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Author's Note: Here's another one. This one will trick you. I'm wondering how many people will think its one thing at first only to find it turn into something else in the end.
 

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The banging on his door was like a beacon from Hell.

Groaning, Kyle barely acknowledged the noise, trying hard to drown it out, pulling his pillow around his ears like a soft helmet. Sadly it was little to deafen the noise. School had only been out for a day and already his mother was on his case. It was the same thing like last summer. She hated that all he wanted to do was sit around and play video games all day. But it was summer, his vacation and now sixteen, he realized that he only had a few more years of this before adulthood snatched away this carefree life.

"Kyle!" His mother's voice was sharp, cutting through the door like a hot knife through butter. "I've had it with your laziness. This summer you're going to do something productive!"

Here it was again. He wondered if she was going to suggest he get a job like last year. He had tried to explain it to her then that 15 had been too young and no one would hire him. He didn't have that excuse this year though. Maybe he could fall back on his looks? Though 16 now, he till looked like he was 13. He had his mother's soft features and at only five foot three, he inherited her height as well. It didn't help that his hair had grown to below his chin now and covered his eyes.

"I know you're in there, Kyle. Don't think you can ignore me forever!" His mother's voice grew more insistent.

He grunted, finally relenting and rolled out of bed.

"What?" he called out, his voice groggy and unenthused.

"Get dressed and come downstairs," his mother ordered. "I've got a surprise for you."

A surprise from his mother was never a good thing.

He remembered the time she'd signed him up for soccer camp when he was eleven. The heat, the endless running, and the humiliation when he'd been the last picked for every team. Or when she'd decided to 'introduce him to culture' with a week of violin lessons. The sound of his screechy strings had driven the neighbors to despair. And let's not forget the summer she'd thought he'd enjoy gardening. The blisters and sunburn had lasted for what felt like an eternity.

These things were NEVER for him, they were to make her feel better.

With a sigh, Kyle stumbled to his dresser and pulled out a t-shirt and shorts, barely bothering to match. Downstairs, the smell of breakfast filled the air, something she'd cooked herself. It was always a trap. If she'd cooked, it was serious.

"Kyle, sit down," she said, pointing to a chair at the kitchen table. She placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of him, a forced smile on her face. "I've made a decision."

"What is it this time?" he asked, biting his toast. "A trip to climb Mount Everest? Kayaking in the Amazon?"

They were outlandish things but so were all the others. Ok so maybe the others weren't that extreme but to him, anything was crazy when his mother was involved.

"You're going to spend the summer with your Aunt Grace," she announced with the glee of someone who had just found a forgotten twenty in their pocket.

Kyle felt the cold in his veins. It was worse than anything he could imagine.

Aunt Grace was notorious in the family, a stern, no-nonsense woman who didn't just dislike men, she practically despised them. Her visits were filled with glares and snipes, and the rare compliment she ever gave him was always about his 'wasted' looks. As far as she was concerned, he should have been born a girl to make something of himself. His mother, while not quite as extreme, was certainly of the same ilk.

His mother had once told him that she was convinced that he was going to be a girl before he was born. She went so far as decorating the whole nursey in pink and frills. When he was born and was a boy, his mother had been disappointed. She did her best to raise a boy but his whole life, she told him things would have been easier if she just had a daughter.

Kyle often thought to himself: No wonder his father bailed before he was born.

"But why?" he protested weakly, staring at his plate of breakfast as if it held the secrets of the universe.

"Your Aunt Grace has agreed to take you under her wing," his mother said, her voice firm as she sat down across from him. "You need some discipline and direction, Kyle. I've seen the way you've been going and it's just not good enough."

So this was another one his mother's "attempts" to set him on the right path---like the soccer camp and those dump violin lessons.

"But, Mom..." Kyle began to protest but her gaze was like a steel wall.

"No buts, Kyle. You're going to Aunt Grace's and that's final," she said, her voice brooking no argument. "She's going to whip you into shape and turn you into a young adult that I can be proud of."

There was something unspoken there, something dangerous that he half noticed.

Three days later, with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Kyle boarded the bus. He'd never been on a bus by himself before, never even been to a town that wasn't within a twenty-mile radius of his home. The seats were stiff and the air was thick with the scent of diesel and someone's fast food breakfast. The driver took one look at him and grunted, probably thinking that he was running away from home or something dramatic.

He found a spot in the back, near the bathroom, and slumped down into the chair, feeling the vibrations of the engine as it roared to life. His mother had dropped him off with a peck on the cheek and a wink, as if she was sending him on some grand adventure. He knew it was more like sending him to boot camp for the summer.

The bus ride was long and boring. The scenery outside the window was a blur of greens and browns, trees and fields passing by in a never-ending parade. Kyle pulled out his phone, scrolling through his social media feeds, looking for any distraction from the dread that was growing in his stomach. He'd tried calling his friends, but they were all too busy enjoying their first days of freedom. A few had sent messages saying they'd catch up with him when he got back from his 'summer camp'. They had no idea what they were talking about.

He felt like he was being shipped off to a foreign country. Aunt Grace's town was the complete opposite of the bustling suburbia he'd known his whole life. It was quiet, almost eerily so, with the occasional farmhouse dotting the landscape. He'd only been there a few times as a child, and all he remembered was the smell of his aunt's potpourri and the feel of her starched apron against his cheek. He'd spent those visits hiding in his room, playing with his handheld games, hoping the hours would fly by until he could leave.

The bus pulled into the quaint town square. The buildings were old but everything was clean and well maintained. It was like stepping into a postcard from the 1950s, a time warp where everyone knew everyone and the biggest drama was who forgot to lock their car door. The sidewalks were pristine, and the flowers in the hanging baskets looked like they were painted on rather than real. It was so peaceful, it was almost eerie. He'd heard the term "too quiet" in horror movies, and this place had it in spades.

