Brenda the Libra The New World of SwapTech chapter 5 by witeja9199

Finding Brenda took four minutes, mostly because of the trail of male students walking into things.

Brenda was leaning on the vending machine outside the Student Union, assembled with the generosity usually reserved for statues and lottery winners. Quarters went into the pretzel slot with the weary patience of someone who had stopped noticing the stares around week two.

"You," said Jack.

"Stall Four. The Clencher." Brenda didn't turn around. "Arms in, by the way. You walk like you're carrying two buckets of water."

"I need help."

"You need a priest, darling, but I'll do." The pretzels dropped. "Walk with me. And stop looking at the tits, I can feel it. It's a gift."

"I wasn't—"

"Everybody does. They're excellent. I'd look too." Brenda lowered his voice to something with an unmistakable baritone floor. "Theo. Theatre 340, Embodied Character Practicum. Six weeks as Brenda Okafor, sophomore, Libra, cup size classified.*"

*The Theatre Department had insisted the practicum was for "deepening craft." The Theatre Department also kept a skeleton named Gerald in the fridge and hadn't been audited since 1994.

"You're a—"

"Gay man in a bombshell, yes. Best thing that ever happened to me." Theo flicked his hair with a twist that made two passing sophomores stop dead. "Real Brenda's in my body doing my chemistry lab. I hope she's gentle with my wrists. I have fantastic hands."

"You said four swaps," said Jack. "And a dachshund."

"Brenda, a lacrosse bro, a seventy-three-year-old named Mildred, and the dachshund." Theo sighed. "I don't want to talk about the dachshund. Survival tips. Lesson one: pockets."

"Pockets?"

"Women's pants have fake pockets. It's a conspiracy. Phone, wallet, flash drive? You'll lose one by Thursday. Carry a bag."

"That's your first lesson?"

"It's the one that'll save your life. Two: bras. It's a harness, not a hug. If it digs, you didn't fit it, you argued with it. Loosen the back when nobody's looking, tighten for sprinting, and never wear a front clasp on a first date unless you've made peace with the physics."

"What physics?"

"Newton had a lot to say about it." Theo steered him around a bench. "Three: bathrooms. You go in pairs, you come out in pairs, and you return with gossip."

"Why in pairs?"

Theo's cheerful face did something Jack hadn't expected. It went quiet, like a theatre between shows.

"Because most people are lovely and some aren't, and you can't always tell from across a parking lot. You'll start feeling it, like a step that isn't there. Keys between your fingers. Phone in your hand. If your gut says something's off, it's off." He shrugged. "You never had to listen to it before. Start now."

Jack didn't say anything. The unfamiliar legs under him suddenly felt like they were carrying something heavier than they looked.

"Right, enough heart," said Theo, brightening. "Four. Del's phone. Open the little app with the flower."

"Why?"

"Humor me."

Jack opened it. A cheerful pink screen announced DAY 27 of 28, followed by a small smiling cartoon cloud and the words Almost there! Be kind to yourself!

"Oh, you poor bastard," said Theo, with real reverence. "Tomorrow, you bleed."

"I'm sorry, I what?"

"Ibuprofen, chocolate, a heating pad, and a will."

"It's Del's problem! She's in my body!"

"No, sweetheart." Theo patted his arm. "It's yours. That's the empathy portion."

Jack opened his mouth to scream, but the phone buzzed first. Theo, without a flicker of privacy, read over his shoulder.

Marcus: Can't wait 2 see u. Wear the thing. 😈

Theo stopped walking. The pretzel stopped halfway to his mouth.

"Marcus who?"

"Marcus Whitlock. Junior. Biceps."

"Oh, honey." Theo pulled him behind a hedge with surprising strength. "That isn't a date. Marcus is the recruiter for the Rotation."

"The what?"

"The Rotation. Unofficial swap club. Meets Tuesdays in the steam tunnels. Everyone swaps with everyone, all night, in a sort of sweaty round robin. Nobody ends the evening in the body they started in." He paused. "Or in the same position, for that matter."

"That's disgusting."

"It's hospitality. Del's their treasurer."

Jack stared at him. "Del's—she told me she had two dates."

"She does. They're both club business. Priya's the enforcer." Theo lowered his voice. "Del's been trying to recruit you for two semesters. You're on a list, Jack. Your name, specifically. Man with a spreadsheet for his sock drawer."

"But the algorithm paired us. Maximum contrast."

"The algorithm's not the only thing that picks, baby. The treasurer has friends in Admin." Theo checked a watch he did not own. "It's 6:44. Marcus arrives at seven. Priya at eight-thirty. And Del's had a head start of half an hour in your body, reorganizing your sock drawer by vibes."

"Why me?" Jack whispered, his borrowed voice barely a breath. "What could she possibly want with me?"

"That," said Theo, "is the first interesting question you've asked all day."

Somewhere in the distance, a campus clock struck the quarter hour. Jack realized with a cold, clear dread that he had somehow become the only man in history to be late for a date he didn't want, with a man who might not be a man, to join a club that might eat him alive, while on his period tomorrow.