A soft buzzing rang in a far corner of the room, and I groaned. I had once dreamt of a day that school had been cancelled and my mom would tiptoe in, turn off my alarm, and let me sleep past 6:30am. But here we were, another grating entry into the overstimulating world of high school.

So I wiggled my toes and sighed. Odd. Those weren’t the familiar scratchy Target sheets we bought last year in the back to school leftover sale. That wiggle felt uniquely soft. Smooth. One might say, buttery.

I fluttered my eyes open and felt my eyebrows furrow as I took in my surroundings. A dresser in the corner first caught my eye. An elaborate wooden thing - rounded corners and stunning knobs and pulls that came straight from an episode of Martha’s Vineyard or something. So, odd. I couldn’t get the buzzing out of my ears.

At that thought, the lights flipped on and I was jarred awake. “Antoni, darling, it’s time to get up. You didn’t forget we are shooting photos for the new season promos today, did you?”

Antoni? Paulie, he must have meant.

Shooting photos? School photos, he must have meant.

He… wait, what the fuck?! Last time I checked, my mom and I were the only ones who had any business being in my house at 6:30am.

I jerked upright in bed to look at this complete stranger in the eye and inquire, “Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing in my bedroom?”

The very fabulous man gasped at my outburst. His hand very dramatically flew to his chest and he quivered, “Antoni, I, why, what? What did that naughty Tan give you to drink last night?”

I stared. He stared. I lost.

“Okay, joke’s over. Me, your dedicated assistant by the name of Quinn who has been taking care of every aspect of your life for four years, does not deserve this kind of treatment. I will pretend you are on drugs like every other star out there and just do my job. Now up, up, up!”

He scurried over to me and courteously flipped me out of bed, letting me tumble out onto the floor and shuffle around like a gangly squid on land.

I looked down at my boxers.

Fuck, boxers?!

My gaze traveled up my body and landed on my bare chest. Bare. Chest.

But instead of the perky c cups I was blessed with at 16 years old, I had, what appeared to be, in no uncertain terms, developed a MASCULINE ripped upper body.

I ran to a ridiculously crafty floor length mirror and saw my reflection for the first time this very disconcerting morning. And what I saw was not Penny Oak, 16-year old book nerd who just received an award for highest math score in AP Calculus. No. My reflection was in fact, Antoni Porowski.

The Antoni Porowski who graces the world with his beauty and kindness and recipes and ripped upper body.

So I fainted.