There was a pristine white sign that read, "Welcome to Harrow. Enjoy Your Stay"

Kyle stepped off the bus, the door hissing closed behind him. His mother's words echoed in his mind as the bus chugged away, leaving a trail of dust and diesel fumes. He looked around the town square, the sun beating down on him like an oppressive hand. A few townsfolk glanced his way, curiosity in their gazes. They were probably wondering who the new face was, the boy with the sad eyes and the duffel bag. He was the outsider, the one who didn't belong in their meticulously kept little world.

Across the square, he spotted a group of teens hanging out in front of the corner market. They were all dressed in what Kyle assumed was the local version of cool—tight jeans, plaid shirts, and boots. The kind of outfits that said, "I'm from the country and proud of it." They were laughing and joking around, seemingly without a care in the world. Kyle felt a pang of envy. He wished he could be one of them, just passing the time with ease until the next thrilling thing came along.

As he approached, their chatter died down. He felt their eyes on him, a collective curiosity that was palpable. One of them, a tall boy with pale blonde hair smiled. He was one of those guys, magazine handsome. Kyle was interested in girls but a guy like him even made his heart skip a beat. He was one of those rare handsome beings that could turn even the straightest guy gay in a matter of moments.

The boy's gaze was like a spotlight, following Kyle's every move. It was unsettling and thrilling at the same time. Kyle had never been the center of attention like this, especially not in a positive way. It was like he was some sort of alien that had just landed in their town square.

"Hi, I'm Chris," the blonde-haired boy called out, sauntering over with an easy grace that suggested he owned the place. He stuck out his hand, and Kyle took it, feeling the roughness of his palm. "You new around here?"

Kyle nodded, swiping a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Yeah, I'm Kyle. My mom sent me to stay with my Aunt Grace for the summer."

Kyle noticed Chris's friends watching him too. Wow, they were all tall and kinda handsome too. Was there something in the water around here?

"Well, welcome to Harrow," Chris said with a genuine smile. "What brings you here?"

Kyle grunted. "My mother seems to think I need guidance"

The boys exchanged looks but said nothing else.

Kyle was about to say something else when a sleek black car pulled up and the door opened to reveal Aunt Grace stepping out.

She was indeed a tall, dark-haired beauty, with the kind of poise that made heads turn. Her skin was porcelain, with not a single wrinkle to give away her age. Her hair was long, cascading around her shoulder and down her back and she wore an elegant white blouse tucked into a gray pencil skirt that ended just above her knees. The heels she wore made her legs look endless. Despite her stern demeanor, there was an undeniable charm to her that Kyle had never noticed in the few times they'd met. It was as if she'd stepped out of a magazine, a stark contrast to the laid-back vibe of the town.

The boys lowered their gaze when she looked at them.

"Kyle," Aunt Grace called, her voice cutting through the silence. "Still a pretty little thing, I see"

He was embarrassed by her words but too afraid to say anything.

The boys looked at him with a mix of pity and curiosity. Kyle felt like a bug under a microscope.

"Well get in the car" she said, then climbed back into it.

Kyle gulped but did as he was told.

The ride to Aunt Grace's was tense. She didn't say much, her eyes focused on the road ahead. The car smelled faintly of leather and something floral, a scent that was both comforting and suffocating at the same time. It was like she'd brought a piece of the city with her into this rural haven.

When they pulled into the driveway, Kyle couldn't help but gawk at the house. It was a two-story Victorian monstrosity, painted a stark white with black shutters that looked like they'd been slapped on by a giant hand. The yard was meticulously kept, not a blade of grass out of place. It was a stark contrast to the unkempt lawns and peeling paint of the houses on his block back home.

The interior of the house was like nothing Kyle had ever seen before. It was sleek and modern, a stark contrast to the antique façade. The floors were a gleaming black marble, and the walls were painted a crisp white, adorned with framed photos of flowers that looked more like paintings than photographs. The furniture was minimalist, all sharp lines and chrome, with splashes of color from the cushions and rugs that looked like they'd been chosen by someone who knew their Pantone swatches by heart.

The living room looked like it belonged in a showroom rather than a home. There was a massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, surrounded by shelves filled with books and knickknacks that all looked like they'd been arranged by a professional stylist. The sofa was a stark white leather, and the armchairs looked like they were made for a sci-fi movie set. Kyle couldn't imagine ever feeling comfortable enough to sit on them.

The kitchen was a chef's dream—stainless steel appliances, gleaming countertops, and not a speck of dust to be found. The refrigerator hummed quietly in the corner, filled with neatly arranged fruits and vegetables that looked like they'd been handpicked from a high-end supermarket. The cabinets were spotless, with not even a single fingerprint to mar their shiny surfaces. It was like nothing in this house was meant to be touched by mere mortals.

Aunt Grace showed him to the second floor, her heels clicking against the marble as they ascended the grand staircase. There were four bedrooms, she said, pointing to each door as they passed. His would be at the end of the hall, the only one with no lock. It had its own bathroom too, she added, with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Kyle peeked into the rooms as they walked by. The first was obviously her office, with a large mahogany desk that took up most of the space. The blinds were drawn, and the only light came from the lamp on the desk, casting a warm, inviting glow. The room was filled with books and papers, a stark contrast to the rest of the house's minimalist style. It looked like a place where secrets were born and nurtured until they were ready to be let out into the world.

The second room was his aunt's bedroom, a sanctuary of serenity. The bed was made with military precision, the covers pulled so tight you could bounce a quarter off them. The furniture was antique, with a four-poster bed that looked like it had been stolen from a museum. The walls were adorned with more photos of flowers, but these were actual paintings. Kyle couldn't help but wonder if she had a secret love for botany.

The third room had a lock on the door, shut tight. She said it was off-limits and didn't elaborate.

