I did get a driver’s license, though, at the insistence of my parents, who said I needed it for emergencies.
Relieved to have a little time alone to think, I head down the highway, gripping the wheel of River’s tiny red car. I feel like a giant in this thing, a nervous giant. I’ve only driven a handful of times, and cars are zooming past me, honking. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.
“The speed limit is fifty-five!” I yell at one guy, who flips me the bird and passes. “Not like I’m in the fast lane here!” It’s the slow lane.
I decide to focus on something less mentally warping than my lack of driving skills.
Keni. I think of her sweet smile and little laugh when we met. There was a light in her eyes that mesmerized me. My dick tingles. My neck gets all sweaty and hot.
I swear, if God handed me a book of women and said, “Hey, Huff, pick one. Pick your dream girl.” It would be Keni.
And look, I’m not stupid. I get that I don’t know her. I’m basing everything on her looks and our first encounter, but that’s the point. I’ve never met anyone who made me want to get to know them. That’s why her reaction today was disturbing.
So much anger.
There has to be a reason, just like there has to be one for my transformation. Yes, a perfectly rational explanation. Maybe I’m actually dead, and this is purgatory. Or I’m really in my bed sleeping? Coma?
No. This is real. I know fantasy from reality. Dreams never have this level of detail or continuity. In a dream, one second you’re walking through a forest, searching for a treasure, and the next you’re taking off your clothes to swim naked under a waterfall while ten beautiful women watch and throw money at you.
No? Just me?
The point is, dreams don’t stay on one single rail. They jump lines. So whatever’s happening is real. Unbelievable, but real. The question is, what am I going to do about it?
I have no idea, but having clothes that fit feels like a good place to start.
I arrive to the shopping plaza and rush through a few stores. I score some large tees, which are still fairly snug in the chest and shoulders, but that can’t be helped. I find jeans that hopefully fit and take those to the fitting room.
I strip off my sweats and look in the multi-angle mirror. Wow. This is the first time I’ve really had a good look at myself.
I pivot side to side. I don’t believe it, but I can’t find anything wrong with me. I’m shredded, right down to my ass, thighs, and calf muscles. And my dick is the kind of thing guys brag about having to other guys. It’s the kind of dick you proudly show off in the locker room, and it buys instant respect.
Of course, my amazement is mixed with fear. What will happen if word spreads about this? What if it’s not permanent?
I tell myself to take things one step at a time. Enjoy it. Enjoy the gift of not being a scrawny, useless pussy people either ignore or trample on. Don’t slap the gift horse.
I try on several jeans, deciding the ones with more give are comfortable for my enormous cock. Still, I’ll have to buy new boxer briefs to hold it in place.
With bags in hand, I load myself into River’s car and start the engine, thinking about all the roads this unbelievable turn of fate could lead to. I mean, if this is really happening, then anything is possible. I can be anyone I want—do anything I want with my life.
That gets me thinking hard. What have I always wanted to be?
A lawyer. It sounds stupid, but, after Joy died, I wanted to be the one holding her murderers accountable. I imagined myself walking into a courtroom with confidence and convincing a jury that the bad guys should be hung. Then, for almost a year after high school, I toyed with the idea of going to law school. Ultimately, I chickened out.
Now, it all seems possible.
I visualize Manda’s face as I’m thinking. I imagine her friends right beside her as the hangman with a black hood pulls the lever. My parents are in the front row, holding a sign of Joy’s face and cheering.
Suddenly, my chest tightens, and a sharp pain shoots through my stomach. “Ugh!” I’m so distracted that I don’t notice I’ve put the car in reverse and my foot’s on the gas. The car slides out of its spot. Before I can hit the brake, a big white van plows right into me. Glass goes everywhere, and the driver’s side door buckles, trapping my left leg between it and the steering wheel. I can feel the bone in my leg crushing beneath the pressure.
“Ahh!” I cry out—until I notice that I’m perfectly fine. No pain. No damage. The door collapsed around me.
Huh? I press on my leg. It feels fine. No blood. No break. Nothing. I should be hurt. Really hurt.
I’m indestructible. The realization is surreal.
I just hope that I’m also immune to River’s wrath. I’ve totaled her car, and she’s going to be pissed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“That’s okay,” River says around seven at night after an Uber drops me in front of her place.
I’m still shaken up over the incident, and interacting with the police didn’t help. I had no explanation for why I pulled out in front of the van. I hadn’t exactly been in control of my body when I accelerated. Thankfully, the other driver was okay.
“All that matters is you’re all right,” River says.
“So you’re not mad?”
“Huff, the car can be repaired, and I have insurance.”
I would never say this out loud, but I appreciate how River puts me above her prized worldly possessions. I’m not exactly used to being at the top of the totem pole. Not whining about it, but when you’ve lived in the shadows of Kyle and Joy all your life, you come to accept your place in the world, somewhere down by the bottom. In a way, it made me more humble. I don’t walk around like an entitled prince, expecting everyone to blow me. But I appreciate it when they do. Not that anyone has. It’s a metaphor.
River picks up my shopping bags, which are sitting on the curb where the driver left me. “You should’ve gone straight to your dorm—I’ll help you carry these home.”
“It’s okay. I got ’em.” I take the bags from her hands. “I just wanted to see you. Figured you’d like to strangle me in person.” I refrain from telling her she can’t actually hurt me. I’m invincible now. But I’m liking less and less the idea of sharing everything with River. Not that I don’t trust her, but I don’t want to worry her more. This whole thing is a lot to take in, even if I secretly love it.
“Normally,” she says, “strangulation is the route I’d go when someone wrecks my car, but after what happened last night, I’m grateful to be alive. A car just doesn’t feel important anymore.” I watch her expression transform from worry-lite to full-calorie worry.
Oh no. She’s about to have a meltdown. I know the look. The first time I saw it happen was in the second grade when she lost a cupcake her mom’d packed in her lunch. Plop! On the ground all covered in tanbark.
“You need a hug?” I say.
“Yeah…” She sniffles and leans into me, burying her face in my chest and wrapping her arms around my midriff.
I hold her, noticing how good she feels pushed against me. She’s woman-soft, and she smells kind of sweet, like apples and cinnamon or something. Funny, I remember River always smelling like Downy. Her mother uses a lot of fabric softener.