“Stop it.” I crack open an eye, my mind in a fog. It takes a few seconds to realize that Joy isn’t here, and I’m not actually eleven again. It felt so real. I can still smell Joy’s strawberry shampoo.
River’s muddy face and messy dark hair come into clear view.
“Where are we?” I smack my lips, realizing there’s a godawful taste in my mouth.
“Your dorm room.”
“How did we get here?” I don’t remember coming home. “Why are you covered in mud?”
River’s mouth opens, but she doesn’t speak. Not right away. Several rounds of lip flapping happen first, like she can’t find the words. “Don’t you remember?”
My brain starts waking up. Bits and pieces of last night flash through my mind. “Besides being kidnapped? No.”
River stands and starts rubbing her forehead. “Shit. Shit. Shit!”
“I told you, girl. It was just a bad trip. Someone roofied you.”
I turn my head to find Ronno sitting on his bed, talking to River. “People don’t have superpowers. It’s a fact.”
River swivels on the heel of her mud-covered pink Converse. Her clothes are also covered in grime. “But I saw him! I saw him bolt from the water like—like some sort of fucking missile.” She points at me accusatorially while speaking to Ronno. “And then he knocked those guys over, picked me up, and we were here in, like, a minute.”
Ronno’s right; River was roofied.
“I get that’s what you think you saw,” says Ronno, “but come on. Not the words of a rational human being. You shroomin’, girl.”
“Then how do you explain this!” River reaches for my blanket and yanks it down. “He has biceps!”
Ronno blinks. “Those were probably there before. You just didn’t notice.”
Biceps? I lift my heavy head from the damp pillow and glance down at my torso. Jesus. Whose arms are those? But as my eyes sweep my body, and I run my hands down my chest and torso, the strangeness flies off the charts. I have rock-hard abs with ripples in them, and my pecs are huuuge. I’m talkin’ Big Macs.
“He was not this big a few hours ago,” River argues, whooshing out breath after breath. “Now he looks like some sort of cement truck. How are you not seeing the difference, Ronno?”
Now I know I’m dreaming. River just called me a cement truck. But while my mind tries to reconcile what my eyes just saw, my brain struggles to remember exactly how I got to my bed.
“How the hell should I know?” says Ronno. “I just met the guy, and he looks the same to me.”
“Were you checking out his body before?” River asks.
“Sorry, I was too busy checkin’ out your fine as—”
“Seriously?” says River. “Are you going to flirt with me right now?”
“Sorry?” Ronno says like he’s not sorry at all. “It’s habit when I’m around so much fineness.”
River ignores the detour. “I know Huff. I’d recognize his boney ass from a mile away. That’s not Huff.”
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa,” I say, muttering my words. “I’m still me. This is my dream.”
“I wish, Huff,” says River with a foot stomp. “Don’t you remember anything? Please tell me you do. Please tell me I’m not losing my mind, because I know what I saw.”
I can’t even sit up straight, so why’s she accusing me of shooting from the water “like a missile,” steamrolling Blake and his gang, and running back to the dorms—about a thirty-mile trek, if my memory serves.
“I need to sleep. My head hurts.” My back and thighs feel like heavy boulders. My skin is all tight like it wants to split open. Come to think of it, so does the rest of me. I feel…swollen and, “I have to piss.”
I attempt to sit up, but my torso wobbles under the weight.
“Let me help,” says River, taking my arm. Her eyes are locked on the huge muscles attached to it.
See. I’m still dreaming. River would never check out my body. On the other hand, none of this feels like a dream anymore. Her hand on my skin is tingly and warm, almost uncomfortable.
I jerk my arm away. “I’m fine. Give me a second.” Slowly, I swing my feet to the floor. It’s an accomplishment given how messed up I am. How much did I have to dirnk? Drik? Drenk? I palm my temple. Come on. Find your words.
River takes my arm anyway. Her touch feels electric, not unpleasant, but not normal.
“There we go,” she says, getting me out the door to the communal bathroom just down the hall. Oddly, with each step, I feel better, stronger.
I trudge into the bathroom by myself. When I pass the mirrors and sinks, just opposite the urinals, a strange face stares back.
“What the! Jesus!” I jump. It’s me, but it’s not. Same eyes and brows. Same shape to everything, including my lips with the pronounced dip on the top one. Yeah, it’s definitely me, but my features are more defined—the blue of my eyes is more intense. My jaw is squarer, and the scruff is ten times thicker.