The walk back across campus should’ve been easy.
Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the sidewalks. The breeze carried the smell of freshly cut grass and someone’s too-strong body spray. The quad was buzzing — students sprawled on the grass, skateboards clacking against pavement, someone strumming an out-of-tune guitar near the fountain. A boombox blasted something vaguely punky from a blanket where two guys were trading cassettes. Laughter drifted like birdsong between the dorms.

It felt like a normal day.
But nothing felt normal anymore.

Maya walked beside me, glancing at me now and then like she wasn’t sure if she should say something or just let me be. Her silence was kind, not cold — a protective quiet, like she was trying to guard the space around us.

I didn’t say much. I was afraid of what my voice would do.

As we passed the library steps, a girl from our English class waved. “Hey, Riley!”

I smiled automatically. “Hey!”

And there it was.
That voice again. Higher than I meant. Cheerier.
Like I was mocking her friendliness without meaning to. Like my mouth had been rewired when I wasn’t paying attention.

She smiled back, but there was a flicker of confusion in her eyes. Just a beat. Just enough for me to notice.
Maya noticed too.

I ducked my head.
“I sound like a cartoon,” I muttered under my breath.

“No, you don’t,” Maya said gently.

“I do. I sound like I’ve been replaced by someone halfway through puberty in reverse.”

We turned the corner toward the commons. A group of students was gathered near the vending machines, laughing over something. The scent of microwaved burritos and vending machine coffee floated on the air. A guy with headphones bumped into me, muttered a quick “sorry.”

I tried to say “no problem,” but all that came out was a soft, breathy “it’s okay.”

Maya glanced sideways again.

“Don’t,” I said quickly, my normal voice kicking back in. “Please don’t say anything.”

“I wasn’t going to tease you.”

“I know. But I just… I don’t want to talk about it. Not here.”

She nodded, letting the quiet sit between us.

But every voice I heard — my voice — felt less and less like mine.

They were already sitting at a table just outside the student café — Claire with her iced tea and a notebook full of rainbow doodles, Jess leaning back in her chair like she owned the sidewalk. The metal table wobbled slightly on the uneven concrete, and Claire’s pen was twirling slowly between her fingers while she colored in a cartoon cat with galaxy-patterned fur.

Jess spotted us first. “There you are! We were starting to think you two ran off and eloped.”

Claire grinned. “Do we get to be bridesmaids?”

Maya rolled her eyes but smiled. “Please. Like I’d marry this one. He’s a disaster.”

Normally I would’ve had a comeback. Something dumb but quick. A one-liner that’d get a snort from Jess or a groan from Claire.
Today I just gave a weak smile and dropped into the empty chair across from them. The seat was still warm from the sun. I folded my hands in my lap to keep from fidgeting.

Jess looked at me, then at Maya. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I said, keeping my tone level. “Just… long day.”

Claire leaned in. “Okay but real talk — did you actually laugh like that on purpose last night?”

Maya stiffened slightly beside me, but stayed quiet. Her elbow brushed mine under the table, steady but subtle.

I forced a shrug. “Maybe. I dunno. It was a weird movie.”

Jess squinted at me, like she was trying to read past what I said. Her eyes flicked across my face like she was hunting for tells.

“You’re acting all weird,” she said.

I opened my mouth to respond — something sarcastic. Something that would make them laugh. Something safe.

But the second the words left my lips, they curved on their own.

“I guess I’m just full of surprises,” I said.

And just like that — my voice slipped again.
It was soft. Musical.
Definitely not how I sounded five seconds earlier.

Claire froze. Jess blinked.

“What the hell was that?” Claire asked, laughing — but not in a mean way. Just confused. Her pen dropped onto the table with a small clink.

Jess sat up straighter. “Did you just… ”

I felt heat shoot up my neck. “I— I’m”
My voice came back normal. Like it was trying to correct itself.

Jess looked at me, eyebrows raised. “Okay, are you messing with us?”

Maya cut in, calm but serious. “He’s not. It’s… not something he’s doing on purpose.”

That shut them both up for a beat.
The noise from the nearby tables — the clink of plastic trays, the distant squeak of a scooter’s wheels, someone loudly explaining the plot of a VHS horror movie — all seemed to fade for a second.

Claire’s expression shifted first — curiosity fading into concern. “Wait. Is this, like… a thing?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “It just started. And I can’t control it.”

Jess leaned back in her chair again, this time slower. Her eyes lingered on me longer than usual — not skeptical, just… trying to process. “Dude. That’s kinda intense.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
I just sat there, staring at the condensation sliding down Claire’s cup, wishing I could crawl underneath the table and disappear.

****

I barely made it through the next few minutes.

Maya kept the conversation moving, casually shifting the topic to some art show flyers on the bulletin board — an exhibit of recycled sculpture, a student-made zine showcase — and Claire went along with it, like they’d silently agreed to give me space. Jess kept glancing at me, like she wanted to say something else but couldn’t figure out how to ask without making it worse.

