“Ugggh,” you moan, laying face-up on the floor. You feel like death, with your bloated stomach pushing your shirt upwards and loudly protesting being force-filled with chocolate cake. Straining to look up at the tray of cake, you see there’s still about two plates’ worth left. George would be back any minute now, though.
With a shaking hand, you grab as much cake as you can and shovel it into your mouth. You think that if you just smear the cake around a bit, maybe George won’t notice. I mean, that worked with your parents when they wanted you to eat rutabagas, why not now? You swallow. Maybe two more handfuls of cake are left. You’re sweating and clammy all over. The sweetness of the icing is getting to be too much. Before you can dwell on it too much, you grab another handful. This time, only half of it goes into your mouth, the rest onto your face.
You’re feeling sick, but victory is in sight. You reach out and bring the tray of cake down to the floor, where you are. Before you can even think about what you’re doing, you shove your face into the remainder of the cake. At this point, swallowing is painful, but a few labored chews and the cake is finally done. You don’t feel like celebrating though, you’re feeling something else entirely. It feels like your digestive system is going in reverse. Uh oh.
A few moments later, George opened the door, carrying a case of beer. He jumped back in surprise as you dart past him, hand to your mouth. You run into the woods. George looked at your hunched form with amusement from the deck as you unleash your vomit. The sweet cake was much worse the second time around. After a couple minutes of heaving, you stand up shakily, wipe yourself off, and stumble back to the cabin. “Want a beer?” George offered, jokingly.
“I don’t want any--” You burp. George backed up quickly, fearing you were about to yack again. “...more food for the next week. I finished your stupid cake.”
George shook his head. “It doesn’t count if you can’t keep it down.”
“Bullshit. It counts.” You sigh. “Sorry Dad, but I gotta get out of this body, for now at least,” you say to yourself. George trails you as you slowly walk inside and pick up the socks from where Rani had left them. Setting them on the kitchen counter, you turn on the faucet and stick your face under the running water to rinse the cake and vomit off your face. “Where’s your pile of shoes?” you ask George as you scrub your face with a towel.
“Really? You’re changing now?” George asked, motioning you to follow him upstairs into the bedroom. “After the whole summer as your dad?”
“I’m changing right back. I need to hit the reset button on this body before I throw up again.” Once upstairs, you pull your father’s loafers out from under one of the beds and set them on top. You slip the socks on and grab a random pair of shoes from George’s pile. You have a brief moment of curiosity as to what would happen if you put on shoes from two different pairs, but your gurgling stomach reminds you that you need to get out of your current body immediately.
You slip the shoes on and flop down on the bed. “I don’t care what rewards you have for me,” you moan. “No more eating competitions. I’m done.”
“C’mon, man,” George said as he sat down on the floor. “I had some plans involving a bucket of chicken and some hot sauce.” You retch at the thought of more greasy food. “Aaah! Alright, alright!” George exclaimed, backing away. “No more eating. Just...don’t get this room all vomity.”
You close your eyes as you feel the changes begin. Mercifully, your midsection was the first to shrink, causing your shirt to stop riding up your enormous gut and deadening your nausea. Placing your hand on your stomach, you feel the flab vanishing and a six-pack taking its place. You sigh with relief as your biceps bulk up under your shirt. You open your eyes and glance down at your legs. You are growing taller: your sweatpants now only reach to your lower calves and you can see silvery hair sprouting around your ankles. Your jaw tingles as the fat dissipates and becomes more square. Taking stock in your shifting body, you’re amused to see that your new form is about ten years older than your father, but is in way, *way* better shape.
As your pudge continues to melt away, you jump up, now full of energy. You rip your shirt off and toss your phone to George. “Take a picture,” you tell him, noticing your rich baritone. You flex as he snaps your photo and hands your phone back to you. You now have a full head of silver hair, as well as some thick darker hair on your stomach. You have a salt-and-pepper beard that’s a little bit longer than it was in your father’s body, brilliant blue eyes, and a ripped upper body. This guy must be an outdoor sports enthusiast. “Not bad,” you say with a low whistle. Surprisingly, a tribal tattoo of thick connecting black lines going down both of your sides has appeared on your new body, starting under your armpits. Pulling the elastic forward on your sweatpants, you see the design continues downwards to your hips.
George sits down next to you. “Glad you’re getting into the spirit of these socks, ya silver fox,” he said, gesturing down at your feet. “Don’t you want to keep this for a while?” You look over at your father’s loafers sitting next to you on the bed. You said to George that you were changing right back, but you really like this new body. It feels amazing. No offense to your father, but it was a definite upgrade. Also, thinking of that body reminded you of being sick, something you didn’t want to go back to so quickly.
“I don’t know,” you finally say. “I think I might call it an early night and sleep on it.”
George shrugged. “‘Kay. G’night,” he said, getting up to leave. “And it doesn’t count.”
“Yes it does.”
George leaves. You stare at your father’s loafers for a few moments, then put them on the floor under the bed. You get undressed after walking to your own bedroom, turn off the light, and slip into bed. Your excitement over this change prevents you from falling straight asleep, so you play back some of your body’s memories. With your eyes closed, you see visions of mountain climbing last winter with a group of similar-looking individuals. The various other outdoor activities make you regret spending most your time indoors playing video games. The memories are enough to make you sleepy, but right before you drift off, you have a memory of something that gives you an idea of how you can get back at George. You fall asleep with a smile on your face.