Chapter 15 Chapter 14: Thursday's Child has far to go
The buzz of anticipation for the day ahead shocked me awake a full hour before my alarm. As consciousness returned, so did the sensation of my own body, a deep, resonant ache that seemed to emanate from within my very bones. I felt… larger. My limbs were heavy with a new density, and when I threw back the sheets, the reason was immediately apparent. My frame, once familiar, was now layered with sheaves of hardened muscle that seemed to have erupted overnight. The evidence stood starkly before me: my anther was fully erect, throbbing with a dull, almost painful intensity, a raw testament to the surge of power coursing through me.
Seeking clarity, I elected to take a waterdrop. I stepped into the shower and braced myself before wrenching the dial to full cold. A punishing, ice-cold spray needled my skin, shocking the last vestiges of sleep from my system. For ten rigorous minutes I endured it, teeth gritted, until the ache was replaced by a sharp, buzzing vitality. I felt alive again, awake in every fibre.
Steaming slightly, I dried myself before the full-length reflector. The man staring back was a stranger, carved from granite and wire. My whole body had exploded in new, sharp definition; deltoids capped my shoulders, my pectorals were solid slabs, and my abdomen was a tight grid. The transformation was so sheer it was absurd. I also really needed to shave. Taking a disposable blade, I worked methodically, scraping away the stubble until my face was baby-bum smooth, a stark contrast to the rugged topography of the rest of me.
Back in my own room, I reached for the clothes I had carefully chosen last night, a smart, fitted shirt and trousers. But the moment I tried to pull them on, the fabric strained and protested. The sleeves choked my biceps, the shoulders were impossibly tight, and the runts refused to button over my thickened thighs
They were comically small, utterly inadequate for my new form.
A wave of panic crested. I hastily emptied my cupboards, pulling out garment after garment, each one now looking like it belonged to a younger, smaller brother. Nothing fit. The clock was ticking. Finally, buried in the back, I found a solution: a pair of tailored shorts with some give to them and a simple white designer T-shirt, its fabric possessing a crucial amount of stretch. My mum had bought it for me on sale years ago, insisting I’d “grow into it.” I guess she knew me better than I knew myself. It clung to my torso, accentuating the very muscles that had caused the problem, but it would have to do for my dinner date tonight.
The hour I had stolen from the dawn with my early awakening was now utterly lost, squandered in the frantic aftermath of the game and a sleep that had been too deep and too short. The sun was already high, a glaring accusation against my window. There was no time for the quiet ritual of breakfast, for my mother’s cooking or the performance of normalcy. The smell of sizzling poyon and fried bread was a torture. I moved in a frenzy, a blur of motion, grabbing my keys
and my com from the charger and practically ran out of the house with a shouted, breathless "Goodbye!" to my family, already late, my stomach growling its protest.
I sprinted for the hopper stop, my heart hammering a rhythm of pure panic against my ribs. Thankfully, the cabin was only half-full, the morning rush having subsided. I slumped into a seat, the vinyl cool through my thin work shorts, and tried to catch my breath. To pass the time and calm my racing thoughts, I pulled out my com. The screen glowed, and two messages waited for me.
The first one made my own heart perform a spectacular, dizzying leap in my chest.
1 “See you tonight at 17:00 heart symbol” - Silver
A heart symbol. A real, pulsing heart. The simple message was a bolt of pure, undiluted joy, erasing the memory of her anger, the thrown drink, the public humiliation. It was a promise. It was a future.
The second message was from a different kind of hope.
2 “I can’t figure out these ghastly machines, please ring to me Nanda I have good news- “Dr Norton.
I could almost hear his deep, slightly exasperated voice, baffled by the technology he so often decried. Good news. The phrase was a key turning in a lock. After the victory on the pitch and the promise from Silver, it felt like the final piece of a miraculous puzzle clicking into place.
This day, which had begun in such a frantic, ragged state, was going to be great. A wide, uncontrollable grin spread across my face. I would ring him later, on my break. For now, I just wanted to hold the feeling, to bask in the twin glows of anticipation and hope.
My work started the way it always does, with the methodical, meditative cutting and chopping of greens and salad. The familiar thump-thump-thump of the knife on the worn wooden board was a steadying rhythm. As my hands filled the chilled metal trays with bright cherry tomatoes, glossy black olives, and crisp romaine, my mind was free to wander, soaring through the day before me. It danced between two poles: the thrilling, nervous anticipation of Silver and our date, and the bright, curious promise of Doctor Norton’s good news. The sharp scent of fresh dill and damp earth was no longer just the smell of work; it was the smell of a future finally, blessedly, coming into bloom.
