The Billionaire Switch

Oscar - Pancakes for Breakfast

When I sat up, I immediately knew I had slept in. Rubbing my eyes, I squinted up, looking for the alarm clock I had helped patent. It was a special one that woke you up by light alone, mimicking getting up by sunrise, but in the comfort of your own home. The other wonderful thing about it was its silence, making it popular for college students. 

Not that it mattered to me. I lived alone. 

But it wasn't there, and there were voices coming from the other room. Why were there voices? I lived alone. 

I jolted up and my hair brushed my shoulders. My hair was a bit long, but it wasn't that long, and I knew I didn't put on this tank top when I went to bed last night. 

"Honey! You're going to be late for work!" a woman called.

I stumbled out of bed, crossing my arms. They felt strange and not like my own, and my hands were different: thinner and on my nails, there was chipped, red nail polish. 

Had I taken shrooms then forgotten? I had sworn off drugs a few years ago when I dropped out of college to start working in my family business again, but there seemed to be no reasonable explanation for this. 

"Who am I?" I whispered, wanting to hear my voice. It sounded tinny and smooth and outside of my mind. I wasn't myself. The shine of a mirror's reflection on the ceiling caught my eye, and I stumbled over clothes piled on the floor to reach it and tilt it in the direction of my face. 

I stared down, my mouth barely opening. My hair looked sloppily dyed red, too vivid to possibly be natural. Besides, brown roots peeked out, looking almost greasy. I wrinkled my nose. Whoever this was, they clearly had not professionally dyed their hair. I knew how to take care of dyed hair, due to me going grey at a very young age. 

I pulled at the woman in the reflection's hair, twirling it in my fingers. It felt brittle. I had to be in somebody else's body. That was the only explanation. 

But what the hell type of explanation was that? It sure wasn't a possible one. 

I had to be dreaming. 

Someone knocked on the door. "Anne?"

I opened it, face to face with someone who resembled my reflection, likely her mother. "Yes?"

She frowned down at me. That's right, in this body, I was short. I hadn't been this tall since middle school. "Is something wrong?" she asked. 

I blinked. Everything was wrong. I didn't know this woman. "Am I awake?"

"Yes, you are. Finally," she grumbled. "I made pancakes."

This wasn't real. It couldn't be... I smelled the pancakes, and I went rigid. You didn't dream with a sense of smell, did you?

"Go get ready, you're already an hour late. You know how pissed your manager gets when you're not there to open, especially with Oscar."

I jerked my head up. Oscar? "What do you mean?"

"The shop can't afford a bad review from him. You know that. You must be really tired. How late did you stay up last night, Anne?"

I stared at her. "I'm an adult, right?"

"Are you alright?"

"Am I an adult?" I yelled. 

"Yes, of course you're an adult!"

"Then why am I still living with my parents?" I shouted. 

She flinched back, clearly hurt at that. "That is not the way you should be talking to your mother!"

I squinted, debating what I should do. This wasn't my life, and I could wreck it as I liked, and it wouldn't make a difference to me. But that would mean admitting this reality. What if I was stuck like this? If I ruined this woman's life, then I'd have to live with the consequences.

Drat. 

"I'm sorry, Mom." My nose unintentionally wrinkled, thinking of the last time I had spoken to my own mother a few years ago. 

She sighed. "Do you want pancakes?"

I nodded, and she walked towards the kitchen. I followed after her, unsure where I was going, but as it turned out, they lived in quite a small house. 

"Go get ready," she said, not turning around. "You have to leave as soon as possible."

I sighed, then turned back to go to the room. I hesitated in front of the closet, unsure what to wear. Then, I froze, realizing I would have to undress. I already felt like I was violating her by waking up in her bed and in her body. My gut twisted as I pulled out clothes, like I was shopping in a store. Though she had barely half a closet-full. (And a rather small closet, at that.)

I closed my eyes as I changed, trying my best to respect her privacy. I felt icky at the realization that I was literally in someone else's body, but especially a woman's. 

Finished, I glanced in the mirror and decided I looked good enough in a green sweater and some dark-wash jeans. I walked out of the room and sat down at the table. 

"No make-up today?" her dad asked. 

I shrugged. "I'm already late."

"Didn't realize you were that late," her dad said. "You never leave the house without makeup. Though, you know your mom and I love you with it and without it."

"Thanks," I mumbled, accepting a plate of warm pancakes set in front of me. I reached for the butter and once finished, I took a bite, almost wanting to roll my eyes back in bliss. I hadn't had homemade pancakes in years. "You should open up a restaurant," I blurted out. 

Anne's mom laughed. "Honey, I think we're too low-end for this city."

"No, I don't think so," I said. I realized I spoke that out of Anne's mouth though, so it didn't have any actual weight behind it. If they knew that Oscar Asher was the one to say that, they would likely do it. I could spot them the money, of course, if they paid me back. I'd even offer it interest-free. 

"You better hurry up if you want to keep your job," her father said. 

My heart dropped. "You think they'd really fire me over this?"

"That's what you say all the time," her father said. 

Double drat. 

"Oh, but before you go, I have some news that might cheer you up!" her mother said as I shoveled food into my mouth. 

"You know where my car keys are?" I guessed hopefully. 

"Very funny," she said. 

"Why?"

Her eyebrows furrowed. "You don't have a car. You walk to work. What is wrong with you today, Anne?"

I shrugged, trying to keep the horror off my face. "Sorry. What was the good news?"

"Oscar Asher just announced he has plans to give away the majority of his fortune in a new program he's outlining. He says he's only keeping one percent. One percent, Anne! Of course that still leaves him around a hundred million dollars, which is far too much for any one person, but it's still amazing, right?"

My mouth had dropped open in horror, and I couldn't seem to grasp what she was really saying. 

I only knew one thing: I needed to find whoever was impersonating me.