At that, your emotions get the better of you. "Yeah, I still want to yell at you, you fucking Goth bitch! I may be rich and hot and athletic and have awesome hair, but I'm still a girl! Like I said, you had no right to do this to me! I don't want to be like this!"
Tamara sighs. "Okay," she says.
"Okay?"
She nods. "But I can't do anything immediately. I need a little time to set up the transformation and the reality alterations. So you're going to have to spend a little more time living as you are now, but I promise, by the time you wake up tomorrow morning, I'll change you."
"Well, I guess that's okay," you say.
"Great," says Tamara. She heads toward the gym door. You follow, a few paces behind her.
There are only a couple of cars left in the student parking lot. Tamara heads to a rusty Oldsmobile -- you briefly wonder why she hasn't used her magic powers to pimp her ride -- and a couple of rows away is a shiny black BMW convertible, as advertised.
You remember that the address on your Stacey Fox driver's license is 18 Tanglewood Court; you only have a vague idea where that is, so you're delighted to see that the car has a built-in GPS system with a "home" button. 10 minutes later, after following the computerized voice's directions, you pull into the driveway of an oversized house with a 3-car garage around the side. You find the opener and pull your car into the rightmost spot, next to a Mercedes and another BMW. There's none of the clutter you're used to seeing in a garage -- it's practically spotless.
You go inside and wind up next to the kitchen, which is a huge room with copper pots hanging from the ceiling and stainless steel appliances. You hear the TV on -- on the other side of the kitchen is what looks like the family room. Your mother's watching the news on a giant flat screen attached to the wall; when she notices you standing there, she picks up the remote to turn the TV off, and gets up from the couch.
"Hi, honey, how was practice?" she asks. She's wearing an expensive-looking Chinese-inspired silk robe, and her hair and makeup look different than you've seen them before. She almost looks 10 years younger. You wonder if this Richard Fox guy, your father, paid for her to have plastic surgery.
"Earth to Stacey," she says. "Are you okay?"
"Huh?" You suddenly realize you were lost in thought. "Sorry. Practice was fine. I'm just tired. I'm going upstairs. Good night."
You pretend you know where the stairs are -- although you do find them fairly quickly. Once in the upstairs hallway, you peek into the first open door you come to. It seems to be an unoccupied bedroom at first glance, so you flip the light switch.