Logging on, he went to his online broker and checked his stocks. Then he checked his mail, to see if any of his many love interests had responded to his emails.

     "Aha! Brittany!" Charles eagerly opened the message, thrilled that the blonde bombshell had responded. Charles read it aloud:

     "Dear Upchuck. Leave me alone, you no-class geek. Hate, Brittany. PS: Die, Pig."

     He jumped up, did a little victory dance, then sat back down, sighing happily. "Score! She called me dear! Yes! She's finally starting to crack!" The day was looking good.

     He started to write back, when his eye fell on the bottle. It was shaking. Cautiously, he walked over and touched the stopper, knocking the last of the wax seal off.

     With a loud 'pop' the stopper blew off and thick red smoke poured out, coalescing into...

     Charles blinked, then vigorously rubbed his eyes. He opened them again and gasped. "A woman!" Charles stood, slack jawed. "A sweet, beautiful, nubile woman!"

     As Charles goggled in stupified shock, The woman gave him a slow smile and walked a circle around him, aggressively checking him out. She was a redhead, dressed in a tiny harem costume, about eighteen and even better endowed than his favorite cheerleader, if that was possible.

     "What... How... Who ... Woah!" Charles swayed and almost fainted. She was leaning close to him, and he could see right down her top!

     She looked at him with a sly, intelligent expression on features that were otherwise eerily like Brittany's, twirled her hair and said, "Hiya, handsome. I'm here for you."

     "Gaw," he said intelligently, his mouth hanging open.

     She winced. "Now, now, let's not ruin a good thing, Stud."

     Charles blinked, in utter amazement. She had the cutest little horns that he'd ever seen, just peaking out of her fiery red hair. "You talk! What was in that smoke? I must really be out of it. A symptom of testosterone poisoning, perhaps?" Charles figured that as long as he was hallucinating, he might as well enjoy the trip.

     The demoness giggled. "I'm the D'jinn of the bottle, sweetie. I'm here grant three wishes to the owner of the bottle, and that's you, Hot Stuff!" She grinned, letting her eyes wander suggestively. It was amazing how they fell for this crap.

     "A wish?" He stared at her with wide, shocked eyes. "Holy shit!"

     "Ha! Keep it up, sugar! Now, remember, it's three wishes and three wishes only." Gold, perfect health and eternal youth. She smirked. That's what the smart guys all wished for. Any one would have him begging to give up his soul in hours. "Your wish, Hot Stuff?"

     He blushed. "I'm Chuckup- I mean, I'm Upchuck. Uhm, er, I mean, ummm. Um, Charles. What's your name?"

     "I'm Lura." She winked at him, slyly, then reached out and cupped his cheek. "Make a wish, pretty-boy." She was really hoping for a promotion to succubus, someday. She leaned in and kissed him, slipping him plenty of tongue. Pulling back after a lengthy period of osculation, she posed at him, demurely. "You can have anything... Master."

     Charles stared in shock. She seemed solid. "I'll be dammed!"

     "Right to business, then. Now think hard, Stud Muffin, what do you really want?" Her pupils gleamed red with amusement.

     He grinned at her. Charles' nihilist philosophy told him to shoot for the moon. "I wanna screw!"

     "Does that mean that I can have your body?" Her expression was hungry.

     Charles' grin slipped a little. "Hell yes!"

     Lura whooped. "Jackpot! We have a deal!"

     Ten hours later, Charles lay in bed, totally exhausted, staring at the ceiling. "Wow. That was just... unbelievable. Thanks for the wish, Lura."

     She smiled. He was ruined for all mortal women now. Stealing his virility had been fun. Even if he got out of his wish alive and intact, he'd soon be begging to give up his soul. She'd hadn't come across a sex drive that intense in centuries and now she was the only one that could ever give him what he needed again.

     Lura chuckled, throatily. She wasn't a first class demoness, but all that meant was that she tried harder. "Oh, believe me, it was my pleasure, Stud. That's a freebee, since you never actually wished. I've been... away, for a very long time." She'd really been in the mood. Idly, she wondered how long she could spin the collection job out. She stifled the notion. This was too important.

     "Uh, huh." He was beginning to think that she might be real, somehow, but he didn't believe her about the bottle. Hallucinations didn't usually have scars. "How did you get these?" He reached out and gently traced one of the fine white lines that crossed her back.

     "My father whipped me for running away from my husband." She glowered. "It was a business deal. He bought me for fifty dollars." She had been thirteen years old. She didn't mention drugging him, nailing him to the cabin floor and sacrificing him to the devil, or the fact that this had all happened back in 1738. She'd advanced rapidly in hell's bureaucracy ever since they'd burned her for witchcraft.

     "Fifty dollars?" Charles blinked, once again leaning toward delirium as an explanation. "What a deal! You're worth millions, Lura. That guy is an asshole."

     She smiled. "I honestly think that is the nicest thing that any man has ever said to me." It would almost be a shame to kill him, rip out his soul and enslave him for eternity, but she really liked doing it. He was vulnerable and every new slave made her that much more powerful. "He was a minister of the gospel. A respected man."

     He wasn't so respected now, down in the pit. She regularly tore him apart.

     Charles frowned, then rolled onto his back, laced his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. She must have gotten into one of those cults. Or else this was all a dream. Definitely a long, involved, ultra-detailed wet-dream. It had that disjointed, out-of-context feeling. Looking sidelong at the thin, stubby horns that protruded from the blazing red tresses, he shook his head. It obviously wasn't real, but... what the hell.

     "How could someone beat a sweet thing like you? Stick with me, Toots. I'll make sure that it never happens again." He hoped that the real thing was half as good.

     She scooted over to him, laying across his chest. "You're quite a stud. You must do pretty well with the ladies." She had trouble keeping a straight face, being used to the larger scale of her vain, shape-shifting demonic master. Charles wasn't really all that bad for a mortal though.

     He looked up at her and laughed, uneasily. She was staring at him with a hungry expression. "You'd think so, sweetmeat, but the chicks usually don't like the old Chuckster." He sighed. "All I have is dream-girls, like you."

     "Is there one over all of the others that you would like to see on her knees, begging for your touch? A wish could get you anyone that you want!" She nipped his chest, once again showing her small, razor-sharp fangs. Avidly, she began licking up the trickle of blood that she'd drawn. He tasted so good. Mystically speaking, he was a virgin, full of all the heady pleasures and powers that such a rare creature could bring to an enterprising demoness.

     Charles jerked, nervously. "Woah! This is a hell of a dream. Well... Nah. She'd eat me alive. There's another one that I've been trying to get close to since we were kids. She just hates me, though."

     "Hate is good. I can always work with hate." Lura traced his jawline with an errant finger, silently crisping the wispy hair away without burning the delicate skin.

     Maybe she should just drag him off now, thought the demoness. His involvement in the plot was tangential at best, and it could be millennia before the powers got around to punishing her. He was just so innocent. It made her want to do terrible things to him, over and over, until she'd wrung every speck of innocence out of him.

     Charles, glimpsing the hungry expression in her blood red eyes, jerked uncomfortably, the sweat popping free of his brow. "Ah, doesn't it seem a little hot in here to you?"

     Lura grinned, smelling his fear as she snuggled in and got even more intimate with him. This was more like it.

     "Not at all, sweetie. Why does she hate you? We could change all that with a wish, you know." She went on exploring the body. It definitely had potential. Maybe she could do some tweaking and set it all up so that things would go her way for once.

     He shrugged, eyes widening. Her skin was shading from pink to red. "I don't know, er, Lura. Most women hate me. It's a curse. A stud like me, and the women turn away. I just wish that I understood them, especially Brittany." He was babbling now. Her horns had grown, and small batwings had become visible on her back.

     "Oh, no!" She stiffened, angrily. He'd invoked the rules, and she had to get around it. Now she would have to go back to the main office for a while and shore up her position. This was a setback, but only a minor one. She'd hoped to have a little more fun, first. "You dammed idiot!"

     He looked into her upset eyes, felt a cold chill and flinched. "What's the matter, um, Luscious?"

     "Your wish is granted!" She ripped the pillow out from under his head and threw it at the wall. "Fuck!" Feathers and plaster from the broken wall floated to the ground.

     Charles gaped at the smashed wall, looked up at her and made a scared little sound. Lura's long white fangs were clearly visible now, and her eyes were a solid blazing red.

     Lura had really been looking forward to slowly, exquisitely breaking him to her will, then turning him into a willing demon-slave. Now he wouldn't even be the one that she could use directly. Worse, he wouldn't find out about his impotence for ages. Angrily, she reached out and touched his forehead.

     "OH! What are you..." He yawned. "What wish? I... uh." His eyes rolled up and he slumped, unconscious.

     "Fool." She kissed his lips and then used a delicate claw to slit his jugular vein. Avidly gulping down every drop of the delicious virgin blood, she felt him die.

     Quickly snaring the fleeing soul, she tucked it away for safe keeping and returned to her task.

     Pressing her lips to the slit vein, she vomited coal-black demon blood, gradually replacing every drop of his blood with hers and mystically taking possession of his body. Her ownership would only last until the Sabbath, but the changes that she made to the body would be permanent.

     Healing the punctured vein, Lura revived the empty body, bidding it to stand. Mystically speaking, it was hers. She could use her demonic powers of transformation on it without resistance or interference, while no one was home.

     Dropping her eyes, she smiled. He would be her slave as soon as the charade was over, and now was an excellent time to make a few big changes, while she could legitimately tap into her master's power. Applying her will, she forced a new template onto the body. It would slowly change into a hyper-masculine caricature of itself, a body ready for a true Demon Lord to inhabit.

     After death, that would be his default template. Charles would soon tire of powerlessness and give up his soul. He had real potential for evil. A slave like that could make her powerful enough to destroy her master, someday. Smiling, she made the soulless body get back into bed. It would be alright for a while, and Charles wasn't going to be using it for some time.

     Sighing, she went to locate her other victim. That one would have to be de-souled and collected too. Lura believed in being thorough. Too many demons cut corners. She examined the quiescent soul and grinned. He was about to really understand women.

     Daria sat up in bed, heart pounding. The nightmare had been terrible, but she didn't remember it. She felt a wave of dread that only got stronger as she sat in her bed. Getting up, she put on her glasses. Padding over and peering out of her window, her skin crawled. She felt like there was something that she should be doing. Getting her flashlight, she went to check on the house.

     Opening Quinn's door, she saw that everything was okay. She started to leave, but a sound stopped her. Padding over to the bed, she switched on her nearly dead flashlight. In the weak beam, Quinn was trembling violently, gasping and shuddering.

     Daria debated with herself, then shook Quinn awake. "Hey, wake up."

     Quinn bolted upright and seized Daria around the neck in a death grip. "Help! Daria, it's here!"

     "Urk!" Daria pried herself loose from her shaking sister and retreated to the foot of the bed, just out of hugging range.

     "It's okay, Quinn. Just a nightmare." She cleared her throat. "What's here?"

     Quinn shook her head, shuddering. "Something really bad." She looked at Daria. "Thanks for waking me up."

     "Not a problem. I had a nightmare too." Daria shrugged uncomfortably and looked at the clock. "Four AM. There's no way that I'm getting back to sleep tonight."

