Taco Belle

I'm hustling across the quad after Sociology 101, trying to look casual while speed-walking to catch up with Kingston. He's this impossibly cool junior who actually nodded at me last week when I held the door for him at the student center. Today he actually slowed down when he heard me calling out "Hey!" Which, honestly, is a miracle considering I probably sound like a choking seagull.

"What's good, freshman?" Kingston adjusts his designer backpack, managing to make even that simple movement look smooth. A few of his Omega Psi brothers wave as they pass, and I try not to stare too obviously at how effortlessly they all seem to float through life.

"Just, uh, wanted to say great point you made in class. About the social construct thing." I'm already sweating, even though it's only 85 degrees, which for Summer City, Florida is practically winter.

Kingston chuckles. "Man, I was half asleep in there. But good looking out." He starts walking again, and I fall in step beside him, trying to match his easy stride. "You living in Franklin Hall, right? Seen you around there."

My heart practically leaps out of my chest. He's noticed me? "Yeah! Yeah, fourth floor. It's pretty cool. The, uh, communal bathrooms are an experience though." I immediately regret mentioning bathrooms. Who talks about bathrooms?

"That's rough. I remember freshman year. My girl used to come visit and she *hated* that setup." He shakes his head, grinning.

"Oh yeah, same with my girlfriend!" The words tumble out before I can stop them. I've never even held hands with a girl, but suddenly I'm claiming to have a girlfriend? What is wrong with me?

Kingston raises an eyebrow, looking genuinely interested. "For real? She go here too?"

"No, she's uh, back home." My mouth is apparently operating independently from my brain now. "In Tampa." Why did I say Tampa? We're only two hours from Tampa. This is already a disaster.

"What's her name?"

"Violet." At least that came out smooth. I've actually thought about that name a lot, imagining my dream girl. But now I'm sweating even more.

"Violet? That's different. She fine though?"

"Oh yeah, totally fine. Like, really fine." I try to sound casual, but my voice cracks on 'fine.'

Kingston's lips twitch. "What she look like? You got pictures?"

"My phone actually broke last week, getting it fixed." The lie comes surprisingly easy. "But she's like... she's got this amazing..." I gesture vaguely with my hands, trying to indicate curves without being crude.

"Body crazy? I feel you." Kingston nods appreciatively. "What's she working with though? My girl's got like a 36-24-38 situation."

I panic-remember some numbers I saw on a video game character creation screen. "Violet's like... 44-24-46?" It comes out like a question.

Kingston actually stops walking, his eyes wide. "Hold up. You telling me your girl's got measurements like a G-cup Instagram model with a waist smaller than my little sister? Built like an anime character?" He looks both impressed and deeply skeptical.

"Uh... yeah?" I'm dying inside, realizing I've just described someone who'd have trouble walking through doors. "She, uh, does a lot of squats?"

"So what's she do? She in school?"

"She's... taking a gap year." I'm getting in deeper by the second. "She's really into... cooking. Makes these amazing Korean-Mexican fusion dishes." Why did I make her a fusion chef? I don't know anything about either cuisine.

"Korean-Mexican fusion?" Kingston stops walking, turning to face me fully. "Like what?"

"Like... kimchi tacos?" I've never had kimchi in my life. "With this special sauce she invented." I'm dying inside.

"That's wild. She should come visit, cook for the brothers. We do these Sunday dinners at the house..." Kingston's eyes are twinkling in a way I don't quite trust.

"Oh yeah, totally! She's actually..." My mind races. "She's coming next weekend!"

Why did I say that? WHY DID I SAY THAT?

Kingston breaks into a wide smile. "Perfect. Sunday dinner's at 6. Bring your girl, Percy.

He claps me on the shoulder and walks away, leaving me standing there, realizing I've just promised to produce not only a girlfriend, but a smoking hot, impossibly proportioned, Korean-Mexican fusion chef girlfriend... in nine days.

I'm so screwed.

Back in my dorm room, I collapse onto my bed, watching my roommate Stuart methodically organize his collection of anime figurines by height, series, and release date. He's wearing his usual attire: a T-shirt with a complex math equation that's supposed to be funny (I think?), and cargo shorts that could probably hold enough supplies for a small arctic expedition.

"Stuart," I groan into my pillow, "I really messed up."

"Did you try to use 'yeet' in conversation again?" He adjusts his thick-rimmed glasses without looking up from his figurine spreadsheet.

