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Part 1
— You! You seriously don’t hear that? — Tiffani said nervously, staring into Britney's face, while Britney just rolled her eyes like nothing happened.
— Hear what, Tiffani? — Britney drawled with fake confusion, crossing her arms over her chest. — The sound of your brain cells dying off one by one?
Click!
Laughter. Loud, absurd, canned laughter. Only he — well, now she — could hear it. Tiffani Blake, formerly Alex Gromov, 36 years old, an IT engineer from New Jersey, who literally just last night was digging through piles of old junk from eBay and stumbled across a weird remote.
‘What a dumb retro gadget,’ he thought back then while ordering it. And today, turning the cheap plastic thing in his hands with the faded inscription "Channel Reality Adjuster," he pressed it.
There was some stupid '90s sitcom playing on TV — Cherry High — where half the characters looked like walking parodies of high school stereotypes, and the other half seemed like they escaped from a laundry detergent commercial.
And just moments later, he — or rather she — stood in the middle of some sterile, glossy hallway with cheap plastic plants and glass partitions, trapped in the body of a ridiculously sexy bimbo — long blonde hair falling into her face, a white T-shirt with a deep neckline clinging to her tits, and a cherry-print skirt barely covering her thighs.
And the laughter… that stupid, canned laughter sticking to her brain like popcorn to the roof of your mouth.
— You don’t hear them laughing?! — Tiffani threw up her hands, feeling her breasts bounce heavily under the T-shirt. — They… they’re laughing! Again! Right now!
— Uh, maybe you like, inhaled too much hair spray or something? — Britney smirked, giving her outfit a mocking once-over. — Then again, what am I saying… that's basically your daily diet.
Click!
Laughter, applause. Alex clenched his teeth… if only not for the glossy lipstick he could feel on his lips. Everything was exactly like those dumb ‘90s sitcoms he always hated.
And now, he was part of one.
Part 2
And the worst part — according to the script, Tiffani Blake was always made to look like a dumbass, whose overconfidence constantly crashed against Britney’s sarcastic jabs and ridiculous situations. She was the classic antagonist, but the kind everyone laughed at, not feared.
— This, uh… — Tiffani stumbled, feeling how her voice naturally turned high-pitched and slightly hysterical as she looked around, searching for cameras, the audience, or anything that could explain this madness. — This… This isn’t funny! I’m seriously not having fun here!
Britney smirked crookedly, about to say something, but at that moment she appeared — Cassie Wilson, the know-it-all, the main character of the show, a walking encyclopedia with perfectly styled chestnut hair, massive glasses covering half her face, and that damn book always in her hands.
Click!
The canned audience burst into applause, like Beyoncé herself just walked on stage, not this annoying-as-hell "nerd of the year."
— Oh my God… — Tiffani exhaled out loud, not even understanding why she suddenly said that, or worse, why she said it in that way — loaded with sarcasm, jealousy, irritation, and an unwanted, sticky sense of her own clumsiness all at once.
Tiffani instantly clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide in sudden realization.
‘What the fuck is this?!’ — flashed through her head, in Alex's voice. Her lips, glossy with pink lipstick, felt wet and plump under her fingers, and it distracted her. Badly distracted her. And humiliated her all the same.
But when Cassie came up to them, Tiffani, overcome with some sudden instinct, struck the classic ‘bitch’ pose — hands on hips, hips cocked to the side, speaking loud with fake arrogance (but sounding dumb as hell):
— Oooh… Well hello there, Miss… Book Carrier… — You could see Tiffani fishing for words, trying to sound haughty and dramatic, but it came out so ridiculous and stupid, the hallway instantly erupted with a Click! and loud, cutting canned laughter, as if the whole crowd was mocking her very existence.
Tiffani’s cheeks flushed hot. She froze in place, cursing everything — starting with that damn remote and ending with her own pathetic, inexplicable urge to act like a “cool girl.”