A skateboard falls out of the locker, landing at your feet. Acting purely on instinct, you pick it up. The board looks well used, what looks like some sort of skull design on the bottom is nearly worn off, the deck also shows signs of wear, as well as some custom images painted on, obscuring whatever was originally there. A weird feeling sweeps through your body, and you feel your pulse quicken thinking about the skateboard, and all the fun you can have on it.
Suddenly, the baseball outfit repels you, and you find yourself practically tearing the thing off in disgust. BASEBALL?!! It isn't even a real sport! All you do is spend your time standing around waiting for something to HAPPEN! Even when you are up at bat, you are waiting for the idiot pitcher to get around to tossing the ball in your direction! Sheesh! You're glad to be out of the uniform!
Of course, now you are naked... You glance down at your body, then stare. Your pudgy mid-section already looks thinner, leaner-- and decidedly less hairy. Your dick, circumcised, looks smaller and thinner, too, and your balls smaller. You look around, then back into the locker. A ratty t-shirt, which seems to have originally been for a punk band, hangs on a hook, a pair of boxer shorts and some torn up short pants, with a wide, black, heavily studded belt hangs on another. A battered backpack hangs in the back of the locker. Skate shoes sit in the bottom of the locker. You grab all of the clothes, the skateboard, and the backpack. Not bothering to shut the locker, you head to the end of the aisle, where a full length mirror hangs on the wall. Looking in the mirror, you note that you look young-- somewhere in your late teens? Some part of you look younger, though. Your "equipment" looks maybe mid-teens.
Pulling the shirt over your head and onto your upper body, you discover that, with all the holes and tears in it, it only sorta covers your body. Glancing in the mirror, you see that your lean, narrow face is darkly tanned, and your short, spiked hair bleached blond by the sun. Wiry muscles flex with every move and, pulling up the bottom of the shirt, you find a tight six pack, nearly an eight pack!, of muscles on your abdomen.
"All right!" you say, followed by a clicking noise in your mouth. Sticking out your tongue, you discover a tongue stud. A picking feeling in your ears announces the arrival of multiple piercings. Instinctively your hands go to your ears, and you notice some older scars on your forearms, along with some fresh scraps. Apparently trophies of failed stunts.
Bending down, you pull on the boxers and the shorts, then tug on the shoes. You seem to have surprisingly little leg hair. You look back into the mirror.
A kid is staring back at you.
"Oh no! I'm a FRESHMAN!" you groan as the truth hits you. You're fifteen, tops! More likely fourteen. Looking around, you realize you have also lost some height as well-- the locker room looks even bigger, the lockers taller. You've gotta be under five and a half feet tall...
You shoulder the mostly empty backpack (somehow you doubt there are any textbooks in it), and wonder what to do next.