Jen hurried down the hallway, her mind still reeling from the history class. The weight of everything was too much—this world was a warped reflection of her own, where everything she knew was flipped. She needed a moment to collect herself, but the constant flood of unfamiliarity was overwhelming.
As she rounded a corner, she collided with someone coming the other way. Stumbling back, Jen looked up to see a girl around her age, with pale skin, blonde hair, and heavy makeup. But it wasn’t the girl’s appearance that caught Jen off-guard—it was the way she was dressed and carrying herself.
The girl wore a tight crop top with ripped jeans that sagged low on her hips, revealing the waistband of her boxer briefs. Gold hoops dangled from her ears, and her nails were long and acrylic, painted a neon pink. She had a swagger in her step and a dismissive look on her face as she snapped her gum.
“Yo, watch where you goin', girl!” the white girl barked, her voice dripping with a thick accent that Jen could only describe as "ghetto" in the way it mimicked the exaggerated stereotypes of street culture from her world.
“I’m... I’m sorry.” Jen mumbled, still trying to process what she was seeing.
The girl smirked, eyeing Jen up and down like she was sizing her up. “Damn, where you from? You lookin' all types of confused right now.”
Jen stared at her, still disoriented. “I, uh... I just moved here. I guess I'm not used to everything yet.”
The girl rolled her eyes dramatically. “No kidding. You walkin' around here lookin' like you don’t know the first thing about how we do things. What’s your name?”
“Jen.” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Aight, Jen.” the girl said with a nod, her attitude suddenly a little warmer. “I’m Brittany, but you can call me Britt.”
“Nice to meet you, Britt.” Jen said awkwardly, unsure how to react to the girl’s over-the-top persona.
Britt leaned in, lowering her voice like she was about to spill some secret. “Lemme guess—your mom and daddy finally got tired of broke-ass livin’ and moved out here, huh? Tryin' to get a taste of that good life?”
Jen blinked, taken aback. “Uh, not exactly.”
Britt sucked her teeth, shaking her head. “Girl, please. You ain’t gotta lie to me. I know how it is for people like us. You prob’ly from the trailer parks or somethin', right? Ain’t no shame in it, though. We gotta hustle hard in this world.”
Jen’s head spun as Britt talked, her speech full of slang that Jen had only ever associated with the stereotypical "ghetto" aesthetic from her world. Except here, it was coming from a white girl, and everything about it felt off, like someone wearing a costume they didn’t quite fit.
“I mean, shoot, you gotta get with the program if you wanna survive here.” Britt continued. “Black folks run this place. You gotta learn how to play the game. Ain't no handouts for people like us.”
Jen could barely comprehend what she was hearing. In her world, Britt would’ve probably been the one looking down on people for talking like that. But here, it was like she was mimicking a culture that wasn’t hers, trying to fit into a social system where whites were at the bottom.
“Y’know what you need?” Britt said, glancing down at Jen’s simple outfit. “You gotta get yourself some better clothes, for real. Ain’t nobody gonna take you serious walkin' around like that. You gotta show 'em you can keep up, even if you broke.”
Jen looked down at herself. She hadn’t thought much about her clothes in this world, but now she realized how out of place she must look. Here, it seemed like even fashion and style were part of navigating this strange power dynamic.
“I... I don’t really know where to start.” Jen admitted, feeling completely lost.
Britt grinned. “Aight, girl, you in luck. I can hook you up. I know all the spots to get good deals, make you look fly without breakin' the bank. You need a mentor, and you lookin' at the best one in this school.”
Jen wasn’t sure if Britt was being genuine or if she was just trying to boost her own ego, but the offer sounded better than continuing to wander around clueless.
“Uh, thanks.” Jen said, feeling overwhelmed. “I might take you up on that.”
Britt winked. “You better. Trust me, Jen, in this world, you gotta fake it ‘til you make it. Ain't nobody gonna hand you nothin’.”
Jen nodded, though the words rang hollow in her ears. Faking it was the last thing she wanted to do, but in this upside-down world, it seemed like she didn’t have much choice.
“Well, catch you later, girl.” Britt said, snapping her gum again before strutting down the hallway with her exaggerated swagger.
Jen stood there for a moment, watching Britt go, her mind racing. Everything felt so alien to her—the flipped history, the social dynamics, and now even how people like Britt were acting. How was she supposed to fit in when every aspect of her identity felt wrong here?