His bedroom was indeed large, but it was like stepping into a minimalist's dream. The walls were painted a soft beige that matched the plush carpet, which felt like stepping on a cloud. The bed was a sleek, modern piece with a gray comforter that looked like it had been ironed within an inch of its life. There was a single nightstand with a lamp that had no bulb. The dresser was a stark white, with chrome handles that gleamed in the light. It was the kind of room that screamed 'no fun allowed'. The only thing that looked out of place was the large bay window that overlooked the backyard. It was like a portal to the outside world, beckoning him with the promise of escape.

"This is your space" she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We can decorate to your liking later".

Kyle nodded, his eyes still glued to the floor. He had no idea what his likes were. His room back home was a clutter of posters and dirty laundry. Here, it was like he'd stepped into a show home.

The next morning, Kyle's slumber was abruptly interrupted by the shrill sound of an alarm at 6 AM. He groaned, pulling the covers over his head, but the insistent knock on his door didn't cease. With a sigh, he rolled out of bed and shuffled to the door. Aunt Grace was already dressed, her hair in a sleek bun, and she wore a black workout top and white yoga pants.

"Put these on" she said, tossing him a bag from some trendy exercise store.

Inside the bag was a pale pink exercise top and gray yoga pants. It was the kind of outfit that no self respecting boy would be caught wearing. He was about to protest but Aunt Grace's stern glare silenced his unspoken protests.

"What's this for?" he asked, finally finding his voice.

"Your future" she said curtly. "As soon as you're dressed, meet me in the exercise room in the basement".

Then she left.

Kyle looked down at the clothes in his hand. The pink top was like holding a declaration of his impending doom. He'd never worn anything pink before. But Aunt Grace had spoken and apparently, she wasn't one for compromise. He slipped on the yoga pants, feeling the material cling to his legs in a way that made him uncomfortable. The top was tight, hugging his chest and highlighting his lack of muscles. He looked at himself in the mirror and cringed. He was not cut out for this.

With a sigh, he headed down to the basement. The stairs creaked under his feet, echoing through the quiet house like a gunshot. The basement door was at the bottom of the stairs, a heavy oak monolith that looked like it hadn't been opened in years. He pushed it open and the smell of fresh paint and new equipment hit him like a sledgehammer. The room was vast, the walls painted a stark white that made him feel like he'd walked into a hospital room. The floor was a soft, padded material that felt like walking on a cloud.

In the center of the room was a gleaming treadmill, flanked by a rowing machine and a stationary bike. A weight bench and a rack of free weights lined one wall, with a punching bag in the corner. But what caught his eye was the ballet corner. It was like a mini-studio, with a floor-to-ceiling mirror taking up one whole wall, a ballet barre running along the bottom, and a pristine wooden floor that looked like it hadn't been touched. The barre was padded with white leather that matched the mirror.

Aunt Grace was already there, warming up with a set of weights. "Good morning, Kyle," she said, without missing a beat. "Let's start with some cardio, shall we?"

Kyle nodded, his eyes lingering on the ballet corner. He'd never been into sports, let alone the idea of ballet. But here he was, dressed in pink and gray, about to sweat in a room that smelled of fresh paint and ambition.

The first few days were hell. His body was not used to this kind of torture, and he was pretty sure that by the end of the week he'd be begging for mercy. The mornings started with a run on the treadmill that made him feel like he was on a never-ending conveyor belt to nowhere. Aunt Grace was relentless, pushing him to go faster, to push through the burn. After that came the weights, her sharp eyes never leaving him as he struggled to lift the barbell above his head. It was like she was trying to sculpt him into something he wasn't.

Breakfast was always something light, something 'good for him'. Fruit, yogurt, and granola that crunched in his mouth like tiny pieces of cardboard. He missed the greasy breakfast burritos from the local diner, the ones that left him feeling full and satisfied, not like he was about to starve. But he knew better than to complain. Aunt Grace didn't do well with whiners.

Then came the vitamins that she insisted would help "shape him up".

Each morning, after the cardio, Aunt Grace would mix a concoction of powders and pills into a glass of water that smelled like a swamp. "Drink up," she'd say with a smile that was more a challenge than a comfort. It was a ritual that Kyle came to dread, but he knew better than to argue. The taste was like a mix of chalk and grass, but he forced it down, hoping for a miracle that never came.

The rest of the day was a blur of chores that she deemed necessary to turn him into a 'respectable' young man. He learned to cook meals that weren't just microwaveable, to clean without leaving a single smudge, and even to fold towels into neat little triangles. It was mind-numbingly tedious, but Aunt Grace was a perfectionist and she didn't tolerate laziness.

It all felt pointless.

Grace had a routine for him, a strict regimen that she enforced with military precision. It was like she'd read every self-help book in existence and was now using him as her personal experiment. He'd run, lift weights, and take those dreaded vitamins, only to spend the afternoons doing chores that made him feel like Cinderella before the ball. It was exhausting, and no matter how much he complained, she just nodded and said, "It's all for your own good."

But it wasn't just his physical health she was after; she was also obsessed with his hygiene. Every morning, he'd be handed a basket of products that smelled like a field of flowers had thrown up in his bathroom. He showered every morning, using the fruity shampoo that made his hair smell like a piña colada and the body wash that made him feel like he'd been dipped in a vat of lavender. He'd emerge, scrubbed and scented, feeling more like a department store mannequin than a teenage boy.

Aunt Grace had stocked his bathroom with a lineup of moisturizers, scrubs, and serums that looked like they cost more than his entire gaming setup. She'd watch him with a critical eye as he applied them, giving instructions in a tone that suggested this was the most important thing he'd ever do. "Looking good and feeling good go hand in hand," she'd say, as if reciting a mantra. Kyle had never thought about his skin in such depth, but here he was, pondering the benefits of retinol and the necessity of a toner.

