Brandi Summers wasn't just attractive; she was unattainable, the sort of 'rich beautiful girl' that made even the most shameless of jocks think twice before approaching her, let alone asking her out. She was 5'8" tall, didn't weigh more then 120 lbs soaking wet, with a slender, well-toned and athletic physique, and an absolutely perfectly proportioned body.
Her neck was long and slender, she had the legs of a gazelle; her bright blue almond-shaped eyes sat perfectly under her immaculately coiffed head of natural blonde curls, and every feature, from her arms, fingers chest and legs was like something out of a magazine. Except actresses in magazines - even in movies - were photoshopped, the result of computer graphics and a team of makeup artists. Brandi Summers had none of that. She didn't need it. You weren't even sure if she -wore- makeup. She was into the most stereotypical of 'attractive rich girl' things; cheerleading, dance, fashion. Most guys assumed she'd be a professional model someday; though rumor has it, she had no interest, and wanted to do fashion design. You had no idea if it was true. You'd seen her, certainly. You'd even had classes with her. You'd never spoken to her directly. None of your friends had even spoken to her directly.
As one of the stars of the cheerleading squad, she was most often seen in the company of her best friends; Lana Hendricks, equally friendly, almost as beautiful, and about as third as intelligent. Amy, a short, spunky and cute redhead, and Gretchen, a slightly bitchy cheerleader with long black hair and a bossy demeanor. You'd actually never had a problem with Gretchen, as she saved most of her famous rancor and sarcastic wit for assholes; and while you were many things, you were never the sort of guy who ever got on the bad side of Gretchen.
There was no way you could be in her body. It was impossible. You can't be her. You just can't.. For one, the idea of being her was as foreign and impossible as becoming a giraffe; a whale or a hedge fund manager. It made no sense. It didn't compute. For another, you could never pull off being her. You had nothing of her beauty, magnetism or social skills - not to mention her intelligence. That's right; she wasn't just rich and impossibly beautiful, she was no longer in your grade - she took summer classes and skipped ahead two grades. There was no way you were here. You couldn't possibly be her.
It took you a few moments to realize the doctor was still speaking. He was droning on - something about the spinal cord and the brain stem, and the biology of the immune system and how the blood-brain barrier prevented most issues with rejection, even in the case of ... you had no idea what he was talking about. You couldn't care less. Nothing he said was true.
"So where is my brain?" you ask. For the first time, you realize your voice is softer, more melodic. Surely just a trick of the mind. Nothing he's saying is true.
"As I was saying." the doctor says slowly, patiently. "You have her spinal column, her body and nervous system, her brain stem, and parts of her frontal lobe." He pauses, pointing to a chart he was holding that you had noticed before, but not really seen. So little of what he said seemed important. Since, obviously, he was wrong. "Your parietal lobe, occipital lobe, temporal lobe, cerebral cortex, and much of the deep structure of your brain; such as the pineal gland, thalamus, basal ganglia and so on were fine. Entirely intact. However, you do retain most of her lower brain structure, including the brain stem and limbic system. Part of your frontal lobe was damaged during the transfer, but we were able to save that part of her brain, and transfer it over."
The words meant nothing to you. Feeling numb, you reply. "I have no idea what any of that means. When can I go home?"
The doctor smiles in that patient way again; and a distant, numb sense of annoyance and dimly-registered fury pings against the deep shock you are in. He replies. "The parts of your brain regulating autonomous functions, such as breathing, respiration, heartbeat, hormonal functions, and how your brain and body process and integrate sensory information - such as taste, touch and movement - are entirely hers. Fortunately, as those structures in your brain would have been unsuited for her body. Likewise, parts of her brain we were able to save include parts dealing with emotions, sensations, bodily movement and coordination, dreams and the like."
Some of the numbness begins to lift away from you. "Wait, you mean - I'm not going to feel the same anymore?" you ask.
The doctor shakes his head. "We are all a composite of many trillions of cells in our body. Your consciousness - your memories - mostly come from a teenage boy. Your body itself, as well as how it moves, its physical preferences, and many of its autonomous functions, and how it processes information - come from Brandi Summers. That doesn't make you any less you. But physically, you are Brandi Summers. You may find yourself enjoying foods she enjoyed, or moving in ways she did. Others who knew her will certainly notice her amnesia."
You shake your head again, trying to clear out the cobwebs. "Amnesia." You repeat. You don't have amnesia. What's he talking about?
The doctor nervously shifts his weight. "Err, yes well we were hoping to cover that later, give you more time to adjust." he says. "Your recovery is miraculously quick, but we don't want to put too much on you right now."
"I don't have amnesia." you repeat, louder, more angry. Some emotions coming back. With your voice, it sounds less intimidating then you are used too; more like your politely informing him of an obvious fact that he had somehow missed, then the anger you intended. And seemingly, that was how he interpreted it.
"That is the cover story we have chosen to go with." he explains. You shake your head, and notice for the first time locks of bouncing golden-blonde curls obscuring your vision as you shift you head, and feel a weight atop it you had never felt before.
"No, no no." you reply.
."Well it's to do with the nature of the operation," he explains. Going into great detail then about how it wasn't strictly "legal" and that if anyone found out about it you would all be in very hot water indeed. Not to mention that your life as you knew it would basically be over (even though it already kind of felt like it was). The media would have a field day with a story about a teenage girl with the brain of a guy. And that was only the best case scenario. He listed off a number of possibilities which became progressively more intimidating.
Trying to get this all straight in your head, you asked him, "So, if... If we can't tell anyone about the transplant, what happens to me?" Suddenly panicking. "I'm not gonna be locked away am I?"
"No, of course not. We performed this procedure to save your life, Timothy, not to end it. As soon as you're fit to leave you'll be discharged as normal. Only..." And there it was. The pause. The gray haired doctor appearing to visibly age in front of you as he let out a sigh. "...I wish there was an easier way to break this to you, but you're going to have to pretend from here on out that you're actually Brandi Summers. Your former parents believe you are dead. Her parents know you have brain damage, and amnesia. They have been told only that she received some donor tissue to help with some damaged areas of her brain. They do not know the extent of it; except that they believed their daughter dead, and a miraculous operation has restored her."
You take a moment to take all of that in. You manage to handle it surprisingly well, the shock from earlier giving way to a sudden calm. "So your telling me that I am Brandi Summers, that my very rich parents believe I have amnesia, and that in order to leave here, I have to agree to keep quiet and pretend to be her?" you ask.
"That is, I am afraid, the gist of it." the doctor wistfully replies. "I'm afraid it's the only way," he said, "The only way you'll have any chance at a normal life. The hospital, of course, will provide free ongoing medical care, including rehabilitation, therapy - anything you might need. And her parents, believing you to be their daughter, will no doubt seek out the best care in the world for you, should there be anything you lack. But you are, legally, for all intents and purposes, Brandi Summers."
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