Read Online Gender Swapped By Aliens! by Ivana Johnson - Free Book Online
Authors: Ivana Johnson
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her “Denise” now.
She put her phone back to her ear to continue her conversation while I trudged away. I hoped the other kids couldn’t see my silent tears or else they would think I was a baby. I discreetly wiped at my eyes and then followed the crowd inside.
“Are you sick?” Karen asked me.
“No. Just, um, allergies.” I forced a smile to my face. “Hey, I bet you don’t know what classroom I’m supposed to go to.”
“Do so.”
“Do not.”
“You have to go to Mrs. Cauffield’s classroom.”
“Oh, really? Which one is that?”
Karen huffed with irritation. “I’ll show you.” She stomped in front of me a lot more confidently than I felt. We passed by a few classrooms with crude drawings on the walls. One of those was probably Karen’s. Around a corner and then at the end of the hall was Room 117. Karen pointed at the door. “See?”
“That’s real good,” I said. I patted her on the head. “Thanks, squirt.”
“Don’t call me that!” she whined.
“Fine. Just go get to your classroom before someone calls Mommy.”
“Bye-bye!” she called out and then scurried away.
I pushed open the door. The problem now was I didn’t know which of the two-dozen desks belonged to me. I could just pick one at random, but then I would look like an idiot. I went to the back of the room to take off my backpack and coat. The jacket I hung on a hook. The other girls and boys had their backpacks by their desks, so I kept that with me.
I hovered by the hooks, trying to appear nonchalant. As more kids came in, the number of possible choices dwindled. I was down to just three possibles when Denise walked in. “Good morning, Mrs. Cauffield,” the other kids said.
“Good morning, kids.” As Denise sat down behind her desk at the front of the room, her eyes met mine. “Billie? You want to have a seat?”
“OK.” I heard kids snicker as I plodded down an aisle, towards an empty desk. When I sat down, the kids laughed louder.
“That one, Billie,” Denise said, pointing to a desk at the front of the room.
I valiantly fought back tears as I took my seat. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cauffield.”
“It’s all right, Billie. When you get to be an old lady like me, you’ll forget lots of stuff. Speaking of, who remembers what we were talking about yesterday for history?”
As Denise began to lecture us on the American Revolution, I tried to slouch down to the point she couldn’t see me. Those mean old aliens! They had not only made me a child; they had to humiliate me further by having Denise be my teacher. It wasn’t fair. I wasn’t supposed to be a little girl—
The first time my tummy rumbled, I thought it must mean I was hungry. The next time it came less as a rumble and more as a pain that made me squeak. It didn’t feel like the same kind of pain as when I had to poop. I slouched down more in my seat, putting a hand to my tummy.
Denise was lecturing us about photosynthesis when I couldn’t help groaning with pain and doubling over on my desk. She turned to look at me with concern. “Billie? Are you all right?”
“I…I gotta potty,” I said, which made everyone laugh.
As tears clouded my eyes, Denise patted my back. “It’s all right. I’ll give you a pass.”
“Thank you.”
Denise wrote out a yellow slip of paper that I tucked into my pocket. There were still snickers and chuckles as I scurried away. The pain in my tummy was getting worse. Had Mom’s pancakes done something to me? Or maybe I was coming down with something else. It might even be my appendix.
I raced into the bathroom, where a girl was doing her makeup at one sink. She looked like a miniature version of Denise, except her hair was longer and curly. She had to be a year or two older than me, mosquito bumps showing under her T-shirt. I gaped at her, my pain momentarily forgotten. “Tammy?”
“What do
She put her phone back to her ear to continue her conversation while I trudged away. I hoped the other kids couldn’t see my silent tears or else they would think I was a baby. I discreetly wiped at my eyes and then followed the crowd inside.
“Are you sick?” Karen asked me.
“No. Just, um, allergies.” I forced a smile to my face. “Hey, I bet you don’t know what classroom I’m supposed to go to.”
“Do so.”
“Do not.”
“You have to go to Mrs. Cauffield’s classroom.”
“Oh, really? Which one is that?”
Karen huffed with irritation. “I’ll show you.” She stomped in front of me a lot more confidently than I felt. We passed by a few classrooms with crude drawings on the walls. One of those was probably Karen’s. Around a corner and then at the end of the hall was Room 117. Karen pointed at the door. “See?”
“That’s real good,” I said. I patted her on the head. “Thanks, squirt.”
“Don’t call me that!” she whined.
“Fine. Just go get to your classroom before someone calls Mommy.”
“Bye-bye!” she called out and then scurried away.
I pushed open the door. The problem now was I didn’t know which of the two-dozen desks belonged to me. I could just pick one at random, but then I would look like an idiot. I went to the back of the room to take off my backpack and coat. The jacket I hung on a hook. The other girls and boys had their backpacks by their desks, so I kept that with me.
I hovered by the hooks, trying to appear nonchalant. As more kids came in, the number of possible choices dwindled. I was down to just three possibles when Denise walked in. “Good morning, Mrs. Cauffield,” the other kids said.
“Good morning, kids.” As Denise sat down behind her desk at the front of the room, her eyes met mine. “Billie? You want to have a seat?”
“OK.” I heard kids snicker as I plodded down an aisle, towards an empty desk. When I sat down, the kids laughed louder.
“That one, Billie,” Denise said, pointing to a desk at the front of the room.
I valiantly fought back tears as I took my seat. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cauffield.”
“It’s all right, Billie. When you get to be an old lady like me, you’ll forget lots of stuff. Speaking of, who remembers what we were talking about yesterday for history?”
As Denise began to lecture us on the American Revolution, I tried to slouch down to the point she couldn’t see me. Those mean old aliens! They had not only made me a child; they had to humiliate me further by having Denise be my teacher. It wasn’t fair. I wasn’t supposed to be a little girl—
The first time my tummy rumbled, I thought it must mean I was hungry. The next time it came less as a rumble and more as a pain that made me squeak. It didn’t feel like the same kind of pain as when I had to poop. I slouched down more in my seat, putting a hand to my tummy.
Denise was lecturing us about photosynthesis when I couldn’t help groaning with pain and doubling over on my desk. She turned to look at me with concern. “Billie? Are you all right?”
“I…I gotta potty,” I said, which made everyone laugh.
As tears clouded my eyes, Denise patted my back. “It’s all right. I’ll give you a pass.”
“Thank you.”
Denise wrote out a yellow slip of paper that I tucked into my pocket. There were still snickers and chuckles as I scurried away. The pain in my tummy was getting worse. Had Mom’s pancakes done something to me? Or maybe I was coming down with something else. It might even be my appendix.
I raced into the bathroom, where a girl was doing her makeup at one sink. She looked like a miniature version of Denise, except her hair was longer and curly. She had to be a year or two older than me, mosquito bumps showing under her T-shirt. I gaped at her, my pain momentarily forgotten. “Tammy?”
“What do
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