Wow! As if things weren't already weird, now you're staring up at your old body, the scrawny, white boy you used to be five (was it five? Maybe even just three) minutes earlier, and already he seems like a stranger. He's sopping wet from head to toe - as soon as you reached the pool, you stayed in the water for half-an-hour, until the transformation - with visibly pruned fingers and black hair drenched over his eyes. You never realized, before seeing yourself in the third-person, just how young, frail and helpless you look, even looming over your now prostate body.
Those wide, hazel eyes don't betray any suspicion that you once walked his walks, saw his saws, and thought his thoughts, all within that hollow-chested body. Why is he talking to Samantha? There's a question mixed in with the general, hazy confusion - you always saw Samantha from a distance, in the hallway or in class, and the only time your lives intercepted was during class discussion, impersonally for the sake of academia. Maybe you once crushed on her, in the first weeks of entering high school, but even crushes have a sense of probability, and an outgoing senior, the most popular girl in her class, is next to "struck by lightning" on the probability scale. Though you know your strategy's about to break, you stick to the original plan of lying without budging. Not until your old self gives you a reason to get up.
"Samantha?" your old body says (was my voice that scratchy?" you think). "Come on. We got to..."
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