Each night, she'd sit him down and give him a lecture on the importance of skincare. She talked about the horrors of clogged pores and the beauty of a good exfoliant with the passion of a conspiracy theorist discussing their latest findings. Kyle nodded along, too tired to argue, too baffled to do anything but follow her instructions. He'd slather on the creams and serums, feeling the coolness of the products seep into his skin. He had to admit, it felt... good. The scents of lavender and chamomile filled the air, lulling him into a state of relaxation he hadn't felt in years.

The next week, things changed. The strange thing was, he didn't wake in the morning exhausted anymore. He even started waking before the alarm and dressing in his workout clothes without even thinking about it. There was something almost meditative about the routine, the way the fabric slid over his body, the smell of the room, the soft glow of the early dawn outside the window. It was like his body had finally accepted that this was the new normal.

He did his morning routine in the exercising room without complain. He took his vitamins without thinking about them anymore. He even did his chores with a pep in his step. He also noticed that the hygiene routine had made his skin and hair much softer, it was like he was glowing now.

But the thing that had really changed was his relationship with Aunt Grace. She'd started to crack a smile here and there, and her criticism had turned into guidance. She wasn't just his drill sergeant anymore; she was starting to feel like a coach, pushing him to be better but also acknowledging his efforts. He'd even caught her watching him with something that might have been pride when he managed to cook a decent meal or when he didn't trip over his own feet during their yoga sessions anymore.

One morning, she handed him a unisex leotard and some tights. "We're going to work on your grace," she said, her voice softer than usual.

Kyle looked at the outfit in horror. "What is this?"

"This is your ballet attire," Aunt Grace said firmly. "We're going to work on your posture, balance, and poise. It's not just for girls, you know. Plenty of men are quite successful in ballet."

Kyle took the leotard and tights with a look of utter disbelief. He'd seen guys in tights in video games, sure, but that was fantasy. This was real life. "What the...?"

"You've improved so much already" Aunt Grace explained, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Surely you want to see this through to the end?"

To the end? What end?

The leotard clung to him like a second skin, the tights leaving nothing to the imagination. Kyle looked in the mirror and couldn't help but snicker. He felt ridiculous, like a circus clown.

"You look adorable" said a beaming Grace behind him.

Kyle rolled his eyes but couldn't hold back the smirk that was playing on his lips.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," he said, turning to his aunt. "I'm not exactly... you know, graceful."

Aunt Grace just laughed. "That's what the lessons are for," she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Now, let's get started."

And so, Kyle found himself at the ballet barre, feeling like the most ungraceful creature on earth. His feet felt like they were encased in concrete blocks as he attempted to perform the simple pliés she instructed. He stumbled, he wobbled, and once, he even face-planted into the pristine white carpet. But through it all, Aunt Grace remained unflappable, offering gentle corrections and encouragement.

A week later, Kyle began to notice something strange. His movements weren't just more coordinated; he felt more alive, more connected to his body. He'd always been a clumsy kid, but now, there was a grace to him that he hadn't had before. He could feel the muscles in his legs and arms strengthening, his balance improving. The burn in his muscles after a workout had turned into a familiar ache, a sign of progress.

The ballet lessons had become a strange source of comfort. He liked the way the fabric of the leotard hugged his body, the way the tights made him feel sleek and powerful. He'd never thought about posture before, but now, he found himself standing taller, his shoulders back. It was like he was discovering a new part of himself, a part that had been hidden beneath layers of laziness and doubt.

As the days went by, Kyle began to enjoy the lessons more and more. There was something about the precision of ballet that spoke to him, something that mirrored the way Aunt Grace approached the rest of her life. It was all about control, about pushing through the pain to achieve something beautiful.

The basement was no longer a prison but a place of transformation. He'd start with the cardio, his heart pumping in time with the music that Aunt Grace played, the thump of his feet on the treadmill echoing in the empty room. Then came the weights, his muscles protesting at first but gradually growing stronger, more defined. After that was the dreaded vitamin cocktail, followed by a breakfast that was both healthy and surprisingly filling.

The ballet lessons had become a sort of ritual for Kyle. He'd stand at the barre, his reflection in the mirror a blur of pink and gray. His body was changing, the angles softer, the muscles more refined. His biceps didn't bulge though, but there was a new kind of strength to him. A grace that was unmistakably feminine, yet undeniably powerful. He'd watch himself in the mirror, his movements becoming more fluid, his posture improving with each passing day.

The mornings had turned into a silent dance between Kyle and his reflection. He'd stare into the glass, his eyes meeting his own, and for a brief moment, he'd see someone different. Someone who didn't just play the hero in video games but was becoming one in his own life. The exercises had sculpted him, sure, but the ballet was doing something else, something deeper. It was as if the very essence of what it meant to be graceful was seeping into his bones, rearranging him from the inside out.

The lethargy of his former life was gone, replaced by a newfound energy that had him eagerly jumping out of bed every day. The idea of spending his days playing games and eating junk food was as alien to him as speaking in another language. Instead, he found joy in the burn of his muscles, the sweat on his brow, and the sense of accomplishment that came with every completed set.

In the mirror, Kyle's reflection had morphed into something unexpected. His body, once lanky and awkward, had taken on new curves and lines that hinted at the grace of a dancer. His stomach, though not sporting the chiseled abs of a teen magazine cover boy, had a softness to it that was surprisingly appealing. The muscles in his back and legs had elongated, no longer bulging but rather flowing into one another like a river of power. His chest had filled out just a bit, and the way the leotard clung to him highlighted the new shape of his physique.

He was still undeniably male, but there was a feminine elegance to his movements that he hadn't noticed before. When he lifted his arms, the muscles in his shoulders and back rippled in a way that was both powerful and delicate. His legs, now strong and lean, had a certain je ne sais quoi that made him feel lighter, as if he could leap into the air and float there. He found himself smoothing the leotard over his hips, admiring the way the fabric clung to his newfound curves.

