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Right after zapping Jennifer, I started freaking out over exactly what I had just done to her. It had been such an impulse decision. I started trying to think of strategies I could use to subtly bring it up to the old scientist, who was supposedly coming out of the bathroom any second now. Maybe I could just drop it casually in conversation and he could explain exactly what this strange thing did. Unfortunately, I would have no such luck. Dai, who at some point had gone to the bathroom himself, ran out screaming, “There’s an old dead guy in there!”

Yeah, apparently Ubner had died of a heart attack caused by the stress of trying to use the bathroom. He had been found with his pants and underwear completely removed and his socks and shoes by the stall door. Getting old sucks. Dai was pretty torn up about it for a while. I was pretty torn up too,not about the **** of this old man I had barely known, probably because I wasn’t the one who found him naked on the toilet. No, I was torn up because, despite not knowing what this device did to Jennifer, I decided to double down on my decision and hide the device in my backpack. No one ever asked for it again,at least, nobody from the news station.

A couple of hours later, we,the three interns and our fearless leader, Amanda,were sitting around eating pizza. “Well, that isn’t our everyday here, but it’s certainly indicative of our fast-paced environment. So if any of you want to leave, now’s your chance.” I knew she wasn’t being objectively mean, but everything she said had such a bitchy attitude that it was hard not to take it as an insult to my bloodline.

“I’m happy we saw it,” Janice said with her cheery attitude. “It’s kind of like... a growth opportunity or something.”

“Yeah,” I agreed happily. And I know you might be thinking, why is this guy so happy? Well, in between the pizza and the dead guy, we had been assigned our positions, and I had been assigned to be Jennifer’s personal intern. Starting tomorrow, I would be at her beck and call,grabbing coffee, making sure her scripts looked good, or organizing meetings. Basically, it was the perfect opportunity to continue my plan of having her slowly fall in love with me as we formed the best romance story this world has ever seen. After all, what great story starts with automatic success?

I was so excited that I went home, said hi to my roommates who were playing Madden on our community Xbox in the living room, and went straight to bed with my khakis and button-up ready on my chair for the next day.

* * *

“Okay, so basic morning responsibilities from now on,and you might want to write these down, okay sweetie?” Jennifer was sitting in her chair next to her vanity. There was a large poster of her and a signed picture of her family that said they were so proud of her. She was sitting there in her blouse, fully buttoned, and her black khaki pants. She hadn’t even done her makeup yet, but she looked beautiful. “Hello?”

“Yes, sorry. Write it down. Got it all right here.” I pointed at my notepad.

She laughed. Thank God she was nice; I probably would’ve been kicked out three times by now. “Coffee, only from Dunkin’. No cream, no sugar, medium. Starbucks: bell pepper and onion egg bites. Make sure they’re extra warm, or they will just be cold by the time they get here.” She stopped and looked at me for a second. “You know, I hate doing this. I can just grab all this stuff myself, but Amanda insists that it’s good practice for you guys to learn the ‘chain of command.’”

“Oh, well, you shouldn’t feel bad.” I stopped writing. “This is good for me too, because sometimes I watch the news and I forget that you’re a real person. Seeing the nutrition side of things,something everybody needs,kind of humanizes you in a way. Plus, I’m an intern, so who gives a crap?”

“Huh. Not bad.” For the first time in twenty-four hours, I’d managed to impress her. A win. She continued, “Then, when you get here, you need to leave all that stuff outside of my dressing room door, and you are not to come in here until 8:00 AM. That is very important. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ma’am. It makes me feel old.” That felt a bit odd, considering I was pretty sure I had heard people call her ma’am yesterday, but maybe I was just imagining things.

“Understood. Although, I do have an unrelated question.” I raised my hand.

“Go ahead.”

“Why are we here at eight in the morning for the evening news?”

“That’s a great question.” She stood up and started walking around the room, her eyes filled with a sort of wistful quality. “When I was an intern here, I would get here at 5:00 PM for the 7:00 PM show and it was fine. But when they made me a reporter, I started noticing that I would mess up some words or I wouldn’t get my makeup fully done. So one year, I decided I didn’t want to have that struggle anymore. I started showing up here at eight in the morning, preparing everything.”