     "Do you want to do something?" Quinn didn't want to go back to dreamland either. "I won't try to make you over or anything. We could just play Nintendo or something like that until breakfast time."

     Daria hesitated, then nodded. She didn't want to be alone either, and the video game would keep her from having to talk to Quinn.

     They sat close together as they played, both tense, trying to forget the terror that had griped them.

     Brittany groaned as she was shaken awake. "Kevvie! What do you want?"

     "I want your body, Babe." Lura heard a noise and looked down. The idiot that she'd shoved under the bed was snoring like a buzz saw.

     "Kevvie, I'm trying to sleep!" Brittany rolled over, looked at him and frowned. He seemed different, somehow.

     "Don't you love me, Babe?" Lura kissed her and then examined the girl, appreciatively. Taking the illusion of Kevin's form was easy for a demon.

     "Um, sure." Brittany started to wake up. "What time is it?"

     "Time for love, Babe." Lura had seen the lie and it amused her to no end.

     "I guess so." Brittany rolled over the rest of the way and tried to stay awake.

     "Does that mean that I can have your body?" Lura watched her closely. The legal niceties had to be observed here.

     Brittany yawned. "Sure. Take me," she mumbled. Her eyes sagged closed and she began to drift off. A second later, her eyes bulged open. "OOOOH, KEVVIE!"

     Lura smirked. "Like that, Babe?"

     Brittany sat up on her elbows, eyes wide. "Yes! Oh, Kevvie, that was incredible! Where did you learn that?"

     "Hey, I'm the QB, Babe." Lura shifted her position slightly. "I get around."

     Brittany lay in bliss, then smacked her. "Why weren't you doing that before?"

     "I was only human. Want me to take you right out of your body?" Lura waited, impatiently.

     "What? Yes!" Brittany closed her eyes and hoped that this wasn't a dream.

     "Ready? Okay, then, Sweetness, here we go!" Lura touched her forehead and Brittany sagged into unconsciousness.

     Brittany's blood wasn't as good as Charles' had been, but it was still innocent blood. Brittany died without a struggle and was easily revived.

     Stuffing the soul in with the other one, she proceeded to make her changes to the revived blank body. She would own its reflection in hell, so she wanted it to be perfect.

     After she finished with the body, she eyed the snoring QB on the floor. He wasn't worth bothering with, so she just dumped him back into the bed.

     Opening her pouch, she groaned. The souls were stuck together. After spending an hour pulling them apart, she finally shoved the soul of Charles into the empty, nude body and arranged it in the bed next to Kevin.

     Looking at the resulting tableaux, Lura grinned and put a bat near Charles' side of the bed. She would have loved to be there when he woke up, but she couldn't stay that long.

     Kevin was on the fifteen yard line. The score was tied and the game was in overtime. His team was poised to score the winning point in the Superbowl, but he was the only one left alive.

     He looked toward the sidelines. Kevin's new babe, Andrea, waved back in her black cheerleader's costume. Her pom-pom's looked like big furry spiders. He hiked the ball to himself. Jumping into the line, he feinted and cunningly went for the sneak.

     The other team carried clubs and wore army helmets instead of football helmets. They were huge, with animal faces and merciless eyes. As they beat him into the turf, he briefly wondered why he was dressed as a sad, white-faced clown and all of the spectators had crow and jack 'o lantern heads. He put it out of his mind and concentrated on retrieving his head.

     Like usual, he just didn't have time to worry about stuff outside of the game.

     Charles was having a nightmare. He was wrestling a giant bear, a furry, stinking, slobbering beast that kept pinning him. The hideous growls of the beast were terrifying.

     Heart pounding and covered with sweat, he opened his eyes. Lura had her arms tightly wrapped around him, spooning him from behind, snoring like a chainsaw. His shoulder was wet where she had drooled all over him.

     He sighed, then stiffened. Lura's breath had been sweet, with just a tiny hint of sulfur, before. Those arms were curiously muscular and what the hell was that?

     Charles rolled over and came face to face with a scene of unimaginable, nightmarish horror.

     Wide eyed with sheer revulsion, Charles stared into Kevin's grossly repulsive face at nose-to-nose range. The rank breath and stubbled face froze the breath in his lungs. A little bit of drool ran from the slobbering maw and Charles totally freaked out.

     "Eeeeeeeeeeee!" Screaming like a girl, Charles catapulted himself away and then wildly clawed his way out of the blankets, gibbering and knocking over the nightstand.

     Kevin, in mid nightmare, bolted up to see his Babe clawing at the blankets and projectile vomiting on the floor. "Ugh!" He got up and hurriedly slipped into his pants. "What's the matter, Babe? You're not on the team."

     "Get the hell away from me!" Charles' eye lit on a softball bat in the corner. He snatched it up, moving so fast that he blurred.

     "Babe?"

     "Got you now, you faggot!" Charles swung murderously hard but over balanced and fell, missing when Kevin belatedly dodged. He felt curiously weak in the arms and he was trembling from the intense adrenaline rush. Springing to his feet, he advanced on Thompson, premeditating homicide. "You're dead you homo!"

     Kevin stared, then ducked as the bat whistled over his head, brushing his hair. That one would have split his skull like a melon.

     "Homo?" How did she find out about that? "But Babe, how was I supposed to know? I swear! I didn't know Yolanda was a transsexual! I was really drunk, and she-he, whatever, looked just like this really hot woman and- GOD! Aaaaaaaaaah! SHIT!" The bat had finally connected with his upper arm, nearly breaking it.

     "Who the hell are you callin' Babe, you queer?" Charles decided to feint right, then pulp the thick skull. He'd tried before, but he just couldn't catch his balance. He'd also noticed how oddly high his voice was. "You drugged me, you fairy! Oh, God. Not Lura! It was you!" He started heaving again, desperately trying not to faint with horror, remembering the narcotic smoke in his room. It must have some severe aftereffects.

     Kevin finally came to the correct conclusion that she was really going to kill him if he hung around. She was glaring at him with murder in her crazy, crazy eyes. "I'll see ya 'round when ya get all better, Babe!" he grabbed his shoulder pads and made a rolling dive out of the bedroom door, the swish of the bat fanning the air right behind his head. Running like a quarterback should, he dodged around obstacles and right out of the Taylor front door, making a clean getaway, raising his arms to accept the accolades of the imaginary crowd.

     "Die!" Heaving with an adrenaline overdose, Charles flung the bat after him, braining Kevin and knocking him out cold in the driveway.

     Charles thought about going out to finish the job, but felt the breeze on his unclothed body and turned instead, shuddering, back into the house. First, he had to find out what the hell was wrong with him, then find his clothes.

     Grimacing at the vomit taste in his mouth, he saw a bathroom and went in to rinse. Vaguely, he wondered where he was. He needed to find some clothes and get away.

     Charles filled up a paper cup from a handy dispenser, raised it to his mouth, water sloshing out from his trembling hands and halted in even greater shock.

     A naked Brittany stared at him from the large bathroom mirror, with liquid, horror-stricken eyes. He took one unbelieving look downward and then crumpled into an unconscious heap.

     Brittany stirred and reached for Kevvie, but he wasn't there. That was funny, she usually had to wake him up to get him out before the maid arrived to clean. She didn't need gossip getting back to Ashley. Ashley hated Kevvie because he reminded her of all of her ex-boyfriends.

     Reaching again, she sighed and stretched luxuriously. She'd dreamed that he'd woken her last night. He'd said that he wanted her body. Surprised that he would bother to ask, she'd agreed and then...

     Shivering, she opened her eyes and frowned at the strange ceiling. "Kevvie?"

     She felt very strange. Sitting up, she looked around. The room was large and unfamiliar. There were a few model planes hanging from the ceiling and an impressive collection of computers sitting on a long table against one wall. Bookshelves and posters of supermodels, some autographed, covered the walls. Motocross trophies and motorcycle helmets filled several shelves. An oscilloscope was running a strange pattern and a twisted looking bottle sat on top of a TV set in the corner. She'd been here before, during the science project...

     "Oh, God! I'm in Upchuck's bedroom!" The voice shocked her. What had she done to her throat?

     She threw the covers off and looked down, freezing. That was certainly new. "Oh no! I'm a man!"

     Like a person in a dream, she got up. "But... this can't be real." Looking in the bathroom mirror, she giggled, touching her face, then spent some time investigating some of her other unexpected features.

     "I'm Upchuck! God, he's hung like a horse! What a dream!" Investigating further, she started laughing at the weirdness of it all. "This is so wild!"

     Freshly showered and dressed, suppressing a crawling panic, Brittany started Upchuck's car and drove home. She'd never had such a realistic dream before, or driven home from one.

     Charles woke from his swoon to someone roughly prodding him.

     "Get up! Are you Upchuck?"

     He opened his eyes, inches away from his own face. "Gah! Gaaaaa! Wha! Woah! AAAAAAAAA-"

     Brittany slapped him. "Snap out of it! What did you do to me? Why is my room trashed?"

     "Where did Lura go? But you look like- Who are you? Who..." He put it together. He was in Brittany's body, so... "Oh. Brittany."

     "Yes, Brittany." Her face hardened. "What have you done to me, pervert?"

     "Nothing. Uh, it was Kevin." He shuddered, climbing to his feet. "I thought he was trying to... you know."

     Brittany laughed, having had time to work things out while staring at her unconscious body. "He did, you know. A lot. And you have a lot of pills, including a birth control pill to take now, Upchuck. Honestly, men have it so easy."

     Charles gagged, doubled over and tried to vomit again but there was just nothing left.

     "Ugh! Quit living up to your name. Clean all that up, wash, and then get dressed." She slapped him hard on the butt. "Move it, Upchuck! You can tell me what this is as you go. The maid will be here in half an hour. We need to figure out how to undo it. Summer school starts next Monday and I've got to be ready for class."

     "Ahh! Not so hard!" He scrambled to comply. "You're in summer school? Ugh, my head. I feel like I'm in a fog."

     "It's the pills. I take a whole bunch of 'em." Brittany looked into the mirror and marveled. Her mind was as sharp as a razor.

     "Why?" Charles looked at a pill bottle label, then set it down. "I uh... don't need this. I have a damn good reason to be depressed." He shook his head. "How... can you live all... drugged up like this? I feel like my head is just... gonna float away."

     Brittany shrugged. "I've always taken pills. Mom and dad made me start after I ran away."

     Her clear head was letting her think deeply, and it wasn't comforting at all. Steve and Vivian were terrible parents. As a child, she had been every bit as wildly rebellious as her brother Brian. Steve had dealt ruthlessly with the problem. Repeated visits to Dr. Petch had been the answer. She had been considered uncontrollable, so they'd just drugged her into a stupor. To the trauma of suddenly finding herself in the wrong body was added the trauma of realization. She had been terribly abused and much diminished by her involuntary drug regime.

     Twenty minutes later, after a terrible interlude spent explaining Lura's three wishes and learning the horrible truth about certain aspects of female hygiene, Charles was staring at a bra, attempting to bring his drug sodden cognitive functions to bear on the task at hand. "How... how the fuck do you put this thing on?"

     She slapped him again. Now that all of this was getting more and more real, it really pissed her off. "Don't you curse with my mouth. It's not hard, just like this. Hurry up."

