Finally undercover

Marta sat perched on the edge of the toilet seat staring blankly at the wall as she heard a group of men snickering in the room outside. Her long black hair fell past her face, heavy earrings dangling over her cheeks sending her skin crawling at each movement. Her hight-heeled shoes felt foreign as her feet pressed together awkwardly.

'No, no, this ain't real,' she thought as she pulled her orange dress tightly down over her legs in embarrassment. 'I'm gonna wake up from this nightmare.'

She had been Officer Mark Stevens just a few short hours earlier, strutting around the station with his badge and gun, cracking racist jokes with the boys. “Damn illegals,” he used to spit out whenever they brought in a Latina woman for questioning. He had hated them—thought they were all trash.

It's happend when Mark was celebrating his thirty-sixth birthday at his favourite bar. "You now what, buddy?" he had asked his friend, a fellow officer who was buying the next round. "I'm tired of my life, man. It's all the same shit, different day, ya know? And these damn illegals. It's like there's more of them every day."

"I know, I know." His friend nodded and rolled his eyes. "So what about your birthday, then? Make a wish, Marky, and it'll come true!"

Mark laughed. "Oh yeah? You believed in that shit?" He leaned on the table, smirking. "All right, well, then, uh... I always wanted to work undercover, like on some super-secret spy shit." He had a couple of drinks and was already starting to feel a little buzzed. "So I wish to be, like, under-undercover." and then everything went black and he found himself at a table, with a bunch of Mexicans, in front of a cake.

"Hola! Come, come," an elderly woman said to her. "Your turn, you blow out the candles, Marta!"

She looked up to find all the eyes on her. "Huh?" She blinked and stared at them. They were a big group of Latino immigrants, all sitting around her, and she was at the head of the table, in some kind of cheap cafe. It was dimly lit and there was a huge cake in front of her. There was a banner hanging above them that read "Happy 24th Birthday, Marta!"

"Marta, don't make us wait, chica!" a young guy named Eduardo said as he pushed her. "Vamos, vamos, blow out the candles!" Everyone cheered.

Mark looked down at himself in a panic, and saw a pair of breasts bulging out from his chest that felt strangely weighty. His hand went up to his face and felt the soft skin of a woman's cheek.

"Oh dios mio," he muttered under his breath. "Que demonios?" Marta gasped in confusion as the group started to chant her name. 'Oh God, I'm a woman? Oh no, no, no. I'm not one of those fucking beaners. I'm a cop. This can't be happening. Please let this be a dream.'

But it was no dream. Marta was indeed a Latina, an illegal immigrant living in a small town in Texas, worked at this cafe as a dishwasher. But today, the manager gave her the day off and her friends wanted to celebrate her twenty-fourth birthday.

She was the youngest and only child of a family that had crossed the border to the United States to get a better life, but ended up stuck in a shitty place, working for minimum wage in a cafe.

Suddenly, the toilet door swung open, bringing her back to reality. , "¡Marta! ¿Dónde estás? ¡La fiesta te espera!" A girl, one of the many new 'friends' from the party, stuck her head inside the cubicle. "You okay, chica?" She gave her a concerned look.

Marta stood up in panic and pulled down her dress to cover herself. "S-Si," she mumbled. "I'll be out in a minute."

The girl giggled and gave her a knowing smile. She adjusted Marta's hair and whispered. "You're a big girl now, Martita. Rodrigo's coming." Then she gave her a playful wink before leaving.

"Who's Rodrigo?" Marta muttered, looking down at herself and adjusting her dress and took a deep breath. 'Oh man, I have tits, I can't believe this!' She shook her head, trying to focus. 'Okay, calm down, Mark. You're a cop, for Christ's sake. Just keep a cool head, and play along.'