The serene rhythm of my thoughts, a pleasant reel of Silver’s smile and Norton’s cryptic message, was abruptly shattered by the whirlwind that was Kia’s arrival.
“Hi Nanda!” she chirped, her voice a familiar, excited trill that usually grated on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
But today was different. Today, even Kia’s relentless optimism seemed like good company, another bright thread in the suddenly golden tapestry of my day. I looked up from my chopping board, a genuine, easy smile on my face. “Hi Kia. How’s things?”
“Just dreamy,” she sighed, leaning against the counter with a dramatic flourish. “Si and I have already started planning the wedding! It’s all happening so fast. You’re invited, of course. It’s gonna be so grand, everyone will be there!” Her eyes shone with a vision of glittering perfection.
I was on such a high that I could easily handle Kia’s effervescent chatter. Because today, I had a date. Today, her wedding plans felt like just another part of a world where good things happened. “That sounds perfect,” I said, and for once, I almost meant it. “I can’t wait.”
The conversation carried on in this way, a familiar one-sided stream. Kia chattered away about floral arrangements and pairing bracelets, while my mind, comfortably partitioned, remained steadfastly set on Silver. I had decided, with a surge of domestic ambition, that I was going to make dinner myself. Right here from the deli. I would take all the best things we had: the finest cuts of cured ponya, the most delicate pastries, the richest, creamiest cheeses. It would be a feast, a tangible offering of my sincerity.
It wasn't long before the lunchtime rush descended, its chaotic energy finally putting an end to the constant talk with Kia, replacing it with the frantic, welcome dance of orders and service.
In the first quiet moment of my break, tucked away in the small staff room, I rang Doctor Norton. The com connected after a few rings.
“Ah, Nanda!” his deep, familiar voice boomed through the speaker, scratchy with static but brimming with warmth. “Good news. I have spoken with a good friend and old classmate, Lord Vincent. He is the leader of the foreign ambassadors to all the known countries. A very influential man. I showed him some of your old papers, that thesis on pre-Unification trade routes and I have told him of you. He is home here in Polli Nation for a brief respite, and he wishes to meet us on Saturday night, seven O’clock. I will send you the address.”
The words landed not as a possibility, but as a destiny. A lord. An ambassador. Saturday night. It was happening. It was all really happening.
I ended the call, my hand trembling slightly. Everything in my world was falling into place with a series of soft, perfect clicks. I was Nanda, the muscle-bound Nate, king of the dieball pitch. I was the hopeful lover of Silver. And now, I was the promising protégé, stepping onto a stage I had only ever read about in books. The different parts of myself, so long at war, finally felt like they were aligning into a single, powerful whole.
The final ten minutes of the shift crawled by. The post-lush calm a stark contrast to the earlier frenzy. Just as the silence began to feel comfortable, Kia started her chatter again, a final volley before her departure. She was tying her apron strings behind her back, her eyes doing a quick, appraising scan of me from head to toe.
“Have you been working out, Nanda?” she asked, her head tilting. “You look… so good. I’ve always seen you as a bit of a short, nerdy type of Nate, you know? Clever, but all brain.” She gave a light, airy laugh, as if describing a cute pet. “But you look real, good. Still short, mind you,” she added, as if worried the compliment had been too generous. Her gaze then sharpened, zeroing in on the carefully packed dinner lunch I had prepared for me and Silver, its quality a notch above the usual staff scraps. A knowing, theatrical grin spread across her face. “I can see it in your eyes. You’ve got a date, don’t you?”
There was no point in denying it. The confidence of the day was still thrumming through me. “Yes,” I said, a small, private smile touching my lips. “I have a date.”
“Good for you!” she chirped, clapping her hands together softly. “Who’s the lucky Polli? Anyone I know? Do tell!”
“No one you know,” I deflected smoothly, my tone friendly but final. I didn’t want her gossiping about Silver, turning something that felt precious and fragile into another piece of deli trivia.
She pouted playfully for a second, then brightened again, ever the optimist. “Well, if it works out, you simply have, to come to dinner with me and Si! A double date! It would be so much fun.” She grabbed her jacket from the hook, shrugging it on. “See you next week,” she sang out, heading for the door. She paused at the threshold, offering one last piece of advice over her shoulder. “Good luck with the date!” And with a final wave, she was gone, leaving me alone with the quiet hum of the refrigerators and the thrilling, nervous anticipation of the evening to come.