     He awkwardly put on the bra, suppressing tears. He didn't understand it. He'd wrecked a dirt bike beyond salvage once and never shed a tear as they carried him off on a stretcher, covered in cactus spikes.

     She slapped a hand away from a breast. "Hands off of those, Upchuck."

     He flushed. "Sorry."

     She shrugged. "So, all you have to do is use a wish to turn us back?"

     He nodded. "Unless I'm totally crazy, in which case none of this is real."

     She punched him in the shoulder. "Now do you think you're real?"

     "Ahh! Quit that! You're not a girl any more. That hurts!" Groggy, humiliated and unable to control his emotions, Charles felt tears start to flow.

     "I am too a girl!" She looked at him in disgust. "Quit crying. All you do is cry, like a big baby. I'm the one that should be crying. I'm stuck in your worthless body, after all."

     Charles swallowed, and with great effort, pulled himself together. He wiped at his eyes, smearing makeup all over his face.

     "Idiot! Now you'll have to do the makeup all over again." Brittany felt a white-hot rage crawl across her consciousness and stamped. She blinked in surprise when the floor shook.

     "Ooooh! this is all your fault, Upchuck, and you are going to pay. I swear, if you're not dressed in ten seconds, it's really going to hurt."

     Charles got control and rapidly dressed.

     Brittany walked around him like a drill sergeant as he dressed himself to her specifications. "God, I'm hot. I never realized just how good I looked, before." She reached out and grabbed a handful, admiring the firmness.

     "Quit that." Charles shuddered.

     "You really think... Don't be so stupid." She looked at herself in the mirror. "This body isn't really that bad though, just kind of skinny and weak. How come you don't pump it up more? You're like, tall enough to be on the team, now. You even have some muscles. I'll bet that this body could be a QB, with some work." She didn't mention the body's other outstanding feature.

     "I, uh, work out a little in our weight room at home. But only for the ladies. I tried out as a freshman, but I was too clumsy. I just didn't like getting tackled. I like motocross better than football anyway." Charles finally got the skirt on straight.

     "Motocross? That's just riding around in circles. Football is war, all strategy and tactics. It's fun!" She frowned, and then narrowed her eyes. "If I was a man, I'd be the QB."

     Charles snapped out of the vegetative state that he kept drifting into and pulled himself together. "If I was a man, I'd be at home, wishing that I could get my hands on these. Don't get any ideas, Brittany. I don't want my body getting tackled by guys. I could get hurt." He finished dressing.

     She laughed, bitterly. "It's my body as long as I'm the one wearing it. They both are. Besides, I saw the trophies in your room. Do you really think that football is more dangerous than motorcycle racing? I hope you don't have any races coming up soon." She handed him the rabbit bag.

     Grimacing in distaste, he took it. "My dad saw me bite the dirt in a race last month and made me quit. Why do you carry this stupid thing?"

     "Because it's cute. I'm cute. And I'm gonna stay cute. Now move it, girl." Brittany roughly prodded him forward.

     "Don't call me girl." He stomped gracelessly out of the room, ahead of her, flinching when she moved too fast. "Jesus, what kind of shoes... Where are your parents?"

     Brittany shrugged. "Gone somewhere. My brother's with mom. Where are yours?"

     "My mom's dead. My dad's in Russia. He won't be back until October." Charles frowned as an unaccustomed wave of sadness hit, threatening to overwhelm him. "This stuff you take really..." He trailed off, losing his train of thought.

     "Lura, come out! Out, out, out, out, out!" Charles had the bottle's bejeweled stopper wedged into the jaws of a vice. He and Brittany were pulling as hard as they could on the slender neck.

     "It's stuck!" Brittany was flushed and furious. "Back the car in! We'll use that tow chain to get this thing open."

     "Good idea." Charles sidled away. She was really scary.

     He opened the garage door and backed the Audi in, while she tied a tow chain around the bottle. A minute later the vice, part of the bench that it was bolted to, part of the wall and the undamaged bottle were all on the garage floor.

     "Uh-oh. My dad's gonna kill me." Charles angrily suppressed tears. Why the hell was he crying all the time?

     "I'm gonna kill you." Brittany unclamped the bottle and started pounding it against the steel vice, ringing it like a bell. "Open up, you stupid thing! Open-open-open!" She was out of control.

     "Stop it! What if you break it and she just disa-" Charles never saw it coming when she backhanded him straight into blackness.

     "Uhhh." He woke, then sat up, astonished. "What happened?" He looked down and groaned. It wasn't a dream. The side of his head ached.

     Brittany stared at him, stonily. "I hit you," she growled. She was so angry that she could barely breath. Only the fact that he was wearing her form kept her from caving his head in with the bottle.

     Charles felt the side of his head. "Owww." He sniffled and to his utter humiliation, burst into tears. The drugs made his emotions surge, uncontrollably. "H- Hitting your own body won't help anything." He saw her eyes and uneasily backed up, crabwise, climbing to his feet.

     She stalked forward and grabbed his hair, forcing him back down onto his knees. "As long as I don't leave any visible marks, I can do whatever I want."

     Charles just hung there, afraid to move or talk. She was bigger and much stronger.

     "You can call the cops, of course." She smiled. "I'll admit everything and more. I'll confess to every crime I hear about. When we switch back, you'll be the one in trouble."

     "I'm sorry," he whined. "I didn't do it on purpose. I didn't wish to switch bodies. All I wished was that I understood women, I think. Can't we just work this out?"

     He flinched as she tensed, her eyes filled with wild rage.

     "Please! You have to control yourself. The body's doing this to you. Getting mad is too easy. It didn't matter so much when you were a girl, but if you lose it and hit someone now, you will go to jail." Charles swallowed, hunched down and covered his face, hoping that an obvious show of submission would mollify her.

     "No, you will. But I don't have to hit anyone else. I can hit you whenever I want, Babe." Contemptuously, she shoved him away.

     "What?" He sprawled on hands and knees, then cautiously backed away.

     "I mean that I'm not spending my life as some loser. You're going to help me." She stalked out of the garage, carrying the bottle. "Come on. Hurry up, stupid!"

     Cautiously, he trailed after her, cursing the body's emotional reaction to pain and wiping away fresh tears.

     Putting the bottle back on the TV, Brittany lounged back on the bed. "I don't know how long this could last, but this is how it's going to be, mister. You keep going out with Kevvie this summer to maintain my popularity. I buff up and start coming to the parties. I'm going out for football next year. When I make the team, I'll become QB. You'll drop Kevvie and start going with me. That way when we switch back, I won't lose a thing." Brittany, in deep denial, was desperately trying to think of a way to maintain her place in the world.

     "I'm not going out with any guy." Charles shuddered. "Especially not with Thompson." He just wanted to curl up into a ball, roll under his bed and scream until it all went away.

     Quick as a flash, she had him on the bed, Both arms pinned over his head and a knee between his legs, glaring into his eyes. "Look, Upchuck, you freak, you'll do what I tell you, when I tell you and with whoever I tell you. That's my body and my life that you stole with your stupid magical bottle. I own it and I own you while you're in it." She slapped him several times, to emphasize her words.

     After a futile struggle, Charles swallowed, staring up into his own eyes, wondering if he'd always looked so harshly predatory to the women he hit on. No wonder they always shot him down.

     The thought firmed up his resolve. That body wasn't so tough. It had taken no for an answer, plenty of times. Scraping up all of his bravado and mustering his small store of courage, he put on a confident front. Whatever happened, she wouldn't risk permanently hurting her own body.

     He cleared his throat and quavered, "No way, toots. I'm strictly a ladies man."

     Her mouth dropped open and her eyes ignited with homicidal fury. "Toots?" She was panting with rage. "You dare to call me toots, after what you've done to me?"

     He closed his eyes in abject terror. He'd glimpsed something in her eyes, an odd expression, something that he'd never seen before. She was really going to murder him.

     Brittany paused, feeling an unwelcome pang of respect. He was as white as a sheet and shaking like a leaf with his eyes clenched shut, but as frightened as he was, he clearly wasn't going to budge.

     "You're not thinking of making me into a lesbian, are you?" Brittany sneered, letting him up. What did he call her back in seventh grade? "Are you, Lambchop?" She backed off, before he soiled himself.

     Charles peeked at her, then opened his eyes, "Don't call me Lambchop!"

     He got his shuddering under control and cringed away from her, crab-walking off of the bed. "I'm not thinking anything except to get back where I belong. Especially not sex."

     He just felt nauseous. "I hate this. How can you think or do anything through this... fog?" He started weeping and edged toward the door. Brittany was looking at him with that weird gleam again.

     She moved to cut him off. "I don't know. When the medication wears off you'll start freaking out even worse, though." She grinned. It was terrible, but he was finally going to get what was coming to him. She looked him up and down, leering theatrically. "Hey, speaking of fog, how many hours a day do you usually think about sex, Lambchop?"

     "Dammit! My name's not Lambchop! And I usually think about sex if I'm awake." He shuddered and wiped at his tears. "God, my head. I hate this! Quit looking at me!"

     "What else can I call you?" Brittany frowned, looking away. She suddenly felt dreadfully guilty. She'd really enjoyed beating and terrorizing him and that just wasn't right. It wasn't really his fault. The thing in the bottle had gotten them both. Brittany looked back at him, with a tiny bit of concern. He was getting sick from withdrawal, almost unable to function. If he followed the pattern, he'd soon be a sobbing ball of nausea.

     Charles pulled a tee shirt from the floor by the bed and wiped his face off with it. "I'm sorry that this happened." He put the shirt over his mouth, fighting the dry heaves.

     She frowned and pushed a garbage can over to him. "I can't call you Upchuck anymore, in public. If we tell anyone, they'll just take the bottle away for themselves. No one else would waste a wish changing us back. Not when they could live forever, or get rich."

     Charles nodded. "Whatever," he said, tiredly.

     Brittany smiled, unpleasantly, and got some revenge. "What about Britty? Britty's your new public name. I really hated being called Britty Britty Big Tittys, but you don't mind, do you, Lambchop?"

     Charles swallowed. He'd gone through a period of retaliating in kind for his awful nickname. Clearly Brittany hadn't forgotten who had come up with some of hers.

     "I don't care." He looked as unconcerned as possible, trying to rob her of her petty victory.

     Brittany smiled, maliciously. "Good! So, Britty Tits, what are we going to call me?"

     A few choice names came to mind, but today just wasn't a good day to die. He thought about it. "How about Charlie?" He hated that name. It was what his father called him.

     She nodded. "It's better than Upchuck."

     He shrugged, unconvinced. Upchuck might be bad, but he had become inured to it. At least it was real. Charles was his father's name. He'd earned the name Upchuck and unlike the one that he'd been stuck with, it meant something.

     He grimaced. "Charlie and Britty. Ugh. I'm hungry."

     She narrowed her eyes, playfully. "For what, Lambchop?"

     He almost threw up again. "For food, Britty."

     "Charlie." She gave him a warning look that silenced his sarcastic retort and made him look away. Brittany was getting back at him, while she could.

     Daria Morgendorffer sat at the intersection and swallowed. Traffic was moving so fast. Didn't they know how dangerous it was? She looked up at the light, saw it turn green, and sat.

     "Hey, the light's green." Jane looked at her, curiously. Daria hated driving.

     "Just a second." Daria sighed, impatiently.

     An IROC Mustang screamed through the intersection, an unmarked police car in hot pursuit, narrowly missing the nose of a Buick that had tried to go around Daria.

     Daria pulled out, shooting the driver of the Buick a scathing glare. "He would have been dead if we'd just gone."

     Jane looked at her and swallowed. "How did you know?"

     Daria smiled, slightly. "I heard the siren. Having poor eyesight, and a sibling that doesn't torture guitars for fun and profit ensures that my sense of hearing is a little bit above average."

     Jane looked at her thoughtfully. It was true that blind people had better hearing, and it was true Daria was very close to blind without her glasses. But for the life of her, Jane couldn't remember a siren.

     "Daria, you're really spooky sometimes." She looked at her erstwhile friend in a sidelong fashion.

     Daria nodded, her eyes on the road. "Everyone says that to me, eventually."

     Jane hunched her shoulders. "I didn't mean-"

     "Nothing to do with Tom." Daria looked at her friend and sniffled.

     Jane smiled, in a hurt way. "Eyes on the road, Daria. We wouldn't want to damage the precious Tank."

     Daria swallowed. "If you want to drive-"

     "I'm not insured." Jane knew that Daria's license was insured. Any car that she drove was covered.

     Daria glanced back at the sleeping musician in irritation. "How about sleeping beauty?"

     "Too dangerous. They we're up all night after their gig." Jane smiled fondly at her comatose brother. "Believe me, Daria, you don't want Trent driving when he's tired." Jane glanced at Daria, then looked back at the snoring heap that was her brother and sighed. She wished that Trent could have driven her to the art colony, but in spite of her anger at Daria, she needed a ride.

     "Will you ever forgive me?" Daria said it in a small voice. "I would rather have you as a friend than Tom as a boyfriend, Jane. I wish that he'd never met either one of us."

     "Don't," said Jane, coldly. "I said that you can have the son of a bitch. Don't press me on this right now, Daria."

     Daria nodded, hunching her shoulders and looking unbearably sad.

     Jane looked over, rolled her eyes and sighed. "Lighten up, Daria. We're friends. It'll be okay. Just ixnay onea Omtay for a while."

     Behind them, Trent opened one eye slightly and smiled. It was hard feigning sleep when he'd already slept almost eighteen hours, but Jane needed to talk to Daria.

     Daria looked at Jane gratefully and smiled. "Thanks."

     "Yeah, yeah." Jane waved it off. "So, are you going to be ready to party tonight?"

     "Me?" Daria wrinkled her brow. "That reminds me, guests of the band or not, just how are we going to get into this place? It's a bar, Jane. We're under twenty-one."

     Jane smiled and handed her a Florida driver's license.

     "Daria Lane? Age twenty one?" Daria looked at her, equally impressed and irritated. "You promised, Jane."

     Jane smirked. "Just a little joke, Daria. You needed a name that you could spell and remember. Forgery is an artist's bread and butter."

     "Huh. What's your new name, outlaw?" Daria smirked back at her friend, relieved that they were starting to get along better.

     "Jane Dillinger." Jane smiled. "I'll never forget that."

     "It hurts... ithurtsithurtsithurts. Oh, God, I'm going to be sick again." A near-naked Charles just made it to a bathroom. He'd managed to puke on nearly every item of clothing that Brittany owned, much to her disgust. In the interest of cleanliness, he'd just dispensed with everything but panties. Modesty didn't make much sense, given the circumstances.

     "You need to take your pills, Lambchop. You'll just keep getting sicker if you don't." Brittany came in, concerned. He wasn't really doing any better. It had been days, and he was sicker than ever. She was worried that he might die. What would happen to her if he died? He was so pale...

     "No pills... sweat it out." He groaned, then collapsed on the bathroom rug, delirious and shaking.

     Brittany caught him right before he cracked his skull on the bathtub. "I ought to just shove them down your stupid throat, you stupid... Rutheimer."

     "No!" Charles thrashed in her arms. He was determined to get the fog out of his head. He couldn't think and he hated it.

     "God! Don't get it on me!" Brittany turned on the shower, hoisted him into the tub and washed him again. Drying him, she carried him back to the bed, laid him on the plastic sheet and emptied the vomit from the wastebasket next to the bed. Then she got a damp rag and sat next to him, patting the sweat from his forehead as he fought the addiction.

     Charles sat in summer school. He was still feeling very woozy from withdrawal symptoms, but the hard part was over. Brittany had been taking such a cocktail of psychotropic drugs for her supposed behavioral problems that he was surprised and impressed that she had been able to function at all.

     "Alright." The teacher, a temp named Lacrosse, looked around at the apathetic boneheads and chalked up an equation. It was time to make an example. "Who can come up here and factor this for me? He picked the ravishing blonde, who wasn't paying the least bit of attention. Maybe he could interest her in some one on one tutoring over some wine coolers tonight.

     "Brittany?"

     Everyone looked at Brittany, smiling in anticipation. Doris tittered.

     Charles was still feeling pretty bad. He was also preoccupied with his problems and didn't respond.

     "Brittany?" Lacrosse frowned. Was she on something? Cool!

     Doris reached out and poked her. "Like, that guy wants you to go up and do the math problem."

     "What? Oh." Charles walked up and stared at the board.

     "Problem?" Lacrosse grinned as the class tittered.

     Charles shot him a contemptuous look. "No chalk, Lacrosse."

     "Oh, excuse me." Sarcastically, he handed her the chalk. Bitch, he thought.

     Charles rapidly wrote down the answer, omitting any written steps. He was good at math. He'd also picked up on Lacrosse's attitude. He already noticed how hostile men got when he acted naturally. A pretty blond cheerleader with a man's attitude provoked fear and hostility among most men. It helped to explain Brittany's deeply ingrained helpless act.

     "You want to tell me how you got that answer?" Lacrosse suspected that she had a calculator back at her desk.

     "It's just a trinomial." Charles rapidly diagrammed the steps.

     "Uh, huh." Lacrosse stared into her cold, agate-hard eyes and suppressed a shiver. There was no hint of femininity there. None whatsoever." Thank you, Ms. Taylor. Please sit down."

     "Like, how did you do that." Doris was awed.

     "Like, I read the chapter and did the practice problems," mocked Charles. Three or four years ago, he thought. He shook his head. Better not to think of what would happen to his academic standing if she ended up taking his place during senior year. He shuddered.

     Brittany, clad in Charles's gym clothes, furiously worked out on the Universal gym in the Ruttheimer weight room. It was an impressive place, easily as good as the one at LHS. She felt the burn in all of her muscles. She was bulking up at an incredible rate. Somehow, she was even growing taller. Every day she measured herself and found that the body had grown another quarter inch.

     Charles guessed that it was a byproduct of the magic, but Brittany was elated. She was already taller than Kevvie, and soon she would be taller than Mack. Maybe she could even go pro after college, if she got stuck this way.

     It was good to be free of the medication, to be able to think and speak clearly. Charles had shocked her with his sheer willpower, quitting the way he had. She was ashamed of herself for not trying. Deep down, she realized that she just didn't have it in her.

     Charles was really kind of impressive. He did an amazing amount of business over the internet, selling collectibles and hard to find electronic equipment. He'd been blindsided by his usual suppliers and business contacts outright refusal to do business with a woman.

     It had shocked Brittany to see such blatant discrimination, but she had agreed to do the talking, in exchange for half of the profit. He had been coaching her in the art of the deal, while she taught him to pass as a girl.

     Flexing her muscles, she smiled. When they switched, he would be getting a tremendous bargain, but so would she, in the form of a drug free body. After watching him eat though, she knew that her body would be lucky to be anywhere near what it should be when he was done with it.

     Grimacing, she decided that he was going to have to start her exercises before he got too far out of shape. He'd probably snivel and whine all day about that, too. She could teach him cheerleading, aerobics and yoga, to start.

     Quinn sat staring at David. He wasn't a hunk, but he had something. What was it?

     David looked up from his reading and saw her staring again. He swallowed. She was just so incredibly cute. Firming his resolve, he rebuked her for not paying attention to her work. She was only seventeen. He had to stay professional, no matter what.

     Avoiding her hurt eyes, he told himself that he would just get hurt if he weakened. She would totally own him in seconds, and shallow girls like Quinn weren't known for their gentleness when it came to breaking hearts.

     Charles was in the math lab, helping his friends. It was horribly ironic. He'd always wanted a lot of girlfriends and now he'd gotten his wish, in spades. He was really popular.

     "Okay, Dor. All you have to do is find the two numbers that are the factors of the last term and the sum or difference to the middle term." Charles looked into her face and felt a sinking sensation. She just didn't get it.

     "Uh-huh." She stared at the paper, blankly.

     Charles racked his brain. Why didn't she understand? "The middle term is two and the last term is fifteen. What are the factors of fifteen?"

     Doris looked at him, confused. "Ten and five?"

     He smiled. He could see what her problem was, now. "Factors are the roots of a number. Like the factors of six are six and one or three and two. What you did was a sum. Want to try again?"

     Doris clapped her palms together and squealed. "Oh! Numbers multiplied together to make the last term! Three and five?"

     "Great! And to get the middle term..."

     "I see! If you subtract it, it's two!" She smiled at him. "God, Brittany, you're really smart."

     "Yeah, well, don't let it get around." He smiled back and winked at her, hoping that it wouldn't hurt Brittany's social standing with her regular friends. Turning away from her, he came face to face with a shocked looking DeMartino.

     He swallowed and walked past the staring man. "Hiya, Mr. D."

     "Brittany?" DeMartino goggled in amazement.

     "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But then, it's turning out to be one hell of a strange old world. See ya 'round, Mr. D." Charles picked up his books and left, grinning.

     Kevin was waiting in the parking lot. His new girlfriend had gone on a trip with her family and he hadn't gotten laid in days. He smirked when Brittany came out. She was looking good.

     Kevin walked up to her, strutting, anticipating a long night of making up. "Hey, Babe!"

     "Shit!" Charles recoiled like he'd been slapped. "Don't call me that! What do you want, you stupid-" Charles, with great effort, swallowed his hate. Kevin was so big. "Thompson?"

     Kevin shifted from foot to foot, a little stunned. "I just want to like, give you a ride home and... you know, see you."

     "I don't want a ride home from you." Charles blanched in horror. He sounded just like Brittany.

     Kevin smiled. He'd been through this a hundred times, and it always ended up in bed. "Aww, Babe."

     "Aww, drop dead. Go find Yolanda, your nice transsexual friend." He turned on his heel and walked toward Brittany's Miata, nose in the air, unaware of the parody of feminine outrage that he was carrying off.

     "Don't talk about that!" Kevin looked terrified as he followed. How had she found out? "It wasn't my fault! What am I suppose to do, check them all for a...?"

     Charles stopped, turned at his car door and laughed. "I don't care what you do, Lothario. Haven't you ever heard of the Adam's apple? My advice is to give them a drink and then watch the throat when they swallow."

     "Huh? Who's this Lot Harry-o guy?" Kevin wondered what she was talking about.

     "Look it up, dumbass." He got into the car and pulled away.

     Kevin shrugged, dismissing her. To hell with that crazy bitch anyway. He was the QB!

     Kevin turned toward his jeep and paused. "Hey, Lela! Wanna come to the beach with me?" Her rack wasn't up to his usual standard, but she had a nice ass.

