Anastasia was livid. She stormed into her room and slammed the door. The bed was covered with stacks of clothes and two open suitcases. One case was stuffed over the edge, and the other was only half filled. She didn't care what her father said; it wasn't his decision. She went to the chest of drawers and slammed each drawer as she searched for her makeup bag. The antique lamp that she'd bought at the County Fair teetered dangerously with each drawer slammed underneath it. She angrily pushed the items on her shelf aside, breaking her sophomore year soccer trophy.

        Christina woke just as the first rays of sun hit the mountain. Rolling over, she pulled the blankets over her eyes to block the light. She savored the warm, comfortable feeling of being cocooned in her luxurious bed, remembering that her bed at home wasn't remotely this comfortable. Eventually she pulled the blanket off of her head and looked around, realizing that everything that happened yesterday was real. She didn't want to get up, not only because the bed was so inviting, but also she knew that if she looked in the mirror, she would see a girl looking back.

        As Chris rolled over and opened his eyes he could tell by the light on the ceiling that it was morning, but something was different. He felt as though he was floating on a cloud. This wasn't his bed. His bed was only marginally better than sleeping on the floor, and that was only because he rarely swept. Even the soft feather pillows molded perfectly to the curvature of his head. He couldn't remember feeling so relaxed in his life. Most mornings, his first action was to untwist his underwear, but today, his pajamas flowed marvelously from his body. He sighed, reveling in the sensation of being absolutely pampered.

        Christopher Chase stared at the tiny clock in the computer's taskbar. 8:45 PM. "I'm the last one again," he said aloud, the sound of his voice echoing through the old factory building. Chris regularly worked late; it was just part of the job. At the age of nineteen, with only a high school education, he felt lucky to have the job at all. Still, being a full time support technician, aside from his role as an unofficial and underpaid junior programmer, gave new meaning to the phrase "low man on the totem pole." He was more like the guy who waited on the park bench across the street from the totem pole, praying for the day they decided to make it just one face taller. That would only help him if the three guys on the bench with him would quit or drop dead before that day ever came.