I mumbled something about needing to go back to the dorm.
No one stopped me.
They didn’t even try. Just nodded and let me go.

The second I was out of sight, I picked up my pace.
The concrete walkway felt uneven under my shoes, and the noise of the café faded behind me into the background hum of campus — a leaf blower whining across the quad, someone shouting at a squirrel near the bike rack, a boombox playing a faint track of Ace of Base from a window above.

My hands were already in my hoodie pocket before I even reached the front steps of the building. I dug out the orange bottle.
The label was half-worn from being carried around.
The corners were peeling, and my name was faint beneath a crease where the bottle had been twisted too many times in my grip.
I didn’t even bother reading it this time.

I popped the cap and shook one of the little white pills into my palm.
It landed there like it was waiting.

Then I swallowed it dry.

My throat burned slightly. I ignored it.
I didn’t even head for the water fountain at the end of the hall.

I sat down on the edge of my bed once I got back to the room, the silence pressing in on me like static.
Garrett wasn’t there. Thank God.
His bed was still unmade, one sock draped over the edge, his PlayStation controller hanging loosely off his desk like it was caught mid-fall.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and stared at the floor.

Why is this happening to me?

The voice wasn’t the only thing.
My body didn’t feel right.
My own reflection felt unfamiliar.
And the more I tried to hold on to “normal,” the faster it seemed to slip through my fingers — like trying to grip water in a clenched fist.

I closed my eyes and waited for the pill to do something — anything.

Even if it didn’t help…

I just needed to feel like I had some kind of control.

****

I don’t know how long I sat there.

The hum of the mini fridge buzzed in the background, barely louder than the rush in my ears. My legs were bouncing. My chest felt tight, like my ribs were trying to close in on themselves — folding inward, one by one, like pages in a book that didn’t want to be read.

I pressed my palms into my eyes until little fireworks popped behind them — bursts of red and gold that faded into static. The kind you get when you’re underwater too long. The kind you see when you’re trying not to cry.

Breathe, I told myself. It’s just anxiety. You’ve felt like this before.
Only… not like this.
Not when your own voice betrays you in front of your friends.

Eventually, I stood.

My legs were stiff. My hoodie stuck to my back like plastic wrap, clammy and wrinkled. I didn’t even grab my bag. I just needed to move.
Air.
Noise.
Something that wasn’t the inside of my head.

The hallway outside was empty, except for a faint scent of burnt popcorn and whatever cologne Garrett always drowned himself in. I took the stairs two at a time, my footsteps echoing sharp and fast in the stairwell.

The campus lawn was still buzzing, though it had thinned out some.
Shadows were longer now. The sun was dipping lower, pulling warm gold across the tops of buildings and stretching the trees across the grass like dark, tangled fingers. The breeze had picked up — the kind that tugged gently at your sleeves and made you feel like the day was slipping away faster than it should. Like maybe you were supposed to be somewhere else.

I turned the corner just in time to see Maya, Claire, and Jess stepping away from the café. Claire was holding her sketchpad, flipping absently through pages filled with inked flowers and half-finished poems. Jess was mid-story, doing something dramatic with her hands, waving them like she was narrating a conspiracy theory. Maya was half-listening, her gaze flicking around the sidewalk — scanning, searching.

Like maybe she was hoping I’d come back.

I hesitated.

Just for a second.

Then walked toward them.

Jess spotted me first. “Hey—oh, look who didn’t disappear forever.”

I opened my mouth to reply.

And what came out wasn’t mine.

“Hey, sorry I—”

My voice caught.
Wavered.
And didn’t go back.

It was completely different now.

Not soft or random or accidental.

It was feminine.
Clear.
Higher.
Smooth in a way that was unmistakably not how I used to sound.
Not even close.

Jess stopped walking.

Claire’s eyes widened — her phone lowering just slightly, the conversation frozen mid-breath.

Even Maya froze for a second — just a second — before stepping closer. Her expression shifted fast: surprise, confusion, and then that same unwavering focus she’d had in the clinic. That Maya look. The one that said you’re not alone.

“Riley?” she asked, her voice gentle. Testing. Anchoring.

I swallowed.
I could feel the panic rising again — hot, prickling at my neck, pooling under my tongue. I tried to say something else, anything, but the voice didn’t change back.

Not a syllable.

“I… I don’t know what’s happening,” I said.
My voice now sounded like someone else’s — like a girl trying to hold back tears.

Only it wasn’t someone else.
It was me.

And it wasn’t going away.

Maya reached out but didn’t touch me — just hovered there beside me, like she didn’t want to scare me off.
Claire blinked slowly, still catching up. Jess looked like she was waiting for someone to explain the joke. Only no one laughed.