I was genuinely intrigued. “How do you prepare for the news that hasn’t happened yet?”

“Sweetie, unless it’s breaking news, most of it is scripted in the morning.”

“Right.”

“I get my hands on the scripts as soon as possible, and I write down the important stuff here in my notepad,which I keep with me under my desk,so that by the time 7:00 PM hits, I am ready to deliver the news to the people of my city.” She really was quite inspirational. Before meeting her, I thought a news anchor would just sit at a desk until it was time to read off a teleprompter, but here I could see she truly was the image of perfection. She walked up to the door, her manicured hand on the knob, but then she whispered, “Come here.” So I did. “Look out the window. Do you see her?”

There was Janice, wearing a low-cut sweater and a pair of mom jeans, talking to an equally hot brown-haired reporter who looked to be about thirty. She was wearing a brown pantsuit that was tailored specifically to her figure,and she had a really nice figure. I took one last look at Janice’s glorious pair and then said, “Janice is out there.”

“And she’s talking to Savannah Carmichael. She’s my strictest competition. I love her like a sister, but she can’t wait for the day I slip up so that she can move from the morning news to the evening slot and maybe have a chance of getting picked up for primetime.” She backed away from the window and looked me dead in the eye. “She’s very beautiful and smart, and she’s got a great voice, but she’s still not professional enough. And that will never be us.” She started heading toward the door and then stopped. “Now, we are going to go to the writers to pick up a rough draft of tonight’s script.” She gave herself a quick glance in the mirror. Then, she took one step closer inquisitively.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, yeah it is. It’s just...” She started fiddling with one of the buttons at the top of her blouse and looked at me with a slightly pouty face,an expression I’d never seen from her before. She asked, “Does having this button so high up make me look old?”

I had to play my cards carefully here. If I said yes, then I got to see more skin, but I was also calling her old. If I said no, she’d cover up more. And on top of all of that, why the hell was she asking me? “Honestly, I think you can undo one button for a more modern look.”

“Yeah, you know what? Why not? I want to connect to the people, right? So I should probably dress a little more my age.” She undid the top button near her neck, and before she walked out of the room, she undid one more so that the front part of her collarbone was fully visible. On any other girl, this wouldn’t have been important, but to me, I might as well have been seeing her doing a lingerie shoot on the beach. Or a bikini shoot, I guess

For the first time since I zapped her, I started to question if maybe this was the device at work. I figured I might need one more test subject if I really wanted to know what this device was doing,if anything.

I could have zapped Janice, but honestly, she seemed alright. If the device was doing something slight, I might not even notice it. There was Savannah Carmichael, but the effect was too unpredictable. I wasn’t even sure if it did anything, and if I risked making her into the best reporter in the world, I didn’t want to do that to Jennifer. There were plenty of other pretty women around, but someone who could really use an “adjustment” was Amanda. She’s right at that precipice between nice and bitchy, and I hate that. So, hopefully, one quick zap and I’ll be able to get a better idea of what exactly this device is doing.

That afternoon during lunch break, I was sitting with Jennifer, Savannah, Janice, Dai, and his mentor, Rick the director. No one had made any comments about Jennifer’s buttons, but I could tell people had noticed. There was the occasional glance down at her chest or someone fiddling with their own buttons. Still, even she seemed more confident than yesterday as she happily talked to everyone, especially at the lunch table where she was the center of attention. We were laughing about some story that had happened in a distant town,where apparently a strange pizza commercial had shut down the whole city, when Amanda came by with some packets.

“Hi, my little sheep.” I groaned internally. “I have some projects for you. This is after-school homework. So make sure you get those grades in first, okay?”

