Skate Into My Body

UnChapter 2: Wait—Why Do I Have Abs?!titled Episode

Riley Quinn snarled, rolling over in bed.

But something was off.

It wasn't silky and smooth under her favorite polka dot blankets. It was bumpy and scratchy. The smell wasn't vanilla room deodorizer or Zoe's lemon wash. No. This was sweat, stinky socks, and something. guy. Axe body spray and disappointment.

She opened one eyelid.

"Okay, what the—where am I?"

The ceiling was not hers. The wall wasn't either. They were decorated with NHL players—sweaty big men with crooked teeth and grins and trophies held like medals of honor. There was a hockey stick leaned against the desk. There were clothes on the floor. Not clothes. Dirty clothes. Gym shorts, jerseys, socks that clearly had given up.

This was not her dorm room. Not even remotely.

Half asleep, Riley had opened her eyes at the window, blinked, and looked down.

And stopped in her tracks.

"Wait. what's happening? Wait, what is happening with my hands?" she asked her hands.

They were huge. Too huge. And as puffy as a muppet?

She spread them in front of herself like she was jazz-hands-ing. Her fingers were longer. Her arms were biceps. And her skin was darker.

"Whatever heck."

Riley lay bolt upright—and almost shrieked the second time she rolled something heavy off her chest. Only, it wasn't her usual chest.

It was flat.

Meaning. flat and completely flat.

Her eyes puffed out.

"No," she breathed. "No, no, no."

She pulled up the loose gray T-shirt she was wearing and—

ABS.

Not dreaming. Not kidding. Not some bat-crazy mirror trick.

She could feel them. Ow.

"Ow," she snarled. "They're real."

Her voice was lower.

She jumped out of bed like it was on fire, tripped over a massive pair of sneakers, and stumbled across the room.

She found the mirror above the desk.

And screamed.

A full-on, horror movie, this-is-how-I-die scream.

Because staring back at her… was Connor freaking Blake.

Not kind of like Connor Blake. Not “Oh no, I’m tired and my hair is messy like his.”

No.

It was him.

The nose. The impossibly mussed black hair. The frowny brows. The crooked nose. And cheekbones so strong, you could shave frozen pizza off them.

"WHA—!" "WHERE ARE MY—MY—"

She gazed down in horror.

Gone.

Completely gone.

No breasts. No curves. No squishy, soft thighs. Just hockey legs and a chest that could bench-press mini skyscrapers.

Oh my God," she snarled. "Oh my God. Why do I look like Captain Ice Block?!"

She was hit with horror like a slapshot to the face.

She stepped back and over a chair, and then a box of pucks on the floor beside the desk. They flew every direction, bouncing off the floor and thudding into the wall.

She leaned on the edge of the desk for support. Her hands were shaking.

This is a nightmare," she said to herself. "Just a stress nightmare. I got rejected and now in my dream, I ended up becoming him. That's what happens, right? People get crazy dreams all the time."

None of it was an act, though. The carpet on the floor beneath bare toes. The cold sweat trickling down the nape of her neck. The churn in her stomach as if she'd eaten bad sushi.

She swatted at herself gently on the cheek.

"Ow!"

Still him.

Still Connor.

Riley cursed and fell into the chair behind the desk, forehead in her hands.

"What is happening?" she gasped.

She glanced over at the phone on the bedside table. Not hers. Of course not. The lock screen background was the Frost Hill Ice Wolves logo. She gingerly reached out a finger, hoping it would autologin—and it did.

"Okay. Creepy,"

She was shaking as she yanked open the front-facing camera.

There he was again. Her—no, his—face.

"Ughhh!"

She theatrically collapsed back onto the bed, arms out to either side.

"I can't do this. This isn't real. I'm not ready for this level of psychological horror."

She glanced at the clock. 7:45 AM.

Her classes would start in fifteen minutes.

Or… his practice?

She didn't know.

What was she supposed to do? Pretend to be him?

"Nope," she thought to herself. "I'm calling Zoe. Or the FBI. Or both."

She tried to sit up and dig around in his phone contacts.

No Zoe.

No Riley.

Nothing that was even identifiable.

The terror crept back. Her chest—or his chest—grinded into a knotted ball.

Then the phone started ringing crazily in her hand.

Unknown Number.

She answered.

"Hullo?"

A familiar voice in her ear.

"WHA. DID. YOU. DO. TO. ME?!"

Riley's eyes were saucer wide.

"Aye, Riley! What in tarnation did I just do?! I woke up in your bed in a unicorn tee and—hold up—why the sam hill do I got breasts?!"

There'd been the ringing phone on the nightstand when it did.

