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Cursed Music changes People (Tg) Draft
🕑 Added 2025-02-25 03:06:11 +0000 UTCThe classroom was silent.
Well, as silent as a room filled with four teenage boys forced into a group project could be.
At the front of the room, Class President Keisuke tapped his fingers against the desk, the rhythmic clicking betraying his growing frustration. “Alright, let’s go over this one more time.” He adjusted his glasses like he was about to deliver a groundbreaking economic policy instead of discussing festival music. “We need to select three songs of a single genre to be played during the festival’s main event. We have until the end of the week to submit our choices.”
He glanced around the room, daring someone—anyone—to show some enthusiasm.
None volunteered.
“Ugh, this is stupid,” Kaito, the school’s resident delinquent, groaned from his chair. “Why do we have to be the ones picking? We’re not even in the music club.” He was leaning back dangerously far, legs propped up on the desk, looking one wrong move away from a spectacular fall.
“It’s because the Student Council got stuck with the job,” Ren, Keisuke’s best friend and fellow council member, explained, stretching his arms. “And because someone—” he jabbed a thumb at Keisuke, “—said we’d handle it ourselves instead of delegating.”
Keisuke scowled. “Because I trust a group handpicked by Toata-sensei to make a rational decision. Unlike the general student body, who would probably pick… I don’t know, anime opening themes and meme songs.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Ren muttered.
In the corner of the room, quietly existing, was Tsubasa. He was not part of the student council. He was not a delinquent. He was not anything, really. The only reason he was here was that he had accidentally wandered into the meeting while looking for a quiet place to eat lunch, and by the time he realized what was happening, it was too late to escape. He pulled his hoodie up slightly and tried to shrink into his chair.
Keisuke let out a slow, measured breath. “Alright. Since none of you are taking this seriously, I propose we each pick a song genre and argue why it deserves a spot. Majority rules.”
“Sweet. I call dibs on rap,” Ren said immediately, flashing a grin. “It’s got energy, it’s got flow, it’s—”
“Oh hell no,” Keisuke cut in. “Rap? For a school festival?”
“What’s wrong with rap?”
“What’s wrong with it?! Do you really want a bunch of middle-class private school kids awkwardly bobbing their heads to whatever you pick?”
“It’ll be fine. Yo, you gotta open your mind, my dude,” Ren replied, casually throwing up finger guns.
Keisuke pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Well, I think classical is the obvious choice,” Kaito announced, smirking.
There was a brief silence.
“Sorry. You? Classical?” Keisuke repeated slowly, as if trying to make sure he heard correctly.
Kaito smirked. “That’s right. Classical.” He cracked his knuckles. “It’s the OG music. No gimmicks, no auto-tune, just pure skill. Besides, it makes me feel fancy.”
“I’m more concerned with the fact that you just referred to Beethoven as the OG,” Ren muttered.
Keisuke sighed. “Fine. That leaves Tsubasa.”
All eyes turned to the hoodie-wearing enigma in the corner. He shifted uncomfortably. “Uhm… country music?” he mumbled.
Keisuke blinked. “Sorry, I don’t think I heard you. Did you just say country music?”
Tsubasa nodded weakly.
“Oh my god,” Keisuke groaned, rubbing his temples. “Okay. That’s it. We’re not making any progress just talking about it. Let’s just listen to the songs and decide.”
Ren clapped his hands together. “Now you’re talking!”
Kaito kicked his feet off the desk. “Alright, nerds. Where’s the aux cord?”
Keisuke gestured vaguely at the ancient CD player they had dug out from the storage room earlier. It sat ominously on the desk, its buttons slightly yellowed with age.
“…That thing doesn’t have an aux cord,” Ren realized.
“Nope. Just a CD tray,” Keisuke confirmed.
Kaito scoffed. “Pfft. That thing still works?”
Keisuke crossed his arms. “It should. The school hasn’t gotten rid of it, which means it’s technically still usable. And since it’s the only thing here that can play music, we’ll use it.”
Ren squinted at it. “It looks like it belongs in a horror movie.”
Tsubasa peered at the device, then hesitantly reached forward and pressed the power button.
It clicked on with an unsettling whirr.
The boys stared at it.
“…Yeah, that’s cursed,” Kaito said immediately.
“C’mon, guys,” Keisuke scoffed. “It’s just an old CD player.”
“You say that, but if this thing suddenly starts playing static and whispering in Latin, I’m out,” Ren deadpanned.