We all murmured in agreement. My hands went down to my backpack as she explained the conditions of the assignments. I easily slipped the strap around my arm and slowly pulled out the wand, careful to aim it directly at Amanda, who was wearing a ruffled summer dress. I pressed it down and felt that strange zapping sensation again, except this time it wasn’t short. The button had gotten stuck, so I had to slam it against my knee a couple of times for it to work until finally, the zapping stopped. Amanda was itching heavily at her knee.

She stood up and said, “I... I have to go make sure we’re set for the thing this afternoon. So, just bring those back to me at some point.” She seemed awfully distracted. I guess this was as good a time as any to see what would be happening to my dream girl. Before she could vanish out of the lunchroom, I thought I saw her bunching her dress up around her waist, but I figured it must be my overactive imagination as we went back to eating in preparation for the evening news.

After that, we are supposed to have an intern meeting to discuss how our mornings had gone and to file some reports, and Amanda was supposed to walk us through all of that, but she didn’t show up so for 10 minutes we all sat talking about the morning around a small circular table in a forgotten conference room where other boxes and pass memorabilia were stored.

“She’s kind of a bitch, but also kind of the best,” Janice said, in reference to Savannah.

“How?” Dai asked. “You seem like a nice person, so I don’t understand how you could like someone who’s got a—excuse the word, because I don’t know if I’m allowed to say it—but a bitchy attitude.”

“Well, I mean, she treats a lot of the tech people poorly, she’s super demanding, and she’s obsessed with her own self-image,” Janice explained.

“But...?” I said in anticipation.

“But she ends up getting what she wants, and people listen to her,” Janice said. She stood up to go make herself a cup of coffee with a pot that I assumed had been sitting there for the last thirty years. At least coffee doesn’t go bad—at least, I don’t think it does. Regardless, as Janice stood up, Dai and I seemed to have that unspoken connection guys have sometimes, where you both agree to never mention that you are both checking out a girl in the same moment. You both do it, but it is never to be acknowledged. This was one of those moments as we followed the curve of her ass; it sent ripples through the fabric with every step.

“That’s what I want,” Janice said.

We both just stared at her for a second. I finally spoke up. “What is it that you want?”

She looked at me like I was an idiot. Dai didn’t have much of an idea of what was going on either. As she walked back, she said, “Savannah’s power. Being a boss bitch and being listened to.” She let out an exasperated sigh, letting her head fall back over the chair. “See? This is exactly what I’m talking about. You don’t listen.”

I wasn’t too sure what she was saying, as the movement of her head back over her chair caused her large breasts to come to the forefront. Maybe I have a problem, but it wasn’t something I had time to think about as the door swung open. A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, a gray beard, and a fancy suit walked in with a binder.

He laid it down with a slam onto the table, sat down, and flipped to a page he had bookmarked. He finally looked up with piercing blue eyes. “My name is Rich. I’m the HR representative that you guys have been sending all of your information to.” Now that he mentioned it, I did remember sending those forms to someone named Rich. “Amanda had an emergency, so she had to head out. I will be taking over as your intern director for the rest of the day, or until Amanda gets back.”

“Is she okay?” Janice asked.

“I’m not allowed to disclose that information.”

“Oh,” I said unintentionally. I think the sound escaped from my guilt. There was a non-zero chance that she could die because I zapped her with some strange device a random scientist gave me. The guilt began to eat away at me.

Without changing his expression in the slightest, he added, “I’m only joking, of course. She’s fine. Just needed a day for personal reasons. That being said, if you need anything else today, you all just let me know, okay? I’m here to look out for you as employees.”

I didn’t know it then, but that was how I met my worst enemy: Rich from HR.

“We met someone new!” I said to Jennifer as I helped her set up her desk, grabbing her coffee mug and laying out her notes.

“Did you now?” she asked. Behind her, the green screen was all set, and all she was waiting for was her fellow evening anchor to join her at the desk. They were supposed to go live in about five minutes, so the director and Dai were getting everything ready while the camera operators and the rest of the technicians put on their finishing touches.

“Yeah, his name is Rich,” I said, starting to make my way behind the camera so I could watch the magic happen.

“We can talk more about this later,” she said with a smile. “By the way, you don’t need to come in tomorrow until lunchtime.”

