...alone, on the mountainside, making up my mind.

I must have driven home that morning, but I have no memory of it. I woke up in my own bed with Jordan at my door saying something that didn’t register,

“Dad wants you down at the dealership,” she said again. I’d heard her the first time but hadn’t responded. “Hunt? You alive in there?” She sounded amused. My family calls me Hunt or Hunter since we’re all named Petersen.

I made a noise. “Don’t come in,” I warned her.

“As if? Better shake it. He said it like he meant right away.” It heard her turn away from the door and then back. “Oh, and Mom saved you a breakfast roll and a piece of bacon.”

I yawned and mumbled something. I could see my clock without getting out of the warm and comfortable covers. It was ten ’til nine, early for a Saturday morning, and everyone knew I’d been out all night. Dad probably wanted me to come down to the dealership to wash cars; that was my usual gig there, especially if an auto transporter had arrived with a bunch of used cars from California. It was good money, and not that hard to do.

I yawned again. Everything felt a little unreal. Had it all happened in less than fifteen hours? The game, Megan and I at the motel, the cafe with the truckers, the meeting with Coach Wilson, then Megan and Travis at their house. And then me, alone, on the mountainside, making up my mind.

Apparently, I had decided to live. It didn’t exactly surprise me. I’m usually an optimist. But it wasn’t just for myself. I wanted to live because of Jordan and Molly, Megan and Jake, Mom and Dad, and the guys on the team. There were still football games that needed winning. I yawned and stretched, still under the blankets, feeling the sheets on my skin and especially the two new sensitive spots on my chest.

Don’t think about that, I told myself, throwing back the covers and turning to sit on the edge of the bed and hunt for my slippers with my feet. I glanced down at myself. The little bumps looked especially triangular from this view. I’d already learned that it was better not to scratch them even if they did itch. The left one decided just then to crinkle up and push its nipple out, (maybe because I was thinking about it?) I glanced right with that thought, and sure enough, the other one swelled a bit, too, and both nips were perky now.

“Cut it out, guys,” I complained, but I used both hands to give my chesticles a gentle rub, and that felt good in a very strange way. I could see my reflection in the mirror over the chest of drawers, and I made a face, then a series of them, trying to make myself laugh. No go. So, my feet having finally found my slippers, instead of winter floors, I stood up.

Then I glanced down again, looking further. What was I wearing? They showed quite clearly in the mirror; a pair of the lacy panties Megan had offered me last night, the open plastic bag with three more pair in view on top of the dresser. I felt myself blush. When had I put those on?

The lace front was distressingly flat, but I had no memory of putting the panties on. This pair was a pastel blue. The other three were pink, lavender and white. At least I wasn’t wearing the pink pair. I made another face, staring at my reflection. What I saw was a slender young woman with mannish black hair. I couldn’t find Pete in the mirror at all.

I lifted my arms in a muscle magazine pose and snorted. “I need to work out more,” I told myself and resolved that I would do just that. I had weights and a bench set up in the garage and had used them a lot during the summer, but I’d let that go in favor of wind conditioning when school started. To be honest, I hated lifting weights. Unlike running or even sprinting, it didn’t feel like you were getting anything done.

I took a team t-shirt from a hanger and pulled it on before heading to the bathroom--where I did my business sitting down, of course. I made another face when I pulled the panties back up, but I didn’t stop to change them. To be honest, they did fit better than my boy briefs. I took a moment to pull my shirt up to get a look at my butt in the mirror. “Jeez,” I complained, noticing that the shirt fit kind of long on me.

Not really a puzzle, I realized. The name across the back read Fremont, and the number displayed was nine, making it one of Jake’s. It was the shirt he’d given me after winning his first game as quarterback last year. The winning play had been one of the rare times I caught a pass, a short buttonhook over the heads of both lines, and I had run with it for sixty-five yards. It was the final play of the game.

I wanted to wear that shirt. I had an irrational feeling it would bring me luck. It wasn’t every day or every game I caught a game-winning pass. I found a pair of jeans that hadn’t gotten too tight in the seat and pushed the tails of the shirt down inside the waistband. Then my own team jacket with Petey and #17 on the back, and my oldest pair of boots—because running shoes would get wet if I had to wash cars.

In the kitchen, I took the breakfast roll and bacon Mom had saved me and folded them to make a sort of sandwich before I headed for the door. “Going to the Ford shop,” I called, munching on the snack. No one answered, so I went on out to my car.

I felt a bit strange—partly because of what I was wearing, and maybe mostly because things were a little strange these days—but no one else could tell, I hoped. I finished my sweet and salty breakfast on the drive to the shop and pulled into the lot through the back gate. Sure enough, an auto transport was unloading a bunch of used cars, and Dad was busy supervising. He looked harassed, so I navigated around him and the big trailer rig.

Dad spared an arm to point as he moved away, and I saw one of the mechanics waving me toward a service bay; I supposed just to get my mom-mobile out of the way. I parked and climbed out, leaving the key in the ignition. Dennis Rolfe, the head mechanic, gestured for me to come into the service office.

He dangled a set of keys in his hand then tossed them toward me. I caught them out of the air, then realized someone else was waving at me through the big windows on the sales floor. Mom, Dad, Jordan and Molly stood next to a car that was the exact same color as the panties I was wearing.