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She slowly took in the room around her, her heart still beating like it was going to erupt of her chest and cause a bloody mess around her. Her forehead broke a sweat, and whatever she was wearing clanged gently to her back.

  The room seemed to be about the entire size of her apartment, bearing absolutely no resemblance to her own humble abode. The floor was entirely carpeted in plush cream carpeting, and being the same colors as the painted walls, made the entire room look like one amazing lounge. She sort of half-expected waiters to suddenly appear beside her and ask her what she would like to drink. Instead, the silence of the room was the only kind of volume she thought she could tolerate at that moment.

  The king-sized bed where she laid down just moments ago loomed beside her, massive and inviting. What must have been a 50 inch television screen was mounted on a wall directly in front of her, though at least 10 feet away. A desk that had the world's smallest computer on top of it sat just to her right. What Darcy really found herself looking for, however, was a mirror.

  I am insane and apparently my state of insanity makes me believe I'm in a teen girls bedroom, she thought as she looked around the room for a mirror. She saw a door to her left, hoping it opened into a closet or a bathroom, and made a mad dash to see if she was right. En route, she found herself continually pinching her arm over and over again to wake her up from her vivid dream but stopped when her arm began to turn red and feel sore.

  She swung open the door and was faced with a closet that while bigger than most closets she had ever seen, still had a charm to it that didn’t immediately overwhelm her the way the bedroom reveal had. A full length mirror hung behind the door she had just opened, and she turned around to face herself.

  When she saw her reflection, she immediately had to bring her hand to her mouth to stifle the scream that was going to rip out of her. She closed her eyes and then re-opened them, one at a time, to take in the reflection as slowly as possible. She was taller than she’d ever been, venturing to say at least 5’8, her usual mousy brown hair now a glowing strawberry-blonde that fell effortlessly in loose waves over her shoulders. She moved her hands to her waist and marveled at its tiny size. She couldn't remember the last time she was this size – 11th grade maybe?

  Her body was thoroughly and completely tanned, something she had never, ever been in all of her life. She noticed that it wasn’t an artificial tan that other teenage girls had, but natural. She was secretly thankful for that fact as she thought tanning beds were unnecessary if you lived by the beach. Even though she had just woken up, she looked like she had just come back from a glamorous photo shoot. There almost seemed to be an invisible fan causing her hair to move ever so slowly around her shoulders. She felt like Beyonce.

  "Marina! What did you do!" Darcy screamed, this time letting her voice leave her throat. The husky voice that she now came to recognize as her own filled the room, reverberating off the walls. She yelped as she instantly heard a short little knock on a nearby door, which she quickly deduced was the door to her bedroom. Not saying a word, she waited. She thought if she didn’t make a single sound, that her current predicament would disappear.

  “Darcy, darling,” she heard a female voice say, a tinge of concern present. “Are you ok in there?”

  This person must have been standing just outside the bedroom door and she had no idea if the door itself was locked or not, so she decided to just remain quiet.

  The doorknob slowly began to turn and the door swung open. She instantly pulled the closet door towards her and shut it so as to not face whomever it was coming into her room, even though locking herself in the closet was probably going to make things ultimately worse. She just needed some time to figure things out. She didn’t want to meet the new Darcy’s family just yet.

  “What are you doing?” the woman continued. She pulled open the closet door and found Darcy, in nothing but tiny underwear and a t-shirt, staring back blankly.

  Darcy took in the woman before her. Tall, blonde, tan and beautiful, the woman must have been her mother. Strangely enough, she did not find the appearance of this woman all that shocking as she felt something present that reminded her of her own mother, despite there being no actual physical resemblances. The soft eyes perhaps, or the frown that reminded Darcy how much she was loved, was similar. What was different, however, was everything else. She was much taller than her real mother, that was a given, and she looked like she was either a former model or beauty pageant queen. No wrinkles in sight, this woman looked to have stepped right off of the set of the Real Housewives of Darcy’s Insane Dream. Her eyes took in Darcy’s scared and frightened expression, and the frown came back.

