Mystery Lake

[9] Breakfast

"... and so, I became Queen of the Lizards in science lab room 725."

That was how Brock chose to conclude his brief but incredibly complicated Byzantine story for the others, which included multiple digressions within the same sentence and non-sequiturs about the creation of the metric system and the very first official snowball fight in Western Canada.

Roxanne had no idea why she even listened to half of it. The biggest mystery of all was where Brock got the gob of peanut butter on a butter knife that he consumed in the middle of his rambling story.

Ross didn't seem at all bothered by anything Brock had done or said since that agent let them go, as if this was a new, unstated competition between them that would show who had more patience. Well, she didn't care about winning. Her only concern at the moment was what they were going to do now.

The original trip proposal included the expectation that they would camp around the lake, with a big question mark as to the events of the rest of the day. Then they would drive back before dusk or find a place around here to spend the night. The possibility of lingering longer had been cautiously floated by Duncan, but without any force behind it.

They each had their own plans for spring break, even if some of them were meager. Netflix and crunches for Joel and Jess. Dorm redecorating and website building, respectively, for Brock and Chiara. Miranda and Ross were expectedly reluctant to reveal their plans, before and especially since the new alignment of selves. Roxanne could probably guess from their actions on the pier that they would be asking for a private room wherever the group wound up staying for the evening. Not that she and Jake would be any different. However, the question remained whether the third likely couple would follow suit.

Chiara was diligent with her driving, focusing every ounce of her attention, but Roxanne could tell that her mind wanted to be with Brock in the back seat. The blond boy wore that mysterious so-called agent's strange Casio watch proudly and prominently on his wrist. It looked exactly like the kind of thing that would be bugged or contain a secret knockout gas sprayer. Maybe that sounded too much like a spy movie, but Roxanne didn't like it. Brock seemed to love it, though, so she was in a bit of a pickle. Oh well, plenty of other things to worry about in the meantime.

Like Roxanne's overwhelming urge to fart. The last thing she had as a man for an early morning snack was a leftover can of beans, and they were making their final tour through her new system. Clearly going to be a series of manly toots. She was under no impression that girls didn't fart. Jess disapproved that quite well. The last leftovers from the remains of being a boy. She could hold them down for a while, but they were an inevitability.

She noticed that the others had plenty of little physical problems of their own. Jake was still getting used to the kielbasa. Encumbrance sounded like one of those big words that was just big enough for that big thing. She wanted to help, in a wide variety of ways, but let the new boy figure out his comfort level for now. They could talk about such things in private later.

Sitting didn't feel particularly natural or comfortable to Roxanne now that she had more time to think about it rather than deflect on anything else. Miranda had a queenly pillow planted beneath her. Her hips felt like someone had cracked them all out of shape, and there was a weird little wrinkle of flesh that not only traced there but snuck around the rest of her altered body, like some sneaky, stubborn crease in a bed sheet that was impossible to stamp out. And that avoided talking about the void down there.

Not that 'void' was anywhere close to an accurate description of the steaming cavern with a mind of its own. The skirt provided more of a vent than the crushing clamp of those painted-on jeans, but neither option was a solution. Probably the only solution was to get better acquainted with the deli section. Not a crazed, splaying herself lengthwise urgency, but another obligation to release eventually.

Looking around, it was obvious that the other amateur girls had their own things to deal with. Miranda struggled with the urge to poke her fingernails in her mouth every so often for a nibble. Every time she yanked them back, they inevitably found their way there again. It was hard to see that much of Chiara from Roxanne's position, but she was doing an admirable job of not letting any physical distraction impede her driving. Roxanne could only imagine that it must have felt like the most persistent itch in every corner of her body.

Where were they going, and what were they doing now? The general motivation leaned toward somewhere to eat, but the flaky cellular connection left no hints as to a destination. Just leave it up to chance, and the next restaurant they glimpsed by the roadside could be a one-way trip to far more than some toots with few restrooms in sight. At the same time, hunting down another campsite with an uncertain variety of other campers and a lengthy setup to make any sort of meal would be encroaching on an ordeal.

