Ravyn's Mixtape Track 2

Look, I don’t know how this happened. I mean, I do, technically.

There was a wish, a stupid wish made at 2 AM after three beers and a failed attempt to flirt with Olivia from accounting. But I didn’t think it would work. Wishes don’t work. Magic isn’t real. I’m a grown-ass man. Or…

Okay. I’m getting ahead of myself.

Let’s rewind.

It started with me—Alex Barrett, proud owner of a Star Wars tattoo, a questionable anime figure collection, and exactly zero successful relationships since 2018—sitting on my couch in my boxers, watching The Empire Strikes Back for the fiftieth time. I had just sent Olivia a text that said, “Hey u up?” and immediately regretted it. Classic.

Predictably, she left me on read.

So, naturally, I whispered to the universe, “I just want someone who wants me. Like, really wants me. I want it that way.”

Yeah. Those exact words.

Cue ominous breeze from nowhere. Whatever. I chalked it up to my landlord’s broken window seals and passed out face-first in a bowl of nachos.

When I woke up, my boobs were the first sign.

That’s not an exaggeration. I woke up into them. My face was smooshed between two incredibly soft, incredibly attached mounds. My initial thought was, “Oh my god, did I finally land a girl?” followed quickly by, “Wait, these are mine.”

I sat up so fast I got whiplash, and everything jiggled. My chest. My hips. Places that had never jiggled before.

“No. No. No, no, no—tell me why!”

I scrambled out of bed, except my legs were now like… smooth gazelle legs with thighs that could crush a watermelon. I promptly tripped over my own dainty feet and crashed into the nightstand.

“Tell me why my center of gravity is wrong!”

I hauled myself up and caught sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror—the same mirror I usually used to check if my nerdy graphic tees made me look approachable but not too desperate.

Now?

I was hot.

Not like, “Oh, she’s cute” hot. I was “leading lady in a CW show” hot. Long, wavy auburn hair that cascaded over my shoulders like a shampoo commercial. Big, bright eyes, framed by dark lashes that definitely weren’t mine yesterday. A face that looked like someone hit ‘enhance’ on every feature. And my body?

Curves. Like, the kind of curves that would make a Marvel movie pause for a slow pan shot.

My hands went straight to my chest. I had to know. I gave a tentative squeeze.

“Oh. Oh, wow. Those are real.”

Another squeeze. Science demanded it.

Then I grabbed my ass.

“Tell me why I’ve got a shelf back here?!”

I spun around, gawking at my new proportions. My hips were… wide. My waist was small. My ass was the kind of thing that made dudes say stupid stuff like, “Damn girl, is that cake homemade?”

This was not my body.

But also? Kind of an upgrade.

I threw on my baggiest hoodie and some sweatpants (neither fit right anymore; the sweatpants now stretched over my hips like spandex, and the hoodie draped off me in an annoyingly cute, ‘I stole my boyfriend’s sweater’ way). I needed help.

So, I called Jake. My best friend. Also a walking human disaster, but misery loves company.

Jake answered with his usual grace.

“Bro, what do you want? It’s 8 AM. Who calls at 8 AM? Are you dying?”

I hesitated.

“Tell me why you’d think that’s impossible?”

“…What?”

“Just—just come over. It’s an emergency.”

Thirty minutes later, Jake was on my couch, holding a coffee the size of his head. When he saw me, his eyes went wide, then immediately slid into horny dude mode.

“Yo… who’s this?”

I slapped his arm.

“It’s me, dumbass!”

His eyes bugged out. “Tell me why you look like a hentai protagonist?”

I smacked him again. “Focus!”

To his credit, he adjusted quickly. Sort of. He kept glancing at my chest like it was going to start talking, which—fair.

“So, what, you woke up like this? Magic? Aliens? You piss off a witch?”

“Honestly? I wished for someone to want me. And now I am the someone.”

Jake whistled. “Tell me why that’s kinda poetic?”

I groaned, sinking into the couch. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

He shrugged. “You could… I don’t know, enjoy it?”

I threw a pillow at him. “Enjoy it? I don’t even know how to walk right now!”

“Okay, but hear me out—what if this is fate? Like, maybe you were meant to be this hot chick.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Tell me why you sound like a Reddit thread?”

Jake smirked. “Because I’m right.”

Turns out, Jake was… not entirely wrong.

My first venture outside was terrifying. Every step felt like I might tip over. I was hyper-aware of everything—the sway of my hips, the bounce of my chest, the fact that jeans were apparently designed by sadists.

But people noticed me.

Like, noticed.

Guys held doors. Women smiled. Some dude nearly walked into traffic.

And yeah… it felt kinda good.

One guy—a tall, broad-shouldered dreamboat—actually stopped me.

“Hey, sorry, this is kinda random, but… I noticed you from across the street, and—tell me why it’d be a crime not to ask for your number?”

I nearly combusted on the spot. This man was giving me rom-com energy, and my brain short-circuited. I managed a breathless,

“Oh… uh… sure?”

I typed my number with shaking fingers, and as he walked away, Jake popped out from behind a tree.

“Tell me why you just pulled a ten like it was nothing?”

“Shut up!”

Over the next few weeks, I adapted. Sort of.

I learned makeup from YouTube. I learned that bras were both a blessing and a curse. I learned that women’s jeans had pockets that could maybe fit a tic-tac.

And I learned that being wanted felt incredible.

Men flirted. Women gave me knowing smiles. I was desired, and it was like an ego boost on steroids.

But also? I kind of started wanting… more.

It wasn’t just about being noticed. I wanted someone to see me.

Which is how I ended up, two months into my new life, standing in front of Jake—who had been my rock through this whole insane journey—heart pounding out of my chest.

“I know this is weird,” I started, “but… tell me why I keep hoping you’ll look at me like more than your best friend?”

Jake blinked.

Then, he smiled.

“Tell me why I thought I was crazy for wanting you this whole time?”

My heart exploded.

We kissed.

It was awkward and perfect and everything.

Later, wrapped in his arms, he whispered, “So… does this mean I have to watch Sailor Moon with you now?”

I grinned. “Tell me why you think you haven’t already been roped into that?”

He groaned. “You’re evil.”

I kissed his jaw. “You want it that way.”

He laughed. “Damn right I do.”

And yeah—so did I.