“All right! Anyone who isn’t named Jean or Bert needs to get the fuck off camera, thank you,” the director barked. “Dai, tell them!”

“Yeah, fuck off!” Dai said. He was a lot more meek and younger than the director, so it was kind of funny when he said it, but I applauded Dai for his effort and commitment.

And suddenly, like magic, the director yelled “Action!” and it was like Bert and Jennifer entered a different plane of existence. Their voices were so resonant, their area the only one illuminated. It made everything else feel unimportant as she spoke: “Hello and welcome to Channel 11 News. I’m your anchor, Jennifer Strauss.”

“And I’m Bert Anderson.” Bert wasted no time as he jumped right into the important stuff. “Good evening to everyone. Thank you for joining us tonight as we cover breaking news, as well as a story about our local politicians and the latest election scandal.”

“When is there not an election scandal these days?” Jennifer added.

“Too true.”

For the most part, everything seemed to be going fine. Sure, one of Jennifer’s top buttons was undone, but that didn’t really mean anything; she might’ve just been feeling extra hot or any number of things. But my eye caught something about three-quarters of the way through, when she was introducing a special report about a widespread online trend where girls were cropping their own shirts to show off their navels. It was a silly story—the kind of fluff you throw in there to scare parents and cause controversy to boost engagement.

When introducing it, she said, “Thanks, John, for that weather report. A new trend is, like, spreading—” she cleared her throat. “Apologies.” Everyone behind the camera looked at each other. “A new trend is spreading across the country. Girls are cropping their shirts to show off their navels. Is this just a passing fad, or is it something parents should be concerned about? I think it’s totally cute. Here’s Savannah Carmichael with more.”

As soon as the camera cut away from her, she started to panic. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me to add that stuff.”

“It’s fine,” the director said sternly. “You’ve been nothing but a consummate professional with us, Jennifer.” He sent the makeup team forward to make sure they were alright for the sign-off. “Just read what’s on the teleprompter next time.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

The rest of the night passed by pretty normally. Jennifer seemed in a hurry to get home, so she left me behind to organize her things, which I didn’t mind at all. Call me a simp or whatever, but this is my dream girl we’re talking about.

The next day was a bit of a mess. Knowing that I didn’t have to wake up early, I hadn’t set an alarm at all. That was a mistake, because I ended up waking up at 11:57 AM. I can’t even describe how I ended up getting ready, driving my normally 15-minute commute to the news station, and arriving there at 12:02 PM—if I did, I’d be arrested. I braced myself upon entry, ready to be yelled at or fired, certain that whatever was waiting for me was going to be terrible.

However, when I opened the door, I encountered one of the most shocking sights I’ve ever seen in my young life. Amanda was standing there with her clipboard, and that was about where the similarities to yesterday’s Amanda ended. Instead of her long, floaty dress, she had on a black mini-skirt that showed off her thighs and calves—which were well-toned from the gym. She was wearing a tank top with a skull on it and heavy, pale makeup with deep mascara. Most beautiful of all was her hair, which had been placed into pigtails. There was no doubt in my mind that this was the work of the controller. It had turned this condescending employee into an E-girl.

You’re probably thinking: E-girl? That’s kind of random. But it wasn’t, because I’ve been fantasizing about E-girls for years. Aside from MILFs, they are my second favorite genre of women, but ones I only see on occasion through my TikTok page. I could already imagine Amanda taking out her phone and doing one of those sexy dances, or even becoming a Twitch streamer and shaking ass for money.

I looked down at my backpack, where the device was held. This controller wasn’t just able to change people; it could shape reality and make dreams come true. So what was it doing to Jennifer if it had the power to see into the depths of my mind? Was she also going to be an E-girl? Maybe a bimbo, which would explain the undone button and the “like” and “totally.”

Questions that would be answered later. For now, I had to see what my new E-girl intern boss was like and how I could enjoy every moment of not having to be treated like a child.

“Hello, my little sheep,” she said in her normal voice. Her expression was slightly more animated, her hip cocked to the side with more of an anime smile, but the words and the tone were the same. I guess whatever effect took place wasn’t fully done yet.