"Do you think Miss Clifton had a personal experience with that lake, and that's how she knew about it?" Miranda's question was cast to the back without any real preamble, like a composed but stray thought. Jake quietly brushed some grit from his eyes and appeared on the cusp of providing a lucid response. Ross in the back clearly didn't seem interested in sharing any more thoughts now with the rest of the class since announcing his liberation from his past. Brock listened, but seemed more wrapped up in delicately programming the tiny buttons on the watch.

Miss Clifton didn't start out as a Miss? Before today, Joel would have found that idea ridiculous. If anyone was firmly in Lady Land, it had to be that teacher. Of course, she now found herself a clear and likely permanent resident of that place, despite her former status. It made sense with the rest of the mysteries surrounding Miss Clifton. Did it mean that she never met anyone like this Agent Cerberus? Or had she broken an agreement by telling a lecture hall full of students where to go?

Miranda brought up many of the same points that were already fluttering through Roxanne's head, but her key piece of evidence was a suggestive, arching, unnecessary gesture across her body evocative of Miss Clifton's figure. However, she had practically more to talk about than the teacher. This thought gradually occurred to Miranda as her eyes lingered on herself uncomfortably turned and half straddling the armrest. She eventually asked for one of the blankets poking out of the trunk space and spread it over herself like a cloak.

An uncomfortable lull followed. They all had their moments of shock, anger, confusion, delight, clarity, and hope after their transformations. No one had given voice to the question that settled at the top of Roxanne's thoughts: What now? Assuming the spooky man in the suit kept up his end of the bargain, they could go back to their lives. But what would their lives look like?

Roxanne didn't know a thing about practically everything about being a girl. At least she knew that Jake would be there to support her, and she would support him. All that forgettable junk about pads and cups and little absorbent things that went up inside was no longer forgettable. At least at the moment, she didn't feel like she was about to erupt in a flood of blood and abandoned baby stuff. Squeezing her thighs together both felt like a bad idea and a small comfort.

Ross relinquished her willful neutrality and chimed in on the Miss Clifton conundrum: "Just because she's a full… package doesn't mean she went through the same thing we did." The new boy, with a vaguely sparkly vampire sense, didn't quite scowl at the rest of them, but it sure looked like he wanted to sharpen his expression on a whetstone. Miranda swiftly concurred, her legs flaring out from the side of the seat and uncovered by her blanket. Ross obviously stared as he moistened his lips before swallowing, coughing, and fumbling for what bottled water they brought with them.

Jake nestled next to her, seeking out the kind of cuddling they always did, only she was bumping up against now uncomfortable dimensions, like a Great Dane hunting for familiar puppy proportions. She just didn't have enough lap, and Jake didn't seem quite ready for her to get into his. Roxanne noticed a slightly dogeared, classy romance trade paperback tucked beneath Jake's feet, clearly forgotten from the wee hours of the morning when she started skimming through it before the twisting character of the road left her queasy and unable to get that far.

Working her nimble toes and toned thighs, Roxanne managed to wiggle it over to her side and slide it into her grasp. The cover looked all fancy, with a pastel watercolor presentation of some European street. Of course, the main character was a woman, a somber fashion designer looking for a partner, sipping Long Island iced teas with a few gal pals. A promise of work in Paris had her venting and fretting like it was going to be an ordeal. Annoyance and apathy were the main emotions Roxanne projected toward the characters and the plot in general. Obviously, just changing her biology wasn't going to overhaul her interests. But there were some moments.

Listening to the main character describe someone she hadn't talked to in a while made Roxanne reflect. Most alarmingly, the stupidest tiny strings of description about that situation actually made her eyes feel like they were slightly cloudy, gathering the condensation for tears.

Screw that! No matter how much of a girl she was now, there was no way she was gonna cry over such a silly and inconsequential scene in an average book. But the damn thing soon made her eyes water. Fortunately, Brock unleashed a sudden, distracting outburst from the back.

"WAIT! PLEASE STOP THE CAR!"

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Chiara reacted quickly, slamming on the brakes, barely avoiding a fishtail with screeching tires, and carefully pulling onto the narrow shoulder. Directly in front of them was a diner with a wide sign with pink, fancy, looping lettering on a large, round, black pole announcing, "Molly's Diner". A small, cartoon burger on a plate topped the name. The building had a faded mural above the windows with vignettes of Harley-Davidson motorcycles, hot rods, and other touches of Americana. White and pink siding surrounded the building, with a faded green roof above. Empty patio tables with large red and yellow plastic chairs flanked the front.

