A/N: Hi. :) For those that are confused, the last chapter left off assuming that Charlotte performed some kind of spell on Vienne and Blaise. I didn't actually write the scene, which I may end up doing later, but for the time being that's just assumed. This chapter starts off the next morning.

Toodles!

Oh, yeah, and Blaise is apparently a French name that's pronounced: BLEZ, but I like it better as BLAYZE. So I suggest going with BLAYZE, because this chapter wouldn't make sense if his name was Blez. Blezing sunshine?

Chapter 1: Wake Up To a Blaising Sunshine

I knew something was very wrong. The pillow was too stiff, the sheets were too warm, and there was a dry, stale taste in my mouth. In addition to the migraine that was building up before I was even fully awake, the sun on the right side of my face was close to burning my cheek off.

Some intelligent cell in the back of my brain noted that I usually woke up with the window to my left. Therefore, as the tiny piece of logic reasoned, the sun should be roasting up the left side of my face.

I groaned and instinctively pulled the covers over my head. However, it soon became too hot for comfort, and they were thrown off. I yawned and opened my eyes just a sliver, but the expected pale yellow walls and pink and blue flowered wallpaper was not what greeted my sight.

I jolted awake, all hints of a headache disappearing, when I realized that this was not my room. Instead of being enveloped by yellow, the room was a baby blue. The only furniture besides the bed was a large dresser and a small desk covered in a lamp and papers. There was also a large music case that looked like it could hold a trumpet, and several guitars lined up against the wall. I clicked my tongue reproachfully when I saw a poster of a soccer player in action. People with extreme obsessiveness about soccer - or any sport for that matter - made my brain hurt. A Linkin Park calendar hung near the door and a stack of Harry Potter books was stacked neatly on the desk. Well, I mostly approved of whoever lived in this room, which brought me to another realization.

This was not my house.

It also suddenly occurred to me the amount of clothes that was I was donned upon, or lack thereof, was significantly, well, lacking.

The first thing I noticed when I looked down was that I was bare-chested. A part of my consciousness jumped for joy at the sight of perfectly chiseled abs on my stomach. The other part was sent whirling into the tunnel of confusion.

I had no boobs.

I stared at my flat chest for about three seconds before shooting out of the bed and staring down at myself. I was wearing boxers, apparently, and my legs – Oh, geez. The fact that I had shaved last night was unapparent, for I had hair all over.

That was going to be one tough shaving job, I thought grimly. I didn't know how I had the wit to kid myself, because I should have been screaming my head off. People did not undo puberty and grow a centimeter of leg hair in one night. No, I merely cracked a joke. There must have been something wrong with me.

I opened the door, peering into the hallway. If my memory served correctly, today was a Saturday, which meant that anyone with a decent mind would be sleeping right now.

The coast was clear. I saw an open door across the hall, which was most likely the bathroom. I tiptoed into a world of ivory-ness. It occurred to me that I didn't have to sneak around since whoever saw me would think that I was whoever's-body-I-was-in.

I flicked the light switch and stared at "myself" in the full body length mirror.

I was prepared to witness something horrifying.

However, I wasn't prepared to see a shocked and unshaven Blaise Doyle naked, save for the boxers. A couple of seconds passed while I contemplated how, even after waking up on a Saturday morning, Blaise's hair was perfect.

Blaise's hair. I pressed my hands to my face, my neck, and my hair. A couple of more seconds passed as this newly found information registered. Then the screaming began.

I shrieked and ran out of the bathroom into the hallway. I was disoriented and had no idea where my – er, Blaise's, if reason still existed – room was. I saw a door and began banging on it.

"Help! Oh, my God!" I cried. Charlotte said nothing bad was supposed to happen! Charlotte –

Momentarily, that sent me into a stupor. Whatever Charlotte did last night… I was going to get her for it. For now, though, there was a different problem at hand.

I started to walk away from the door I was standing in front of when it violently swung open. I froze, like I was caught doing something wrong. Normally cheerful Aidan had his hair unruly, his eyes red, and he looked like he was about to punch someone – that was, me – where it hurt.

"BLAISE!" he bellowed. Man, he definitely was not a morning person. "Give me one good reason why you decided to wake me up on a Saturday morning!"

Note to self: If you ever return to your regular body or wake up from this horrible dream, remember never to confront Aidan during the morning hours.

"Aidan," I put a fake smile on my face. "Fancy seeing you today, huh?" I knew my mouth was twitching from anxiousness and from the sudden realization that my voice sounded masculine. How do you tell your brother's best friend that you woke up suddenly in his brother's body?

He continued to glare at me, but with a new expression of slight confusion as I chuckled nervously. I internally whacked myself - I was speaking so strangely, of course Aidan would be confused. I saw the open door to Blaise's room – fancy that I didn't notice it before, eh? – and I backed toward that direction. "Uh… yeah. I'll just go back to my room now. Heh heh. 'Bye Aidan!" I slammed the door and let out a sigh of relief.

At that moment, I noticed that a lot of marks were drawn onto the calendar hanging by the doorway. The reminder for today said, "Band rehearsal four o' clock."