It was strange and confusing though. He shouldn't have curves nor a muscle tone that belonged to a hot instagram model. He tried to ask Grace about it but she waved it off, telling him it was all because of the proper diet and exercise. When he tried to argue, she silenced it with one of her glares.

Things came to an interesting head when she took him into town that Saturday. His old clothes didn't fit properly anymore when he tried them on that morning. They were tight in some places and loose in others. He was confused, wondering when such a thing had happened. What's worse, his chest had been itchy as of late.

"Let's get you some new clothes," Aunt Grace said with a knowing smile. She handed him a pair of gray sweatpants and a hoodie that she'd bought for him. They were both a size smaller than he'd usually wear, but she insisted they'd fit.

Kyle reluctantly slipped into the clothes. The sweatpants clung to his body, outlining curves that weren't there before. He looked down, surprised at how his hips flared and his butt looked surprisingly... nice. The hoodie was another story. It was definitely meant for a girl. It had a deep scoop neck that showed off the swell of his new chest, and the fabric was softer than anything he'd ever worn. The material was so thin, it was like a second skin, revealing the new contours of his body.

Kyle was surprised. Had the exercise done this to him?

In town, heads turned as they strolled down the main street. The townsfolk, who had once regarded him with curiosity, now greeted him with smiles and nods. The compliments started rolling in from the shopkeepers they encountered, mostly women but also some men. They praised his newfound posture and the way he carried himself with poise. It was as if they were seeing him for the first time.

Kyle felt a blush creeping up his neck as a particularly attractive cashier at the boutique they visited gushed over his outfit, saying it brought out his eyes. His eyes? Kyle had never been one to get compliments from strangers, especially about his looks. Aunt Grace just chuckled, patting his shoulder proudly. "See? I told you that ballet would do wonders for you."

But when they reached the market, his heart skipped a beat as he spotted Chris, standing outside by the vending machines, looking utterly alone. The other teens from the group were nowhere in sight. Chris' eyes widened when he saw Kyle, and for a moment, Kyle wondered if he'd made a mistake in accepting this outing. Grace's grip on his arm tightened briefly, and then she let go, giving him a knowing smile before sauntering away to enter the store, leaving them alone.

"Kylie?" Chris asked, confused.

Kyle didn't notice how Chris had feminized his name.

"Hey, Chris," he said, trying to sound casual. "What's up?"

Chris's face lit up. "You look...different" he admitted, wondering had "she" always been this feminine?

Then again he'd only met her that once and she was dressed in a baggy hoodie at the time.

Chris leaned against the vending machine, his eyes scanning Kyle up and down. "What's with the new look?" he asked with a smirk. "You're looking pretty... fit."

Kyle shrugged, feeling a bit self-conscious. "Aunt Grace's idea of a summer makeover," he said, trying to laugh it off.

He was completely oblivious to everything.

Chris gave him a strange, almost said look before continuing. "You know, I honestly think you look a lot better now"

"Thanks" said Kyle, absently pushing some hair behind his left ear in a very feminine gesture not lost on Chris.

Chris leaned in closer. "So, Kylie, want to catch a movie tonight?" he asked with a confidence that seemed to rise out of nowhere, surprising even himself.

Kyle's eyes lit up. "Yeah, sure," he said, not picking up on the flirty undertone in Chris's voice. "It's been forever since I've seen anything on the big screen."

Chris grinned. "Great," he said, his eyes lingering on Kyle's new curves. "How about the seven o'clock showing of that new action flick?"

"Sounds great, dude" said an enthusiastic Kyle, happy for a chance to get out of the house and away from Aunt Grace.

But when he mentioned his plans to Aunt Grace, her expression grew thoughtful. "A movie?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Well, we can't have you going out looking like that."

Kyle looked down at his sweatpants and hoodie, feeling self-conscious. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"It's not about what's wrong, Kylie," Aunt Grace said, her voice filled with a hint of amusement. "It's about what's right for the occasion."

He didn't even notice that she called him "Kylie" either.

The evening of the movie, Aunt Grace had him dressed in a way that made him feel both excited and anxious. He was in a pair of skinny black jeans that hugged his new curves like a second skin, and a crop top that revealed a hint of the muscles he'd worked so hard on. His hair was styled in a way that framed his face, making his eyes look bigger and his cheekbones more prominent.

He was reluctant to wear the top but when she gave him a stylish leather jacket to pair with it, he was over the moon. He used to beg his mother to let him have a jacket like that but she never budged. She said it made him look like a thug. Looking in the mirror with it on, he thought he looked "cool". In truth, it was a feminine cut jacket, if anything it made him look cute and sexy. Not like he noticed again.

The "date" started at the local pizza place, Vinnie's, where Chris introduced him to all the local teens. They were a mix of guys and girls, all dressed in stylish, slightly edgy ways that made Kyle feel a bit out of place in his new attire. But as the night went on, he realized that they were all just like him—trying to find their place in the world, looking for acceptance in a town that hadn't changed much since they were kids.

There was something strange about the way they interacted though. Some of them acted almost awkward and clumsy, like baby chicks right out of their shells.

Chris had his arm casually around Kyle's waist, guiding him through the crowd, introducing him as "my friend Kylie". The way they interacted was so different from the first time they met. It was as if Kyle had become a part of the group overnight. The teens at the pizza place looked him over, some with envy, others with admiration, and a few with something else entirely. Kyle felt like the belle of the ball, the newest member of a cool clique.

The smell of cheese and tomato sauce filled the air, mingling with the sound of laughter and the clink of silverware. He'd never been to Vinnie's before, and the buzz of energy was infectious. He slid into the booth next to Chris, the cool leather of the jacket brushing against the vinyl upholstery. The others crowded around, eager to get to know him better.

The conversation flowed easily, and Kyle felt himself relaxing. He'd forgotten what it was like to be around people his own age, to share stories and laugh at jokes that didn't involve his mom or his aunt's weird habits. They talked about school, their favorite movies, and the latest gossip. It was like he'd stumbled into a secret club, and he was finally a member.

