Author's Note: This story is similar to a story I read here called “A Fish Tale,” written by the user Amellie. I call this a fan fiction because there are enough differences where it could stand on its own but enough similarities that credit is due. I wanted to try something a bit less emotional so there isn't much in the way of character development. As always, thanks to djkauf for editing and comments are always appreciated.

I suppose the easiest place to start is at the beginning. I am a twenty-two year old woman named Morgan who lives in the middle of landlocked America. Being an only child of a very distant family who has difficulty making new friends, I spend most of my time at work helping my boss as an administrative assistant. Any free time I end up having during the day I usually spend watching the Discovery channel or reading obscure fiction stories from the local library. In fact the thing that knows me best in my secluded lifestyle is my library card. With its recommended read lists based on previous selections I whisk my mind off on glorious adventures that I can’t put down, but I’m getting off track.

The start of my plight occurred on a Tuesday afternoon, it was quickly approaching closing time for my business when my boss, Mr. Anderson, call me Fred, walked up to my desk directly outside of his office. “Hey Morgan. Listen, I’m about to head out for the night but I needed to tell you that the aquarium our campaign is based on has run into a snafu of administrative issues. Their paperwork is in a big mess since the usual assistant has been on her honeymoon.” Realizing that the organization that both myself and Brenda, the honeymooning assistant, have been using requires constant upkeep or else turns into an unsortable stack of paper I see where he is going with the conversation. “Since you are the only person in the company who has worked with all of the papers they have, you are also the only person who knows how to file them now that they are in one pile. The aquarium is willing to pay to have you fly out there and sort out the mess before they have their inspection next week. It will require a fair bit of overtime, but they are prepared to cover the cost. It would mean you would have to leave as soon as possible to sort everything out.”

Having opened my calendar on my PC while he fills me in, I see no important dates for the next couple weeks. “I can leave tomorrow morning if the tickets are available but I’m afraid if I sort out the mess there I will be returning to a mess here.”

Clearly having thought of this detail he chimes in, “I know enough of your organization to keep this place tidy for a couple weeks so one week should be fine.”

Having little faith in his organization skills but recognizing that he is still my boss, I give him an affirmative nod. “Then I will find tickets before I leave tonight and won’t be in tomorrow.”

Giving me a nod he bids me good night and walks out of the office towards his truck. Now having the office to myself I slip off my shoes and pull my hair back into a high ponytail. While not making me fully comfortable, I feel a little better. While I’m sure Fred wouldn’t have minded me making myself comfortable, I get a bit self conscious about being too relaxed at work sometimes. Firing up an internet search engine I start on my ticket search. No flights are scheduled to leave tomorrow due to the nasty weather that is apparently supposed to be starting in my destination. However tonight there is a plane taking off that gets me most of the way there, then lands at a private airport. From there I can book a puddle jumper or take a car relatively easily. Booking that flight so that I don’t have to deal with the weather delaying my already time sensitive trip I search the car rental rates at the airport and see that they cost more than several plane tickets, probably because it’s a private airport. I check the puddle jumper rates and see that they are going for low prices, as they should with a bad economy.

Taking one of the cheaper, but not the cheapest, puddle jumper rides I hurriedly pack up my belongings so that I can be sure to board the plane on time tonight. I drive home quickly and pack my bag with a week’s worth of supplies. I also pack some snacks in my bag, you never know when you’re going to get hungry on a plane and those meals taste terrible.

I make it through airport security relatively quickly, and am at my gate with a 30 minute wait time. I sit at the glass windows and watch the planes take off and land while I listen to music on my Ipod and snack on a cinnamon bun for dinner.

When boarding is called I get on the plane and promptly get to my seat. With no one on either side of me I effortlessly take my seat and stow my bag under my feet. Once the plane is in the air I dig out the pillow and blanket in the overhead storage container and spread out across the 3 seats with my seatbelt on and fall asleep for the night.

Several hours later I wake up when I feel a stewardess tell me we are about to land. I situate myself in the seat and notice the crack of dawn just on the horizon. Once landed I grab my bag and head towards the hangar marked with a big three. Upon arrival I notice a man in his upper 40’s tending to a private plane. Being the only other person in the hangar I assume that he is my pilot and walk over to him. “Hi, I’m Morgan. Are you Mr. Strandil, my pilot?”

