Ashley Price, Rude Gymnasium Awakenings

You groan in satisfaction as you straighten up on your stationary bike, releasing the handlebars entirely to stretch your back and slowly wind down your cycling feet. Fuck that feels good. Cardio is the bane of the busty gym rat existence, but you're Ashley Price Goddammit, and you make good choices. You fear no exercise! Except maybe jogging. Because fuck jogging.

Besides, the construction of your massive, perfectly fitted sports bra must have cost thousands of man hours and a non-insignificant amount of the nation's annual Lycra yield. It would be a damn waste not to put it through its paces, right? You flap the neck of your GYM+GOTH shirt to kick up a breeze, idly considering stripping it off entirely to do your cooldown session in just your bra and workout shorts.

Better not. Last time you did that, around three dudes dropped weights on themselves. That's only funny, like, the first six times.

So instead you simply hop down from the workout bike, taking a moment to lift your legs in a quick quad stretch before turning around to wipe down your seat. It's basic gym courtesy, people! You give the bike a thorough pass with your towel, straightening back up to find a familiar figure making his way towards you with a friendly wave. Oh hey, is that Colin? You flip your towel over your shoulder as you raise a hand in greeting back to the approaching boy. Huh, Colin.

You've always liked Colin. He's an exceedingly sweet boy, even if he is a bit...well, he's not dumb, really. That's not fair. He's sort of like the human version of a Cocker Spaniel: easy-going and eager to please. And liable to run straight into a door frame if something's distracting him. And it wasn't so long ago he was literally the only thing you had even close to a friend. Of the two schoolmates you ever hung out with as Boy Ash, he was the only one who wasn't slash isn't a toilet person.

You're actually sort of ashamed of the fact that you haven't made much of an effort to see him now that you're Girl Ash. In your new reality, the two of you have known each other since elementary school. And you're pretty sure you used to be really close as kids! Jenny's always been your best friend, but Colin was certainly your best guy friend. This is one of those spaces in your memory that's still frustratingly fuzzy, but as best you can piece it together you've grown a bit distant since entering high school. Well hey! No reason it has to stay like that, right?

"Hey Colin! Who tricked you into coming here, and do I need to get **** on them for you?"

Colin gives you the same easy grin he's always sporting in your memories of him. "No one tricked me, Ash. I go to the gym! I've gone the gym an amount of times."

"Uh-huh." You throw an arm around the boy's shoulders, dropping your voice to a conspiratorial hiss. "Seriously dude. If I need to get ****, but they're watching or whatever, just give me a sign. Blink five times in a row. Use the word 'eggplant' in a sentence."

The boys laughs, pushing you off of him before adjusting the straps on his backpack. "Okay, first off you're sweaty. Second, I'm for real here to work out. This thing,"--he indicates his backpack, which you now see has the school mascot costume crammed into it--"Is heavy and hot and just the worst. If I'm gonna be dancing around inside a giant felt bull during games, I sorta need to build up my endurance."

Huh! So he's actually taking this whole school mascot thing seriously, then? He'd only auditioned as a joke, so you're a bit taken aback by his dedication. Impressed, too. "Good thinking. Do you need a workout buddy?"

You're a little surprised when he shakes his head. "Oh, no." He quickly doubles back on that rather knee-jerk response. "I mean, I'm not saying we can't or anything! I just mean that I sorta already have a workout buddy."

"Really? Who is it?"

He starts to reply, only to be cut short when a voice calls out from behind you. "Hey Colin!" You crane your head around to peer at the fit blonde boy calling out to your friend. Wait, is that Quinn Foley? Sure enough, that's the starting quarterback coming this way. That's fucking wild. He's way pleased to see your friend, too, a bright smile splitting his more pretty than handsome face as he swipes his fingers through his honey blonde hair. He doesn't even notice you until he's practically on top of you. "Oh! Hey, Ash!"

Hm. You fold your arms under your breasts, taking a moment to consider Quinn. Before you milked the hell out of reality, your cousin Jesse was the quarterback and Quinn rode the bench. You're not sure that he'd actually played a single game. Now that your cousin is an over-sexed cheerleader, however, the world saw fit to slip him into the first position. You have no idea if he's actually any good, but from your point of view anyone would be an improvement over Jesse in any situation. "Hey, Quinn. What's up?"

The boy shrugs affably. "Oh, you know. The usual!"