"Worse. So much worse." I roll over and stare at the ceiling, where Stuart has mapped out the entire Star Wars galaxy in glow-in-the-dark stars. "I told Kingston I have a girlfriend."

"Stuart's hand freezes mid-figurine-adjustment. "Kingston Rhodes?" He says it like he's naming a mythical creature. His voice does that thing where it starts low and ends somewhere only dogs can hear. "The Kingston Rhodes who won three intramural championships? The Kingston Rhodes whose Instagram post about protein shakes got liked by The Rock? The Kingston Rhodes who--" he frantically opens his laptop and pulls up a complex spreadsheet titled 'Summer City University Social Hierarchy v4.2.1' "--ranks at the ABSOLUTE APEX of my social influence matrix?"

"You... have a spr--"

"Of course I have a spreadsheet!" Stuart's eyes are wild behind his glasses. "Kingston Rhodes exists in a social stratum so far above us that we technically shouldn't even be able to perceive him! We're like... like single-celled organisms gazing upon a god! He's dated THREE Instagram models! His father invented that thing that goes in the other thing that makes your car whatever!" He grabs my shoulders. "Percy. Percy. How are you even alive? How did you SPEAK to him?"

I explain everything - Violet, the Korean-Mexican fusion cooking, the measurements that I'm pretty sure would make it impossible for a person to walk upright. Stuart's eyes get wider with each detail.

"And now," I continue, my voice cracking, "Kingston's telling everyone she's coming to cook for their Sunday dinner. He keeps texting me about it. I show him my phone.

Kingston's latest message reads: 'Yo my boys are HYPED about Sunday. Violet's gonna be a legend. BTW if these tacos hit like you say, we might have to fast-track you for membership to keep em coming 👀'

"Did you know my dad was Omega Psi president here in '92?" I add miserably. "He still wears his class ring. Keeps asking when I'm going to 'continue the legacy.' He already thinks I'm a disappointment because I chose Computer Science instead of Business."

Stuart pushes his glasses up thoughtfully. "Have you considered the logical solution? Learn to cook Korean-Mexican fusion cuisine in..." he checks his Star Trek chronometer watch, "eight days, fourteen hours, and twenty-three minutes?"

I bolt upright. "That's... that's actually not the worst idea? I mean, I could say Violet couldn't make it, but she sent her cooking?"

My brief moment of hope is interrupted by another text from Kingston: 'Just told my girl about Violet's measurements. She says that's 🧢 but I defended you. Can't wait to see who's right 😂'

I sprint to our mini bathroom and throw up.

When I emerge, Stuart is hunched over his laptop, typing furiously. "Percy. PERCY. I've got it." His glasses are actually fogging up with excitement. "You know how those X-Change pharmacies are on every corner now? The ones where basic bros go to see what they'd look like as girls for a weekend? Amateur hour. That's like transformation tech from five years ago."

He pulls up a website that looks like it was designed by someone who learned HTML in a fever dream.

"But THIS... this is next level. InstaGirl GoodGirl BE-spoke."

The site's spinning graphics and comic sans text hurt my eyes. "What am I looking at?"

"The solution to your problems! X-Change just gives you your gender-swapped genetics. But InstaGirl..." He clicks through pages of broken English and suspicious popup ads. "You can customize EVERYTHING. Height, measurements, even beauty marks! And they're having a student discount!"

I stare at the screen. "Stuart, this looks incredibly sketchy."

"Of course it's sketchy! All the best biochemistry is sketchy! Look--" He points to a wall of customer reviews, all suspiciously written in the same enthusiastic tone. "They guarantee exact specifications for 24 hours. More than enough time for your dinner."

"And you're willing to take this sketchy pill for me?" I ask hopefully.

Stuart looks at me like I just suggested we delete his anime collection. "Are you INSANE? I have a raid scheduled in Final Fantasy XIV this weekend! I'm the guild's main tank! Do you have ANY idea how long it took me to optimize my Paladin rotation?"

"So..."

"So YOU'D have to take it." He's already pulling up the order form. "Come on, what were those measurements again? 44-24-46? And we'll need to specify cooking abilities... oh look, they have a 'Special Skills Package' add-on!"

"Stuart, this is insane. It's a Chinese website selling body transformation pills!"

"With a student discount! And look - free shipping on orders over $100!" He's practically vibrating with excitement. "This is our chance to actually interface with the apex of the social hierarchy! To transcend our... our plankton-like existence!"

I watch him input my measurements, height, and credit card information with terrifying efficiency. Under "Special Skills," he selects "Master Chef (+$49.99)."