“Hi, how’s it going?” As she responded, I wasn’t listening. I tried to maneuver so I could point the device at her again and try to finish the transformation, but this time when I pressed it, nothing happened. I hadn’t done anything rough with it, so my assumption was that it must have some sort of charge which I had wasted yesterday. Either it was fully out, or I would just have to play the waiting game, because there was no way I wasn’t going to pop this thing open and try to figure it out. For now, I could just admire the view—and the view had some really nice legs.

“And so, just be ready, because Jennifer’s been in a kind of mood all morning. Do you understand?”

“Completely.” We had stopped right outside of Jennifer’s dressing room.

She knocked on the door for me. “Okay, well, have fun in there. And hey,” she looked down and put both her fingers together by her waist. Only her eyes looked up at me, giving her a very cute and kind of innocent pose as she asked, “Do you like my outfit today?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. She giggled.

“Thank you, little intern.” She walked by me, placing a hand on my shoulder and letting it linger for a second as the door to Jennifer’s dressing room opened.

Jennifer let me inside quickly and went straight to her vanity. “I think I’m going crazy,” she said as she looked herself straight in the eye. I stood behind her cautiously, measuring my words so as to not upset her. I wanted to be her peace. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I’m a professional woman.” She turned and looked at me with a severe expression. She was wearing a navy blue button-up with a pair of gray slacks that fit snugly around her legs. “And I’m, like, saying things that I know are, like, just old bad habits.” She didn’t even seem to process the two extra words in that sentence, and I wasn’t going to be the one to point them out.

“Well, that’s okay. Sometimes getting older is a cycle.” I stepped a little closer and opened my arms up—not for any particular reason, but just because it felt great to do. “I loved playing with Pokémon when I was a kid, then I got older and it seemed lame, and then I got older again and it was cool again. So maybe sometimes things just happen like that.”

She turned to face me, and I felt for the first time like I was being acknowledged as another person, and not just an underpaid intern. Her gaze softened, and her mouth opened slightly. “Do you really think so?”

“I do.”

“Because I’ve been thinking a lot about that crop top trend that girls have been doing, and it seems so fun.” She started playing with the bottom of her shirt. She pulled it up slightly, exposing a tiny bit of skin. “Do you really think it would be okay—” the blouse pulled over her belly button, exposing the base of her athletic body, which was so beautifully V-shaped. “—for me to join the trend?”

It was a dream. I swear I had seen this sight once before in a dream. She was just slightly tan and, for a moment, I thought she might lift her shirt even higher, exposing her bra, but no. The shirt hovered right there, her hands holding up the delicate fabric with that pouty expression which was becoming more and more common.

For some reason, after all of this, I decided to push my luck. I said, “Can I take a picture of you to show you? That way you can see what it looks like from an outside perspective?”

Her head tilted slightly to the side as she stared toward the ceiling. She let her hips move a little forward toward me, standing seductively. “Is this okay?”

Holy fucking shit, yes, it’s okay. But all I said was, “Yeah, you look great.” Then I took the picture. I wasn’t too sure how much I would need it, considering the image of her was permanently burned into my memory, but there are some things you just don’t want to risk: a beautifully plated dish at an expensive restaurant, your favorite song at a concert, or your boss showing you her abdomen. Now it would be on my phone forever.

I showed it to her and she giggled. “Maybe this is all kind of silly,” she said, letting her shirt drop.

“What!? No, silly? I don’t think so.” I tried to think quickly. “No, no, no. It’s not silly at all. I think the problem is that you’re holding it with your hands. The girls around campus have been tying their shirts up in a little knot.” I lifted my own shirt to show her how they do it, and she laughed at that.

“It’s not a bad look for you either,” she said, still laughing. I smiled back—one, because her laughter was infectious, and two, because her hands were slowly working the base of her blouse, tying the bottom together just enough to expose the bottom three inches of skin between her pants and shirt. It wasn’t much progress, but it was glorious progress.