Keisuke rolled his eyes and opened the CD tray. “Alright. Let’s do this. One by one, we’ll test each genre. And then we just agree on a winner in the end. Simple, right?”
The others nodded.
“Alright then.” Keisuke spoke as he reached into his bag and pulled out a CD. The others watched, waiting for some kind of announcement.
None came.
“…Wait,” Ren said, narrowing his eyes. “When did you pick a genre?”
Keisuke slid the disc into the tray with precision, like a surgeon preparing for an operation. He pressed play and only then spoke:
“Punk.”
The room was silent for approximately two seconds before Kaito snorted.
“Punk? You?” Kaito smirked. “No offense, but I kinda figured you’d be into… I don’t know, classical. Would make more sense given your attitude.”
“You guys sure you didn’t switch up your music tastes on the way here?” Ren asked, rolling his eyes.
“We most certainly did not.” Keisuke adjusted his glasses. “Punk music represents rebellion, passion, and the fight against oppressive systems.”
Ren raised an eyebrow. “Says the literal class president.”
Ignoring that, Keisuke crossed his arms as the first few distorted guitar chords burst from the speakers. The raw, scratchy vocals followed soon after, spitting words like they were meant to start a revolution.
Ren opened his mouth to say something—
“Shh,” snapped Keisuke. “Listen.”
Ren blinked. “Dude, I was just—”
“Listen.” Keisuke’s tone left no room for argument.
Kaito raised a finger. “Yeah, but—”
“Shut up and listen!”
The room fell into awkward silence, save for the thrashing intensity of the music.
Keisuke, meanwhile, was completely still, arms crossed, nodding in approval.
At first.
Then, ever so slightly, his foot started tapping.
Then his head bobbed.
Then his fingers twitched.
The transformation began so seamlessly that no one noticed at first. His neatly combed black hair unraveled, strands shifting as though an invisible hand had ruffled them into an unkempt mess. His hair color drained out, replaced by a vibrant electric blue, with streaks of purple creeping in like paint bleeding across a canvas. His neatly pressed uniform began to look… worn. The blazer sagged at the shoulders, the once-pristine fabric fraying at the edges.
The collar of his shirt stretched, one side hanging loose, exposing his collarbone. His tie twisted, then unraveled entirely, the fabric fraying and slithering away like it had never been there to begin with.
A click echoed softly, almost lost in the music. His school-issued belt popped open—not in a way that risked pants falling, but in a way that made room.
Room for something else.
His body subtly shifted, his stance shifting without a second thought. His legs lengthened just slightly, his thighs tightening, calves curving in a way that—if anyone were paying attention—they would have found very strange.
His breathing deepened.
His lips tingled.
A slight, sharp sensation pricked his nose, his ears, his eyebrow—like tiny needles sliding effortlessly through skin. A silver nose ring materialized, shining under the fluorescent lights. A hoop pierced one brow. His ears? Three piercings lined each lobe now, and a chain connected one to his cartilage.
More rips formed in his sleeves. A small tear in his blazer turned into a full-blown gash at the shoulder, exposing skin underneath. His pants? Once simple uniform slacks, they now clung tighter, seams unraveling at the knees, forming jagged, intentional holes. The left leg remained intact, but the right? Fishnet stockings peeked through a massive rip in the fabric.
His shoes bulked up, soles thickening, shifting from standard school shoes to combat boots—the kind that looked like they could kick through a concrete wall.
Keisuke’s voice turned raspy, rough, like it had spent years screaming over loud crowds. It vibrated with raw energy, shaking loose the last bits of restraint still clinging to him.
Something cracked—softly, subtly—beneath his skin. A shift, a reshaping. His frame, once straight-backed and rigid with discipline, relaxed into something looser, more fluid. The broad lines of his shoulders softened, narrowing slightly as though shrugging off years of tension.
His hands twitched at his sides. His fingers, always steady and precise, felt different—slimmer, more delicate, yet still carrying that same restless energy. His nails, once short and practical, darkened at the tips, glossed over in chipped black polish that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
And then his waist pulled inward, an almost imperceptible tightening, his torso curving in ways it hadn’t before. The slight shift in his center of gravity made him adjust his stance without thinking, feet planting themselves with a kind of instinctive balance. His hips, previously narrow and angular, pushed outward just enough to give the slightest sway to his movement. The leather belt that had once sat comfortably around his waist now hung looser, slipping slightly down his hips as though unsure if it belonged there anymore.