  “Honey, please, it’s already past 7:30. You’re going to be late for school,” her mother said. She reached over and pulled her by the arm and sat her on the bed. “Your father brought in your BMW for servicing so you can borrow your brother’s Mercedes since he’s not coming back from Prague until, well, apparently next month according to his last email. That brother of yours – going to Europe to ‘find himself’ in the middle of the fall term in college. When I was that age, your wretched grandmother made me get a job at the Kmart and scout eligible bachelors for her and her Bridge Club members. That evil, rotten, dried-up thing.”

  Her mother began to tidy up her room, completely absent-mindedly.

  My BMW? Darcy thought. My brother! I don' have a brother! Marina, get me out of here. This is just too unreal.

  “And don’t forget to pick up Claire. I promised her mother I’d keep an eye on her while they were closing that deal in Monte Carlo,” her mother went on. She took in one last look of Darcy and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

  That was the precise moment that Darcy began to hyperventilate. She looked earnestly for a paper bag to breathe into, knowing full well this new life she was thrust into wouldn’t have such a thing, if this girl even at’, she thought. She collapsed onto the bed, her pulsating headache back and in full effect. She tried to clear her head, thinking calming thoughts, which temporarily helped in getting her heartbeat to settle down, and to get her breathing back to somewhat normal.

  Composed, she got up once more and walked into her closet to behold her reflection. She glanced at her body, starting at the impeccably manicured feet and moving her gaze slowly upwards to her blemish-free face. She had the body of a perfect teenage girl, who lived in an enormous house, and found herself begin to smile.

  Hmm, Darcy thought, running her hands through her lustrous hair. Maybe I can make this work out after all.

  Chapter 10

  Mustering up the bravery to finally leave her room some twenty minutes later, there was no denying the fact that she was feeling pretty great. Ethereal, even. Walking on air and the whole bit. Her step was literally lighter because she was literally pounds lighter.

  She had quickly ransacked her newfound closet to find something suitable to wear for the day, though she did not have any iota or clue of what the day would bring upon her. Ultimately, after a brief heeing-and-hawing session which involved a lot of bottom lip biting and grunt making, she decided upon wearing a pair of skinny jeans that would have normally cut off her circulation, and a t-shirt that clung to her new, young body in all of the right places. With a noticeable spring in her step, similar to the one she typically had when she visited Marina's, she decided to take the plunge and exit her bedroom. If she didn’t keep the spring step in check she would propel herself right off the top stair landing.

  Exiting her room, she allowed herself a brief moment to take in the beautiful home that surrounded her. The neutrally painted walls, elegant art work (was that a Dali? she wondered), and plush carpeting similar to what was in her bedroom, gave the home an elegant and definite high class feeling, a feeling that she was completely unaccustomed to.

  She had grown up sensibly with hard-working middle class parents who believed in the value of breaking a sweat and paying your dues to get ahead. Being the youngest child of three girls, Darcy always fe
lt privileged in that unlike her friends, she didn't have to share her toys or clothes and anything, really. Her sisters were all much older. She did envy, however, seeing her friends play with their brothers and glimpsing their special kind of relationship.

  However, now knowing that the ‘new’ her had a brother floating around somewhere out there, in Prague apparently, made her excited and giddy. She would finally have the chance to form a relationship with a brother who would be privy to all of her secrets and emotions because that's what brothers did. There would be a brother related to her by blood whom she could share her feelings with, no matter how inane or trivial.

  After reaching the bottom of the stairs, she turned left at the massive staircase with its oak trim and marble handles into the kitchen that was not only blinding white, but completely empty. She hesitantly walked towards the breakfast bar where there lay an assortment of fruit, ranging from what appeared to be freshly cut mangos to what only she thought could have been Star fruit. Whatever it was, it was exotic and excited her, much like how food in any format generally did.