I wish I could say things moved quickly from there, but aside from her vocabulary and fashion changes, things stayed largely the same. She was just as organized, she still treated everyone respectfully, and I even tried to get a peek at her chest to see if there were any body changes, but from what I could tell, everything was still the same. Whatever the effects of this device were, they seemed to be only mental—at least for now. The person to keep an eye on would be Amanda, who seemed to attract stares everywhere she went, and I had started to notice her playing on her phone more often than she used to.

It was Dai who finally approached me to talk about it. He grabbed me by the arm and took me to the craft table where all the hot gossip seemed to stem from. “Dude, please tell me you’re seeing what I’m seeing.”

My mom always liked to tell me that I had a “stupid face” when I couldn’t answer a question, so in that moment, I decided to embrace the stupid. “What? The news?” I asked. Yes, it would probably be useful to add another brain to this operation to help me understand how this device works. But I’ve seen Fargo, and I knew how big things could blow out of proportion once you start adding people. Right then, we were running a small operation of three people, so it seemed irresponsible to add more—at least until we needed the extra manpower. Man, power really does corrupt, huh?

“Dude, we’ve got Amanda, who yesterday was dressed like a second-grade English teacher, running around in a miniskirt and pigtails, and your boss showing off her navel like she’s in the military.”

“Military?”

“Naval. Navy. Get it?”

“I don’t really think that works. But honestly, the weather is getting a little warmer, so maybe those first couple of days they were just dressing like they did because they didn’t want to give us the wrong idea.” I straightened up a bit and grabbed a croissant. “You know, it’s just like a man to assume that just because a woman is dressing differently, something is going on. Newsflash: they have skin too!”

After that interaction, the air between me and Dai was a little dicey. No pun intended. Honestly, I hadn’t meant to get so defensive, but I think I was overcompensating. Well, hopefully it would at least buy me some time before he asked any more questions. If I could figure this thing out, I promised myself I’d reward Dai with his own dream girl.

We didn’t run into any trouble again until right before the broadcast. They were getting ready to air when Jennifer walked out, blonde hair flowing freely, midriff exposed to the wind, and a happy smile. I smiled back, but the director was not so pleased as he approached her.

“Hey, Jennifer. Do you mind if I talk to you for a second?” I snuck closer, pretending to be working on some nearby wires by just switching them between my hands multiple times.

“Of course not. What’s up?”

“What the hell are you wearing?” I stood up to protect her; he should not be allowed to talk to her like that.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re dressed like a—” He didn’t finish his sentence, but the implication was clear. “Just lower your shirt and we can do the news.”

“You can’t even see under my chest because of the desk. What does it matter if I’m showing a little bit of belly button around the studio? This is how people my age are dressing.”

“Your age?” he said, flabbergasted by the implication. “Jennifer, you are dressed like my daughter. You are a forty-year-old woman.”

“I am, like, not in my forties.” This came as a surprise to both me and the director, since she most definitely was in her forties.

“I’m not arguing about this, Jennifer. Untie the shirt.”

They had a Western-style staredown. I didn’t know if Jennifer was going to slap him or run off, and in the end, she did neither. She begrudgingly undid the knot on her shirt, rolled her eyes, and said, “Fine,” before sitting at the desk alongside Bert, who just let out a big sigh.

“Directors,” Bert muttered. They both laughed.

I cursed under my breath. Hopefully, that bastard hadn’t done too much to delay whatever transformation was happening. But, to his credit, the rest of the report was as professional as ever. Her top button was undone, but her vocabulary was back to normal, as if part of her transformation was tied to her outfit.

That is, until they returned to the story from yesterday about the growing trend of students cropping their own shirts. It came time for Jennifer to speak directly to the mother of one of the high school seniors who had been kicked out of school for participating in the trend.

The mother reminded me of the mom from Mean Girls. She had brown hair, was wearing a full white tracksuit, and had her makeup and hair done in that way that rich people seem to always have their hair and makeup done. She was sitting in her living room, which clearly was inside a very expensive house, and she introduced herself as “Josie Millz,” short for Jocelyn. On the TV screen, you could see both of them from the chest up in a picture-in-picture view.