     Lela had been watching the whole thing. "Ewww. No!"

     Brittany sat in the easy chair and watched a rerun of Melrose Place. She sighed disconsolately, bored almost to tears. A functioning brain could be a real burden.

     In the weeks following the catastrophe, Both Brittany and Charles had been staying at the Ruttheimer house from necessity. At first, she had been forced to nurse him through the withdrawal symptoms, then she had been forced to watch over him during the terrible period of depression that had followed.

     Brittany idly flipped through the channels and thought about the harrowing time that she'd had just keeping him alive. Charles had fallen into a spiral that she was sure would have led to suicide if she hadn't been there watching him.

     She wondered if it was just the addiction dragging him down, because she felt fine. A sex change was something that she could take in stride, after a few angry days.

     Frowning, she paused on a war documentary. Maybe that was it. Charles just didn't get mad the way that she did. Of course, Charles had lived a much easier life than she ever had. He just wasn't as tough as she was, mentally. She knew how ho cope with trouble. He'd reacted to the disaster by folding up.

     Brittany turned off the TV and stared out of the window. Being stuck with someone who was falling apart hadn't exactly been easy on her, but there had been some good times, too. Without the constant crude sexism, Charles was had occasionally proven to be pleasant person to be around. She'd never just talked to anyone like that, before, with no agenda or purpose.

     Mercifully, the doorbell rang.

     She opened the door to a punch in the face.

     When Brittany's vision cleared, a type that she immediately identified as geek, subspecies computer, stood over her.

     "You dirty rotten bastard!" He glared at her, furiously.

     Brittany sprang up, shock and murderous fury vying for dominance. "Who the hell are you and what are you doing?"

     He sneered at her. "I'm Mills Dorn. Lucy's brother."

     Brittany stared back without comprehension. "Lucy?"

     Mills flipped. "I'm gonna kill you!"

     Brittany saw a boot looming large and grabbed it. A quick pull, twist and shove had her kneeling on her assailant's back. She grabbed his hair and began slamming his face into the walkway. "Why (slam) are (slam) you (slam) doing (slam) this?"

     "Urgh! You knocked up my sister!" Dazed, he struggled weakly in her iron grip.

     Brittany let go and sprang to her feet in shock. "Oh, no!"

     "Oh, yes." He rolled over, scuttled away, lurched to his feet and glared. "She's only fifteen! She says that you drugged her!"

     "Me!" Brittany stepped back. "He- I wouldn't do something like that!"

     Mills lurched, spat blood and sneered, "She says it was you."

     Brittany shook her head. "NO!"

     "You shit!" Mills spun on his heel and staggered away. "Let's see what the cops say!"

     "Whatever. I didn't do it." She watched him go, heart pounding. "Oh, Upchuck. What have you gotten me in to?" She had to get out for a while. Looking in the mirror by the door made her feel ill.

     Charles pulled Brittany's Miata up to the gas station and got out, to fill the tank. To late, he noticed that there were five rough looking men all getting out of a van in the next fueling lane. They were all staring at him. Flushing, he started looking around, trying to locate the gas cap.

     "Need some help, sweets?" The biggest of the bunch was grinning at him, next to the pump.

     "No, I, uh, got it." Charles suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He went back inside the car to release the door flap that concealed the gas cap. When he got out, the man, a beefy red haired guy of about twenty-five, was standing there in his way, grinning at him. Charles bristled.

     "Hey there, honey. Want me to put the nozzle in, for you?" He ground his hips suggestively, his rank breath blasting beer fumes all over a revolted Charles.

     Charles flushed. "No." He reached for the pump, but he was blocked.

     "Come on, sweet thing. Why you so stuck up? You like to handle nozzles? Let me pump you." His hand brushed across Charles's butt.

     "Stop it!" Charles scowled, whirling. This was intolerable.

     "Oh, so you're a dyke! Don't worry, we can cure you." He laughed with his friends, who were gathering around.

     Charles looked at them and felt a sudden sick terror. They were like a pack of dogs and he was wearing a cat's body. This wasn't good. The van's side door was open. They could have him in there in a second. He slowly backed toward his car door, whirled, and ran into another man from the same group.

     The roughneck grabbed the apparent girl around the waist, lifting her feet off of the ground. "What's a matter, Sweets? Couldn't stay away? You can enter my personal space, anytime."

     Charles flushed. He'd used that one, himself. Hell, he'd used them all. He beat his fists ineffectually against the man's shoulders. "Just let me by!"

     "Sure!" He laughed, hands running up and down the girl's body. "Give us a kiss first, dollface." He grabbed the blonde's hair, rammed his knee up between her legs, pinned her up against the side of the van and kissed her, forcing his tongue into her mouth.

     At first, Charles was paralyzed. Then he savagely bit down on the invading tongue, just as hard as he could.

     The man yowled and threw the girl off, spitting blood.

     Spitting, gasping and wiping his mouth, Charles darted past the laughing men and pelted into the convenience store, waiting there with a pounding heart, until they'd left. The defective-looking clerk just stared at him all the time, with reptilian, lust filled eyes. He left low on gas, feeling hunted.

     Charles pulled up in front of his house, still badly frightened. Trembling, he rested his head on the wheel, then wiped his eyes. Checking his face in the mirror, he took a careful look around before getting out of the car.

     Brittany was asleep on the couch when he came in. He took a long, unbelieving look, then shook her awake.

     "What the h-" He remembered that she didn't approve of cursing.

     "What have you done?" His body was dressed all in black, black jeans, a black tank top and black paratrooper boots. A faded, armless Levi jacket was flung across the back of the couch. But worse than anything was his hair. He had a bristly punk stubble in front with a longer fan of purple hair running down the back. The nose and earrings didn't help either.

     "Tell me you didn't get any tattoos. My dad's gonna totally freak."

     Brittany woke up and looked at him for a minute, without recognition. Then she sat up. "You!"

     "Yeah." He sat down with a sigh. "M- me."

     "Do you know Lucy Dorn?" Brittany was frowning at him. He was trembling, and his face was red. Was that a slap mark on his skin? How did he tear the skirt?

     "Lucy? Yeah. I met her at a party." He shrugged. "She's just a kid."

     Brittany felt her anger recede. She could read him like a book and there was no guilt on his face. He wasn't concerned about Lucy. "How well, Lambchop?"

     "Will you please quit calling me that? We talked for a few minutes, then she went off with some guy." He swallowed and tried to get his mind off of the gas station.

     Brittany relaxed. "Her brother Mills came over, accusing you of giving her ecstasy and knocking her up." Brittany looked cocky. "I had to beat him up."

     "What! I didn't do it, but I think I know who did. It was that guy, Marvin Block, from the Oakwood track team." He frowned, feeling an enormous upwelling of sympathy for the poor girl. Men were just pigs, only interested in one thing.

     "Huh. Well, she's telling people that it was you." Brittany felt a lot better. She got up and hung up her jacket. "We'd better do something about this."

     Charles shrugged. "What? You could call her, but then it's her word against yours. She was so wasted that I'm surprised that she remembers me at all. We'll just have to wait for a DNA test."

     Brittany shook her head. "I'll call Mills and tell him your story. Maybe he'll look into it." She looked at the clock. "You need to be ready to go to my house, tonight. Daddy should be calling at eight."

     "Ugh." Charles wasn't exactly looking forward to that conversation. "I, uh, need my keys."

     "What? You can't drive your car. What would people think, seeing me driving your car around?" She stared at him, suspiciously. Something wasn't right.

     "The Miata's really low on gas." Charles looked up at her, then sullenly averted his eyes.

     "Well, get some gas then!" She shook her head in exasperation.

     "I guess I could." He licked his lips, then swallowed, fear plain on his face.

     She stared at him for a minute and he looked away, flushing.

     "What's the matter?" She walked over to him, looking closely, noticing a red mark on his face. He'd been hit. She felt a gust of rage, but hid it.

     "N-nothing. It was just some guys at the gas station. I'll get going now." The humiliation was so intense that he felt faint. He quickly made for the door.

     She grabbed his wrist, effortlessly spinning him around and stopping him. "Tell me everything that happened." It wasn't a request.

     Haltingly he explained, feeling alternately silly and terrified.

     Brittany just looked at him, pityingly. "You're totally defenseless, Lambchop. You've just got no idea of how to handle yourself in a man's world."

     Charles grimaced. "I am a man!" Yeah, right, he thought, despairingly

     Brittany cocked her head, evaluating his mood, a bit relieved to see that he had some backbone left. "Okay Mr. 'Man,' I'd better come along with you, then. We can work on teaching you some basic survival tactics tomorrow."

     Shamefaced, he couldn't help a sigh of relief. "Okay." He twisted away from her comforting arm, then with a sinking feeling of resignation, trailed along after her.

     "That's cute!" Brittany smiled. The low-pitched voice just couldn't do it right. "Now say it."

     "That's cute." Charles yawned. He was getting even with her for jeering at him over being afraid to go back to the gas station. He was grateful that she'd come, though. He would never have gone back alone. Seeing her rough up the clerk and get him fired had been very satisfying.

     "No, say it with enthusiasm! Honestly, you're worse than Daria." Brittany looked at the clock, anxiously. Her father would call soon and they couldn't avoid him anymore.

     "Daria?" Charles smirked. She'd finally picked up on his imitation.

     "Yeah. She can't do perky, either." Brittany sighed. "Look, all you have to do is speak in an ascending tone. Like a little kid. A stupid little kid."

     "But... why? It sounds so stupid! You don't even talk that way, anymore." Charles grinned. He was a natural mimic. Doing the bimbo version of Brittany was easy.

     Brittany grinned back. "Rrrrowl. That was good. Now we can move on to some... cheerleading moves. I bounce more, when I walk." Two could play at the imitation game.

     Charles smirked. Her imitation was terrible. "What a guy! I'm smitten. Tell me, if you can shave part of my head, get me pierced, change my whole style and spend my money freely, why do I have to look and act exactly like you did?"

     She grabbed his chin and twisted his head around to face her, suddenly a little bit angry. "Because you wished it, sweetie. Now grab those pompoms. If I see one ounce of fat on my butt, you're going to regret it."

     Luckily, the phone rang.

     "Britty! How's the house?" Steve Taylor sounded preoccupied.

     "Red." Charles flinched as Brittany poked him.

     "What?" Steve was puzzled. "Is my stuff alright?"

     Charles shrugged. He had no idea. "Everything's fine. A-ok, just like you left it."

     "A-ok? Are you taking your pills?" Steve felt that something was different.

     "Yes." Charles scowled, feeling sharp resentment. Steve Taylor been the one that had gotten Brittany addicted, after all. It'd taken him weeks to sweat it out. Now he was only taking vitamins.

     "Good! Be sure to set the alarm when you go out." The sound of laughter came through behind him. "I'm on Bob Merkle's yacht, off of Bimini!"

     Charles sat up, with interest. "Bob Merkle? The internet billionaire?"

     Steve was amazed that she knew who it was. "Yeah. This could mean a fortune!" Steve kept up a good front, but he was close to broke.

     "Well, good luck." Charles had amused himself by reading some of Steve's proposals. Taylor obviously had no real talent, relying on political connections and government contracts, instead.