Hmmm. Something is sort of weird here. You're getting that strange feeling that bubbles up when you try to reconcile your two sets of memories but they refuse to fully mesh. Like, you think that you've talked to Quinn kinda a lot? Which shouldn't be that odd; he moved into town seven or so years ago and you've gone to school together ever since. But you have this odd notion that you're just loose acquaintances, yet at the same time...hrm. Well, no matter. If it's important, you'll figure it out. What matters right now is that this guy went out with your best friend, and now you've got to probe him for info. "So! How was the date with Jenny last night?"

Collin cuts in before Quinn can answer. "Oh. Jenny Park?"

The football player actually looks a little embarrassed. "Um, yes."

"Oh." Colin seems to be considering that for a moment. "You went on a date with her last night?"

"Yes."

"Huh." Whatever it was that Colin was mulling over, he quickly shakes off to give Quinn a somewhat awkward thumbs up. "Well, good job! On the date-having! Jenny's hot!" He glances your way, his thumb wilting. "Uh. Is that cool? I feel like that might have been not cool."

You give Colin a bemused thumbs up of your own. "It's cool." Colin beams at that, puffing out his chest. Quinn, meanwhile, looks as red as you've ever seen him. Whoa, you didn't expect him to be this sensitive about stuff like this; maybe football players don't get as much play as you assumed they did. Better let him off the hook. You give the boy a breezy hand wave and your most affable grin. "Dude, relax. It's really not my business, anyway."

Quinn does visibly relax at that, only for his eyebrows to pop back up as he remembers something. "Oh hey, actually, I'm glad I ran into you. Was your mom in some movie called Face Taker?"

"Yeah. Why?"

The boy frowns a bit, pulling out his phone. "I was watching some YouTube stuff, and...well, here." He turns the device around to show you a channel called YOUR QUEEN SPEAKS, a video already pulled up. It's some talking head show of a girl who, at first glance, has a style you'd classify as 'sick as hell': Every stitch of clothing, from her little jacket to that lace choker to her little glint of a nose stud combine into a look that screams 'Listen to Me, Mere Mortals'. And it definite helps that she's hot as fuck, with caramel skin and full lips and sexy black ringlets piled high over a tight undercut. Okay, well on a trial basis you're willing to consider making this girl your YouTube Queen. You click Play, the girl cutting into her review mid-sentence.

"--Kill Number Nine. And then, Peasants, just when this movie couldn't get any stupider, Lo and Behold it's time for the film debut of Mallory Price." The girl holds up a hand, a still frame of your then-nineteen year old mother in a practically non-existent tank top popping onto screen. "Never heard of her? Then clearly you've never gone snooping in your dad's fap folder. Mallory Price is the answer to the question: How much tit does it take to cancel out a complete lack of talent, brains and charm? It's this much,"--the camera zooms in on your mother's cleavage--"This much tit. She may not be the worst actress in the world, but only because calling her an actress at all would be a goddamned joke. She--"

You manage to somehow restrain yourself from snapping the phone in half before shoving it back into Quinn's hands. "Who the fuck is that?"

Quinn frowns. "Queen Bea? I mean, obviously that's not her real name. She's from here though; she goes to some other school but I know I've seen her around before."

Ugh, fucking great. You know it would probably be a mistake to track down and beat up someone who said shitty things about your famous mother. Lots of people have probably said shitty things about her! That would be too many people to beat up, and the police would presumably have some questions. Hopefully you never run into this Queen Bea asshole, though, because if you do you are almost certainly walking away with a fistful of her hair. For now, you simply opt to put on your best air of disinterest and sniff. "Well. Opinions differ. And fuckin'...whatever."

Colin nods in agreement, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Well I don't have a YouTube channel with..."--he glances at the phone, eyes boggling at the numbers he sees--"Um, a crazy amount of subscribers, but I've actually met your mom and I know she's great." Quinn nods in firm agreement, resolutely clicking 'Dislike' on the video. Aww, you guys.

"Well thanks anyway for showing me, Quinn. I can only hope she runs the whole Face Taker series, because if she does? There's no chance she'll be able to deny the genius of Mallory Price." You turn on that note, raising a hand to the two boys as you start out of the gym. "Well have fun! I've got some stuff to do; no rest for the wicked and et cetera!"

No you don't. You're going to go buy a watermelon, write 'Queen Bea' on it, and then throw it into a tree as hard as you can. Because you're Ashley Price Goddammit, and you make good choices.