Giving me a childlike grin he replies, “That’s me, and this here is my baby Melody. She will be the one responsible for getting you to your destination.” Having grown accustomed to men talking to their vehicles like people I give him a polite smile. After Mr. Strandil finishes filling the plane with fuel we are shortly underway heading towards my destination. He lays out the flight plan for us while in the air and within half an hour we are close to our destination. At 15 minutes out we run into the terrible weather that decided to come a little early. At 10 minutes out I am informed that we will be redirecting to a different airport because the track is flooded on our primary destination. With the ocean coast now barely visible below us I feel the rocking of the plane steadily increase to the point of becoming thunderous jerks causing it to rise and fall instantly. I’m informed by Mr. Strandil that we can’t fly over the storm because our plane is too small. As he puts it, “we have to tough it out.”

With the ever increasing turbulence, we eventually encounter one that is too much for the plane to handle. With a loud snap I hear one of the wings break. Looking out the window to my sides I see that the left wing is now half of what it should be. We promptly start spinning into a dive, through the front window I see land and water intermittently flash as the plane violently keeps changing directions. Grabbing for my bag and the life raft behind it I prepare for a watery entry, hoping that we don’t hit land and go splat.

The plane crashes down and water explodes through the front of the plane causing the door on the side to be ripped off by the change in pressure. Stunned by the slap of water to my face I desperately try to struggle and find a safe direction to swim in. My hands clumsily find the door and pulling the raft behind me I get out from inside the plane and pull the auto inflate tab. Using the raft’s stored air it inflates and pulls me to the surface of the water in one swift motion. Once on the surface in the terribly rocky waters with waves the size of buildings crashing around me I crawl into the raft and pin myself to its edge, hoping I won’t be capsized. As one of the huge waves crashes over the raft I am hit with a piece of the plane and blackness envelops me.

I awake the next day with my eyes stinging, the salt water from the night before having formed a paste over my eyelids. Rolling onto my side I promptly start coughing out who knows what. I am still lying on the raft, which is a good sign. Slowly I gather my surroundings and sit up to see nothing but water around me. Inside of the raft there are now metal scraps of the plane and my bag that I had managed to pull with the raft. Quickly tossing the metal scraps out for fear they would rupture my floating oasis, I am left with nothing but my raft, my bag and myself in the middle of who knows where under a beating sun with what looks like a storm on the horizon. It would make sense that that would be the storm from yesterday, meaning I want to head that direction in order to find dry land. Thankfully the current is pulling me in that direction so I don’t have to worry about trying to steer the raft against the current, wasting precious energy. With only two small water bottles and a handful of power bars from my bag I doubt I would be able to fight the current and survive. Hiding in what little shade the boat provides from the sun to slow dehydration I quickly grow bored. I have never had a great singing voice and knowing that opening my mouth will just dehydrate me more so I take to humming. Tunes of pirates and any water song I know to start and then move to today’s more common hits. By the end of the day, I have finished my first bottle of water and 2 of the power bars, leaving just 2 more. That night I hit the storm I have been floating towards all day, having prepared myself by ducking in the corner like I did the night before I wait. When the rough waters do not start I peer over the side checking to see if my timetable of its arrival was wrong.

I see that I am now starting to pass into a thick bank of fog. The bad news is that means I wasn’t heading towards land all along because this isn’t that violent storm from yesterday. The good news is that I don’t have to worry about drowning. By the end of the day my optimism at being found has dwindled to a neutral reality that I may have drifted outside of their search area. Sleep that night is hard to come by, I frantically search for some kind of light on the horizon but find nothing but the moon. Eventually I fall asleep to the rocking of the ocean.

I awake to a splashing from a wave and find the waves now all rolling in one direction with white caps forming on their tips. I have been in the ocean swimming enough times in my life to know that this is a sign of being not far from a shore. Turning around in the boat I see my salvation. Just as I start to feel happy for my luck a sharp snag catches the bottom of the boat. Up through the bottom some kind of coral juts through, tearing a hole through the boat causing it to start losing air. With the boats position now locked in place pinned by the coral I realize that my salvation is not getting any closer and I’m in a sinking boat. Taking my bag I swing it at the coral in a hope of breaking it without cutting up my hands.

After several strong hits, it finally snaps letting the boat start to drift slowly towards the island again. With the speed of the deflation I soon find myself sitting in water with my bag and start swimming towards the island. After I battle with the waves to allow me to the beach without being cut on rocks or coral I find myself on the safety of a beach, setting foot on dry land for the first time in too long. Once outside of the breakers, I collapse down onto my knees and hang my head in exhaustion. Once I can manage to breathe without feeling like I’m going to pass out, I head towards the shade provided by the tree line. Once there I take one mouthful of my last water bottle, to prevent dehydration from kicking in from my struggle of a swim.

