The theater lights glowed in the distance as Jon and Karyn made their way across the street. For Jon, every step in heels was both a victory and a humiliation. He hadn’t toppled yet, which he counted as an achievement, but the sensation of his legs—smooth, toned, and far too noticeable—made him want to crawl into a hole.
Karyn, however, was radiant. She kept sneaking glances at her transformed best friend, smiling in disbelief. “I still can’t believe you did this. Jon—” she stopped herself, glancing around, “—I mean, Ariana. You look… unreal.”
“Don’t remind me,” Jon muttered, tugging at the hem of the too-short skirt he’d copied. “Every gust of wind feels like it’s trying to ruin me.”
Karyn laughed, looping her arm through his. “Welcome to my world. Skirts are a battle you only win with practice.”
Jon grumbled, but let her drag him onward. He was still trying to convince himself that blending in would be easy—just another girl out with her friend. But reality hit before they even reached the ticket line.
“Hey, there Beautiful!” a voice called. Jon stiffened.
Three boys from their class leaned against the theater wall, pretending to be casual but watching him with wide eyes. One of them gave a low whistle. “Damn, looking good tonight.”
Jon blinked. “Oh, crap.”
Karyn smirked, clearly enjoying this. “Relax. Just play along.”
“I don’t want to play along!” Jon hissed, lowering his voice. “That’s… that’s weird. They don’t even know it’s me!”
The boys approached. One nudged the other forward. “So, uh… you wanna, you know, maybe sit with us? We can get you popcorn. Large popcorn.”
Jon nearly gagged. He crossed his arms defensively, suddenly aware of the way his chest pressed against the fabric. “No thanks.”
The rejection barely fazed them. If anything, they seemed more encouraged. One winked. “Come on, don’t be shy.”
Before Jon could retort, another hand clapped him on the shoulder—too familiar, too unwelcome.
“Well, well, look who it is.”
Jon’s blood ran cold. He didn’t even need to turn around. The sneering voice was unmistakable.
Biff. His long-time tormentor, his personal nightmare.
And now, apparently, his admirer.
Jon spun, ready with a glare. But Biff wasn’t looking at his face. His eyes had dipped far lower. “Damn, you’re fine. Don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
Jon’s jaw clenched. He tried to step back, but Biff closed the gap. Then, with the casual arrogance of a boy who thought the world belonged to him, Biff reached out—
And grabbed Jon’s ass.
The reaction was instant. Jon’s hand snapped across Biff’s cheek with a resounding crack. The sound turned heads across the theater entrance.
Biff staggered, holding his face, his eyes wide with disbelief. No one slapped Biff. No girl, no boy, no one. But Jon had.
The bully’s face darkened with rage. For a second, Jon thought he was about to be punched. But something stopped him—maybe the crowd, maybe the shock of it all. Biff spat on the ground, muttered, “Crazy bitch,” and stalked off.
Jon’s heart pounded. His hand stung. And yet, he felt… strangely proud.
Karyn stood with her mouth open. “Jon… you just slapped Biff.”
“Yeah,” Jon said, breathless. “Like a girl would.”
“And you looked good doing it.” She laughed, shaking her head.
Jon exhaled slowly, then glanced around. The boys from earlier were whispering, throwing looks his way, clearly debating if they still had a chance. He groaned. “This is insane. Is this what girls deal with all the time?”
Karyn gave him a look. “Every. Single. Day.”
Jon suddenly didn’t envy her.
They bought tickets and headed inside. For a brief moment, Jon thought he’d escaped the chaos. But fate wasn’t done with him.
Because standing near the snack counter, flanked by a gaggle of loud preteens, was his twelve-year-old brother.
Mikey.
“Oh no,” Jon muttered, trying to duck his head.
But Mikey spotted him instantly. His eyes widened, and he puffed out his chest like a rooster. “Well, hey there, gorgeous.”
Jon froze.
Karyn nearly choked on her laughter.
Mikey strutted closer, his friends egging him on. “Did it hurt?” he asked, leaning in with what he clearly thought was a suave grin. “When you fell from heaven?”
His friends whooped and slapped his shoulders.
Jon narrowed his eyes. “Wow. Smooth.”
“Thanks.” Mikey smirked, clearly convinced he was winning her over. “So, uh… maybe you and me could, you know…” He waggled his eyebrows.
Jon crossed his arms again, glaring down at the pint-sized Casanova. “Listen, small fry. You’re too skinny, you look like a six-year-old, and I don’t date children.”
Mikey’s face went red. His friends burst into laughter, howling at his expense. One even mimed wiping tears. “She got you, man! She wrecked you!”
“Shut up!” Mikey snapped, but the damage was done. His swagger crumbled. He sulked back into the crowd, his friends still teasing him.
Jon smirked. Sweet, delicious payback.
Karyn leaned close, whispering, “You are evil.”
“Maybe,” Jon said, satisfied. “But that was fun.”
By the time they found their seats, Jon was exhausted. Not from walking in heels, not from the constant stares, but from the sheer effort of existing as someone who drew this much attention. Every glance felt loaded. Every whisper made him paranoid. It was an eye-opener he hadn’t expected.
As the lights dimmed, Karyn clutched his arm in excitement. “This is going to be amazing. I’ve seen it three times already, but every time it’s—”
Jon lasted five minutes.
The moment the singing began, his eyelids drooped. By the first dance number, he was out cold.
When he woke, the credits were rolling and Karyn was glaring daggers at him.
“You slept through Wicked,” she hissed.
Jon stretched, stifling a yawn. “Hey, just because I look like Ariana Grande doesn’t mean I suddenly like musicals. Singing and dancing? Not my thing.”
“You’re impossible,” Karyn muttered.
Jon rubbed his chest, grimacing. “Also, these—” he gestured at his breasts, “—are heavy. Bras are torture devices. And don’t even get me started on the heels. I need food before I collapse.”
Karyn’s irritation softened. She sighed. “Fine. Let’s get food. But you’re staying like this a little longer. You owe me.”
Jon gave her a cheeky smile. “Sorry, time’s up.”
Before she could stop him, his body shimmered. His curves melted away, his height shrank, his clothes faded into ragged old fabric. When the glow cleared, a small boy stood in his place—scruffy, wide-eyed, no more than nine years old. His clothes were threadbare, straight out of a 19th-century workhouse.
Jon looked up with a cheeky grin, and when he spoke, his voice carried a perfect British accent. “Please, miss, can I have some food?”
Karyn blinked. Then squealed. “Oh my God—you’re Oliver! From Oliver!”
Jon gave a dramatic bow. “At your service.”
She didn’t hesitate. She scooped him up effortlessly, hugging him against her chest. “You’re so cute! I can’t take it.”
Jon squirmed, not expecting to be lifted like a child. “Oi! Put me down!”
“Nope.” Karyn held him tighter, grinning ear to ear. “You’re officially my adorable little brother now. And I’m not letting go until I get food.”
Jon sighed, resigned. “This was a mistake.”
But secretly, he couldn’t help but smile, thinking maybe being Ariana Grande might be better than well this kid with only seen it with Mikey watching it on tv at home yesterday, but then again it was comfy resting his head agenst Karyns breasts ;)
