as the camera clicked. He could feel Karyn’s excitement, her pure joy radiating off her as she hugged him closer. For all his joking, it felt… good.
“Hey,” Jon said suddenly, “you wanna actually go out like this?”
Karyn stopped mid-selfie, blinking at him. Then she laughed. “Jon, Ariana Grande doesn’t talk like some spoiled LA girl. But… yeah. Let’s go. They’re re-running Wicked at the theater tonight. And going with you—looking like one of the stars—God, it’ll be so much fun. Even if you’re, like, fifteen years older than me now.”
Jon smirked. “I can fix that.” His body shimmered again, shrinking, softening into a sixteen-year-old version of Ariana Grande—exactly his age, and exactly Karyn’s too.
Karyn’s eyes lit up. She practically squealed, grabbing his arm. “You’re perfect! My best friend and my favorite star. Come on, girlfriend!”
Jon smiled nervously, still not sure if this was a good idea, but unwilling to ruin her happiness. “Okay, um… let’s go.”
He stepped out with her, shifting the costume into something more casual: a sleek black designer skirt, a cropped top that showed his midriff, and heels that clicked against the pavement. It was daring, far too much skin for Jon’s comfort, but it was exactly what Karyn wanted.
