The hall monitor shook her head and picked Andrew up. “I’ll take you to the guidance counselor.”
“But…I need a nurse. I got small!”
“Nothing we can do about that, missy, except start you back in seventh grade again.”
“What?”
Before she knew it Andrew was wearing a dress and sitting with an entire class of seventh graders. She was so embarrassed to have to wear a training bra and panties.
“Now,” said Mrs. Weaver, “Who can tell me the starting date of the American Revolution?”
“I don’t belong here,” said Andrew. “I want to end this game!”
“This isn’t a game, little missy, now calm down.”
“Where’s the start menu? Where’s the reset button? I want to go home!”
“Andrew—if that is your name—calm yourself down or I’ll report you.”
“Screw you, computer lady?”
“Suit yourself.” She hit a button on her remote control. The security camera in the corner beeped and swiveled.
“No!” Her voice jumped an octave the moment the beam hit her body. Andrew’s training bra loosened. Her panties slipped down her skinny legs.
“I can take off another four years,” Mrs. Weaver said.
“No, I’ll be good,” Andrew cried. She could feel hot tears rolling down her plump cheeks. Her teeth were big and crooked, and what was left of her teen curves flattened out like her chest. Her dress reached down to her ankles.
Andrew climbed back on her chair. The room seemed gigantic like a gymnasium. The other students seemed like grown-ups compared to her. They looked down at their work and did not make eye contact.
“If there are no more interruptions, then we can continue…”