Jerry and Sol had been laughing when they set the dials.

The machine hummed, the lights flickered-and then everything changed.

They had intended to visit the 1950s briefly, observe the culture, and return home before dinner. But the moment the time machine completed its jump, it did something neither of them expected.

It adapted.

The sleek metallic chamber around them shuddered and folded inward like living metal. Panels reshaped themselves. Chrome appeared where smooth steel had been. Glass expanded into curved windows.

By the time the shaking stopped, the time machine had transformed into a gleaming cyan 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air parked neatly inside a tidy suburban garage.

Jerry and Sol staggered as the floor beneath them shifted.

Then they realized something else had changed.

Jerry looked down first.

“Sol...,” he said slowly.

He was wearing a powder-pink 1950s housewife dress.

The dress was unmistakably classic. A fitted bodice hugged his torso with a sweetheart neckline, tiny delicate buttons running down the center. The waist was cinched tightly with a wide contrasting sash that emphasized the fashionable hourglass silhouette.

Below it spread a full skirt, supported by layers of crinolines that puffed it outward until it fell just below the knees.

Jerry lifted the hem slightly and saw suntan pantyhose stretched smoothly over his legs, ending in a pair of neat kitten-heeled pumps.

On his hands were matching gloves.

A small clutch purse dangled from his wrist.

He reached up slowly to touch his face.

“Sol... I’m wearing makeup.”

A small mirror hung on the garage wall. Jerry hurried over and stared.

His face still looked mostly like his own-but now it was softened by carefully applied cosmetics. Bold red lipstick, precise winged eyeliner, perfectly arched brows. His hair had grown longer and was arranged in glossy waves held by a decorative hairband.

Pearl earrings swung slightly as he turned his head.

A simple pearl necklace rested on his collarbone.

Behind him, Sol let out a groan.

Jerry turned.

Sol was leaning against the side of the Bel Air, staring down at himself.

His outfit was different but equally unmistakable.

Sol wore a vibrant red dress covered in white polka dots. It had a sleeveless fitted bodice and a flared knee-length skirt that moved lightly when he shifted his weight.

A wide belt emphasized his waist.

Suntan pantyhose covered his legs, leading down to flat shoes with little bows on the toes.

A charm bracelet jingled softly on his wrist, and a wide-brimmed straw hat with a ribbon perched atop softly waved curls.

His makeup was just as glamorous as Jerry’s-bright lipstick, mascara, and gentle eyeshadow.

Sol slowly lifted his hands.

“Jerry,” he said. “Tell me we’re in a nightmare.”

Jerry pointed at the car.

“That’s our time machine.”

Sol stared at the Bel Air.

“Oh,” he said faintly. “That’s bad.”

They both rushed to the garage workbench where the machine’s control panel should have been.

But the controls were gone.

The dashboard of the Bel Air contained only ordinary 1950s gauges.