They talked and laughed until a little before seven then they headed off to the local movie theater. It was an old theater building that looked like it had been there since the turn of last century.

The movie was one of those typical action flicks, full of explosions and one-liners. But Kyle couldn't focus on the screen. It wasn't because the movie was bad, but because of the warmth that was emanating from the body next to him. It was Chris, who had somehow managed to slide his arm around Kyle's shoulders without him even noticing.

He felt a strange tingling sensation, something he'd never felt before. It was uncomfortable yet oddly comforting. The smell of Chris's cologne filled his nostrils, making him feel dizzy. He tried to shift away, but his body seemed to have a mind of its own, leaning back into the embrace.

Chris looked down at him, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You okay, Kylie?" he whispered, his breath hot against Kyle's ear.

Kyle nodded, trying to ignore the way his heart was racing. He couldn't put his finger on why, but something felt... off. Like he was watching the movie through a foggy lens, unable to focus on the explosions and car chases.

As the credits rolled, Chris leaned over, his breath hot on Kyle's cheek. "So, what did you think?"

Kyle's heart was thumping. "I think it was wonderful" he said softly.

Chris's smile grew wider, and for a moment, Kyle thought he was going to lean in for a kiss. But instead, he pulled back, a playful look in his eyes. "Good to know," he said, his voice low and intimate. "We'll have to do this again."

Kyle nodded, his heart racing. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Definitely."

The drive home was a blur. Kyle couldn't stop thinking about the way Chris's arm had felt around him, the warmth of his body, the smell of his cologne. He'd never been this close to anyone before, and the feelings it stirred up in him were confusing, to say the least.

When Aunt Grace opened the door, she took one look at him and raised an eyebrow. "Looks like you had a good time," she said, her eyes twinkling.

"It was amazing," Kyle said, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. "Thanks for letting me go."

Aunt Grace's smile was knowing. "You're welcome, Kylie," she said, calling him by the new nickname that seemed to stick more and more. "I'm just happy to see you making friends."

The rest of the night, Kyle couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. He lay in bed, replaying the evening in his mind, from the moment he'd met up with Chris to the awkward goodbye at the door. Had that really been a date? It had felt like one, with the way Chris had looked at him and talked to him. But Kyle had never been on a date before, let alone with a boy.

The next week was indeed confusing, especially as he drifted more into this new shift of his life. The leotard and tights had become second nature, the exercises a routine that brought him a strange sense of peace. His body continued to change, the muscles growing softer and more defined, his movements more fluid. The mirror reflected a person he barely recognized, a person who was becoming more and more comfortable in their own skin.

The feminization was subtle at first. He noticed that the leotards fit more snugly, the fabric stretching over his growing breasts. His hips had widened, his waist narrowing into a curve that made him feel like a woman. The reflection in the mirror was definitely more girl than boy now, with a softness to his features that made him look...pretty. Kyle didn't know what to think about it, but he couldn't deny that it felt good to look good.

But it was more than just the clothes fitting differently. His skin was smoother, his body hair thinner. He'd caught himself a few times stroking the newfound curves of his hips and chest, marveling at the softness of his skin. And when he looked in the mirror, his eyes were somehow brighter, more... alive. It was like he was becoming someone else. Someone who was accepted and liked.

The confusion grew when Aunt Grace started calling him "Kylie" more often than not. At first, he'd just shrugged it off as a slip of the tongue, but the more she said it, the more it stuck. It was like she was seeing someone else when she looked at him. And the weird thing was, he didn't hate it. He liked the way the name rolled off her tongue, the way it made him feel.

As the summer progressed, Kyle found himself spending more and more time with Chris. It started with casual hangouts, playing video games and watching movies at Chris's house but it quickly grew into something else. They'd walk down to the local park, holding hands, the sun setting on their faces, turning their skin a warm golden color. The town's people started to whisper, but Kyle didn't care. It was like he was in a bubble, a world where only he and Chris mattered.

One night, Chris said something that made Kyle feel weird: "You're doing a lot better with this than I thought".

Kyle looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

Chris leaned back on the couch, studying him intently. "You know, the whole..." His voice trailed off at the clueless look that Kyle was giving him. "Holy shit, you have no idea!"

Kyle blinked, his eyes widening with confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Chris bit his lip. "Wait here" he said, leaving Kyle on the couch.

He left the living room, coming back a few seconds later with a pink cased smartphone. It was the kind of phone a girl might have. Chris sat down next to him and started scrolling through the phone until he showed Kyle a selfie of a very pretty blonde girl, making a ridiculous kissy face at the screen. There was something very familiar about the girl.

Kyle stared at her. "She's cute, is this your sister?"

Chris sighed. "No, not even close" he set the phone aside with a sigh. "That's....me"

Kyle looked at him with confusion. "But that's a girl!" Kylie gave him a once over. "Are you trans? Its cool if you are, I won't judge"

Chris squeezed his hand and shook his head. "Its a little more complicated than that"

"You see," he began, his eyes searching Kyle's for any signs of understanding, "Harrow is a...special place. Some say it's cursed, others say it's blessed."

Chris took a deep breath, his thumb tracing the edge of the phone. "Every few generations, something strange happens here. One in five people... they just change. Like me. I was born Abigail."

Kyle's eyes went wide. "I don't understand..."

"Harrow Born" said Chris as if it explained everything. "Its what we're called. The Spontaneous Ones. Some call us Fivers. Regardless, we're born one gender and change to another before our 18th birthday."

"Why are you telling me?" asked Kyle, scared and confused.

"Let me ask you something" Chris took a calculated breath. "Cheer Camp or Football Camp?"

"What?" asked Kyle, more confused.

Chris laughed. "Did your parents try to enroll you in Cheer Camp or Soccer Camp growing up?"