  There was a note on the never-ending expansive granite counter top that immediately caught her eye after she wolfed down half of the assortment of fruit. The mango literally melted in her mouth. She had said that phrase in the past many times; however, this was the one time that it was true.

  "Darcy, don't forget to pick up Claire. The keys to the car are in the Cat. Love, Mom," the note read in long, cursive writing. The writing itself reminded her of her elementary school teacher Mrs. Lever who said that printing was the lazy man's version of handwriting. Oh, that crazy Mrs. Lever. She could still hear her faux British accent that turned into a Brooklyn accent whenever she had gotten flustered or nervous.

  The keys are in the cat, she repeated aloud, her voice ricocheting off the pristine cabinets and tiled floor. She glanced around quickly, trying to find something that resembled a cat. She was sincerely hoping that there was not an actual little live pet cat that ate random objects in the house but fortunately she found a massive ceramic cat by the back patio door.

  It was the ugliest thing she had ever seen; there was no doubt about it. Standing at about 3 feet high, and entirely white, the cat practically camouflaged into the blinding whiteness of the kitchen cabinets. It stood as though it was crouching and had its mouth over what seemed to look like teeny tiny tea saucer. Lying within the saucer were a set a keys that she immediately grabbed, semi-afraid though the cat was going to scratch or hiss at her. For no particular reason she was afraid of cats, and cats certainly returned the sentiment. She was perfectly ok with that arrangement.

  Before she realized it, she was made her way to the front door, as though she had walked down the hallway and around the house a million times before. The doorknob reached her chest, making her feel like a resident of Middle Earth or Alice in Wonderland. She began to slowly turn the knob, but out of nowhere and rather suddenly, she turned back into the house, leaving the door closed behind her.

  How will I know my way around, she wondered. Apart from the initial difficulty in finding her closet just half an hour ago, she noticed that she was able to rather easily navigate around the second level of the home. She did not hesitate in taking a shower in the bathroom, or which way to turn when she walked down the stairs just moments ago. The Cat threw her for a loop but she did know that the kitchen was to the left of the stairs.

  I know this house like the back of my hand, Darcy thought, which was ironic because the back of her hand was entirely new for her (and a bit freckled, she noted as she looked down at the perfectly manicured and young-looking hands before her).

  Taking a deep breath, she re-opened the front door, promptly seeing the bright sunshine and cloudless blue sky. She felt her anxiety subside, and purposefully walked towards the gunmetal grey, brightly polished Mercedes that was parked in the eight car driveway. She looked up and noticed two people trimming the rose bushes and willow trees that lay just in front of the house. Both individuals were entirely focused on their tasks, but when they heard the front door slam closed, they looked up towards her, obviously startled by the sudden bang.

  "Good Morning, Darcy," a stout, middle-aged woman said, her voice friendly and frail. "It's a beautiful morning."

  The woman was tiny but compact, dressed in overalls that were obviously too big for her and wearing a sunhat similar to the one that Darcy, embarrassingly, wore rather religiously throughout her vacation to Mexico a few years ago. Mexico had given her a beautiful, even and golden hue (not the usual red and splotchy look, which always was the case with her) everywhere on her body but her face. Sylvia had had a field day with that one. She had to endure the rather cruel nickname “Splotcha” for weeks.

  "Good morning, Glenda," she replied, the name leaving her mouth before she even realized she was saying it. She felt a pleasant and warm sensation for Glenda, like she was a source of support and love for her. Where this was coming from within her, she had absolutely no clue, but she decided to just go with it.

  Glenda’s dark hair was up in a pony-tail under the hat, she noticed. She was olive-skinned and handsome for an older woman.

  The other person who worked alongside Glenda was a young and good-looking man. He, unlike Glenda, quickly returned to trimming the stray branches that grew from the ornate and lush rose bushes that seemingly surrounded the entire front of the home. He was tall, Darcy could tell that much, even though he was about 20 feet away. His hair fell just past his ears, glistening with sweat, his muscular arms moving quickly as he made his way along the bushes. She felt herself blush for no reason, and figured there was something she knew about this guy. She'd have to do some investigating before they struck up a conversation. If she was going to master the life of a teen girl, she was going to start off on the right foot.

