The Photographer

Chapter 1
Prologue: The First Shoot

Chapter Description: Two teachers are the first targets of the Photographer.

Monday, 1 p.m.

The photographer surveyed the gym for his targets.

Perfect: Mrs. Harris was sitting in the bleachers with her class, while Mrs. McPhee was on the gym floor, standing with the other school administrators.

The photographer pointed his camera at each one in succession, locking them each in with a tap of a button and programming them both for simultaneous changes, with the ’aware’ feature set so only he and the two teachers would be aware of the transformation.

The photographer pressed the shutter button.

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Anne Harris felt a chill go over her—did the lights just flicker in the gym?

She turned around.

“What was that?” she said to her best friend—and fellow teacher—Betty Porter, clearing her throat. Her voice sounded...higher for some reason.

“Annie! Be quiet!” said Betty. “And cover up!”

Why was her best friend yelling at her? And, what did she mean, cover up?

She looked down—and couldn’t believe what she saw.

The professional attire that the 27-year-old high school math teacher had put on at the beginning of the day—the red sweater, the skirt, the short-heeled shoes, were gone.

In their place was a tight sweater that showed a peek of her bellybutton—it looked so flat! and was that a little ring in her navel?—and a short skirt that showed plenty of her legs up to her thigh. Below that were clunky heels that a professional wouldn’t be caught dead in.

Anne blacked out.

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Jenny McPhee felt dizzy for a second, and stumbled.

She felt a hand reach out to steady her, and looked up to see it was the head principal, George Tate.

“Thanks, George,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Miss Taylor, are you all right?” he said.

Taylor?

Nobody had called her Taylor, her maiden name, since her wedding four years ago.

“I’m fine...I think,” she said, her voice sounding more high-pitched than normal. Maybe she was still a bit shaken-up after all.

“Well, then, are you ready to start the pep rally?” he said.

“What?” Jenny said.

“The pep rally. Are you sure you’re all right?”

Something was still off, Jenny thought.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her reflection in the gym door.

And gasped.

Gone was the 27-year-old, confident-looking assistant principal.

In her place was...a girl. Her eyes had to be playing tricks on her.

“Oh my God,” Jenny said. “This can’t be right.”

“Maybe you should go to the nurse’s office, Jenny,” said George.

Jenny ran out of the gym and into the girls’ bathroom.

She wasn’t dreaming.

Her professional-looking button-up shirt with slacks was no more.

She was wearing a tight black sleeveless lycra top with “KHS” stitched across the chest in white, her young(?), tight midriff bared above a short, pleated black skirt with gold trim at the bottom.

Her blonde hair wasn’t up in a conservative bun anymore. Instead, she sported a ponytail in a scrunchie that matched the uniform.

Her face was fresh-looking, with...was that glitter? And pink lip-gloss?

The assistant principal was a 16-year-old cheerleader.