Kyle was starting to put it together. "Soccer" he said softly.

Chris shook his head. "Sounds like they knew but we're trying to see for sure. Some parents can't accept it, others try to change it. They can't. Nothing stops it. My parents accepted it, they sent me to Football Camp. I hated it. I still hate football, stupid sport".

Kyle nodded slowly, his mind racing with questions. "But why tell me?"

"I think you know" said Chris, giving his hand another squeeze.

Kyle sighed. Yeah he knew. For a split moment, he almost thought that his Aunt and his mother had concocted some twisted plan to turn him into a girl. His mother had always wanted a daughter after all. Which made him wonder. Had his mother suspected he was Harrow Born or had she known? What's more, was she Harrow Born too? This was the town his mother grew up in after all? Was that why she sent him here? She knew he was going to change?

He looked down at his now much softer, more feminine hands. The nails painted a delicate shade of pink that Aunt Grace had applied a few days ago. He'd been so clumsy at first, smearing it everywhere. But now, it was as if he'd been doing it all his life. He felt a mix of anger and betrayal bubble up in his chest. How could they keep something like this from him? How could they let him live his whole life not knowing what was going to happen to him?

But as he sat there, the anger slowly dissipated. It was replaced by a strange feeling of... relief. It wasn't his Aunt's doing. It wasn't his mother's. It wasn't because he was weak or not enough of a man. It was just who he was. And if Chris could handle it, if he could be happy as who he was, maybe Kyle could too.

"You ok?" asked Chris.

Kyle nodded but burst into tears anyway. Chris held him and let him cry on his shoulder.

When Kyle went home that night, he was still pretty angry at Aunt Grace. He glared at her and stomped to his room.

The next morning, Kyle woke up early, dressed in a pair of shorts and a tee and stomped downstairs, ready to confront Aunt Grace. He found her in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea and flipping through a magazine.

"Aunt Grace," he said, his voice shaking with anger, "You knew! This whole time you knew and you didn't say anything!"

He was practically screaming at her.

Grace was in high form too. "Don't use that tone of voice with me young lady"

There it was. Grace had known.

"How could you!" Kyle all but screamed again.

Grace glared. "Calm down right now and we'll talk about it like civil people"

It took Kyle a few minutes but he finally stopped seething and dropped into a kitchen chair.

"Your mother was worried," Aunt Grace began, setting down her magazine, her eyes filled with a gentle understanding that didn't match the sternness of her words. "She knew that she couldn't handle it, not like I can. You see, I went through the same thing. I know what it's like to wake up one day and realize that you're not who you thought you were."

Kyle was shocked. Grace was beautiful and so feminine. There wasn't a trace of her ever being a boy. Then again he realized there was no trace of Abigail left in Chris either.

Grace took a sip of tea, her eyes never leaving Kyle. "When your mother found out she was pregnant with you, she was terrified. She knew the risks of having a Harrow Born child, especially in our family."

Kyle felt his stomach twist. "Why keep it a secret?"

Aunt Grace sighed, setting down her tea. "Your mother didn't want you to live in fear," she said. "She wanted you to have a normal childhood. And she knew that if she told you, you might spend your whole life worrying about when it would happen."

Had Chris worried his whole life?

"She could have told me, prepared me" he said, a little pissed off.

"Would you have listened? Would you have believed her?" asked Grace.

Kyle admitted he probably would have thought he was nuts.

"It wasn't easy for her" Grace continued. "When she moved away, she was determined not to have children. Then she met your father and things happened. When he bailed after you were born, after she told him the truth of what might happen, she was devastated. She was hoping to have a normal child, hoping your father's genes would cancel things out. She was pretty confident she was having a little girl too. Best laid plans I suppose. At first you seemed like a normal boy but she tried testing you. The thing is, you didn't gravitate to anything boyish or girly until you were older. You definitely screamed boy but looked so pretty." Grace took a breath. "When puberty didn't happen at 13, we knew. She was hoping to tell you but you were such a lazy kid, she decided tough love was the only answer to help you see it through"

"So she sent me to the man hater?" he said and regretted it instantly.

Grace burst out laughing. "That's how you saw me..." Her voice trailed off. "Oh God, I suppose I did come across as a bitch. It wasn't intentionally, it was hard for me. I was jealous a bit when it looked like you weren't Harrow Born but now..."

"I'm definitely a girl" he said softly.

She nodded. "You like Chris don't you?"

Kyle said nothing but his blush was enough.

Grace nodded. "It's alright, it happens to most of us. You'll get used to it. But let's talk about what we need to do now."

The following days saw a shift in the dynamics of the house. Gone were the feminine outfits that had been forced upon Kyle. Now they were chosen with care, picked out with his newfound understanding of his identity. He started to enjoy the feel of the fabrics against his skin, the way the clothes hugged his new curves. He was still a boy in his mind but his body was definitely that of a young woman, changing every day.

The workouts grew more intense, and Aunt Grace became more than a drill sergeant—she became a mentor, a guide through the tumultuous journey of becoming a Harrow Born. They talked about the changes happening to his body, the emotions that swirled like a tornado in his chest. She taught him to appreciate his new form, to see the beauty in it.

Chris and Kyle grew closer, their bond forged in the fire of shared experiences. They'd sit for hours, talking about their fears, their hopes, and their dreams. Kyle found solace in Chris's understanding and the gentle way he touched his hand, his eyes full of patience and acceptance. It was like he'd found a piece of himself that he didn't know was missing.

One evening, as they watched the sun set from the porch, Kyle finally found the courage to call his mother. She answered on the second ring, her voice tentative and hopeful. "K-K-Kyle?" she stuttered.

"It's me, Mom," Kyle said, his voice softer, more melodic than he remembered.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment, he thought she'd hung up. Then, she spoke, her voice shaking with a mix of surprise and fear. "Sweetie, I'm so sorry. I should have told you. I was so scared..."

