The world faded back into existence, and Jennifer blinked. She was no longer in the laundry room with only half her clothes on; now, instead, she was back in her bedroom, lying on the bed.
"Must have been a dream," she mumbled, chuckling to herself. She could see from the mirror on the ceiling that she was fully dressed already. While resolving to get to bed earlier in the future so she didn't fall asleep while getting dressed tomorrow morning, she sat up and swung her legs across the satin sheets, sticking them into the white vinyl knee- high platform boots that were a part of the East Hampton High cheerleading uniform.
She zipped up the boots, careful of her perfectly-manicured inch-long fingernails, and stood up. She walked across the plush carpet of her gigantic bedroom to get a look at herself in the antique full-length mirror standing in the corner -- and as she stood in front of it, suddenly the disorientation hit her. She didn't have a mirror on the ceiling above her bed, she didn't have satin sheets, she didn't have inch-long fingernails, and she definitely didn't have a cheerleading outfit like this. The green-and-yellow ruffled skirt was only a couple of inches long, with the straps her yellow thong underwear visible above the top; meanwhile, the other part of the uniform was little more than a green bikini top with very short sleeves attached, showing off plenty of cleavage. The intertwined "EH" logo was over her right breast; "Jennifer" was embroidered on the left.
"All right, what kind of a practical joke is this?!" Jennifer yelled to no one in particular. She stomped over to her walk-in closet to find her real cheerleader outfit.
She quickly discovered that all of her clothes were like what she was wearing. The closet was chock full of minidresses, skimpy halter tops, tight shorts, and unbelievably short skirts. Lace, leather, and latex abounded. Her shoe collection had nothing less than a 4-inch heel, and most looked like they'd be highly uncomfortable to walk in, although she realized that she was doing just fine with the boots she was wearing.
Could it really be possible that Kyle had transported her to another reality, one where high school girls dressed like this? And what else was different? Jennifer sat down on the loveseat at the foot of her bed, facing her TV. She leaned over and opened the drawer in the end table, pulling out an object she didn't recognize by feel -- and then dropping it like a hot potato when it turned out to be a vibrator. She was a good girl, mostly -- she didn't have anything like that in her room, or, at least, she didn't used to. Finally, she found the remote control she was looking for and turned on the TV.
"...but when the zoning board met last month, they put off taking action on the Glendale Boulevard property." It was the voice of a local anchorwoman on the morning news, narrating while video of a vacant lot was on the screen. Jennifer relaxed a bit, because this all seemed normal. But then the video ended. On screen, the anchorwoman said, "The city council will take up the issue this afternoon." Her hair was teased up high, her silver halter top showed off lots of skin, and her face was made up like she was acting in a porn movie, with dark eyeliner and colorful eye shadow, long eyelashes, and overly glossy lips. Those lips parted into a smile as she said, "Now Jerry's here with another look at your morning weather."
Sitting at the anchor desk next to her, Jerry was dressed in what Jennifer considered normal, a jacket and tie. He was acting completely normally, too: "It's currently 56 degrees at our weather center, and we're heading for a high of 85 this afternoon. Our Channel 9 Super Doppler shows a little bit of precipitation about 50 miles west of us, but we're looking for that to dissipate before it reaches the greater Glendale area. I'll have your complete forecast after this."
A company logo Jennifer didn't recognize came on the screen, and an announcer's voice said, "Closed captioning for the Channel 9 News is brought to you by Robinson's. Around the world, you'll find Robinson's."
Then the commercial started. There were quick shots of a very diverse-appearing series of women -- actually, they might have been in high school or maybe college -- wearing skimpy lingerie and high heels, reclining in beds in what looked like luxurious surroundings, waving to the camera. A graphic at the bottom identified them by first name and location: Amy, Peoria. Kimiko, Osaka. Maya, Buenos Aires. Kathleen, Tampa.
A group of singers performed a jingle over the girls. "Wherever you go, you're always in luck/'Cause you'll always find, a great place to fuck..." Jennifer stared at the commercial, open-mouthed, not quite believing what she was seeing. Ingrid, Montreal. Preeta, Bangalore. Kelly, Seattle.
"Wherever you go, for sexual fun/Around the world, you'll find Robinson's." Cut to, wearing a black babydoll nightie, sheer enough to make her nipples and aureolas very obvious, Jennifer herself lying in bed and saying to the camera, "Hey, Glendale, I'm Jennifer, and I'll see you at your local Robinson's." "Rosedale Road at U.S. Highway 94," said the graphic at the bottom of the screen, and "robinsons.com/glendale."
Stunned, Jennifer managed to hit the "power" button on the remote, but then just sat there, taking deep breaths. Not only did this seem to be a world where women always dressed like strippers or hookers, and not only did there seem to be at least one worldwide chain of brothels that advertised on television, but she was appearing in the local version of their commercials.
Jennifer wondered if she was even supposed to have school today in this reality, or if maybe she was supposed to go to work, or something like that.