Jennifer spoke. “So, Mrs. Millz.”

“Please, call me Josie.”

“Okay, Josie. Your daughter was recently let go from school early for violating the dress code. How does that make you feel as a parent?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s right. My daughter is, like, super smart and gets all of her work done, so I think it’s totally okay for her to dress how she wants to dress. I mean, is showing your belly button really that big of a deal?”

“No,” Jennifer said, putting a hand to her head as if trying to think of something. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant.”

I looked to the director, who looked as if he was about to tear his hair out.

Jennifer continued. “Like, what I meant to say was, like, how do you feel about the school’s dress code? Is it worth enforcing, or is it, like, super lame?”

“Super lame, for sure. My daughter and her friends are always complaining about it.” Josie was nodding her head as she spoke.

“Tell me about it,” Jennifer said.

“Well, like, my daughter and her friends are, like, totally always complaining about how the dress code is super restrictive. Girls her age—I think—can show off their bodies without being total sluts. They’re just proud of how they look, and I think that should be celebrated.”

“It should totally be celebrated!” Jennifer said. Her hands moved down to the bottom of her blouse, untucking it slowly while Josie continued her rant.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” Jennifer said, “but I, like, think the best way we can support our generation is by totally joining them.” She stood up to show off her tied-up blouse.

“Yeah! You’re right!” Josie said, standing up and pulling her shirt up too. She had some crazy ab muscles. I was truly grateful for her. Something inside of her had lit up something inside of Jennifer again, and the transformation was back on track. Unfortunately for Jennifer, that’s where the video got cut back to Bert.

“Apologies to viewers at home. We’re not too sure what happened there. I’m Bert Anderson, signing off from Channel 11 news.”

The studio was dead silent for three seconds before the director exploded.

“Off! Get her off the air! Now!”

Jennifer didn’t even look upset. She was actually looking at her reflection in the monitor, adjusting the knot on her shirt with a satisfied little hum. It was only when Rick, the director, and Rich from HR marched onto the set that her smile faltered slightly.

“Jennifer. My office. Now,” Rick said. His face was a shade of red I didn’t know humans could achieve.

“Rich, you too,” he added, glancing at the HR rep. Rich didn’t look angry; he looked concerned, which somehow felt worse. “Dai, you too.”

“But I was just, like, connecting with the guest,” Jennifer protested, her voice still carrying that higher, peppier lilt. She followed them toward the glass-walled office at the back of the studio.

I didn’t even hesitate. I grabbed a stack of random papers and a highlighter, and positioned myself right against the wall next to the office door. Inside, I could see them sitting her down. Rick was pacing. Rich was sitting calmly, his binder open. I pressed my ear to the cool glass. I just hoped they wouldn’t fire her.

“Jennifer, look at me,” Rick’s voice was muffled but firm. “You are the face of this station. You have twenty-five years of integrity. And today, you stood up on live television and called a school board policy ‘super lame’ before flashing the entire county.”

“I didn’t flash them! It’s just a stomach, Rick. Totally harmless.”

“It’s not about the skin, Jennifer, yes there’s limits to what we can show, but a navel is hardly earth shattering for most audiences.” Rich’s voice cut in, smooth and professional. “It’s about the behavior. You’re acting... differently. You’re using slang. You’re disregarding protocol. We’re worried you’re going through some kind of—well, a mid-life crisis, or perhaps a medical episode.”

“I’m not having an episode! I feel, like, better than ever!”

“Be that as it may,” Rick snapped, “the producers are already calling. We can’t have the evening anchor acting like a teenager. We need to move you, Jennifer. Temporarily.”

There was a long pause. I held my breath.

“Move me? Where?”

“Savannah Carmichael is going to step into the evening slot starting tomorrow,” Rick said. I could almost hear Jennifer’s heart drop. “And you... we’re moving you back to the field. You’re going to be a general reporter for the morning and afternoon segments. No more desk, no more primetime. At least, temporarily.”