She answered it. It wasn't hers one—it was Connor's phone. Same cracked screen she'd noticed in his hand at school.

A missed call from Logan and a text that read:

"Practice at 8, bro. Don't be late or Coach will eat you alive."

Riley's eyes widened. "Oh no. Ice. Hockey. Sports. NO."

She slapped the video call button and tried redialing her number again.

Meanwhile.

Connor winced when sunlight hit his face at school.

He sat up, hands over his eyes. His head throbbed like he'd been hit with a puck in the head.

But. strawberries covered his pillow.

And pink. The whole room was pink.

everywhere.

Pink drapes, pink carpet, pink pillows. And the shelf—oh. my. God—the shelf was filled with stuffed animals.

"What in the actual—"

But he stared down.

He had the shirt on that had unicorn and sparkles in a circle typed across it.

He blinked.

"Okay, okay. What's some kind of crazy joke—"

He took off for the mirror.

He stood staring at it.

Then he screamed.

His reflection screamed too.

Long hair. Shiny face.

Big eyes.

He was inside Riley Quinn's body.

"WTH?! WHY IN THE WORLD AM I PIGEON TOED?! EYELINER!!"

He whacked his own face back and forth.

"This is not funny. This IS NOT happening."

And then his phone—Riley's phone—rang.

A video call from. himself?

He answered.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!?" they both shouted simultaneously.

Riley glared.

"Why in the world do I look like you?!"

Connor raised a finger. "No. Why in the world do I look like you?! What is happening?!"

"I don't know! You think I wished-swapped you with a body-swap spell?!"

He scrunched up his eyes. "You're a lit major. You people read wacky books."

"I wished! That's all!"

"A wish?"

"I told you I wanted you to know what it's like to be me!"

"Turn it around, then!"

"I can't! Did you want me to wake up with a six-pack and BO?"

Connor rubbed his—her—face. "This is horrible. This is horrible."

"YOU find this horrible? I have to go to your hockey practice!"

Connor skidded the brakes.

His eyes widened. "Oh no. Coach. He's gonna kill me—I mean you—I mean—AAARGH!"

Riley hyperventilated. "What are we gonna do?!!"

"You're gonna practice."

"Excuse me?!"

"You're a guest in my body. You're gonna practice. If you screw this up and we don't make it to regionals—you're dead."

"I'm not even s'posed to skate!"

"Well, you'd better learn how to do it in a jiffy!"

Thirty minutes later, Riley stood outside the Frost Hill Ice Wolves practice rink clad in Connor's sweatpants and hoodie. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat, rubber, and hostility.

She walked like a baby deer in skates.

Inside the rink, Logan waved. “Yo, Captain!”

She waved awkwardly back. “Uh… hey… bro.”

Logan blinked. “You good?”

“I’m… awesome.”

Coach Daniels blew the whistle. “Let’s go, Blake! Warm-up laps!”

Riley shuffled forward and immediately slipped.

“Whoa—!”

She slid onto her flat on the ice. The entire team observed.

Coach folded his arms. "You drunk, Blake?"

Riley attempted to stand, bracing against the ice. "No! Just. testing friction."

Logan stood and sat on his knees. "Dude. You alright?"

"I—I had an odd dream."

"Alright. Skate now, dream later."

Riley crept up, and was wobbly skates. Each second, eternity chased after her.

Coach growled behind her. "You'd better get whatever is wrong with you taken care of, Blake. Regionals next week."

Riley carefully made a "yay" sound.

Connor lounged in Riley's lecture hall, arms crossed, elsewhere on campus.

Zoe cut in. "Hey, Riley. Are you okay? You're. moving like a linebacker."

Connor gritted a fake smile. "Fine. Great."

The professor strolled up. "All right, people. Pop quiz."

Connor's eye flashed. "What."

Zoe jammed a pen in his path. "Your favorite—pop quizzes."

Connor glared at the page. "I have no clue what any of this is."

Both were wrung out at end-of-day.

They!video called again.

Riley had tangled hair. "I hate you."

Connor was stretched out, clutching a heating pad. "Your cramps are wicked."

Riley nodded. "How in the world do you survive with this much testosterone in your system?!"

Connor stared. "Why do your boots have bows on them?"

They did not speak.

Then Riley said, "What if we're stuck like this?"

Connor's face was horror-struck.

"No. We do it right. Fast. Before someone finds out. You know?"

Riley shivered. "And meanwhile?"

He gestured to her.

"You skate. You practice. You win regionals."

Riley gestured to him.

"And you get through college."

They glared at each other in outrage.

Then the two of them shivered with indignation.

"This is awful."