     "If this comes off, we'll get you that nose job that you wanted!" Steve was elated. "We'll be rich!"

     "What?" Charles had an extreme aversion to surgery. "That's okay."

     Brittany poked him again.

     "W-ow!" Charles doubted it. According to the newsfeeds, Merkle's companies were folding up under the stress of unprofitability.

     "Thanks, Britty. Catch ya later!" Steve Taylor hung up.

     "You totally suck as an actress." Brittany shook her head in disgust.

     "Actor, goddamn it!" Charles narrowed his eyes at Brittany. "I totally suck as an actor. Why would you ever want a nose job? This nose is perfect."

     Brittany looked at his nose and shrugged. "I always thought that it was a little too big, but it looks really good, now."

     "I always said that you were the prettiest girl around, Brittany." Chares reached up and pinched her nose. "Just don't bob mine. I happen to think that it's very handsome."

     Brittany laughed, grabbed him by an arm and a leg and twirled him around, finally holding him over her head, shrieking and laughing, for an airplane ride. "Don't be so grabby, cheerleader-boy. Now what's it worth to you to get down?"

     Charles finally quit laughing. "I kind of like it up here. Feeling tired yet?" He yawned, then smirked down at her and pinched her nose again.

     Brittany smiled up at him. "You? What do you weigh, ten pounds? I could hold you up like that for a week." She started 'flying' him around the house, pretending to drop him.

     Charles started getting tired from holding his body rigid, so he tickled her until she put him down. Lighting gracefully on his feet, he pinched her nose and ran.

     Brittany bellowed and pounded after him, catching up to him at the hot tub.

     He stayed on the opposite side as she tried to catch him, using feints, sudden heroic leaps over it and reverses until a combination of giggling and dizziness caused him to miscalculate and be snared.

     Brittany lifted him back up and spun him, until he laughingly begged for her to stop. Then they sat on some deck chairs, drank tea and looked up at the stars.

     "Does he always call you to check up on his things?" Charles looked at her, sadly.

     Brittany shrugged, unperturbed. "They mean a lot to him."

     Charles sighed. "I'm sorry. My dad's exactly the same way. He travels around all the time on business and then comes home to check on his things and 'straighten me out.'"

     "He... just is like he is. I can't change anything so it's better to try and like it. I hated Ashley, then decided that she wasn't going to go. I had to accept her, or it'd mean another visit to the doctor." Brittany smiled, bitterly. "She's actually pretty nice. Mamma always told me to just keep smiling and everything will be fine."

     "Cause if you start cryin', you'll never stop." He smiled back. "I've been there, before." He looked startled. He wasn't feeling so bad anymore.

     They held each other's gaze for a beat to long, then they flushed, looking away. Charles reached over and held her hand, trying to convey his sorrow and solidarity.

     Jane was in a nightclub called Moogs, fifty miles away from home, looking for trouble. She'd blown off the art colony, after seeing what a bunch of crap it was. The only girl there that was even slightly nice had turned out to be predatory, bisexual and mean. Jane was just glad that she hadn't drunk much wine that night

     "Hey!" The guy that she had been dancing with all night, Mike, grinned at her. "Want to go for a ride?"

     Jane laughed. "No way, Buster."

     He scratched his head. "Well, how about if we just hang out till dawn, then?"

     Jane's jaw dropped. "Now that's a pretty bold proposition, Mikey."

     He shrugged, flushing. "I just meant for talking. It's just that you're so beautiful and all. After tonight, I'll never see you again. What the hell."

     Jane frowned. "Oh? Why do you say that?" She liked him and had planned to leave him her number.

     He smiled, excitedly. "This is my last chance for a road trip, Jane. Next year, it's straight to MIT for me, so I have to go now. It's going to be wild. I'm going to hit every big rock concert in the country, and visit as many states as I can!"

     Jane was at loose ends and loaded, having browbeaten a refund of her mother's excessive tuition out of the art colony. She looked at him and his wide, habitual smile decided things. "So tell me more, my excellent friend."

     Brittany sat at the Ruttheimer dining table and worked at a trig problem. "I just don't see why we need to know this stuff."

     Charles shrugged, absorbed in the pages of his Wall Street Journal. "Hm. It looks like the fed is cutting the prime rate. Hey! Oil supplies are stable! I wonder if we should get back into tech stocks?"

     "I mean, look at this. It's so useless." Brittany looked longingly at the door. "It's just so nice out."

     Charles made a note, then looked up and nodded. "It is, but we have less than a month left before school starts. I'm supposed to know this stuff already."

     Brittany gave a discontented sigh. It was easy enough, but it was still drudgery. She liked to be more physical. Her new body was finely tuned a machine that needed to be used. "God, I hate being a brain."

     Charles took pity. "Look, you aren't going to accomplish much today. Let's just get out of the house for awhile and regroup tomorrow." He'd have to adjust her study schedule, but she was significantly ahead of where he'd thought that she would be.

     Brittany brightened. "Yeah! How about the pool? I could use some sun."

     Charles shuddered. "No way, Brittany. It'll be a cold day in hell before I put on a swimsuit and appear in public."

     "But you'd look great in a bikini!" Brittany smiled when he flushed. "I understand, Lambchop. Hey! We could go out to Oakwood Park for a picnic, instead."

     "A picnic?" Charles shrugged. "Sure." He hadn't been on a picnic since... he'd never been on a picnic.

     Charles lounged on a blanket, reading his paper and scowling at all the guys that were ogling his flawless female body. "This totally sucks."

     Brittany laughed and finished her sandwich. "I guess it's all in how you look at it." She waved her arm, indicating the crowded park. "We've got the best spot in the park! Look at all the people!" She felt sorry for him. He was so self conscious that he was a near shut-in. Charles just had to get over his fear.

     Charles looked around. There were joggers, skaters and bicyclists on the paved walks, people playing with a Frisbee and about thirty guys, all staring at him with pole-axed expressions. He frowned when he noticed the looks Brittany was getting from the girls.

     "People. I hate people. Especially male people." Charles peeled a banana and delicately nibbled on it. He looked up and caught Brittany staring. "What's wrong?"

     "N- nothing." Brittany swallowed and looked away. "I got you a present."

     "Really?" Charles felt a rush of warmth. Brittany was being so nice lately.

     Brittany opened a gym bag. "It's my old skating outfit."

     "Skating?" Charles shuddered. "I'm a little underdressed for it. Besides, I don't know how." He'd been an idiot to go out in a tanktop and shorts, but it was just so hot out.

     "Don't worry, I'll teach you." Brittany hauled out a worn pair of inline skates and various pads. "You look great. I always dressed like that to skate." Pulling out a new set of skates, she began putting on her new pads.

     Charles rolled up his blanket, stood and then stretched, momentarily forgetting the unwelcome male attention that he was the center of. "Well, let's go try it, then." He was bored, just sitting around.

     Charles stood on the skates, wobbling uncomfortably, holding onto a low concrete wall. "I'm gonna fall."

     Brittany skated close behind him and wrapped her arms around him, from behind. "No you won't. I'll always be here to hold you up."

     Charles shrugged, leaning back trustingly. "Okay, then, here goes!" He pushed off and promptly lost control, vainly scuttling for his balance.

     Brittany picked him up by the waist so that his skates were off of the ground. "Calm down, Lambchop. I said that I have you."

     Charles relaxed and let her set him back on his feet. "Wow, you're really strong, Brittany." He leaned back into her again, feeling very safe. Skating wasn't half-bad.

     Brittany swelled with pride. "Thanks. Now push off with your right leg..."

     Jane looked at Mike and frowned. He just wasn't getting it. "I'll go get the room, you gas up the car, alright?"

     Mike nodded, worriedly. He'd planned to sleep in the back seat, and the motels were eating through his cash. Looking at Jane, he relaxed. Having her along had made it into the best time of his life. "I don't have much left, so make it a cheap one."

     Jane smiled at him. She still had a lot of money. "It's on me, this time."

     Mike pulled up to the Sleep Inn, parked and saw her waving at him from in front of a motel room. Getting his duffel bag and her suitcases, he trudged up the stairs.

     The door was propped open with her sketchbook. He entered, dumped the bags and then stopped. "Jane?"

     He heard the shower go on and swallowed. There was only one bed in the room. "Um, Jane?"

     She stuck her head out of the bathroom door. "What?"

     "There's only one bed." His mouth was dry.

     Jane smiled at him. "We've been traveling together for a month, Mike." She stepped out from behind the door, dripping on the floor. "Don't you think it's about time?"

     Mike stood paralyzed, eyes huge. "I... um, never really had a girlfriend before." He blushed scarlet, staring at her. "I'm ah, I'm a virgin."

     "Really?" Jane smiled wickedly and threw away a packet of condoms. "Good!"

     Daria sat in her room, feeling low. Jane had disappeared, Link hated her and she was really hurting. She didn't have anyone to talk to. Tom had really ruined things, as she'd known he would the instant that she'd first laid eyes on him.

     Daria sighed, then turned on her desk lamp. Bringing up her journal on the computer, she started to consign her feelings to electronic storage.

     Jake knocked at the door and opened it. "Mail call, Kiddo!"

     "Thanks." Daria hurriedly closed her work and then took the proffered envelope.

     Jake hung in the doorway. "Who do you know in Ellensburg, Washington?"

     Daria, wondering the same thing, opened the letter. "It's from Jane!" Daria read, her face relaxing into a genuine smile. Jane was with a new boyfriend at a rock concert at someplace called the Gorge, near the town of George, Washington.

     In a postscript, Jane asked her to tell Tom that she said 'hi.'

     The phone rang, and Quinn's voice floated up the stairs. "Dariiiiaaaa! Its for you!"

     Daria picked up. "Hello?"

     Tom swallowed. "Jane says hi."

     "Tom? You got one too?" She smiled, happily.

     "I hope this means that everything is alright for her." Tom cleared his throat. "Can we maybe go out to eat tonight? I want to talk." He'd missed her, but had decided to give her some room. Daria took a lot of patience, but she was the only girl that he'd ever met that was truly his equal.

     Daria looked suspicious then relaxed. "Well, I guess I could go to dinner tonight. What time?"

     Jake watched for a moment, then quietly closed the door.

     Brittany, seated in the lotus position, looked at Charles with satisfaction. He was starting to look pretty good after two grudging months of solid effort. He moved very gracefully and his body definition was far better than it had ever been, even while she still had it. In fact, Charles was a babe.

     Brittany was working him very hard, since summer school had ended, but it was only fair. Even after sweating out the drugs for her, he owed her at least that much for what she had done with his body. It was just amazing, like a finely tuned machine. She was very proud of it, feeling both invincible and invulnerable behind a solid wall of steel-hard, rippling muscle.

     School started next week and she was going to make the most of this body while she could still wear it. Eyeing Charles, she shook her head. He just wasn't paying attention. "Now swivel your head around, letting the neck muscles relax. Remember, your body is a limp noodle, Charles."

     "It's not my body!" Charles swallowed his resentment, sat back down on the weight-room mat and continued his yoga lesson. He had to keep reminding himself of who and what he really was. His identity was inexorably slipping away and it scared him.

     He hated yoga, but not as much as he hated aerobics, judo and tai chi. Darkly, he wondered if she was taking advantage. Had she really spent half of her day exercising, before? Glaring at her suspiciously, he took stock. The body that he inhabited was harder, slimmer and far more toned, after the hell he'd been through, but she looked like a god.