It wasn't empty inside, and plenty of cars filled a good half of the parking lot. Carefully, Chiara managed to start breathing again and steered the car around the shoulder and into the entrance of the diner. Sheepishly, Brock squeaked an earnest, insistent apology but gestured boldly and happily to a poster on the side of the building. It took a while for the others to resolve the image and text.

Brock proclaimed, "ALL YOU CAN EAT BREAKFAST!! ALL YOU CAN EAT!!! All!!!" Each word underscored his exuberance with more enthusiasm. Ross leaned away, wide-eyed, as if he'd never seen anyone so excited about anything, especially this. Jake wore a placid wash of quiet amusement as if he'd seen this all before and was enjoying the ride. Chiara peeled her clawed, cramped fingers from the steering wheel as they pulled into an open parking spot conveniently adjacent to both the building and the road. Miranda broadly grimaced and gulped as if she had just returned from transforming into a giant frog.

Slowly, except for Brock, the group slipped their way out of the car and onto the slightly cracked pavement. Brock stood in front of the advertising poster and slammed the surface with a slicing arm. He reiterated his all-you-can-eat breakfast mantra. The expression on his face was surprisingly serious. Ross groaned but refused to admonish the boy. The poster contained, in addition to the emblazoned words Brock adored, a large, steaming, anonymous breakfast platter dripping with syrup over pancakes, bright sunny-side eggs, toast, and a massive slab of ham. Roxanne noticed in some text on the side that the word "breakfast" was misspelled, with the odd inclusion of the letter "I".

Even though it looked like Brock wanted to run up to the glass front door and rip it open, sending a shock wave of air through the entire building, he resisted the urge and scampered back to Chiara, who looked surprised that he remembered her at all. She fumbled a bit, dropping the car keys more than once, then flailing about with her balance to recover them.

Roxanne wondered again about what words they exchanged right before Layla became Brock. It wasn't her place to pry, but it felt like a needle dragging through her brain—something she just couldn't put to rest. Maybe it was the effect of what she had said to Jake to reassure him cascading through her thoughts. Likely, she suspected that Layla would say something like "jumping jellybean banana splits" rather than anything coherent. Ross scoped around the building, catching sight of some raccoons fleeing from the dumpster. Miranda did some peculiar pirouettes on her way to the curb, as if she imagined it was secretly an outdoor ballerina studio.

The group separated, with Chiara and Brock lingering behind and Jake pushing forward to hold the door open for everyone. This felt like the opportune moment to ask. Taking a deep breath, Roxanne inquired offhand, as casually as possible, "What did you say to one another earlier, before you jumped in, Brock?"

The question was couched in carefully considered body language, with Roxanne leaning back and keeping her arms behind her, her small stature hunched even more than usual, and a submissive frown on her face. Brock looked momentarily puzzled, and Chiara glanced worriedly between them. A smile swiftly sprung from Brock's face, and he replied, "I was just reassuring her. I said, 'Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere,' because I don't want Chiara's sweet heart to ever feel fretful." For emphasis, Brock deliriously draped himself over the stunned Chiara without pressing his weight down. The poor girl blossomed with trembling squirms and a blush from Brock's cheery sentiment that would make a steamed lobster jealous.

Roxanne preemptively kicked her ripe ovaries as a warning not to mess with her emotions any more. It was in vain, as her eyes grew wide and glossy and the soft, high-pitched response "Awwww..." escaped her mouth. This immediately caused Chiara to worry that Roxanne might have bumped her head at some point this morning. She did her best to recover by giving her roommate a fluttering smack on the shoulder that felt more like a tap from a butterfly than anything Joel would've done.

Jake ushered them into the diner, and they lingered around the cash register with several older patrons sipping coffee at the lunch counter, which turned at a ninety-degree angle to lead deeper into the restaurant. A woman with frizzy, graying hair in a small, tight bun and a bright pink apron emblazoned with the restaurant's logo approached them and asked where they would like to sit. Brock immediately announced, "All-you-can-eat breakfast! And a table for six!"