  Glenda looked at her as she looked at the young man. The woman then looked at the guy and back again at her, but the latter was already walking towards the car. Darcy felt Glenda look between the two of them until she was safely behind the wheel, her heart still beating from seeing the guy who did not even look up while Glenda greeted her so warmly.

  Charlie, she said out loud. Just like with knowing Glenda's name without even actualizing it, she knew the young man's name was Charlie. She also knew that she felt something towards him, but what or to what extent she had no idea. All she knew at that moment was that she seemed to be firmly planted in a world that she had only read about for years. A world where she was rich, and beautiful, and had a huge home and housekeepers.

  But also a world where your life will be full of problems and chaos, she remembered, turning the key in the ignition. Which may or may not start with picking up this Claire person, she thought as she trusted her gut and began driving the beautiful car to pick Claire up. The car handled like she was driving on air and she loved it.

  ***

  "Darcy Platt, you are SO late," Claire screamed from her perch in the driveway as she drove the car in and parked. The massive home was about the same size as Darcy’s but couldn't have been more aesthetically different. There were no towering rose bushes flanking the property but she did notice several palm trees that grew very high. There was also a weird and wide assortment of topiary animals that reminded her of The Shining.

  She instantly heeded that Claire was absolutely everything that that she had imagined she would during the short 10-minute drive over. All boobs and hair, Sylvia would have said. Sylvia would also have had a few choice words about her other current predicaments, she couldn't help but think to herself silently.

  About 5’7 and clearly no stranger to wearing a skimpy bikini to show off her slender frame, Claire was nicely and evenly bronzed as Darcy seemed to be. She smiled as the girl bounced quite literally from the large home behind her, her long, black hair lively right along with everything else.

  Claire pulled open the car door and slammed it closed behind her, causing Darcy to slightly wince from the loud sound. Her new friend could have e
asily been a model, or possibly even was, with her long legs and other ample assets. Even the dark mole above her ruby lips was very model-esque. Wearing a revealing black maxi-dress that just barely covered everything that it needed to, Claire put on her seatbelt and turned to face Darcy.

  "What are you so late? You know I have to get to school early to meet Luke," she spat out, hatred and anger in her voice. Darcy was immediately taken aback from the ferocity of the girls words. She couldn't believe such animosity came out of such a perfectly lip-lined mouth, not to mention that the vitriol was directed towards her.

  "I'm sorry," was all she could say before re-starting the car. She wasted no time in quickly pulling out of the driveway and turning towards the street, once again silently impressing herself with her built-in knowledge of where she was going. She had absolutely no idea what Claire was talking about or why she was so visibly angry, let alone who Luke even was.

  "Yeah, right," her friend laughed, though there was nothing remotely comical in her voice. Darcy maintained her focus on the road before her, growing more and more uncomfortable with the dynamic that was slowly unfolding in the tight confines of the super sleek car. To break the atmosphere's relative discomfort, she decided to lean forward and turn on the radio. This was not the first type of peer-to-peer conversation she was anticipating in her new, idealistic teenage life. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had tolerated such an indignant tone.

  "You're always sorry,” Claire instantly spat back, applying another coat of lip-gloss while looking at herself in the passenger side mirror. “The one time I need you to pick me up early you roll on in 10 minutes late, like you have nothing else better to do or that you're doing me some sort of huge favor. Now Luke's probably going to think I ditched him, or stood him up or whatever, and he’s going to ignore me for, like, the whole morning. You're so selfish. And what are you wearing? You look like your mom.”

  Darcy decided to just let a moment of silence to fill all of the proverbial hot air in the automobile until she could speed her mind up fast enough to think of some sort of retort or response.