JC stood a moment at her locker, looking at her smiling (and badly lit) drivers license picture. Jennifer Leigh Calloway. Jennifer "JC" Leigh Calloway. 17 Years old, born June 11, 1998. Height: 5-5, Sex: Female, Eyes: Blue. Address: 8912 Hummingbird Court. JC had no idea where that was. And Calloway? That name sounded familiar. Like she went to school with another Calloway, but she didn't know who it was. What had the stone done?
It really, truly frightened JC that it had this much power and creativity, and she decided to try not to use it unless absolutely necessary. Oddly, she didn't think becoming Jon again was absolutely necessary. After what Mom and Karyn had done, and were planning, JC was fine not seeing them again. She could reconnect with other friends easily enough. And . . . was it really bad that she was a girl now? It was different, but not bad.
"Oh my God, JC, where'd you go again? Do you want to go clubbing?"
JC looked up again, startled. She blushed. Sarah had wrapped a little skirt around her waist and stuffed her feet into Ugg boots. Yeah, they were ugly, but after a long day of dancing, they felt amazing. And still, even in her casual "Need to go home, but don't feel like changing yet" clothes, she was gorgeous.
"I think . . .I think I'll sit tonight out. My head is just everywhere all at once right now."
Sarah smiled and JC was nearly swept off her ballet slippered feet. "No problem, girl. You need a ride home or anything?"
JC shook her head, "No, I got it."
Sarah nodded and came up to JC, embracing her. "OK. Be careful now, I don't want you getting in a wreck or anything." JC let the hug linger and closed her eyes as she felt Sarah's warm body next to hers. Then it was over, and Sarah was out the door.
JC hurried to get into her going home clothes, which consisted of a warm pink hoodie, shimmery pink skirt, and a dirty pair of Chucks. JC looked at these for a while. They were dirty and cracked and worn. But . . . she liked them that way. JC was an athletic girl. Ballet was her passion, but there wasn't a sport JC had found that she didn't want to play. And these shoes were her constant companion through every pick up soccer match, city softball game, or just the shoes she raced the boys in. These weren't memories to JC, but more . . . instinctive. Something the stone had given her, something which Jon never had.
The ballerina shook her head again, then got up and took her back, closing her locker up, and left the room. She wandered out to her car, pushing the alarm button multiple times until she heard her little green Toyota beep at her. She got in, looked again at the address written on her drivers license, and went home to meet her family for the first time . . .
