Hallway Drift

Wyatt drifted down the hallway like someone in a waking dream. It wasn't just the freedom from the constant torment of her bullies, it was how powerful her new body felt. She had become so much more comfortable in her skin, despite her skin occasionally betraying her. It was a small price to pay for how good she felt.

Her red leather boots clicked on the polished linoleum in slow, glossy beats, but she barely heard them. Her mind was somewhere else; back in the cafeteria, back at the table, back in the way Gary had looked at her when he said he was attracted to her.

God. She could still feel that look on her skin.

But it wasn't the flirting or the way his thighs had squeezed together under that microscopic cheer skirt that haunted her now. It was the idea. His idea.

Streaming.

OnlyFans streaming.

Gary Wallace, who still looked like a boy barely passing a PE class.

Gary Wallace, whose closet was more feminine than he was.

Gary Wallace, who apparently made grown men trip over their own shadows every time he walked by.

And who, according to him, could probably earn the kind of money they needed if he just... leaned into what the universe thought he was.

Lisa.

Wyatt snorted under her breath. Right. Lisa Wallace, the accidental bombshell cheerleader. She should have been annoyed. She should have been furious that the universe had given him the aura of an untouchable sex goddess while she—who actually had curves, breasts, a waist, a butt sculpted by leather—was invisible to ninety percent of the male population.

But the sting of jealousy didn't stick. Not for long, at least. Not where Gary was concerned.

She liked him too much. Honestly, she maybe more than liked him.

She reached the end of the hall, turned, didn't process where she was going. Around her, chatter, lockers, footsteps—none of it registered. OnlyFans, her brain whispered again, traitorously.

What would Gary even look like on camera?

Her throat went warm. Then her chest. Then lower. She tried not to picture it. Truly. For almost one full second.

Then the image just appeared, blossoming in her imagination: Gary, sitting on the edge of a bed in that tiny blue-and-silver uniform, kicking one leg slightly, shy smile on his lips. The skirt riding up too high. His hair a little messy. A soft blush staining his cheeks.

He'd be nervous, probably rambling at first, voice cracking like it did when he talked to her. That made it worse. Or maybe better. She wasn't sure.

And then he'd act as if he'd just noticed the camera.

Like, really notice it.

Slowly he'd lean backward. Even more slowly he'd spread his legs.

Wide.

He'd look up through his long, mascara covered lashes. He'd give that tiny, uncertain smile he'd given her right before confessing he was attracted to her.

God, she thought, if I were a subscriber, I'd empty my wallet in ten seconds.

Then she realized she was no longer walking. Not only that, but her eyes had unfocused, her lips had parted, and her heart was racing. Wyatt had given herself over to a fantasy momentarily.

But remembering the lesson in the gym, she knew how dangerous that was. She needed to focus. She blinked back into reality.

Into a classroom. Her next class, to be exact. Students were filing in around her as if nothing were wrong.

Except something was very, very wrong.

Wyatt wasn't sitting in her seat.

She wasn't standing near the door.

She wasn't even at her own desk.

She was sitting on her teacher's lap.

On. His. Lap.

Her arm was hooked loosely around his neck.

Her other hand—oh God, oh no, no no no—was halfway through unbuttoning his dress shirt.

She stared at her fingers, horrified, frozen in that exact compromising motion.

The teacher, Mr. Halbrook, didn't even blink. Didn't react. Didn't acknowledge her existence at all.

He simply looked at his attendance sheet like she wasn't perched on him like a centerfold about to make a regrettable life choice.

Wyatt launched herself upright so fast her boots squeaked against the tile.

A few students glanced her way, but none with surprise. More the way someone looks when a classmate bumps into a desk. Mild. Dismissive. Normal.

Her heart hammered so loudly she wondered if the universe could hear it.

Backing slowly toward her seat, she whispered under her breath, "What the hell, what the hell, what the hell..."

She sat. She crossed her legs. She straightened her dress. She tried to breathe again. Everything was fine.

Gary's idea was insane. Absolutely insane. But... maybe insanity was exactly what the universe was running on now.

Wyatt swallowed hard.

Streaming. Gary. Lisa. Money. Reality.

She could barely hold the thoughts in a straight line. Her cheeks burned. And she knew—deep in the pit of her stomach—that if she let herself, she'd start daydreaming again.

She pressed her palms to the desk.

"Okay," she whispered. "Focus. Just… don't touch Gary. Don't climb into anyone's lap. Don't start ripping shirts off. Simple."

The bell rang. Class was about to begin.

She did not feel reassured.