"Stuart, stop--"

"Done!" He hits submit with a flourish. "3-5 business days shipping. Just in time!"

Five days later, a small package arrives.

It's a sleek black box with holographic designs that shift and shimmer as I turn it in my hands. The InstaGirl logo is emblazoned on the front in a font that looks like it was designed by a robot with a fondness for neon.

I open the box gingerly, half-expecting it to explode or release a cloud of sketchy chemicals. Inside, nestled in a bed of black foam, is a single yellow pill. It gleams under the light, almost pulsing with promise (or is that just my anxiety?).

Beside the pill is a folded sheet of instructions covered in broken English and what I can only assume are motivational slogans. "Become the Best You That You Can Be!" proclaims one line. "Unleash Your Inner Goddess Potential!" says another. I'm pretty sure I see a misspelling of "mitochondria" at one point.

I unfold the sheet fully and my new DNA sequence stares back at me, printed in shimmering holographic ink along the border.

I feel slightly nauseous as I set the pill and instructions aside. This is insane. I'm not actually going to take this thing, am I?

My phone buzzes with a text from Kingston: "Yo, the bros are stoked for Sunday! Can't wait to meet your girl 🔥"

I start typing a response, my thumbs hovering over the screen. "About that... Violet actually can't make it. But she's sending her famous kimchi tacos!"

I stare at the message, trying to convince myself it's believable. Before I can hit send, my phone starts ringing. It's my dad.

"Percy! Just got off the phone with Bill Rhodes. Says you're coming to the Omega Psi dinner with your new girlfriend!" His voice is a mix of excitement and something else I can't quite place. Pride, maybe?

"Uh, yeah, about that--" I start, but he cuts me off.

"I knew you had it in you, son! An Omega man, just like your old man. And bringing a girl who can cook? You're already ahead of where I was at your age!" He chuckles. "You know, that's how I met your mother. She made the best damn lasagna..."

He launches into a story I've heard a thousand times, about how mom's cooking won over the brothers and secured his spot in the frat. I make noncommittal noises, my eyes locked on the yellow pill.

"Anyway, I'm just proud of you, son. I know we haven't always seen eye to eye on things, but... well, this feels like a step in the right direction."

My throat feels tight. "Thanks, Dad. That... that means a lot."

We say our goodbyes and I slump back in my chair, the weight of expectations crushing me. Stuart looks up from his laptop, where he's been furiously typing this whole time.

"Was that your dad?"

I nod miserably.

"Percy, if you pull this off, you're basically guaranteed a spot in Omega Psi. Do you have any idea what that could mean for your social status? For OUR social status?"

He gestures to his social hierarchy spreadsheet, where my name has been tentatively moved up a few rows.

I stare at the pill, my stomach churning. The stakes have never been higher. If I do this, if I somehow pull off this insane charade... my dad will be proud. I'll be an Omega man. I'll finally be someone on this campus.

If I fail? I'll be the laughingstock of Summer City U. My dad will know I lied. Kingston will tell everyone what a pathetic fraud I am. I'll be even lower on Stuart's spreadsheet than the guy who tried to start a medieval LARPing club in the quad and accidentally set his cape on fire.

Oh god. The pressure in my chest builds. My hands are shaking as I pick up the pill. It feels warm, almost alive, pulsing with potential between my fingers.

"Stuart," I whisper, "if this kills me, delete my browser history."

Before I can talk myself out of it, I pop the pill in my mouth and swallow.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then...

A wave of tingles washes over my entire body, like I've been dunked in carbonated water. My skin feels electric, every nerve ending firing at once. I gasp, doubling over as the sensation intensifies.

"Oh shit," I manage to croak. "Oh shit oh shit oh--"

The tingling turns to burning. My bones feel like they're melting, reforming. I hear cracking sounds as my skeleton shifts, my height dropping slightly, my hips widening. The pain isn't exactly excruciating, but it's... intense. Overwhelming.

"Fascinating," Stuart mutters, frantically taking notes. "Your facial structure is already beginning to change."

He's right - I can feel my face... softening somehow. My jaw becoming less square, my nose shrinking. My scalp tingles violently as hair begins sprouting, falling past my shoulders in a silky black curtain.

But that's nothing compared to what happens next.

"HOLY SHIT," I gasp as pressure builds in my chest. My shirt feels tight, then tighter. I can feel them growing, swelling outward, getting heavier by the second. The buttons of my shirt strain.

Pop! The first button goes flying across the room.