Knowing I will need more water quickly with all the salt in the air and all the physical activity I will need to do to find food I set out finding dry logs. Once I have enough, I set out to create fire in the kindling from scratch. Having seen people do it all the time on the Discovery channel I set out rubbing sticks together. Apparently they clip out about 20 minutes of stick rubbing on television because I didn’t see the first signs of smoke until then. Once the flame was started I carefully lit the rest of the wood and looked at my now cut and blistered hands. All in the name of survival I guess.

I took out my shampoo and conditioner bottle and dumped the contents on the beach and went and rinsed them in the ocean. Returning with one full and the other empty I set the full one in a position over the flame and cut the top half off the other one so as to make a collecting cup for the evaporating water to collect in. If I remember correctly, you shouldn’t use plastic for this kind of thing but when that’s all you have, risking getting cancer in 30 years doesn’t sound so bad when compared to death now. While the water is being taken care of I set out searching the beach for fruit trees, but my search provides no fruit. I do collect more firewood and some large mostly green leaves that I can use to provide someplace to lie down without being in sand. Recognizing the futility of wearing shoes while on the beach getting sand in them I take them off and set them aside for when I go in the corralled water or hiking on the island.

Coming back I check on my water and see the process is slowly working. I taste the water in the collecting cup; while warm it still tastes very salty so I quickly spit it out. Not knowing where I went wrong I re-examine my strategy and make some tweaks to the setup. The bottle over the flame doesn’t appear to be melting at all which is good. While waiting for the new water setup to cook, I look in tide pools and find some unsuspecting crabs. Using one of my shirts I collect a couple and leave the rest for later. With them squirming in my shirt I place the wet shirt closed down on the sand and hit it with my bag, stopping all movement from within the shirt. Taking a flat rock I place it inside the fire to sterilize it then place the now slightly mashed crabs on the rock. While they cook I taste the new water and while not tasting like bottled spring water it does taste fresh and not like plastic. Partially filling my empty water bottle, I then collect more fire wood and sit down on my leaf pad and eat my shellfish. While I know you usually eat shellfish by peeling them in civilization, I realize that the shell also has nutrients I can use so I set out eating everything but the nasty lungs and intestines. Realizing I will have to eat something other than crabs I find a stick and place one end in the fire to start sharpening the point without me doing all the work.

Once reasonably sharp for having burned, I start rubbing it on a rock to get it sharp enough that it hurts to poke my skin. Taking my now fully stocked supply of water, spear, and power bars I set out to explore the island and find a safe place to sleep. Walking through the island I quickly find my way to the other side and find it having much the same conditions as the side I was on before. Also, no signs of people having ever been here are visible. Cutting back through the island taking a close but not exactly the same route I managed to find a way to climb on top of the mountain on the island. Realizing that I am out of shape and such a hike would require lots of water and energy I set that aside as something to do tomorrow. Once I could see the beach again, I noticed a cave off to my right a bit away from my camp. Walking over to the cave, I get my spear in position to attack anything that jumps out at me in the cave. Once through the large opening I lower my spear, seeing it is just a large room with a pool of water and large stalactites. Going over to the pool of water, I stick my finger in and taste the contents. It is definitely salt water, which dashes any thoughts of just boiling the water to get rid of the bacteria.

This could be a nice place to set up camp, with the ocean close by for food, the cave opening facing so that the wind doesn’t blow right in, and a bath available. Feeling a drip of water fall off a stalactite onto my head I look up and see beads of water preparing to fall all over the place. Catching one in the outstretched hand I give it a taste and finds that the water indeed is fresh, but since its coming out of a rock it might have minerals in it that are poisonous. I head back to the beach and collect my belonging. Taking as much dry wood as I can carry I set up for another fire inside the cave. Taking a twig from my already lit fire I set ablaze the new fire without having to torture my hands. From now on, I’m going with that method.

With my new camp relatively set up I feel my stomach grumble. Having not noticed any animals to eat nor nuts or fruit on my hike I realize my diet is restricted to seafood for now. Going back out to the tide pool I search for more crabs and find none. Grabbing my spear I go in search of fish in the water but after standing waiting for one to get close enough to even try to spear, I eventually get too hungry. I break down and eat one of my last two power bars when my stomach turns to full painful churning from hunger.