Kyle took a deep breath. "It's okay, Mom. I get it now. It's just...different."

His mother sighed in relief. "I'm so proud of you, Kylie," she said, the name slipping out naturally. "You're growing up so fast, becoming such a beautiful young woman."

Kyle bit his lip. "Mom, not Kylie. Its too weird".

There was a pause on the line. "Alright, Kyle, but just know that you can call yourself whatever you want. It's your journey."

"What would you have called me if I'd been born a girl?" he asked, wanting his mother to be apart of this journey too.

Her voice grew soft. "Well, if you had been a girl, I always liked the name Olivia."

Kyle felt his heart clench. "Olivia," he murmured, rolling it over his tongue. It felt right. It felt like a name that belonged to this new person looking back at him in the mirror.

The rest of the summer passed in a blur. He embraced his new name, Olivia, and with it, the changes that continued to unfold. His body grew softer, his features more delicate. Aunt Grace's house was no longer a prison but a sanctuary, a place where he could be himself—or rather, herself. The exercises and diet that once felt like punishment were now a celebration of the beauty that grew within her.

Olivia found comfort in the routine, the predictability of each day offering a sense of control amidst the chaos of change. The ballet lessons grew more intense, her body adapting to the art's strict discipline. The leotards and pointe shoes that once felt alien now hugged her figure with a familiar embrace, her movements in them more natural with each passing week.

Chris remained by her side, a constant in a world that felt as if it was spinning out of control. Their bond grew stronger, each shared smile and whispered conversation adding another thread to the tapestry of their relationship. It was as if he had been there all along, a silent guardian in the shadows, waiting for her to emerge.

The day came when Chris took Olivia to the town's summer carnival. The lights twinkled in the early evening sky, casting a warm glow on their faces as they walked hand in hand. It was a simple date, filled with the kind of innocent excitement that comes from the knowledge that you've found someone who sees you, truly sees you, for who you are. They laughed and talked, sharing a cotton candy that stuck to their fingers and faces, leaving them both with a sugary smile.

As they approached the Ferris wheel, Olivia felt a flutter in her stomach. This was it. This was where she'd kiss a boy for the first time as a girl. And not just any boy—Chris. Her heart raced as they boarded the creaking ride, the wind playing with her hair, making it dance around her face like a soft pink veil. They sat in the little car at the top, the world below them a blur of color and sound, and for a moment, it was just the two of them.

Chris looked at her, his eyes filled with a warmth that made her feel like she was home. "You're beautiful," he said, his voice low and sincere.

Olivia blushed. "Thanks," she said, looking down at her new dress. It was a soft shade of pink that matched the blush on her cheeks. Aunt Grace had picked it out, saying it would make her look like a "true Harrow Born lady."

Chris's thumb brushed against hers as they walked, sending a thrill through her. She had never felt this way before, like every touch was electric. It was a strange and wonderful feeling, like discovering a secret part of herself she had never known existed.

He kissed her when they reached the top. It was perfect.

It solidified her as a girl through and through.

When Summer finally came to an end, Olivia felt a pang of sadness that she hadn’t anticipated. She had grown to love the quaint town of Harrow, with its peculiar secrets and welcoming embrace of the Harrow Born. The thought of leaving Chris behind was unbearable, but she had to return to her old life, or what was left of it.

As the day of her departure approached, Aunt Grace took her aside. "Your mother called," she said, her voice gentle. "She's coming to pick you up tomorrow."

Olivia felt a knot form in her stomach. She didn't know how to feel. On one hand, she was excited to see her mom, but on the other, she was scared of what awaited her outside this little bubble of acceptance.

When her mother's car pulled up, she saw a woman who looked both exhausted and hopeful. The lines on her face had deepened, but her eyes shone with an excitement that was contagious. "You look...so beautiful" her mother said, trying to hide the shock in her voice.

Mother and daughter hugged for the first time, both teary eyed.

Her mother looked at her with a mix of amazement and love. "I had no idea," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "But I'm so proud of you, Olivia."

Olivia felt a weight lift off her shoulders. The secret she had carried alone for so long was now shared, and with it came a sense of relief. They talked for hours about the summer, about Chris, about the changes she had gone through, and about the future. Her mother listened intently, her eyes never leaving Olivia's face.

And then she was even more surprised when her mother told her they were moving to Harrow. "What?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her mother nodded, her eyes filled with determination. "It's for the best," she said, her voice steady. "We need to be closer to your Aunt Grace, and I think it's time for a change of scenery. Plus this is a place where you can grow and learn to be the girl you are now with people who will understand you more than anyone else in the world"

Olivia was thrilled beyond words. She was staying in Harrow. The town had become a second home, filled with the people who had helped shape her into the young woman she was becoming. She couldn't wait to tell Chris the news. As soon as her mother had unpacked the car and started unloading her luggage, Olivia slipped away. She didn't bother changing out of her travel clothes. The excitement bubbled within her, urging her to run the short distance to Chris's house.

Her heart raced as she sprinted down the familiar streets, her feet barely touching the ground. When she reached his door, she could feel the anticipation building. She took a deep breath and knocked. The door swung open, and there he was, looking surprised and slightly confused.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, shocked and surprised to see her. "I thought you..."

His eyes were red from crying.

She threw herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his torso. "I'm not going anywhere"

Chris's eyes went wide with surprise, before he broke into a grin. "You're staying?"

"I'm staying" she said.

The two of them kissed.

At the beginning of the summer, she never thought this where her life was going to be. She was no longer that lazy, bored boy anymore. She was Harrow Born and this is where she was always meant to be.

The End.

Author’s note: As I’m sure all of you know, comments are life blood to an author. I’m not begging or demanding, but I certainly would appreciate anything you have to say (or ask). It doesn’t have to be long and involved, just give me your reaction to the story. Thanks in advance...EOF