It's Definitely Weird

Eleven: Luke (Part Two)

"It's complicated."       

Luke's Point of View (in Grace's body)
        "...You're finally coming home with us, Grace," the man explained. From what he'd said, I figured he was my dad, but where was my—err, Grace's?—mom?

        "Finally," the little boy, Aaron, cheered with a grin, "you're coming home, Gracie!"

        I nodded, still feeling a bit awkward. I seriously needed to figure out what the fuck had happened, "Yeah, home." Where was home?

        "Well, we'll leave you to get dressed. I brought you some clothes from home," my dad, explained, handing me a plastic bag.

        As soon as they left, I opened the bag: jeans, a t-shirt, shoes, socks, underwear, and a bra? What! Oh, fuck. I knew I shouldn't look at my—Grace's?—boobs, because, to be honest, it was fucking weird. I looked down at the bra again and I knew this was going to be hell.

Bras are complicated. Being a girl is complicated. It's all complicated.

. . .

        I was still a bit wary about getting in an old pick-up truck with my "family," no matter how friendly they seemed. As stupid as it sounded, I wasn't used to getting in an old automobile, and I didn't know what to think.

        I was sitting in the front seat of the old car, constantly—and hopefully, discretely—picking at this stupid bra that kept poking me. Was it supposed to feel like this?

        The radio was turned to some station that played oldies—not really my type of music.

        "We're here," Aaron spoke. I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn't even noticed.

        I looked to the side, through the window, and saw an apartment complex. What?

        "Where?" I quietly asked, not intending to be rude.

        "Don't you remember, Grace?" Aaron asked a grin still on his face. He was busy trying to unbuckle his seat belt, but the fact that he was in a toddler seat didn't help. "Ah, don't worry, I'll show you." He said, not waiting for my answer.

        All three of us got out of the pick-up truck and I slowly walked behind.

        I followed behind until we reached a door, one of the many. It looked exactly alike all the other ones, but it read 304 A.

        "Does it look familiar, Grace?" Dad asked a hopeful smile on his face.

        I didn't want to see him sad, so I nodded.

        He opened the door to the apartment. We all walked in: First, dad, Aaron, and then me. I walked into the small home. Right next to the door, was a mirror hung up on the wall. I wasn't sure if I wanted to look—to actually know who I was. I took a deep breath and faced the mirror.

        "...Hold on, I know this kid," I silently muttered to myself, not caring that my "family" was looking at me like I was crazy.

        Wait, oh my god. I recognized her—I recognized me?

I was stuck in the body of Grace Andrews, also known as: "Little Gracie," the little nerd.