Several of the nearby patrons looked up from their meals and squinted skeptically, appraising the newcomers. Yeah, Roxanne knew they looked like cityfolk. The woman whose name on her lapel was "Debbie" replied, "All right. Just so you know, all-you-can-eat breakfast is only until one and no substitutions. Ham, two pancakes, three eggs, sausage, hash browns, and your choice of toast to start. You can refill any two items at a time. You're welcome to sit wherever you feel comfortable. Will it be one check or separate checks?"

Ross adjusted his clothes several times with tugs on all sides and scanned around the restaurant, searching for some reaction. Chiara clung to Brock's arm as if it were the only thing keeping her from tumbling to the floor. Brock practically sparkled with dreamy delight while listening to the recitation of the all-you-can-eat contents. Miranda stood with her back straight, but her arms crossed over her chest to downplay her boldest feature. Her eyes, like Ross's, danced around the dining area. Jake adjusted his glasses and puffed his breath.

The six of them settled into a circular booth with faded and faintly distressed pink leather cushions and the occasional patchwork of pink duct tape. Brock slid the deepest into the ring, his back practically against the corner of the building. Chiara carefully scooted over to his right but ended up a respectful distance away. Jake took the opposite end from Brock, with Roxanne next to her. On the other side, Miranda settled comfortably next to Chiara atop her big butt, while Ross seemed to have the same idea as Roxanne at the opposite opening. Although she suspected that the man only ended up there because it afforded the easiest escape route.

The menu, placed in a metal centerpiece filled with jellies, butters, salt and pepper, and a bottle of Heinz ketchup, looked like a patchwork of several different styles, with recent additions to the prices scribbled on. Roxanne raised an eyebrow at the current cost of the all-you-can-eat breakfast, but Brock wasn't the least deterred. Clinks of plates and silverware, sharp hisses of grilling, and a quiet classic country song warbling from the rafters were the only sounds that filtered over to their end of the restaurant.

A young woman in the same uniform as Debbie ambled over to their table, extracted her notepad, and mechanically asked if they wanted anything to drink. The name on her lapel read "Sherry" in neat, block letters. Roxanne glanced at the woman and noticed that her eyes were visibly bloodshot and her hair was also frazzled, but otherwise she seemed perfectly composed. Her figure was as subdued as Alyssa's used to be, but without the pale pallor. Ross peered across the table at Roxanne, as if he somehow psychically sensed the comparison she was making.

Everyone asked for water, but Miranda also wanted whole milk, while Roxanne went with orange juice. Chiara had been focused on sneaking smiles over to Brock while casually scanning the menu. She glanced up at their waitress, and all the color instantly drained from her face. Chiara screamed like she was being murdered and hid behind her menu, desperately leaning into Brock for protection.

Absolute silence fell over the diner, and every single eye was now staring at them. Quickly, Jake popped up from his seat and nervously and clearly apologized to Chiara and everyone around. "Oh my gosh! I am so sorry. I stepped hard on your foot. I'm a big, clumsy oaf! Are you okay? I know it's been tender lately."

Jake's desperate lie allowed some normalcy to settle back in, even though Roxanne could still feel eyes looking at them askance. Brock wrapped his arms around Chiara and motioned to her leg, playing along. Tears streaked Chiara's eyes as she looked away from their waitress as much as possible without making it look like that was what she was doing. She stumbled through her order for the country omelet with rye and apple juice. Awkwardly, the rest of them went ahead and placed their full orders. Roxanne chose the French toast platter, Ross the large chocolate chip pancake stack, Miranda the egg and sausage skillet, with the country ham breakfast for Jake, and Brock not wavering from his commitment to the all-you-can-eat breakfast.

Their waitress cocked her head slightly in Chiara's direction but didn't ask a question or comment on the outburst. She walked away slowly, and Chiara finally managed to breathe, although slowly and with difficulty. Roxanne worried that the poor girl was about to puke all over herself. She asked gently, "Are you all right? What happened?"

Chiara's eyes flicked around the room. She mouthed words, but nothing came out. Everyone at the table leaned closer, and she said softly, in a panicked, breathy whisper, "I know this is crazy. But she has no head... I swear it...no head at all..."