Crap. Crap, crap, crap.

Oh the other hand, this was a good thing because I would have a chance to go to my house and, I shuddered at the thought, see how Blaise was doing in my body... if he was in my body, even. I didn't want to think about it. It would also give me a chance to stop by Charlotte's house. The harder quest would be convincing her that I was actually myself.

I looked around the room, grimacing. The room was considerably tidy compared to my brother's own sloppiness. Laundered clothes were folded neatly next to the dresser, waiting to be placed inside. My eyes landed on the trumpet case and the guitars.

Band rehearsal four o'clock. I whimpered and covered my face with my hands, sinking to the floor. If band rehearsal was today… I had not a clue how to play the guitar. I was Vienne, the piano girl. Then I remembered that Blaise was the turn-tablist. The turn-tablist just made a bunch of synthetic sounds, right? It couldn't be too hard pushing a bunch of buttons…

Oh, who was I kidding?

My mind was overblown, so I did the only thing that made sense – go running. It was something I always did when I was frustrated. I rummaged through the drawers and found a pair of shorts that looked like they could be for running and a muscle shirt. Screw men who didn't buy tank tops or sports bras. They would have made life so much easier.

I could have just went running without a shirt, but my girly intuition told me that even though at the moment I was a guy, it would have been inappropriate.

I grabbed Blaise's cell phone and walked downstairs, trying hard to make as little noise as possible. I had met Mr. And Mrs. Doyle before, but in my current state of mind I didn't know if I could be part of a civil conversation with them. I knew that Aidan thought something was up – the real Blaise would not have screamed like a sissy, and he definitely would have thought of some sarcastic remark to counter Aidan's morning attitude.

Note to self: Act more sarcastic until all of this is sorted out.

After a very nerve-wrecking time of using the bathroom and washing up, I finally left the house. Within about ten minutes of running, I was sorely regretting it. I always thought that running was more on the mental aspect, but without the physique, mentality could jump out the window. I thought that Blaise, being a soccer player, would have had more of a runner's body. Apparently, soccer players had about as much endurance as an oyster had a face because I had been panting and sweating and stumbling for about eight minutes. It also didn't help that his shoes were killing me.

I stopped at a neighborhood intersection, bent forward and placed my hands on my knees, wheezing. Bringing water might have been a good idea, too.

I knew two more facts about Blaise that I didn't know before: First, he screamed like a girl (although that could have just been me), and second, he sucked at running.

After I caught my breath, I glanced at the street sign. Marigold Drive. It occurred to me that I could visit Charlotte now instead of later. She was usually up very early, making concoctions and working on her charms, or doing some girly activity like shopping on the Internet or God forbid, knitting. I had nothing against knitting, but I could never wrap my head around how to work those needles to make pretty patterns. It was too complicated for pea-brain me.

Her street was the next street over. Unable to run anymore, I could only amble there.

Thoughts were whirring through my brain. How could I convince her that I wasn't Blaise? How could I convince her that this actually happened? The events were so bizarre. Charms and spells were not supposed to work in real life. They were fun to read about. They were fantastical. They were not real, so why was this happening to me?

Then I realized that Charlotte actually thought that this charm would work, so she wouldn't be disbelieving...

No, she would be ecstatic.

When I got to Charlotte's house – it could only be called an estate, the massive thing – it came to mind that the Montgomery's would definitely not appreciate a teenage boy calling upon their daughter. They wouldn't believe the charm story, after all. I considered throwing stones at her window, but I was a runner for a reason. I could not aim for my life. Even in the slim chance that the stone did arrive at its target, it would have probably shattered something close to about a thousand dollars.

I felt something buzz in my pocket and pulled out Blaise's cell phone. Hmm. Since I was in his body for who-knows-how-long, I had a right to read his messages and answer his calls. It would be easier to pretend to be him for the time being, wouldn't it?

I flipped it open and discovered a text message from a certain, "My Babe Helen." At least, that's what the name said.

Good morning Blaising sunshine! ;) good luck at band today, luv Helen-poo 3

Gag me. This was his girlfriend, wasn't it? Good morning Blaising? Helen-poo? What?

Somebody please shoot me now. My genius and sarcastic crush had a pun-loving sickening lover-girl for a girlfriend. And I was stuck in his body, with the possibility of having to deal with her.

Call Charlotte right now. You have the phone on. And it certainly beats throwing rocks at her window.

I inhaled deeply and dialed her number from memory.

"Hello?"

"Char," I said in my deep voice, "You are not going to believe me, but I really, really need to talk to you."

"Blaise?" she guessed. No, I wanted to say. I'm Vienne! Vi!

"Sure," I said after a moment's hesitation. "I'm outside your house right now." I could have smacked myself. That sounded insanely creepy. Yeah, Blaise had come to Charlotte's a couple of times with the band, but he wouldn't come alone! Heck, he probably didn't even remember where she lived.

I saw her head poke into her third-floor window's view. She stared down at me in astonishment and burst out into laughter.

"What the hell are you wearing?"