The Watchmaker's Gift

IV

There... I am.

A teenager stared back at her with wide, russet eyes. Her face was oval, her olive skin deeply tanned from hours of sunbathing. She had a strong, straight-bridged nose and high, soft cheeks. It was the same face she remembered except... no wrinkles or smile lines! They were gone.

I haven't lived the life to earn them yet.

Her full lips were parted in amazement.

I'm blond? It does nothing for my skin tone.

That was another life lesson not yet learned. She'd change that back to black ASAP.

Slowly, she retreated back to her room. It was time to reconstruct her life in her head.

Class would start at eight thirty. She had an hour to get ready and thirty minutes to walk from her house to school.

If I don't get a move on, the first change to my past will be getting detention for being late.

She padded to her closet, and found a slim black jumpsuit with a gold-cropped jacket hanging in the front, ready to be worn.

This? To school?

Anaya searched for a silk shirt and either skinny pants or a pencil skirt instead. Then she stopped as reason made a much-needed comeback.

Wouldn't that be a sure-fire way not to blend into high school!

Sighing, she picked up the snazzy jumpsuit. She used to coordinate outfits for the following day every night at bedtime when she was a teenager, so she must have had some reason to choose this.

Even if I don't remember what it could possibly have been.

While she dressed, she ogled at her toned muscles. Her skin was so supple and taut.

And my boobs! It's a miracle!

She marveled at them staying so high up all on their own. Anaya hadn't exactly been old before the time travel. But she'd definitely aged since her teen years, the changes happening so gradually that she'd barely noticed them.

Time.

A second glance at the red digits on the black display confirmed it was seven fifty.

She'd spent too long admiring the physical subtleties of her regained youth. By the time her mascara was dry enough to fully open her eyes, she was out of time for breakfast.

Anaya hesitated at her door, unsure of what she might find downstairs. She was an only child but...

My parents.

She hadn't seen them in over a decade. And they hadn't parted well.

I could fix that too...

Turning the doorknob, she cautiously ventured out of her room, listening. She heard nothing. No movement.

Then it came to her. Eighteen years ago, now, both her parents worked. An accountant and an entrepreneur. At six a.m., they'd leave to hit the gym together before burying themselves in work.

Relieved, Anaya put that away for later. She'd confront them soon enough, when she was a little more comfortable in her new skin.

Or not.

Right now though, she had to brace herself for what was to come next.

The most chaotic, traumatic whirlwind of drama, self-doubt, and hormonal indecision a human ever has to face.