Something unfamiliar pressed against the inside of his jacket. Subtle at first, just a faint pressure, an added weight where there had been none. The loose fabric stretched slightly, no longer falling flat against his expanding chest. Even denting quite hard as traces of mighty mounds started to form.
His face followed suit. The sharp edges smoothed just a little, cheekbones lifting, jawline softening without losing its defiant tilt. His lips, now fuller, curled into a smirk that carried a new kind of confidence—one that felt both foreign and completely natural at the same time.
The choker around his throat, which definitely hadn’t been there before, pressed slightly against his skin, as if adjusting itself to fit the new contours of his neck.
Keisuke—no, Kei now—exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through the wild, freshly dyed strands of hair that fell past her shoulders in streaks of electric blue.
Her stance, her voice, her everything had changed.
But the only thing that mattered—the only thing—was the music.
And she was absolutely feeling herself.
“This? This is what a festival needs,” she declared, standing with her foot planted firmly on the desk. “Not some mainstream, family-friendly bullshit. We need real energy, real music. Something that actually means something, y’know?”
Ren coughed. “Yeah, uh, speaking of meaning something—”
Kei pointed a finger at him. “No. You don’t get to trash talk true art.”
Ren held up his hands in surrender.
Kei finally hopped down, the boots thunking against the floor. “Alright, fine. You wanna show your songs, go ahead. But if any of you put on some watered-down, commercialized trash, I swear I’ll flip this table.”
Kaito shook his head. “Man, I don’t even know where to start. I feel like I just watched a personality crisis unfold in real-time.”
Ren squinted. “And seriously, did you always have a lip piercing?”
Kei rolled her eyes. “God, you’re so mainstream. It’s always been there.”
Tsubasa, who had remained silent throughout all of this, quietly looked at the CD player.
Something about it felt… off.
Like it was watching them.
But no one else seemed to notice.
So, he said nothing.
For now.
Kei leaned back against the desk, arms crossed, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across her face. “Alright. You’ve heard the future of the festival. Now, who’s up next?”
Ren grinned, already pulling out a CD. “Step aside, punk. Time for some real rhythm.”
Kaito groaned. “Oh god, here we go. Please don’t play some cheap rapper beef insult piece here.”
Ren didn’t even acknowledge him. With a confident flick of the wrist, he slid the CD into the tray and hit play.
The bass hit first.
A deep, thudding beat, slow but heavy, the kind that made your chest vibrate if the volume was high enough. The moment the first verse kicked in, Ren nodded along, rolling his shoulders like he was warming up for something big.
“Ohhh yeah,” he said, voice already shifting into a more relaxed, laid-back rhythm. “Now this is what I’m talking about.”
He tapped a foot, body already moving with the beat. His usual casual stance changed, his posture shifting into something looser, smoother—like his body instinctively understood the flow of the music.
And then, the changes began.
The color crept in first.
Starting at his fingertips, a deep, warm brown spread over his skin like ink soaking into paper. His hands, his arms, his neck—every inch of exposed skin darkened, his once-light complexion replaced by a rich, melanin-deep hue that practically glowed under the classroom lights. It wasn’t just a slight tan; this was new. Permanent.
He didn’t notice. No one did.
None notice as his fingers stretched slightly longer, as his nails rounded out, clean and polished without him lifting a finger. Didn’t notice the way his cheekbones subtly lifted, his jaw softening, rounding out the hard edges into something smoother, something undeniably feminine.
The rhythm took him.
His shoulders rolled again, but this time, something changed. They pulled inward, slightly narrower, while his chest—his flat chest—began to fill. A slow, steady swell, his loose uniform shirt suddenly feeling a bit… tighter. The fabric stretched, pressing outward as his pecs softened, rounding into something much fuller.
And still, he didn’t notice.
Didn’t notice as his voice pitched up slightly, not losing depth, but gaining a sultry smoothness, the kind that could weave effortlessly through a verse. Didn’t notice as his hair thickened, coiling tighter, lengthening past his ears. A few strands dipped into his face, but with an effortless flick, they shifted back, falling into perfectly arranged braids that hadn’t been there seconds ago.
But everyone noticed when his hips started expanding. Or at least they should have noticed.
There was no subtlety to it.
One moment, he was his usual lanky self. The next, his waist pulled inward sharply, his lower body exploding outward with a dramatic, unapologetic curve. His pants strained against the sudden mass, his thighs thickening, pressing together in a way they definitely hadn’t before.
