The morning sun filtered through the classroom blinds, painting streaks of pale light across my desk. Math tests were scattered on our desks, pencils scratching feverishly as the clock ticked. My heart wasn't in it, though. My mind kept drifting to the looming weight of tomorrow: the removal of my cast and the grueling physical therapy that would follow. The idea of it churned uneasily in my stomach, but I forced myself to focus on the test.

When I finished, relief washed over me—but it was fleeting. A new urgency hit me, sharp and undeniable. I needed the bathroom.

"Mr. Johnson, can I use the restroom?" I asked, raising my hand.

He nodded and handed me the hall pass. "Be quick, Jamie."

I wheeled myself through the quiet hall, the sound of the wheels echoing faintly. I bypassed the regular bathrooms and headed to the nurse's office. Navigating the small space, the nurse helped me onto the toilet and left me alone. I sighed, letting the tension in my body release as I went about my business.

But when I wiped, I froze.

The toilet paper in my hand was streaked with red. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart pounded like a drum in my ears. I stared at it, disbelief gripping me.

"Blood?" I whispered, panic lacing my voice. I called out, my voice cracking. "Nurse!"

She hurried back into the room, concern etched on her face. "What's wrong, Jamie?"

I held out the paper, my hands trembling. Her expression softened, but it didn't comfort me.

"Oh, sweetheart," she said gently. "It looks like you've started your period."

"My what?" My voice rose, teetering on hysteria. "That's not possible. I'm only eight!"

She crouched beside me, her voice calm but firm. "Some girls start as early as eight, Jamie. It's rare, but completely normal."

I couldn't speak. The words felt foreign, like they didn't belong to me. She left for a moment and returned with a small plastic-wrapped item. "This is a tampon," she explained.

I stared at it like it was an alien object. "What... what do I do with that?" I asked, my voice shaking.

She showed me, her movements careful and precise. I tried to follow her instructions, but my hands wouldn't stop trembling. Tears streamed down my face as the reality of it sank in. I wasn't just a girl in name or appearance. My body was changing—betraying me.

When the ordeal was over, the nurse helped me back into my wheelchair. "Stay here for a bit," she said kindly. "You've had a lot thrown at you. I'll call your mom."

I sat in the office, sipping orange juice she had handed me, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The taste was sharp and acidic, like my emotions. A few minutes later, the door opened, and Mom walked in.

"Mom?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "What's going on? Why are you here?"

Her face softened as she crouched beside me. "Sweetie, I'm taking you home. We need to talk."

"Is it because of... this?" I gestured vaguely, feeling the tears well up again.

She nodded. "It's a lot to deal with, and I think it's better if we talk about it in private."

The drive home was quiet at first, but then Mom began explaining everything—about periods, about puberty, about how my body was changing. Her words felt distant, like they were happening to someone else. I stared out the window, watching the familiar streets blur by.

"I don't want to have a baby!" I burst out, tears spilling over.

"You won't, Jamie," Mom said firmly. "Not unless you... well, unless you have sex. And I know you're not planning to do that anytime soon."

"Never!" I exclaimed, recoiling at the thought. "Boys are gross."

The words tasted strange, even as I said them. I had been a boy not so long ago, after all. Now everything felt upside down.

Mom stopped at Walmart on the way home, steering me toward an aisle I'd never ventured into before. It was filled with packages and boxes in pastel colors, their labels foreign and intimidating. I read them aloud, unable to help myself. "Playtex? Tampax? Kotex?"

"Jamie!" Mom hissed, covering my mouth, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Keep your voice down."

I blinked at her. "Why are you blushing?"

"Because this is personal, sweetheart. These are... feminine hygiene products." She sighed, shaking her head as I stared at her blankly.

The weight of everything settled on me, and I grabbed a box labeled Little Ladies, tears streaming down my face. The cashier smiled warmly as she scanned it, oblivious to my inner turmoil.

"You must be so proud to become a young lady," she said, her voice cheerful.

I managed a nod, biting my lip to keep from crying again. My secret felt like a lead weight in my chest, heavy and unshakable.

When we got home, Jessica was just getting off the school bus. She eyed the shopping bag in Mom's hand and raised an eyebrow. "Why are you home so early?"

I hesitated, but the words tumbled out. "I had my period today."

Jessica's eyes widened. "Wait, you can get pregnant now?"

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I nodded numbly and wheeled myself inside. Dinner was spaghetti—my favorite—but I barely tasted it. My thoughts were a swirling mess, the day's events replaying over and over in my mind.

That night, as I lay in bed, the house was quiet, but my mind was anything but. The shadows on the ceiling seemed to twist and shift, mirroring the confusion and fear inside me. Tomorrow, the cast would come off, and physical therapy would begin, but that wasn't what haunted me.

For the first time since the machine changed me, I felt the full weight of what I had become. This wasn't just a change of clothes or a new name. My body was shifting, growing into something I didn't recognize.

And as I stared at the ceiling, one thought kept circling back:

What else is coming for me?