off my parents’ questions with an “explanation” of “Uncle Warren’s computer was interesting, and that’s why I was there so long.” Then I went upstairs to my bedroom.
I started my homework at 10:13 in the evening. Not smart.
Sometime between two and three in the morning I woke up; I was slumped in the chair of my study desk, the desk light blazing away. I set the bedside alarm, pulled off my shirt and shoes, turned off the desk light, and fell into bed, my pants still on.
I had time for only one thought before I fell asleep again: Everything in the room seems smaller.
****
Tuesday morning, as soon as Harold Miller was out of bed, he went to his wallet and checked his driver’s license. It said he was 5′7″—he’d lost another inch overnight.
Which was certainly bad news. Worse news was when he noticed that his letter jacket was gone, replaced by a red-and-white “Plato Smith Panthers” windbreaker. A windbreaker that any PSHS student with twenty-five bucks could buy.
But Miller got the worst news of the morning a half-hour later, when he was in the bathroom shaving.
Chapter 10
Day 2: More Changes
Tuesday morning, I decided that I especially hated my alarm clock. But I got out of bed anyway—and discovered I was now 5′9″.
And I had muscles now. They weren’t bulgy or bulky; I looked “fit” instead of “strong.” But I no longer looked like a guy whom other guys could pick on.
In the kitchen, I felt panicky when Dad slapped me on the shoulder. He said, “Lucy, beware—a zombie walks among us.”
I thought, Oh no! Dad’s going to turn into my slave now! But nothing seemed to be happening with Dad. With Mom either, come to think of it.
Mom asked me, “Did you finish your homework, Sleepy Boy?”
“Some, not all. Didn’t even start Government. If Mr. Spinelli gives a pop quiz on the reading, I’m dead.”
“So what do you plan to do about that?” Dad asked.
I shrugged. “Tell Mr. Spinelli I didn’t start the homework. After that, it’s up to him.”
My parents exchanged approving glances. Then my mother got up and walked around the kitchen table. She hugged me, saying, “You prove yourself a man today.”
I tensed. Do her words have a sexual meaning? Will she become my slave now, just because she touched me?
By now she’d returned to her seat at the kitchen table. She saw me staring at her, and said, “Hello? You’re tired, but don’t sit there zoned out or you’ll be late! Do I need to spank your butt to get you moving?”
“No, Mom,” I said. As I walked to the sink to rinse my dishes, I was smiling with relief. Slaves, I was pretty sure, never threatened to spank their masters.
****
Janice Wesley was standing by her locked locker when I walked up to my own locker. “Hello, Marvin,” she said, turning to face me fully.
“Hey, Janice,” I said, distracted, as I swapped books between my book bag and my locker. As I was locking the padlock, I finally gave Janice a good look.
I smiled at her. “Wow, I really like the t-shirt and the jeans. You look good.” Both shirt and pants were light blue, and matched her eyes closely.
She said, “ ‘You look good.’ Is there anything you would like, um, to make me, you know, look better ?”
I sighed. “You will not like my answer.”
“Please, tell me! Don’t worry, I can get whatever money—”
I shook my head. “That’s just it. Drugs are ruining your body. Get clean and sober, and you’ll start to look better. This also means no dealing and no hooking.”
“I will,” she said. “Clean and sober, no dealing, no hooking, you got it. Anything else?”
“Skirts or dresses instead of jeans, and some kind of heels, those would be nice.”
“Okay, though how I’m gonna pay for those now, I don’t know. Marvin?”
“Hm?”
Now Janice looked scared. “I am not looking forward to the next few days. But if you say to get clean, I’m gonna do it. I don’t want you disliking me.”
The strange
I started my homework at 10:13 in the evening. Not smart.
Sometime between two and three in the morning I woke up; I was slumped in the chair of my study desk, the desk light blazing away. I set the bedside alarm, pulled off my shirt and shoes, turned off the desk light, and fell into bed, my pants still on.
I had time for only one thought before I fell asleep again: Everything in the room seems smaller.
****
Tuesday morning, as soon as Harold Miller was out of bed, he went to his wallet and checked his driver’s license. It said he was 5′7″—he’d lost another inch overnight.
Which was certainly bad news. Worse news was when he noticed that his letter jacket was gone, replaced by a red-and-white “Plato Smith Panthers” windbreaker. A windbreaker that any PSHS student with twenty-five bucks could buy.
But Miller got the worst news of the morning a half-hour later, when he was in the bathroom shaving.
Chapter 10
Day 2: More Changes
Tuesday morning, I decided that I especially hated my alarm clock. But I got out of bed anyway—and discovered I was now 5′9″.
And I had muscles now. They weren’t bulgy or bulky; I looked “fit” instead of “strong.” But I no longer looked like a guy whom other guys could pick on.
In the kitchen, I felt panicky when Dad slapped me on the shoulder. He said, “Lucy, beware—a zombie walks among us.”
I thought, Oh no! Dad’s going to turn into my slave now! But nothing seemed to be happening with Dad. With Mom either, come to think of it.
Mom asked me, “Did you finish your homework, Sleepy Boy?”
“Some, not all. Didn’t even start Government. If Mr. Spinelli gives a pop quiz on the reading, I’m dead.”
“So what do you plan to do about that?” Dad asked.
I shrugged. “Tell Mr. Spinelli I didn’t start the homework. After that, it’s up to him.”
My parents exchanged approving glances. Then my mother got up and walked around the kitchen table. She hugged me, saying, “You prove yourself a man today.”
I tensed. Do her words have a sexual meaning? Will she become my slave now, just because she touched me?
By now she’d returned to her seat at the kitchen table. She saw me staring at her, and said, “Hello? You’re tired, but don’t sit there zoned out or you’ll be late! Do I need to spank your butt to get you moving?”
“No, Mom,” I said. As I walked to the sink to rinse my dishes, I was smiling with relief. Slaves, I was pretty sure, never threatened to spank their masters.
****
Janice Wesley was standing by her locked locker when I walked up to my own locker. “Hello, Marvin,” she said, turning to face me fully.
“Hey, Janice,” I said, distracted, as I swapped books between my book bag and my locker. As I was locking the padlock, I finally gave Janice a good look.
I smiled at her. “Wow, I really like the t-shirt and the jeans. You look good.” Both shirt and pants were light blue, and matched her eyes closely.
She said, “ ‘You look good.’ Is there anything you would like, um, to make me, you know, look better ?”
I sighed. “You will not like my answer.”
“Please, tell me! Don’t worry, I can get whatever money—”
I shook my head. “That’s just it. Drugs are ruining your body. Get clean and sober, and you’ll start to look better. This also means no dealing and no hooking.”
“I will,” she said. “Clean and sober, no dealing, no hooking, you got it. Anything else?”
“Skirts or dresses instead of jeans, and some kind of heels, those would be nice.”
“Okay, though how I’m gonna pay for those now, I don’t know. Marvin?”
“Hm?”
Now Janice looked scared. “I am not looking forward to the next few days. But if you say to get clean, I’m gonna do it. I don’t want you disliking me.”
The strange
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