It had been a long night for Max. Five minutes into the 20 minute walk in the cold back to his house, he grew begrudgingly thankful for the jacket that Seth had offered him. His jacket that that brute had spilt that dumb protein shake on was not near as warm as Seth's letterman, and it even seemed to make his body itself grow warmer the longer he had it on.
"Hey, Mom! I'm home!" Opening the door to his house—instead of the toasty invite he had expected—the air inside was just as cold as outside. "Why's it so cold in here?!"
His mom appears from around the corner looking frayed and bundled up in at least six layers. Pushing the loose hairs back from her forehead, she begins, "Something happened with the outside transformer and now we have no electricity. The city's public utility people should be here soon, but for now, try to keep warm." She disappears around the corner again as Max begins making his way upstairs. Luckily for him, the relatively warmer air had made its way up to the second story, and he shut his door to trap the air with him. Fortunately, the email Seth sent him had been received by his laptop before the electricity went out, so he was able to retrieve the part of the essay he typed at Seth's place. Working off his memory and the few books on the subject he had, he was able to finish the essay and save it to his laptop for tomorrow.
Shutting his laptop closed and stuffing it in his backpack, he decides to take a shower. Before shedding his clothes, though, he turns on the water. Cranking the handle to the warm water he wants, he holds his hand under the faucet in anticipation for the warm water to come.
"Max!" His mom yells from downstairs, "There's no electricity! The water's not gonna heat up!"
"My bad!" Seth yells from the bathroom. Turning the water off disappointingly, he trudges back to his bedroom. His room is pretty minimalist compared to some of his friends. His bed is neatly tucked into the corner and made up. His desk sits next to his bed, with his big monitor connected to an assortment of video game consoles. If the power wasn't out, he'd probably play a few rounds of Super Smash Bros or something. Finding nothing else to entertain him, and feeling fatigued all of the sudden, he decides to lay down. Resting his head on his pillow, he closes his eyes and dozes off.
—
Opening his eyes, Max finds himself in a classroom. Looking to his left, he sees Seth sitting there in a white tank top and crimson basketball shorts eyeing the softball game going on outside. Looking ahead at the teacher, he sees that he's in his AP Macroeconomics class. "Ah this is easy. I'm great at this class," Max thinks to himself coolly.
"Max," the teacher calls out, "Can you tell us the difference between commodity money and flat money?"
"Yes, sir, the difference is that... uh..." His mind has gone blank. Flat and commodity? What does commodity even mean? "Is the difference, uh, that flat money is the paper stuff and, um, com-mod-ity are like the coins?" At this, the class erupts into laughter, making Max sink a little in his chair. As the teacher hushes the class and moves on, Max feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns to see Seth bringing his muscular arm back to his desk.
"Bro, don't worry about them. Us jocks aren't supposed to be in these classes."
"What are you talking about? I'm not a dumb jock like you, I'm nothing like you," Max says as he turns back toward the teacher. Trying to listen to what the teacher is saying, Max feels his mind is lagging behind—comprehending nothing.
"Have you looked at yourself," Seth asks quietly. "You are just like me."
Hearing this, Max looks down at himself. He is wearing a white tank top just like Seth, and he's got a matching pair of crimson basketball shorts to match Seth. Looking at the bottom of the shorts on his left leg, he sees a white number 18 stitched on the mesh: his football number. "What-what... happened to me?" He brings his arm to his head, and notices the absence of his usually long, straight brown hair. It seems he now has a buzzcut—a haircut he has always associated with the biggest meatheads of his school. Returning his gaze to his chest, he notices that his pecs are huge, so much so that he feels embarrassed walking around the school with them pressing against his tight tank top. "But the chicks dig it, bro." As he thinks of the hottest cheerleaders on the squad that always cheer him on at his games, his dicks begins standing at attention under his loose shorts. Bringing a hand to push it down, he notices how huge his hands are now: Gotta have big hands to catch a football, and they're especially calloused from years of weightlifting. His arms have grown to match Seth's, and he appreciates how the tank top allows everyone to see the years of hard work that have gone into them. Moving his head to see under the desk, he sees the tree trunks that his legs have become. Tanned and covered in brown hair, he watches as a quick flex make his calves pop against his skin.
"How's it feel, bro?" Seth asks as he watches from his desk.
"Feels go-" Max begins answering before he smells a foul stench. Investigating, he quickly finds out that his armpits are covered in a thick bush of wiry, brown hairs that are giving out a pungent odor. "Wait! I don't want to be a big, smelly jock!" Remembering how he was unable to answer the question his professor just asked, he continues, "I don't want to be a dumb meathead like you and the rest of those jocks! I want to be myself!" Closing his eyes as he yells that last line, he opens them to find himself out of the classroom and on the high school football field. His vision is obstructed by a face mask, and he notices that he's wearing the football uniform of his high school. Lifting his muscular arms to his head, he tries to wrench the helmet off his head, but to no avail.
"It's no good, Max." Seth says jogging up, "This is who you are now."
"N-no," Max says tiredly, "I'm not... a jock." Upon saying this, Seth disappears and is replaced by a huge linebacker from his rival school. The burly linebacker charges towards Max, but right before impact, Max wakes up.
"No... it was a dream. It was all a dream." Not looking around the room, Max jumps out of bed and makes his way to his bathroom mirror. Walking past and missing the two dumbbells in the corner, the trophy case full of awards from little league to present day, and his football jersey laid on the back of the chair at his desk, he yanks open the door to his bathroom and looks in the mirror. Seeing his new buzzcut, he slowly lowers himself to the floor and begins to cry.