Krystal's Flight

This is the second of my Whateley Fan Fiction. It will (eventually) tie in with Danielle's Tale. I have one other story that will also tie in as well when written.

Prologue

Who I am
Monday mornings, the true bane of existence. There are some who claim to like Monday mornings, they are either fools or liars, and this particular Monday was especially evil. My school had decided that detentions would be more of a punishment if they were held prior to the start of the school day. Was that because people would hate them more? Or more likely, it was because afternoon detentions would get in the way of team practice for the vaunted football team? Either way, I have to get up an hour earlier all this week.

What did I get detention for you ask? For protecting the weak. Christopher Wilkins was the school punching bag. He was a little on the small side, about 5'2" and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. A typical nerd. Biff Grove, the quarterback was attempting to stuff Chris into his locker, loudly proclaiming that "The little faggot needs to be hidden away. My crime was grabbing Biff and restraining him 'till Chris could gather his books and escape. Both Biff and I got detention for that incident, to start today and for every day this week.

In most schools the football team consists of the biggest and strongest people in the school, and for the most part they ours does. The exception was me. At fourteen I stand 6'6" and weigh in at 295 pounds, and none of it is fat. It isn’t that I work out or anything, it just is. It wasn't my parents either, Dad is 5'7" and Mom, long absent must have been about 5'4". The football coach practically begged me to play, but I’m more interested in taking additional advanced courses. I’m determined to get into a good University, my goal was to become an engineer, and ultimately support Dad. The only way I can do that is on a full ride scholarship, which I figured was more likely to get with good academic scores vice hoping for the football player track. Besides, advanced calculus was always more fun.

Biff greeted me with “Faggot. Just like your dad.”

I ignored him. I wasn’t gay, my dad was, and was used to jeers from the moron crowd, Biff definitely qualified, to him a C- was a good grade. On the contrary, I liked girls, I liked them so much I wanted to be one.

I’ve known I wanted to be a girl for as long as I remember. My body betrayed me though. I’ve always been big, and at my present size dressing just made me look ridiculous. Not that it completely stopped me, I always wore studs in my ears, and conditioned and styled my hair in a slightly more feminine way. Continuing to ignore my fellow detainee, I hunkered down and worked ahead in my physics book. I was trying to improve on my A grade. The more A+’s I got the better.

Besides there was more room to work here. Dad and I lived in what’s laughingly referred to as “An Efficiency.” Efficient for the landlord I guess. The kitchen was big enough for one counter, a small sink and a two-burner cooktop. The microwave had to sit in the breakfast nook. That leave just enough space for a small table. The entire rest of the apartment consists of a small alcove that’s supposed to be a bedroom, and a bathroom I can hardly turn around in. I sleep in the bed, Dad on the couch.

It was all we can afford, Dad works as a Janitor for minimum wage, and wouldn’t let me get a job. He knows what I want to do, and insists that school came before anything else. Hell, if I work that’ll reduce the welfare we get. Between that and food banks we survived.

The rest of the week went by normally and every day Biff would try to get a rise out of me, every day I ignored him and studied and he goofed off. Friday seemed to drag by, if I didn’t know better I could have sworn the clock was running backwards. I felt out of sorts all day, achy and cramping.

I trudged home after school, Dad was working late tonight so it was up to me to make supper for the both of us. Preferably something he could just heat up when he got home. I looked in the cupboards and fridge to see what we had. Score! A can of cream of mushroom soup, a can of corn, some leftover sour cream, frozen perogies and half a pound of ground chuck. All of it goes into a big saucepan with garlic, oregano and basil. I call it perogie stew. It’s tasty, filling, and is easy to re-heat. Best of all, it's cheap and fast. Half an hour to cook with only one pot, can't be beat.

While supper cooked I exchanged my stud earrings for large dangly hoops and tried to work on my history homework, but I just couldn't focus and my eyes kept closing on me. I gave up, and checked on how the perogie stew was coming along. It was ready so I ladled a healthy serving into an bowl and turned off the burner.

I devoured my supper, enjoying the rich creamy flavours which complemented the cheesy potato filled pastry triangles. That's what perogies are for the uneducated. A full belly made me even sleepier, so I put the rest of the stew in the fridge for Dad, brushed my teeth and stumbled into bed.

Ding, I'm a Girl

The ding the microwave made when Dad finished heating his supper woke me. Still half asleep I stumbled to the bathroom. Washing my hands at the sink I finally started to wake. Something was different, blinking to clear my eyes, I looked in the mirror. Gone was my strong manly jaw, my hair was no longer a sandy brown, but was instead a deep rich red, and much longer. But these changes were minor, my body was that of a slim girl, and checking between my legs I no longer had ridiculous and ugly external genitalia, merely a slightly puffy slit.

“Err, dad.” I said as I exited the bathroom. “Tell me I am not dreaming, but I look like a girl.”

Dad wearily lifted his head, confusion on his face. When he saw me, the weariness was gone, but the confusion was not. If anything it was worse. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Dad, it me, Kevin.” I responded in a sweet soprano pitched voice. “I woke up like this.”

Dad shook his head and collected his thoughts. “Well it looks like you got your wish.”

“Huh?”

He chuckled. “I’m your dad, I know things, like I knew you always felt you should be a girl, but were trapped in the wrong body.”

I blushed, I had never told him this, always a little afraid of how he might react. Stupid I know, he was not the most conventional man, father, out there. “Yeah, I did.” I admitted.

“Unless we are both dreaming,” he said, “based on what has been happening, I’d guess you are a mutant. I mean, there are tales that a lot of the mutants change sex when they manifest.”

“You think so?” I asked excitedly.

“Don’t know for sure, but it seems likely.” He responded. “But lets not get to ahead of ourselves. It’s late, and I’m to tired to do anything about it. Go back to bed, we’ll both sleep on it and see how things look in the morning.”

I nodded, and headed back to bed, it was hard to go to sleep, my mind spinning from thought to thought. Was this real? What would I do? How did it happen? Eventually I fell asleep, hoping as I drifted off that this was not a fevered dream.