     Brittany smirked, happy to be on the outside looking in. "Are you feeling the chi?"

     Charles shrugged, grimacing. He had to go again. It was all so unfair. Periods were something that man was just not meant to know about. "I'm feeling something."

     Brittany laughed. "Well, at least you aren't sniveling out-loud any more. Trust me, exercise and Midol helps a lot." Being free of her monthly cramps and mood swings was an unexpected godsend. If only she wasn't constantly horny, it would be perfect.

     "Hey, this thing..." He shuddered. He'd wondered if he was going to make it over the last few days, but he was feeling a lot better now.

     Brittany nodded sympathetically and stood up. It was useless, right now. He would never relax enough to learn anything. He'd been in screaming hysterics the first time, wildly demanding an ambulance, thinking that he was bleeding to death.

     "Better you than me, Lambchop. Hey, want to go somewhere tonight?"

     Charles smirked. "The old Chuckster's gushing testosterone finally getting to you? Sure."

     "No just the boredom." She struck a pose in the mirror. "Wow, I'm getting pretty buff. This body really looks good now. You lucked out, stickboy." She turned to look at him and smiled when he looked away, flushing with shame.

     "Caught you looking!"

     "Don't be gross. It'll all just turn into flab, once we switch back." He scowled. "You won't be able to torture me into exercising, anymore."

     "I'll be able to make you do anything I want. You're a horny little devil, Lambchop." She posed again, noting the way that his eyes were drawn to her. "This body feels like mine, now."

     He stood, moodily, averting his eyes. It was horrible, but he was really changing. It was hard not to spend all day staring at her. "Well, it damned-well isn't. Giving up, Brittany?"

     She looked at him, making allowances. The last few days had been trying. Between the weeping and the wild, shouted accusations, Charles had come perilously close to her limit of patience. "No. But I'm out of ideas. We tried praying, holy water, seventeen different churches, a mosque and a synagogue. We paid that priest-guy to do an exorcism on us... nothing works, not even laying the bottleneck on the railroad track." She measured him with her eyes. "What are we going to do?"

     He shrugged. "Whatever you want, I suppose." He often considered suicide, but it would be desperately unfair to her. His only option was to endure.

     "I mean, what if we don't ever switch back?" Brittany swallowed.

     He nodded. "I just don't care then, Brittany. You decide. You decide everything. I got you in to this, and I'll do whatever I can for you."

     Brittany sighed, feeling protective. He was so depressed. She had adapted well, but he just wasn't really competent to live her life and probably never would be.

     "This isn't how I imagined my life would turn out. Do you think we'll ever get back?"

     "We will. That devil-bitch owes me two more wishes." He ignored the problem and fought down the overwhelming emotions that threatened to drag him down. Hysterics wouldn't help right now.

     Brittany made a fist, admiring the play of muscles in her forearm. "Wish two should be to switch us back and wish three should be for her to never bother us again."

     Charles nodded, wide eyed, staring at her arm. "So, where are we going?" He smiled, diverting her. They had both been getting more worried lately. The school year was rapidly approaching and their respective parents were coming home. Even with the intensive tutoring that he was giving her, she was worried about being able to cut it in his AP classes.

     "I haven't been to a club in a long time. We could go out to the Zen. No one knows me there." She remembered the last time that she'd gone. Only Daria had recognized her.

     "Sure, but what about your precious reputation?" He smirked. "After all, I'll be seen with the notorious Upchuck."

     She laughed. "I have a lot more than that to worry about. Besides, the notorious Upchuck is a total stud." She wasn't really worried about it anymore. It just didn't seem important. She doubted if more than a handful of people would even recognize her male body as Upchuck, anyway. The first person to call her Upchuck would regret it.

     "That's true." Charles gulped, then covered himself. "You just say that because my corpus is pumping out a quart of boiling hot testosterone every hour. I'm really totally repulsive." He grinned back at her. "Properly attired."

     She shrugged. "I don't believe that. You just never knew how to act around women because your mother died."

     He shrugged. "Yeah. I always thought of women as adversaries, but now... I don't want to be like my dad, if I ever do get back." It scared him, how little he was attracted to women now. He had to watch himself. He was dreading the first time his eyes lingered on a real guy. Of course, Brittany and guys on TV didn't really count.

     Brittany was interested. "What does he do?"

     "He does everyone that he can. He brags about how often he scores." Charles shrugged in confusion. He'd always worshipped his dad and it was hard to acknowledge the man's major character flaws.

     She frowned. "My dad's the same way. He brags about the size of Ashley-Amber's tits. I swear, he even bragged about it to Daria. I almost died. He married Ashley-Amber just because she had the biggest-" She gritted her teeth. "He just dumped mom, like so much garbage."

     "At least you get to see her." Charles had often wondered how his life would have gone if he'd had a mother.

     Brittany sighed. She really didn't want to see Vivian. Vivian was an aging swinger with a cocaine habit. "Kevin would have done the same to me, someday. If I get back, I'll never go with a man just because of who he is or because of his money. I can get my own damn money." She thought about being a woman again and swallowed, revolted by the idea. It was kind of bad for Charles, but she really hoped that she stayed right where she was.

     "Sure you can! You have a real grasp of strategy and some totally killer instincts." Charles smiled up at her, absently running his hand over her rock-solid arm. He had introduced her to the art of the deal. He needed her to negotiate face to face for various items that he dealt in on his web sites. She had quickly learned the nuances, so much so that he let her handle most things on her own.

     It wasn't like he had much choice, anyway. Ever since this had happened to him, his choices had narrowed down to almost nothing. All of the hardcore geeks that he did business with would fall apart when confronted by a body like Brittany's, but he just couldn't stand using it like that.

     He'd tried to do business the normal way at first, but they kept pestering him for dates, or worse, groping him, so he'd quit most of his operations or turned them over to Brittany. It sickened him to see his pals turn into so much mush at a look. It was even worse to get calls professing undying love from the guys that he used to talk about women with. He knew what they were talking about now and it made him want to vomit.

     Charles sidled into the Zen behind Brittany, immediately picking out the presence of Daria Morgendorffer. She was at a table with a guy. Following her gaze to the stage, he saw the guy from the swap meet. Remembering who his sister was, he scanned the room and located Jane Lane, dancing with someone that he didn't know. Noting the flicker of annoyance that passed over Daria's face when she saw him, he just nodded at her, trailing Brittany to a table.

     "Want something?" Brittany stood, looking toward the bar.

     "Double bourbon, straight up and keep 'em coming," Charles joked. She'd caught him drinking a couple of months into the nightmare and had poured out all of the liquor. Brittany had a phobia about addictive drugs.

     Brittany smirked. "Cola it is." She left for the snack bar, elbowing people out of her way.

     Charles watched the band. Daria's friend wasn't all that bad looking. He liked Mr. Normal. He wished that he could be normal again, or that he could even be a mister again. Sighing, he jerked in alarm and averted his eyes from Trent. Looking at the floor, he sunk into a depression. Normal was probably a lost cause at this point.

     "Brittany?" Jodie frowned at her old acquaintance. Brittany was wearing a suede vest, a pink T-shirt, khaki shorts, pink socks and low-quarter suede hiking boots. Her hair was in a loose ponytail and she wasn't wearing makeup. She looked spectacular, but different.

     Charles was staring at Tom, lost in a haze of regrets. If he'd ever tried treating a woman like a real person, someone might have looked at him the way that Daria was looking at her date. Now he was... lost. He wasn't attracted to women any more and the idea of going with a guy... He shuddered and quit looking at Daria's boyfriend. There would be no one for him, ever. A wave of intense loneliness threatened to drown him.

     "Brittany?" Jodie reached out and poked her in the shoulder. Sometimes Brittany just spaced out. Jodie had begun to suspect that she was on something.

     "What?" It took a moment for Charles to place her. "Oh... Um, Jodie Landon. Hi, there."

     "Hi. What are you doing?" Jodie sat.

     Charles paled. "Just watching Daria." He looked down. "She's really in to that guy."

     Jodie laughed. "Yeah, he's pretty hot. His name is Tom Sloane. They've been going out all summer. Isn't it great?"

     When Brittany didn't answer, Jodie continued, "So, where's Kevin?" Jodie smiled at her dim friend. Brittany was pretty hard up from the way that she had been staring. Maybe she had finally gotten wise and dumped Thompson for good. Jodie didn't know. She hadn't seen Brittany since going off to work in the congressman's office for the summer.

     "Why do you want to know?" Charles countered, hoping that she would just leave. It wasn't like Jodie actually liked Brittany. He'd noted the ill-concealed disdain, back when he was still hopelessly stalking Brittany around LHS.

     Jodie looked surprised. "Just curious. Did you break up again?"

     "Yeah, you could say that." He gestured at the stage. "I'm just... hanging out."

     "Uh, huh." Jodie sat, uninvited. "When did you see Kevin last?"

     "I forget." He shrugged. "A couple of months ago, in the parking lot after school, I guess. Are you still with what's-his-name?"

     "Mack? Yes." Jodie stared, really concerned. Brittany was acting strangely, very unlike her usual self. Even the speech pattern was wrong.

     "Well. Good." Charles wished that she would just go away. Jodie and Mack were the most boring people that he'd ever met and he didn't want to have to make any explanations when Brittany came back.

     "Oh, here he is now!" Jodie pushed back a chair.

     "Hey, Brittany. Where's Kevin? I haven't seen him since school got out." Mack was surprised. He'd actually missed Kevin a little.

     Charles shrugged, not wanting to explain things twice. "Been out of town?"

     "No, I just worked all summer."

     "Where?" Charles was interested. Mack seemed embarrassed.

     Mack frowned, then changed the subject. "Food service. Did you guys get a load of Upchuck? He's out of preppy mode." He grinned. "That boy must have found some kryptonite. He's as tall as me, muscled up like a gorilla and he's gone totally punk."

     "Kryptonite?" Charles frowned. "But..." He dropped the subject.

     Jodie wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. Punkchuck. I can hardly wait to see that."

     "He looks great." Charles leaned back, evaluating the pair before him.

     They looked back, both troubled by the blazing intelligence in the blonde's eyes. It was like facing Daria.

     "What... happened to you, Brittany?" Jodie leaned forward. "You seem like a totally different person."

     Charles trotted out his cover story. "My perkiness wore off, once my keepers went on an extended business trip and I managed to kick my psychotropic drug habit. Your outlook changes a lot when you aren't swimming in prescription drugs."

     Mack swallowed. "My god, I'm so sorry, Brittany."

     "Wow." Jodie swallowed. This was unexpected. "How are you feeling?"

     "A little down." Charles closed his eyes and sighed. "You guys ought to go sit somewhere else. I'm not going to be much fun to be around for a long time."

     Brittany, having finally shed the small crowd of girls that had latched on to her, walked back toward the table and sighed. Jodie and Mack were sitting with Charles, both looking aghast.

     It figured, thought Brittany. The one time that she decided to come here and they had to show up. She needed to get Charles away from them.

     Surprised at her lack of concern, Brittany walked up to the table and sat down next to Charles. What would he say? "Greetings, fellow Lawndalians." She slid a coke over to Charles. "Drink up, Lambchop."