And his ass—
His ass.
It was huge.
Ridiculously so. The kind of figure that could make someone swerve off the road if they saw it in the wild. His pants rode higher, struggling to contain the sheer size of it, the fabric stretching almost dangerously tight around his newly massive curves.
And yet—
Ren, now Renee, just grinned, rolling her shoulders with an effortless confidence that had only grown with her new form.
She finally, fully, wasn’t a guy anymore.
She was a woman.
The realization? Didn’t even flicker in her mind.
Because all that mattered was the music.
As the beat dropped again, she moved. She rapped.
One step, then another, a sway in her step that had never been there before. Her confidence, always present, had amplified. She ran a hand along her thigh, as if to emphasize just how much more was there now, and let out a low, satisfied chuckle.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” she said, her voice dripping with rhythm, every word flowing together effortlessly. “Tell me this doesn't feel right.”
Kaito, who had been staring, cleared his throat and looked away. “I—uh. Yeah. Feels right. Sure.”
Renee grinned, leaning forward, resting her arms on the desk—and making sure to put extra emphasis on her assets as she did.
Kei smirked. “Damn, you really feelin’ yourself, huh?”
“Damn right.” Renee ran a hand down her own hip like she had been born this way. “You see, rap ain’t just words. It’s rhythm. It’s style. It’s—”
“Personality shift,” Kaito muttered under his breath.
She snapped her fingers, ignoring him. “It’s flow. You gotta have the beat in you, not just in your ears.”
Kei chuckled. “Oh, trust me, I know all about feeling the music.”
Renee grinned. “See, now you get it.”
Renee was still talking, still moving, still fully immersed in the beat.
And the best part?
Still—nobody noticed.
At least, not enough to question it.
This was just how it was.
Renee was feeling just right.
She leaned against the desk, spinning one of her braids around a finger. “Aight, punk girl had her turn, and I just elevated this discussion, so what’s next?”
Kei stretched, still riding the high of her music, but shot a smirk toward the last remaining guy. “That just leaves you, Kaito. What’s your grand contribution?”
Kaito grinned, cracking his knuckles. “You guys are all over here hyping up your music like it’s some goddamn religion, but y’all forgetin’ something important.” He slid a CD out of his jacket pocket, flicking it toward the player with a cocky grin. “Real music? It’s got class.”
Renee raised an eyebrow. “Tell’n you right now, I don't think you can sway me with a Piano of ye olden days, but sure, go for it.”
The CD clicked into place.
A moment of silence.
And then—
The delicate, powerful sound of a symphony. Violins rising, swelling into a grand, sweeping melody. The kind of music that belonged in a royal court, not a dusty classroom filled with questionable decision-making.
Kaito grinned wider, crossing his arms. “Now this—this is real music. None of that auto-tune bullshit, none of that screaming garbage, just pure sound. Every damn note planned, perfected. A masterpiece.”
His voice carried, confident as ever—
But something else carried too.
A soft hum beneath his skin, like a warmth spreading outward. It started at his fingers, crawling up his arms. His nails lengthened, the rough, bitten edges smoothing out into an elegant, manicured shape. A faint sheen glossed over them, not quite nail polish, but something refined.
His fingers twitched. Had his hands always been this… slim?
He barely had time to think before the shift continued.
His arms, once lean and toned, softened, his skin losing its rough edge. The jacket on his shoulders… stretched. The worn, beaten leather melted into something softer, finer. The coarse fabric thinned, taking on a rich, deep red hue. The sleeves billowed, growing looser, silkier, the ends flaring into wide, dramatic cuffs embroidered with golden thread.
Kaito didn’t notice.
Didn’t notice as his shoulders pulled inward, his stance adjusting, instinctively carrying a new level of grace. Didn’t notice the way his pants tightened, the rough denim giving way to something finer, something tailored.
And he certainly didn’t notice the weight gathering on his chest.
At first, it was just a soft pressure—barely anything.
But then—
Then it grew.
His shirt, once loose and comfortably oversized, strained. The buttons at the top popped open slightly, revealing a deep, plunging neckline that hadn’t been there before.
His bust pushed outward, heaving, filling the space with dramatic weight.
The elegant fabric didn’t even try to hide it. If anything, it framed the transformation, forming a perfectly cut boob window, an open space in the fabric that deliberately emphasized the sheer size of what had just developed.
