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Graham Harper blinked, feeling as though the air around him had changed. Instead of the stale smell of his cramped janitor’s office, filled with cheap whiskey and dampness, he suddenly noticed a faint scent of lavender soap and something sweet—perhaps perfume? But what was most confusing was the lightness. His body felt... fragile. Slim fingers with neat nails were resting on a pink notepad.
He raised his gaze and realized he was sitting at a school desk, surrounded by girls in white blouses and light skirts. They were whispering to each other, carefully writing something in their notebooks. On the other side of the board stood a strict woman in glasses—Miss Livingston, the aesthetics teacher.
– What the hell?! – Graham blurted out, immediately hearing a thin, melodic voice that was nothing like his usual raspy bass. The class instantly froze. Dozens of surprised eyes stared at him, and Miss Livingston squinted at him with clear disapproval.
– Miss Rivers, did I hear that correctly? – Her voice was low and threatening, like a cold wind. – Such behavior is completely unacceptable in my class. This is not a football field, but an aesthetics lesson. Are you going to explain your outrageous behavior?
– Huh, what? – Eliza’s, or now Graham’s, voice...