I spent a little extra time on my right shoulder, having seen a smudge of grease on it as I undressed. I scrubbed the spot with my loofa, knowing that would get it off. The rough sponge could remove anything, and I mean anything, including several layers of skin if I wasn’t careful.
Spontaneously, I decided the rest of my skin could use a nice exfoliation, too, so I squirted some shower gel onto the sponge and went to work buffing the remainder of my body.
I stepped out of the shower feeling soft and smooth from head to toe. Unable to see my reflection because of the steam, I took my lotion into the bedroom to complete my morning ritual.
Just to be sure I’d gotten the spot off my shoulder, I walked to the full length mirror on the back of my door and turned halfway around where I could see my back. Not only was the smudge not gone, it seemed to have gotten bigger and was turning a reddish orange color. It had a teardrop shape to it, fat on one end and dramatically tapered on the other. It reminded me of a flame, licking up toward my neck. Maybe I’d burned myself and not realized it. After all, Dad said the muffler had been hot.
As I turned back to face the mirror, I noticed how the light shone on my skin, even without lotion. I walked over to the window and held my hands up. My skin looked different. Better. Luminous. I turned my hands over then held out my arms.
My skin was practically flawless. It looked like a thin, peaches-‘n-cream veil covering a pool of shimmering liquid. I looked at my belly and legs and they, too, were covered with the same sheen. The tone and texture were absolutely perfect, looking airbrushed like I’d seen on models in magazines.
I walked back to the mirror to put on lotion. As I massaged the scented cream into my skin, I noticed several other subtle, nearly imperceptible changes as well. My waist, it looked a little more trim that usual, my belly flat and taut. My hips flared out in a more womanly curve then tapered down to legs that had never looked leaner. And my boobs—they seemed fuller and were tipped with a perfect dusty rose.
If I didn’t know my body so well, I might not have noticed. But I did. I don’t know how long I stood studying my reflection and all the differences I found there, but I was so immersed in my own thoughts, I jumped when Dad knocked at the door.
“Hurry up, Carson. We’re going to be late,” he boomed.
Pushing the bizarre thoughts out of my head, I hurried to the closet and pulled out a neat fitted dress in black that buttoned up the front. Church clothes were the one area in which Dad never fussed about me splurging and looking like a girl.
I slipped on my shoes and went to stand in front of the mirror one last time before heading out the door. Sure enough, even my clothes fit a little differently, the material a little more snug around my hips and chest, looser around my waist. I shook out my hair, which looked even lighter against the black of my dress, and then rushed out to meet Dad.
I hopped into the truck, which was already running, and Dad sped away. I saw him cast several sidelong glances in my direction, but, much to my relief, he didn’t say a word about my appearance. I hoped he wouldn’t notice anything but my hair. I doubted that would be the case, however, because Dad is extremely observant.
We walked into church just as the choir was starting to sing. There were no seats near the front so we had to walk all the way down the aisle to the back row where there were still a few empty spaces on the pews.
As we passed, I saw several people who normally never paid me any attention looking at me and whispering. Some were girls, some were guys. I wondered what they saw. A freak, a weirdo, a pretty girl, something different they couldn’t quite put their finger on? It made me more than a little uncomfortable. I’d been a wallflower all my life, plainly not noteworthy. I’d wanted attention, yes, but in a good way. The good kind of attention. I didn’t know if I could stand the curiously repulsed attention that being