Just then, Jen heard her mother open the door and call out to her, “honey, your movers are here!”
Two men in overalls and back braces came in, walked over to Jen, and each grabbed underneath one of her sides. Jen felt them touch her wooden frame and shouted “be careful where you put those hands!” as she blushed. She was relieved at least that she wouldn’t have to scoot herself all the way to school, and she definitely couldn’t drive with her new body.
The movers loaded her into the back of a box truck and shut the door, leaving Jen in the dark. It was then that the reality of her situation hit her and she started to tear up. Was this going to be the rest of her life, just being a leather couch girl? Would people try to use her like the couch she was or treat her like a human being? Jen pictured in her the humiliation of being used as just another piece of furniture by her friends, two on either side of her torso sticking out of the seat of a couch:
As she was absorbed in thought, the truck came to a halt in front of her school. The movers opened the door, the light hurting Jen’s eyes. They lifted her back up and brought her inside. While going through the door they bumped Jen’s wooden leg on the doorframe.
“Ouch! Watch it. I’m not some cheap IKEA couch you know!”
“Sorry miss,” one of the movers said, as Jen was shocked at how used to thinking of herself as a couch she already was.
The movers set her down in her first class of the day, in a space that normally would have been occupied by a row of three or four desks. Then they left, leaving Jen wondering how she would get to her next class. As students filtered into the classroom, Jen encountered her next issue as a couchgirl: