The argument carried through the thin walls of Tony's house, loud enough for the neighbors to hear. His father's booming voice clashed with Tony's defiant cries, each word sharper than the last. From my room, just a few blocks away, I could almost imagine the tension radiating from their home.

"She is not a boy. She's a girl now!" Tony yelled, his voice shaking but firm.

"He's pretending! Jamie is still a boy, no matter what you or anyone else says!" Tony's father roared back.

"You don't understand!" Tony stomped her foot. "I saw her at the hospital—she has a vagina!"

"Sex change or not, Tony, he's still a boy," Tony's father bellowed. "And you will stop this nonsense! Go to your room—NOW!"

The slam of a door was the punctuation to the argument. Tony's dreams and defiance seemed boxed in, like the four walls of the room he was sent to.

Back at my house, I was rummaging through the bathroom cabinet. My period had started again, and I couldn't find my tampons. The discomfort and crankiness of the week had already settled in, making my movements jerky and irritated.

"Mom!" I called. "Have you seen my tampons?"

"They're in the cabinet above the sink, sweetie," she replied from the kitchen.

Jessica emerged from our shared room, rubbing her eyes. "What's with the yelling?" she asked groggily.

"Period," I said flatly.

Jessica chuckled. "You're kind of cute when you're cranky."

I glared at her as she made her way downstairs to Mom. It was shaping up to be one of those days. Little did I know, it was about to get far worse.

After lunch, Tony called. "I'm ready," he said simply, his voice shaky but determined.

I hung up the phone and walked to her house. Tony was climbing out of his bedroom window when I arrived, her movements practiced and fluid. He'd done this countless times before.

"Did you tell them?" I asked, knowing full well he hadn't.

He shook his head, glancing nervously at the house. "No. They wouldn't understand."

"Don't worry," I said, trying to reassure him. "Once we find the machine, they'll know. They'll have to."

We giggled nervously and began the walk. The air was thick with the scent of the city—oil, asphalt, and the faint hint of rain. My stomach churned as we approached the alleyways near where I'd stumbled upon the machine months before.

"Are you sure it's this way?" Tony asked.

"I think so," I replied. The memories of that night were hazy and fragmented. Fear had clouded my vision then, but now, determination led the way.

We turned into a dark, narrow alley. The air grew colder, the shadows deeper. Tony hesitated, he steps faltering. "Jamie... are you sure about this?"

I nodded, though a small voice in the back of my mind whispered warnings. Something about this alley felt wrong, like it had been waiting for us.

And then we saw it.

The machine loomed in the dim light, its metallic surface dull and lifeless. My breath caught in my throat. The sight of it brought back a rush of memories: the blinding lights, the hum of power, the searing pain. It was smaller than I remembered, but just as menacing.

"We found it," Tony whispered, awe in his voice. He was already moving toward it.

"Tony," I called, my voice trembling. "Are you sure? Once you go in, there's no going back."

She paused, reading the faded sign near the entrance: "Those who enter cannot return."

"I'm sure," he said firmly, though his hands shook. "I've always wanted this, Jamie. I can't explain it, but I need to do this."

"Then I'm coming with you," I said, trying to mask my fear with a smile. "After all, I'm already changed. What's the worst that could happen?"

We stepped into the machine together. The moment the door closed behind us, the hum began. It was low at first, almost soothing, but quickly grew louder. Lights flashed—blue, then purple, then a piercing pink. The air crackled with energy, and my skin tingled.

Suddenly, the hum stopped, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. The door creaked open, and we stepped out.

Tony looked down at himself, confusion etched on his face. "Nothing happened," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Maybe it takes time?" I suggested, though doubt crept into my mind. My own transformation had been instant—or had it?

As if on cue, Tony staggered, clutching his head. "I feel... weird," he said before collapsing to the ground.

I knelt beside him, panic rising in my chest. "Tony! Are you okay?"

He didn't respond. His body began to shift before my eyes. His face softened, his hair lengthened, and his figure changed. It was surreal, like watching clay being molded by invisible hands. His chest swelled slightly, his hips rounded, and when the changes stopped, he was no longer Tony. He was a girl.

Hours passed before she woke. I had fallen asleep beside her, the cold ground biting into my skin. "Jamie," she said groggily, sitting up. Her voice was softer, higher. "It worked."

I hugged her tightly, tears streaming down my face. "You did it, Tony! You really did it!"

"My name's not Tony..." she giggled "It's Bloom."

The joy was short-lived. By the time we left the alley, the sky was pitch black. The streetlights flickered ominously as we hurried home. The sound of tires screeching behind us made us freeze. A police car pulled up, its red and blue lights slicing through the darkness.

"Girls!" the officer called. "It's past curfew. I'll need to take you both to the station."

At the Bloomington Police Department, we sat in a sterile room, holding hands as tears rolled down our faces. The officer made a call to my mom, who arrived an hour later, her face tight with worry and anger.

"You didn't go to the mall," she said as we walked to the car. Her tone was low but sharp. "You went to the machine."

I nodded, unable to meet her eyes. "Bloom wanted to change," I said quietly.

Mom sighed, her anger softening. "I hope it was worth it."

When we reached Bloom's house, her father opened the door. The moment he saw her, his face turned crimson. "Get out," he spat, his voice cold. "You're not my child anymore. You're not welcome here."

Bloom sobbed as we drove away. Back at our house, Mom offered her the guest room. Jessica, wide-eyed, stared at Bloom.

"You really did it," Jessica whispered.

"I did," Bloom replied, her voice trembling.

That night, as we sat in the quiet of the guest room, Bloom whispered, "Thank you, Jamie. For everything."

I hugged her, my heart heavy. The machine had given her what she wanted, but at what cost? Something about it still felt wrong, like we had disturbed something that wasn't meant to be touched. And deep down, I knew this wasn't the end.

The machine wasn't done with us yet.