“A reporter?!” Jennifer’s voice cracked. “You’re putting me back on the street? Like, with the people?”

“It’s for your own good, Jennifer. Short term. We want you to find your professional footing again,” Rich said kindly. “Consider it a reset.”

* * *

Later, in her dressing room, she was not happy. “Can you believe this bullcrap, I’m speaking like just as I always have.” She stopped and thought, before continuing, “and now these old people want to put me on leave just because I don’t match their traditional norms.”

“Its not leave,” I said trying to make the situation better. huge mistake by the way. If you’re ever being complained to, sometimes you just have to listen. In fact, most of the time, it’s better to just listen.

“No, it’s not leave. It’s worse I’m being demoted from anchor to reporter.” She sat down at her desk and put her head into her arms which were crossed on the desk.

“ Temporarily!” Shut up, dumbass!

“ You know how I got this position?” she stood up and faced me, leaving her chair, swinging behind her. “The reporter before me went on a political rant, and was placed on temporary reporter duty. Five years later and you know where she is—“

“NBC?”

“Not an anchor here. Her career is totally finished.” Now that she was close to me, I started to notice something that I hadn’t noticed before. A smile line on her face, the slight wrinkles around the eyes, the places where gravity had began at to work seem to be reversing. It wasn’t fully gone, but she definitely didn’t look 40 anymore, maybe mid 30s, maybe late 20s. Physical changes were on the table, apparently. Just how powerful was this little device in my backpack?

She went back to her swiveling chair. “Maybe it’s not so bad,” I tried to reason with her “Think of how Savannah dresses at work” Jennifer was already nodding her head. “A lot more revealing than you so maybe this will give you a chance to express yourself more than you do behind the desk…”

She finally stopped swiveling so I pressed on.

“And hey!” I got closer, leaning against the desk. “I got the perfect first story for you.”

“What is it?” She asked with a smile,her first since the demotion.

“My college is doing a field day bash thing to raise money for a new engineering lab. It’s going to be a huge community event this Saturday!”

“That sounds like so much fun,” Jennifer said, bursting to her feet. “I would love to go with you!” And then she added, “to report of course.”

“Yeah, yeah, obviously.”

“Now get out of here. I need to change.” She started undoing some buttons preemptively, as I stepped out.

“Of course.”

“But don’t go too far. It would be like super cool if you could walk me to my car.” I just nodded and stepped out.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m not a loser. I’ve been on many a nice date for fancy restaurants, movie theatres, you name it, I’ve done it. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little, but the point is I know what a date is, and walking Jennifer to her car that first time was my favourite date over been on.

We were the last people to leave the office and the moon was full and bright like a saucer of milk. She had come out of her office dressed in a denim shirt dress that ended right above her knee which kind of gave her a 50s housewife look, and her hair was beautifully wavy nightmare to make it all the way out of the office without giving her a compliment, although I was pretty sure she would accept it by now, I didn’t want to risk my luck. “So,” she said, “are you disappointed that your favourite TV anchor failed out of her job within the first two days?” She spoke seriously, but there was a playful glint behind her eyes as she looked up at me while we walked side-by-side.

“Disappointed is not the word I would use.” I just stared straightforward. We’re getting close to her parking spot and I was trying to seem cool. “Instead of sticking to the script, you stuck to what you believe in. I think that’s like totally cool.” I said with a small chuckle.

“Shut up,” she teased, “but thank you, honestly.” When we finally made it to her car, she turned in and gave me a hug, her head laying on my chest and breast, pressing against my stomach. I held her back. “Have a good night, Jean.”

“You too, Jennifer.” And I stood there for a bit as her car drove off, enjoying the leftover feeling of her arm and the light of the moon.

ENDTAG: Thanks for reading this commissioned story! On my Patreon you’ll get access early to the next chapters before they come to CHYOA, and I also upload 1-2 new chapters every week which the community sometimes has opportunities to vote on, so it’s the best way to get consistent MC from me and see your fav stories come early ;)

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