The sheer impossibility of the situation finally begins to overwhelm you, and you pull off to the side of the road for some good, old fashion freaking out. You are you! You are someone else! Some kid. Not just any kid, but Jordan K. Lawton III-- the only son of Jordan K. Lawton, Jr., if you are recalling your facts correctly. Jordan K. Lawton, JR. got his start with HIS dad's money, made from defending major corporations from lawsuits, and managed to multiple that fortune by an unguessable amount during the 1980s "corporate raiding" fad. He then married a trophy wife, and so far had only produced one offspring-- and now you are that offspring! You never had that much interest in celebrity gossip, but you seem to recall hearing that Jordan III-- "Trey"-- spends much of his time shuttling between his father and wherever his mother lives... Great. You've got a new mom, and you don't even know where she lives-- or what her name is!
You rub your young forehead against the steering wheel. Is today a school day, or is school out for some reason? Or do you get private tutoring or something?!? Finally, you decide that your best course of action would be to head home, your new home, that is, and look for clues. What choice do you have? You don't even know for certain how you got into this body, much less how to swap back!
Pulling out the driver's license again, you double check the address-- you roughly know where it is, a neighborhood with really large houses. Mansions, really. You head for that neighborhood.
You feel self-conscious, driving through this neighborhood, until you remember the car you are in. In your old P.O.S. you probably would be pulled over and questioned. No doubt the local law enforcement's attitude is that poor folk have no business here, unless making a delivery or some similar chore. Your old self would not have fit in at all, but your new self looks like he belongs here.
You finally locate the correct address-- a big piece of property, with the house not even visible from the street. You pull up to the gates and pause a moment, before discovering a remote clipped to the driver's side visor remotely opens them. Feeling a bit foolish for not realizing that sooner, you drive slowly up the driveway, more of a private street actually, and soon find yourself "home."
Parking the car in a huge garage-- you old apartment could fit inside it three times over!-- you head indoors, wondering where your room is.
No one seems to be home at the moment, or are well away from the area you entered through. Finding a stairway along a marble lined hallway, you head upstairs. Kids bedrooms are usually up, right? Passing by rooms so neat and bland that they have to be guest rooms, you finally find a door with the name "Trey" on it, and slip inside. An open, walk-in closet reveals neatly stored clothes in your size. Walking across the plush, red carpet you head for the closet, trying to get a feel for your new self. Through a cedar trimmed doorway, you see a huge bathroom, separate whirl-pool tub and shower, frosted glass bowl for the sink, and other, expensive details. One of the walls is a mirror, and you enter the room and, on an impulse, strip.
You may be sixteen according to your driver's license, but your body doesn't seem to realize it. It looks more like that of someone twelve or under. No body hair, narrow shoulders, small, child sized-- ! Feeling your body, you confirm your lack of development.
You hear someone knocking on your door.
"Just a minute!" you call out, quickly putting your clothes back on.
Answering the door, you see a man, probably in his 40s, standing there. Your "father".
"So, son, how did things go with the doctor?" he asks you. "Did he figure out your, um, 'problem'?"
You realize you need to provide an answer.