Renee whistled low. “Damn. Didn’t expect you to be into the fancy shit.”
Kaito—Katherine now—flicked a loose strand of blonde hair over her shoulder.
Or rather, cascading curls that hadn’t been loose a moment ago.
Her hair had grown longer, fuller, the rough, unkempt strands smoothing into rich, golden waves, the kind that looked like they belonged under candlelight in a ballroom.
Katherine blinked. “Oh, verily, mine tastes art far more refined than one might assume.”
A pause.
She frowned, as if hearing her own words for the first time. “Huh. That’s—”
Another wave of shifts came over her.
Her waist pulled in, her hips expanding, the simple fit of her pants warping into a full gown, an elaborate structure of deep crimson fabric, cinched perfectly to her now curvaceous form. The gold embroidery glowed, the patterns intricate, masterful.
She straightened, her posture flawless, her stance shifting into pure nobility.
Katherine lifted a hand—delicate, poised—and stared at it as if seeing it for the first time.
A soft gasp left her lips. “My, such delight hath overtaken me that I didst lose myself within the moment. Mine apologies for such lapse. This music is simply far too exquisite.”
Kei snorted. “Okay, yeah, now you’re just talking weird.”
Katherine gave a slow, deliberate blink. “Perish the thought. I merely articulate with the elegance befitting my station.”
Renee laughed. “Bro. You sound like you just walked out of a Shakespeare play.”
Katherine placed a hand against her chest—her very full, very prominent chest—and let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, what tragic ignorance thou must possess, to not recognize the artistry of the spoken word.”
Kei and Renee exchanged glances.
Kei grinned. “Whatever the case, I never thought I’d actually meet someone who can pull off a fancy dress like that. God knows I can't.”
Renee nodded. “Yeah, gotta admit, you’re owning that look. I wonder why I didn't notice that before.”
Katherine lifted her chin, her now glittering jewelry catching the light. “But of course. One must present themselves with dignity and poise, else they art naught but a most unsightly fool.”
Kei nudged Renee. “How long before she calls us peasants?”
Renee snickered. “I give it two minutes.”
Katherine simply turned her nose up. “Thy crude remarks art of little consequence to one of my standing.”
She floated over to the desk, her gown flowing effortlessly behind her, before delicately perching on the edge. Despite the sheer heaviness of her new curves, her posture remained perfectly balanced, like she had been born to sit like this.
Renee watched her with prying eyes, focusing particularly on the deep, obvious valley on her chest her dress absolutely refused to hide. “Yo, real talk, how are you not falling over?”
Katherine scoffed, flipping her hair. “A lady of refinement adapts to all things. Mine balance is simply superior.”
Kei whistled. “Oh boo hoo. Good frontal weight genes don't make you better than us, you know!”
Katherine gave a serene, knowing smile. “One merely embraceth the truth that hath always existed within.”
Kei snorted. “Right. Sure. That.”
Renee stretched, rolling her shoulders. “Alright, cowboy kid’s turn.”
Katherine hummed. “Very well. Though I must insist we conclude with a toast afterward. For verily, this gathering befit a most grand occasion.”
Kei crossed her arms. “I literally don’t know what you just said.”
Renee just grinned. “Don’t matter. I’m here for music, not shakespeare.”
Katherine let out a soft, elegant laugh, before gently adjusting the deep cut of her dress.
She was undeniably a woman now.
And she carried herself like she always had been.
The music faded, leaving only silence.
And yet, Katherine simply smiled.
Poised. Elegant.
Completely in her element.
The three transformed girls turned their heads toward the last remaining guy in the room.
Tsubasa, who had somehow made it this far without speaking much, now found himself the center of attention. His fingers fidgeted against his sleeve, his shoulders drawn up slightly like he was bracing for impact. His mouth opened once, closed, then opened again as he looked between the expectant faces surrounding him.
“I, uh… I guess it’s my turn?”
Renee smirked, stretching her arms behind her head. “Damn right. Let’s see what you got, cowboy kid.”
Katherine delicately folded her hands in her lap, her voice smooth and poised. “Indeed. Thou hast been most silent, yet now the stage is thine.”
Kei grinned. “C’mon, we gotta hear what you’ve been hyping up this whole time.”
Tsubasa swallowed, pulling a slightly worn CD from his bag. His fingers trembled as he carefully slid it into the player, his hesitation evident in the way he moved.
