The day dawned bright and clear, a perfect canvas for a beach party. It was my ninth birthday, a milestone I once thought I'd celebrate as someone else—someone who didn't cry when emotions ran high or feel at home in pink swimsuits. But the person I used to be was as distant as the horizon.

Yet, as happy as I tried to be, a shadow lingered over the day, an echo of something unresolved.

The morning was a blur of preparation. Mom cooked pancakes for breakfast, and Jessica helped me into my favorite outfit. Despite the cheerful atmosphere, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was missing.

The doorbell interrupted my thoughts, and I raced to answer it, beating Jessica for once. Tony and Jennifer stood on the porch, smiling and holding balloons.

"Happy Birthday, Jamie!" they cheered.

Their warmth brought tears to my eyes. I couldn't stop crying, though I laughed through the tears. Jennifer hugged me, whispering, "It's okay. You're happy."

The beach was lively, full of laughter and the salty tang of the ocean. We ran into the water, splashing and playing until the lifeguard blew his whistle. Mom called us to eat, setting out veggie dogs and snacks from a picnic basket. As we sat on the sand, Mom broke the news.

"Jamie, Jessica," she began. "This summer, you're both going to camp. It's an all-girls camp, and I've already arranged for you to be in the same cabin."

Jessica frowned. "Why can't we go to a regular camp?"

Mom hesitated, her gaze softening. "Because I need to make sure Jamie is safe."

Jessica didn't respond, her expression distant. I looked at Tony, who seemed lost in thought.

"I wish you could come," I said softly.

Tony hesitated before answering. "You know... we could look for the machine," he said with a small laugh. "I could become a girl too."

I froze, his words hitting me like a tidal wave. "What?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

His smile faltered. "I'm serious, Jamie. When I saw you change, I... I was jealous. I've always wished I could be a girl."

His confession hung in the air like a storm cloud. The machine—the thing that had upended my life—was suddenly no longer a closed chapter. It was a door Tony wanted to open.

"Tony," Mom interjected, her voice steady. "This isn't something to take lightly. If you feel this way, you should talk to someone—a therapist. And Jamie, you should think carefully before even considering going near that machine again."

I nodded slowly, her words grounding me. But Tony wasn't done.

"If we find it," he said, his voice quieter, "maybe I can change too."

The idea unsettled me. The machine had been a curse and a blessing, its effects profound and permanent. "Are you sure?" I whispered.

He nodded, but his expression was conflicted.

Later, as the sun dipped low and shadows stretched across the sand, Tony and I sat apart from the others, building a sandcastle. The rhythmic crash of the waves was soothing, but my mind raced.

"Tony," I began hesitantly. "If we find the machine... what if it doesn't work the same way again? What if it's dangerous?"

He looked up from the castle, his eyes serious. "Then we'll be careful."

I bit my lip, unease gnawing at me. The machine wasn't just some toy we could search for. It was something bigger—something that felt almost alive. Its cold, metallic hum, the glow of its lights, the way it had rewritten my entire existence—it all felt wrong, like it had been watching me, waiting.

As the day ended, Mom packed up the picnic, and we headed home. Tony stayed behind to help clean up with his mom. Jessica and I sat quietly in the car, the hum of the engine filling the silence. I stared out the window, my thoughts swirling.

The machine wasn't just a memory. It was a mystery, a dark thread that connected everything—my transformation, the changes in my life, even Tony's sudden confession. And now it felt like it was calling me back, its shadow looming larger with each passing day.

That night, as I lay in bed, the world seemed still, but my mind wasn't. Tony's words echoed in my head: "I've always wished I could be a girl." Could I really take him back to the machine? Could I face it again, knowing what it had done to me?

I didn't know. But deep down, I felt the pull—the machine wasn't done with me. And as much as I wanted to leave it buried in the past, I knew it wouldn't stay there.

It never would.