"Stuart!" I yelp, clutching my expanding chest. "Turn around!"

Pop! Pop! Two more buttons surrender to the increasing mass of flesh beneath.

I sprint for the bathroom, slamming the door just as the rest of my shirt gives up the fight. I stare in the mirror, watching in fascination and horror as my chest continues to expand. The weight is incredible - like someone's attaching lead weights to my front. They're huge, way bigger than I expected, and they won't stop growing. Each one feels like it weighs as much as a gallon of milk, swaying and jiggling with every slight movement.

My waist is pinching inward dramatically, while my hips flare out. The seams of my jeans protest, then split. My thighs are thickening, my ass expanding. I can feel my center of gravity shifting.

The changes ripple through my entire body. My hands become smaller, more delicate. My feet shrink, my calves reshape themselves. There's a deeply strange sensation between my legs that I try very hard not to think about.

"Percy?" Stuart calls through the door. "Your vocal cords should be changing any second now..."

Right on cue, my throat tightens. When I try to respond, my voice comes out high and feminine: "This is so weird!"

I grip the sink, staring wide-eyed at the stranger in the mirror. My face... it's not mine. Delicate features, huge doe eyes, plump lips. I look like a fucking K-pop star crossed with a Mexican telenovela actress. I open my mouth and a perfect little pink tongue darts out. What the actual fuck.

But that's nothing compared to the main event.

My shredded shirt hangs open, and two colossal breasts spill out, defying gravity. They're cartoonishly huge, each one bigger than my head. The skin is taut and smooth, with prominent veins visible under the surface. My nipples are tiny and pink in comparison, perched atop expansive areolae.

"Holy shit," I whisper, and even that slight movement sends ripples through the flesh. I grab one experimentally and nearly lose my balance - it's so heavy, like a sack of wet cement hanging from my chest. The weight pulls painfully at my shoulders and back.

I let go and watch in fascinated horror as it bounces and jiggles, eventually settling into a teardrop shape. The other breast sways in sympathetic motion. It's mesmerizing and revolting all at once.

My waist has shrunk to Barbie doll proportions, while my hips flare out dramatically. I turn and crane my neck - my ass is fucking enormous, two perfect hemispheres that jut out like a shelf. My thighs are thick and shapely, rubbing together when I shift my weight.

I run my hands over my new body, marveling at the alien sensation. The skin is so soft, almost frictionless. There's a layer of subcutaneous fat everywhere that wasn't there before, giving everything a plush, yielding quality. It's deeply unsettling.

"Percy?" Stuart's voice comes through the door, higher-pitched than usual. "Are you... decent?"

"NO!" I shout back. "I'm a fucking sex doll, Stuart! This is insane!"

"Can I... can I see?" He sounds both terrified and eager.

"Absolutely not!" I try to cover myself, but my hands are comically inadequate for the task. "I need clothes. Now!"

There's a long pause. Then I hear Stuart frantically texting.

"Don't worry! I know some girls from my Advanced Algorithms class. They're... uh... very discreet."

Twenty mortifying minutes later, I'm still hiding in the bathroom when I hear multiple people enter our dorm room.

"Oh. Em. Gee." A nasally voice carries through the door. "Stuart wasn't kidding."

"This is like, so exciting!" Another voice, equally grating. "Like a real-life transformation sequence!"

I recognize them - Bethany and Maddie from the Computer Science department. They run the campus Anime Club with Stuart. I've seen them around, usually wearing cat ears.

"Percy?" Stuart calls. "Bethany brought some clothes."

I crack the door open slightly, clutching my ruined shirt closed. Bethany and Maddie peer at me with huge eyes behind their thick glasses. Bethany's wearing a oversized Pokemon shirt and what appears to be a skirt made entirely of safety pins. Maddie has blue hair, braces, and at least seven different fandom buttons on her backpack.

"Holy motherforking shirtballs!" Bethany squeals. "You're like, actually gorgeous! This is so unfair!"

"Quick, what are your measurements?" Maddie demands, whipping out a tape measure.

The next fifteen minutes are pure torture as they take measurements, argue about cup sizes, and make me try on various combinations of their clothes. Nothing quite fits right - I'm apparently much more... proportionate than either of them.

They eventually cobble together an outfit: Maddie's largest sports bra (still painfully tight), layered with another for support. A stretched-out "Schrodinger's Cat Lady" t-shirt that barely contains my chest. A pleated skirt that's supposed to be knee-length but barely covers anything on me. Thigh-high socks because "that's totally your aesthetic now!"