“Well, uh… I know most people don’t really think much of country, but, uh… I just think it’s real nice, y’know?” His voice was quiet, uncertain, like he was expecting to get shot down before he even made his case. “It’s just… somethin’ about it. Real simple, real honest.”
The CD clicked into place.
The first strums of an acoustic guitar filled the room, a slow, steady rhythm easing into a melody that spoke of open fields and lazy summer days. The kind of song that made you want to lean back in a rocking chair and let the world pass by.
Tsubasa took a deep breath, shoulders slowly lowering as the music settled into his bones. His nervous energy faded, the tension in his frame melting away like an ice cube under the hot southern sun. His posture shifted, his back arching slightly, his stance loosening as a strange, unfamiliar warmth spread through him.
His limbs stretched, just a little at first, his arms losing their boyish awkwardness, his frame filling out in a way that looked… natural. His waist pinched inward, his sides drawing in just enough to make room for the widening curves just below. His hips flared outward, subtle at first, then more pronounced, pressing against the fabric of his pants as they reshaped into something perfectly proportioned.
A soft sigh left his lips.
And his voice was different.
Smoother, richer, carrying a lilt that hadn’t been there before. He didn’t notice, of course, just as he didn’t notice the way his chest felt heavier, his shirt pressing tighter against the round, ample fullness that had begun to develop. The fabric tugged, buttons straining ever so slightly, framing the soft, bountiful curve beneath it.
His thighs followed suit, growing thicker, his legs gaining a shape that made them look strong but undeniably feminine. His jeans hugged every inch of him now, fitting snugly around his growing backside, the once-loose fabric now contoured perfectly around a firm, generous curve. His balance shifted, his steps adjusting to compensate for the new weight sitting comfortably on his frame.
And still, no one questioned it.
Kei nodded along to the music, arms crossed. “Huh. Never thought I’d say this, but this actually kinda slaps.”
Renee smirked. “Man, I ain’t gonna lie, this is kinda cozy.”
Katherine let out an elegant hum. “Indeed. There exists a certain charm to its simplicity. Tis most pleasant.”
Tsubasa, now fully relaxing, finally stopped fidgeting, the last of his nervousness fading like a bad dream. A slow smile spread across his lips as he reached into his bag and—without a moment of hesitation—pulled out a wide-brimmed cowboy hat.
The moment it landed on his head, everything changed.
His waist pulled in tighter, emphasizing the already generous curve of his hips. His chest gave a final, noticeable surge, his once-loose shirt now completely filled out, the buttons straining against the soft, yet undeniably heavy weight beneath them. His backside, already pronounced, lifted, rounded, settling into a shape that was both full and perky, his jeans now perfectly sculpted to fit every inch of him.
And just like that—it was gone too. Yet it also was barely a memory anymore, even just moments later.
Tsubasa was no more.
In his place, Tabitha stretched her arms over her head, letting out a long, content sigh, her voice carrying a smooth, unmistakable southern drawl.
“Well now,” she said, rolling her shoulders, adjusting her much larger chest with an effortless, casual sway. “Ain’t this just the perfect little tune?”
Kei snapped her fingers. “Alright, now I gotta admit, you’re actually making a solid case for this.”
Renee grinned. “Yeah, not bad, cowboy. Not bad at all.”
Tabitha chuckled, tipping her hat back. “Shoot, it ain’t about bein’ fancy or gettin’ all deep with it. It’s just ‘bout sittin’ back, takin’ life slow, and enjoyin’ the ride.”
Katherine nodded approvingly. “A most enlightened perspective.”
Tabitha leaned against the desk, shifting her weight to one hip, letting her newly full figure rest comfortably in place. She lazily swung one booted foot over the other, a look of pure ease settling onto her features.
“Nothin’ wrong with a little hard work, but y’all spend so much time fussin’ over things that don’t need fussin’.” She smirked, flicking the brim of her hat. “Sometimes, ya just gotta kick back, take what comes, and roll with it.”
Kei let out a laugh. “Damn, girl. You got more wisdom you wanna drop on us?”
Tabitha shrugged. “Naw, just tellin’ it like it is.”
Renee exhaled, shaking her head. “Man, I ain’t ever thought about country music like this before.”
Tabitha grinned. “That’s ‘cause y’all just needed someone to show ya the right way.”
Katherine gave an approving nod. “Tis is most comparable to an outlook of grace and patience.”
Kei rolled her eyes. “Alright, settle down, princess.”