     Charles smirked at her and reached for the can. That had been fairly Upchuck-esq.

     Mack, shocked and terribly upset about finding out about the ugly reality behind Brittany's seemingly idyllic life, grabbed the can, shook it, popped the top and sprayed it all over what he thought was Upchuck, trying to muscle his way into Brittany's life.

     He had never reacted to the creep's bad act before, because the ladies could handle him before, but this behemoth was dangerous and Brittany was vulnerable.

     Mack stood and narrowed his eyes. "Upchuck! Get out of here, you sleazy son of a bitch! She doesn't need a pervy gorilla like you around right now!"

     "Mack!" Jodie took in 'Lambchop's' outrage and came to the correct conclusion that they were the unwanted party at the table.

     Brittany stood, shock and outrage battling on the face that she wore, and then moving like lightning, she abruptly kicked the table over onto Mack, knocking him down in the process. She jumped onto the bottom of the table, pinning him, then picked up a chair.

     "Noooo!" Charles lunged forward to intervene. Her temper could be absolutely vicious. She hadn't hit him for a long time, but he knew that she would still slap him if he provoked her.

     "Get back!" Brittany wanted to crush Mack for all of the eye rolling contempt that she was remembering.

     Charles grabbed the chair leg and hung on, as she accidentally lifted him off of his feet. "Don't hit him in the head! Don't hit him in the head!"

     Mack, wide-eyed and pinned, scrabbled to get out from under the table. Upchuck looked ready to kill and Brittany obviously had the hots for him. "Woah! Chill, man! I thought-"

     "No! Mack! You idiot." Jodie, having moved in between them, was alternately afraid for him and so embarrassed that she could die.

     "Disappear, you jerk!" Brittany sat the chair down, then stood back, eyes glacially cold.

     Mack scrambled to his feet, facing the two with opened eyes. "Oh. Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I... I'll pay for the jacket. Call me about it." He beat a hasty retreat, his embarrassment lending wings to his heels.

     The bouncer ambled over once the action had died down. He'd been ogling the stacked blonde ever since she walked in, so he'd seen the whole thing. He thought about throwing the punk out, but then decided that he might get hurt. Beside, she'd just leave too. He liked nice scenery. "Everything all right over here?"

     "Yes. There was just a little misunderstanding. Everything's fine." Stomach roiling, Charles smiled a calculated smile at the man.

     He smiled back, smitten. "Okay, sweetheart, but one more incident and you're all out for good." He gave the rest a stern look and left.

     Brittany set the table back up and interest in the confrontation faded.

     "I'm so sorry." Jodie fluttered her hands. "I don't know what got into him."

     Charles shrugged, angrily. "Maybe he's finally growing a personality."

     "What?" Jodie stared, then fled.

     Brittany retrieved her unopened Pepsi, then sat, wiping at the jacket with a napkin. "Do you believe that guy? What did you ever do to him?"

     Charles shrugged. "I don't think I've ever said much to either one of them. It must be my super-sleazy reputation." He grinned, appropriated her Pepsi and toasted her. "Your sleazy reputation, now. Nice work, by the way. He won't pull any of that again."

     Brittany shrugged.

     He took a drink. "You reacted a lot faster than I would have." Mack would have beaten him into a greasy spot, no matter what kind of shape his body was in and they both knew it. He wasn't a natural fighter, like Brittany.

     Brittany laughed, retrieved her can, then took a drink. "I took a lot of self defense classes. I guess that I just don't like him. I don't really like her much, either."

     "Why?" Charles was interested. He took the can back when she offered it.

     "They like, hung around with me and that jerk, Kevin, because we were popular, but they didn't really like either one of us." She stared at the band, brooding. "Little Mr. and Mrs. Perfect. Sometimes I feel like I've never met the real people at all."

     Charles shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you're right, but couldn't the same be said of any of us?" He frowned. "We all have walls that no one sees behind. Maybe they just feel like they have to act that way, being who they are. It must be hell, being a living example."

     "Tough." Brittany wasn't at all sympathetic. Everyone had it tough in their own way. "He was just mad and looking for an outlet. They were arguing when they came in."

     "I didn't notice." Charles frowned. "You know, It does make since. I am a sleaze. He was just trying to protect you from me. If I'd ever looked like you, and acted like I did, I'd have been a dangerous asshole instead of just a pathetic asshole."

     Brittany smiled fondly, covering his hand. "Not any more. You're too far away from that old life. You couldn't be a sleaze anymore than I could go back to being what I was." Brittany cleared her throat. "I'm... glad that it happened. We could never have really met, any other way. I guess switching bodies is a really good way to get to know someone."

     Charles reddened, then noticed the bouncer leering at him. He looked away, trying not to shudder. "Yes. I feel the same way, but I still want my body back."

     Brittany was silent on the topic. She loved being strong, and the body that she wore was a marvel of strength, balance and dexterity.

     "Maybe I owe Mack an apology. He was just trying to help what he thought was me, after all." She looked down at herself. "He's really brave. This body is probably kind of scary to other guys."

     Charles scowled at the leering bouncer. "Not scary enough. I don't like it here. Let's go home."

     Brittany followed his eyes and scowled, menacingly. "I'll fix him."

     "No, come on!" He grabbed her arm and tugged, but it vas like tugging on a building. She didn't budge until the bouncer raised his hands in mock surrender and looked away. When they left, he didn't let go of her arm.

     Jodie stood outside the Zen, watching Mack's dwindling taillights. They'd had a brief shouting match, then he'd just left. She looked back at Zen. She could catch a ride with Daria, but she was too upset and humiliated to go back in.

     Brittany and Upchuck came out, holding hands. Jodie quickly ducked behind a beat up old black van, not wanting to deal with them.

     "What do you want to do tomorrow?" Charles yawned, looking up at the stars.

     "I want to go to church again." Brittany was feeling badly disconnected. "Mills wanted to go down to the dump and shoot rats, but I don't really feel like it."

     "Doris, Pam and Patti were coming by to practice their cheerleading moves, but I'll blow them off. Church might not be a bad idea." Charles saw a shooting star. "Make a wish!"

     "Are you kidding?" Brittany laughed, bitterly. "What if this is it for us? What if this is all we have?"

     Charles shrugged and leaned into her, for comfort. "I'm so sorry, Brittany. It's my fault. I never believed in the supernatural, God, devils or anything, really. Who could have known that it could be so dangerous? What a thoughtless idiot I am. I should have just run like hell when she came out."

     Brittany turned and hugged him, rubbing his back. She lifted his chin. "Cheer up, Charles. I don't blame you. You can't beat something like that. I guess some people have it a lot worse, though. Would you rather be in a wheelchair or something?"

     Charles sighed, feeling better. "I don't know. At least then it would all be up to medical science. I could understand the odds." He smiled, bitterly and pulled away. "You know, Brittany... This just isn't... right. I'm supposed to be a guy!" He just didn't really feel like a guy, anymore.

     "No, it's not right." She looked at him, then smiled, bravely. "We need to face facts though. You were a guy. We need to decide what we're going to do." She opened the door for him.

     "I couldn't imagine going through all this without you." He thought about trying to date some guy and felt sick. He didn't even like to go outside, that much.

     Brittany looked at him, anxiously. "I... will you be my girlfriend when school starts? It would look funny if I didn't have one and I just couldn't..."

     Charles winced. "Sure. I am, anyway."

     "I mean for real." Brittany locked eyes with him.

     Charles swallowed. "So did I. I'd do anything for you, Brittany. You're the only real friend that I've ever had."

     "Good." Brittany opened the car door for him. "Thanks, Charles. I love you too." She looked away, not wanting to see rejection in his eyes.

     Charles stumbled, then got into the Audi. "Um. I... feel the same. But I can't go on trying to fake it for you, Brittany. I have to be me."

     Brittany leaned on the door, smiling down at him. "Good." She kissed him and then walked around to her side. "You're right, though. We can't fake it. We have to live the lives we have. I got... well, you got a pamphlet in the mail, yesterday. I... want to apply to the Air Force Academy, if we're still here next year."

     Charles shrugged, hiding his hurt. He'd kind of thought that they might go to college together. "Fine. I want to go to a business school." He looked sad. "I won't be running my dad's companies. He thinks that women are stupid and useless, outside of a bedroom. I guess I'll just have to scrape something together on my own."

     Brittany got into the car. "If we got married after graduation, you'd be able to run things when I inherited. If we do suddenly switch bodies again, things will be easier that way."

     Charles swallowed his shock and nodded, slowly. "Good idea, but does it have to be the Air Force? If we switched back while you were up in a jet or something..." They pulled away.

     Jodie stepped out from behind the van and gaped after them. "What the hell is going on around here?"

     They pulled up to Brittany's house and went in.

     "I hate staying here. I keep expecting George of the Jungle to swing by on a vine." Charles looked at the decor and shuddered.

     Brittany smiled. He was such a girl. "I used to have nightmares about the animals." She walked over and turned on the TV. "When Mom left, she sold all the furniture. Dad redecorated the place. He was still doing a lot of coke then and the decorator didn't like him."

     Charles knelt to pick up the TV remote from under the couch. "Aaaaagh! Leg cramp... oh-oh-oh that hurts..." He collapsed onto the rug, clutching at his calf and groaning.

     Brittany knelt and took the leg. "You're not getting enough calcium, Lambchop." She started massaging the firm, muscular calf, feeling the convulsive clenching begin to relax. "Try to straighten the leg."

     "Ooooh, it seizes up every time I move. I need to stretch it." He rolled over on his side and stretched it out. "There that's got- GOD!" Writhing in pain, he drew the leg up and frantically rubbed at the muscle.

     "Lay face down." Brittany started massaging the leg until it straightened out and the quivering calf muscle relaxed. "You're really tense." She continued the massage, moving to the other leg.

     "I get that way when I have to be out." He groaned in sheer pleasure, the intense stress brought on by being ogled by a bunch of strange men gradually melting away. He rolled over on his side and smiled up at her, gratefully. "Thanks for warning that creepy bouncer off."

     "It was my pleasure." Brittany was having some stress of her own. Recently, she was finding it harder and harder to ignore the reactions of the body that she was in. Feeling a sense of inevitability, she gradually let her hands wander.

     Charles was totally relaxed, feeling very safe, really enjoying the massage. Brittany pulled his shirt up, then off, and continued up his back, working the spine.

     He was just about to drift off when he suddenly felt a hot flash of sheer pleasure, like an electric current. He gasped with shock and rolled over to meet her eyes.

     Eyes locked, they stared, then deliberately, Brittany leaned in and kissed him.

     Charles, paralyzed, let her. Feeling the urgent rush of desire, he surrendered to the inevitable.

     Jodie walked back into the Zen, dazed.

     "Jodie? What's wrong?" Daria peered at her almost-friend.

     "I... I... I can't understand it." Jodie collapsed nervelessly into a chair.

     "I saw Mack get into it with Brittany and that guy." Daria smirked. "I wouldn't be too concerned. He'll calm down, once he gets over the humiliation of losing a fight in front of his girlfriend."

     "Mack? Oh, I'm not worried about that." Jodie eyed Daria. The steely-eyed Misery Chick wasn't likely to believe her. On the other hand, she really needed to hear someone tell her that up was still up and