I woke up the next morning and my head hurt so bad, and I felt just so off. I sat up slowly trying not to puke, and brought one of my hands up to rub my forehead, hoping that would calm the headache, and when I did, I felt something press against the side of my chest. I opened my eyes and I was shocked by what I saw! My own arm was pressing up against my chest, large and muscular and veiny! I stretched out my arms to see what happened, and I remembered Cooper suggesting a swap with… someone… so that’s what happened, at least.
I inspected my arms. They were massively muscled, biceps I’ve only seen on athletes and bodybuilders. My triceps (I think that’s what they’re called?) were equally large. Looking further down, I saw forearms that rippled each time I moved a finger. My hands were also large and meaty, my fingers extending much further than they had before. I also noticed a couple other odd things. One, I had two black rings tattooed around my left forearm, and the skin tone on my arms was quite a bit darker than the usual pasty white I was used to. I looked up and my shoulders and confirmed my suspicions when I saw what I could only describe as a ‘seam’ just inside my shoulders, where the dark skin met the usual white skin of the rest of my body in a defined line. Looking at the skin tone, I guessed the guy was either latino or half-black…
Either way, because of the swap or the side effect, I now had some other guy’s huge arms!
I got up out of bed slowly, and headed to the bathroom to look in the mirror. It looked strange to see these foreign arms on me, why was still a slightly overweight white guy, but these arms were impressive regardless. I started to flex, not really knowing what to do, but my arms flexed like I’d been doing it for a couple years at least. I assumed it was just muscle memory. It was amazing, my arms were huge and just flexing like this made them look massive! Even the veins in my arm seemed to get more noticeable. Eventually I heard my phone ringing in my room. I went back and looked at the Caller ID. Garfield High School? I answered. “Hello?” A woman responded. “Is this Mr. Devon Greaves?” “Uh… yes, this is? Can I help you?” “Very funny Mr. Greaves. You may be 26 and you may be the star of our football team, but you still need to attend your classes.” “I’m sorry, what do you mean?” “You need to come to class, Mr. Greaves. I won’t say it again.” Class? What the heck? What exactly did I swap last night? “Right… I’ll uh… I’ll be right in…?” The lady hung up on me.
“Well, now what?” I asked myself.