Tabitha just chuckled, pushing herself off the desk. Her bountiful chest bounced ever so slightly with the movement, but she didn’t even flinch, moving with the kind of natural ease that said she’d been built like this her whole life.
The CD player clicked off.
And just like that, the discussion was over.
Four very different girls stood where four boys had been earlier—none of them questioning anything.
And as they packed up to leave, their conversation wasn’t about how they had changed.
Only about what came next.
Silence hung in the air for half a second before Kei immediately slammed her hands onto the desk. “Alright, so it’s obvious we should go with punk.”
Renee scoffed. “Girl, you trippin’. The only thing obvious is that we need to drop some heat on this festival. Rap’s where it’s at.”
Katherine sighed dramatically, placing a delicate hand on her chest. The boob window of her dress made the gesture look all the more regal. “Verily, thou art mistaken. If we art to present the most refined selection, then ‘tis clear that classical music shall reign supreme.”
Tabitha tipped her hat back, balancing herself on the desk with one leg crossed over the other. “Y’all got zero taste. Ain’t nothin’ better than sittin’ back with a good country tune, let folks relax and enjoy the damn festival.”
Four girls.
Four genres.
Zero compromises.
Kei turned her piercing gaze toward Renee. “Alright, first off, rap is corporate garbage. Just overproduced nonsense they pump out for money.”
Renee gasped like she had just been personally insulted. “Bitch, you wanna talk corporate? Y’all buyin’ your whole spiky-ass wardrobe from Hot Topic like it’s a damn personality.”
Kei physically flinched. “Oh, you did not just say that.”
“Oh, I did.” Renee crossed her arms, her very large hips shifting with the movement. “Whatchu gonna do about it, huh?”
Katherine let out an exasperated sigh, waving a delicate hand. “Cease thy senseless bickering. ‘Tis most uncivilized.” She lifted her chin. “Only the most cultured souls can appreciate the depth and emotion of true music. Unlike the cacophonous screeching thou hath subjected me to.”
Kei rolled her eyes. “Yeah, okay, Mozart. Let’s see how hype your classical crap gets people.” She mimicked playing a violin, then violently fake-snored.
Renee cackled.
Katherine visibly seethed. “How dare thee mock the pinnacle of artistic expression! ‘Tis thy mind that lacketh refinement!”
Tabitha leaned back, watching the absolute disaster unfold with a slow, easy grin. She finally let out a relaxed, low chuckle. “Y’all know what I think?”
Kei turned to her, still fuming. “What, cowboy?”
Tabitha tipped her hat back, stretching her curvaceous frame before lazily drawling, “I think all y’all just havin’ a fit ‘cause none of ya wanna admit that ya just like what ya like and ain’t nobody gonna change their mind.”
A long pause.
Renee blinked. “…Girl, what the hell does that even mean?”
Tabitha smirked. “It means y’all arguin’ like a buncha damn fools when we could just—oh, I dunno—ask people what they actually wanna hear?”
Another long pause.
Kei tapped her fingers against her arm. “Huh.”
Renee frowned. “Wait, you tryna say we poll people?”
Katherine placed a single, elegant finger on her chin. “A most curious proposal…”
Tabitha stretched again, rolling a shoulder. “Well, shoot, if we can’t agree, might as well ask the rest of the school. See what folks actually wanna hear.”
The idea sank in.
And then—
“…God damn it,” Kei muttered, rubbing her temples.
Renee sighed, rubbing a hand down her face. “This entire debate… and that’s the answer?”
Katherine slowly exhaled, shoulders drooping slightly in defeat. “Tis annoying that thou art correct.”
Tabitha chuckled. “See? Y’all makin’ fools of yourselves over nothin’.” She grinned, hopping off the desk, adjusting her perfectly balanced assets. “C’mon, let’s go make some poor freshman do all the work tallyin’ votes.”
Kei groaned. “Fine. But when people vote for punk, I will rub it in your faces.”
Renee snorted. “Bitch, please, they gonna pick rap and you know it.”
Katherine elegantly flicked a loose curl behind her shoulder. “Nay. They shall recognize the superiority of classical composition.”
Tabitha just laughed. “Y’all wish.”
And with that, the four girls walked out, the most obvious solution now suddenly the most brilliant idea in the world.
Not a single one of them questioned how they had changed.
And not a single person in the hallway looked at them funny, either.
Because, really—who cared?
—
Music makes magical miracles happen. Even more so if it's magical. And even, even more if it's cursed.