After making a bed out of leaves I lay down near the fire to keep warm. I take out my medication stored in my bag and pop them in taking a drink of water. Before falling asleep I feel my stomach churning, dissatisfied.

I awake to the crashing sounds of waves. Staring up at the ceiling I gather myself to get up and face the day. With a mighty grumble from my stomach I know it’s time to go get some food. Relighting the fire from the left over embers from last night, I set out to find food. The tide pool is full of life again this morning so I pluck 4 crabs from their home and follow the same process as yesterday. Getting low on water after my meal I set out boiling the water from the pool inside the cave because it is closer. While the food is cooking I decide it is finally time to wash off the salt and sand that has collected the past few days. Stripping off my shirt, I finally get a good smell of myself and turn my nose up at the scent. Quickly stripping off my bra, I get a sense of relief from finally having the freedom on my boobs. After massaging out some of the places the pain is the worst I remove my jeans, with a bit of a struggle. The salt, having dried on my legs, causes the tight jeans to fight every inch. With only my panties left, I push them to the floor freeing my constantly tucked penis.

I guess I left out some details at the beginning. While the world identifies me as a 22 year old woman, I’m actually a bit more complicated than that. I was born with the name Brandon into a classic family, my life started much like other boys. Being encouraged to play sports and be rough and tumble. By the time I made it to fourth grade I knew I wasn’t like other boys. I didn’t have an interest in sports or in being rough, but I thought that meant I wasn’t one of those types of boys. Because of my difference in interests my only friends at this point were girls, while boys didn’t make fun of me they also wanted nothing to do with me. So I grew up around only girls, except for my dad. When puberty hit, I didn’t even realize. It wasn’t until I was 18 years old that I finally realized that my body had changed while I wasn’t paying attention. I spun into a circle of depression at turning into a man I didn’t feel that I was. By 19 I changed my name to Morgan legally, started hormones and started living a very androgynous lifestyle. Slowly throughout my androgynous living I must have shifted more towards the female side because now everyone I meet refers to me using feminine pronouns. I don’t really mind, I actually see it as a compliment that the world lets me be myself without thinking anything of it, despite the fact that I don’t truly identify as a girl.

Where was I, oh yes. I climbed into the pool of water in my birthday suit and immediately felt relaxed. Sitting there without hunger thirst and feeling the cool but not cold water soothe my aches and pains from the past few days. Once the relaxation had passed, I set out wiping down my body with my hands to get any excess salt, sweat or dirt off. Once I feel moderately clean, I slowly make my way out of the water. I could sit there for hours but I need to start stocking up on water and food in case I have another situation like last night where there isn’t any available. Putting on a bathing suit instead of my full set of clothes, I re-tuck and grab my extra pair of shoes as well as the spear. Once my shoes are on I walk into the water and set out trying to spear some fish for lunch or dinner. After an hour or trying I finally wound one enough that he floats to the surface despite the fact that he managed to swim off. With his size, he should be enough for a meal tonight.

Carrying him back awkwardly, I manage to clean and cook him. One of the things my dad managed to teach me was how to clean a fish and the knowledge stuck despite the fact that I hated the task. With the fish now cooking I grab my water bottles and set up another system again using my bath water now since it is close. Grabbing my one bottle and wrapping some of my cooked fish in a leaf I set out to make it to the top of the mountain.

The hike ends up being easier than I thought. Despite the fact I managed to get winded walking from one side of the island to the other, today I don’t feel myself getting tired. I look all around once on top of the island and enjoy my food and water while taking in the beauty of the landscape. No signs of there ever having been humans; I feel a little crestfallen. I also don’t notice anything of consequence while up there on the horizon meaning I am either a long way from anywhere significant or this island is a ways from a shipping lane. Not even the smoke trail of a plane flying over head can be seen. Realizing that I am sitting in the sun and will soon be getting a sun burn I quickly make my way back to the shade of my cave. Once there I notice my fish is a little past done and starting to blacken so I move it away from the flame towards the pools edge. I also shift my now sterile water into my drinking bottles and place them at the pool’s edge.

Recognizing that I can cook food for the day ahead without it going bad or having a way to store extra water I mentally start planning ways to do such a task while I climb into the pool and soak off the sweat from my hike. Eating while in the pool I realize I am still hungry despite the fact I just ate most of a fish. Forcing myself to wait to make sure the food sits well I continue to soak in the pool. It isn’t long before my stomach rumblings turn painful despite the fact I have just eaten. I don’t usually get hungry this quickly, but with all the physical activity lately I can’t blame my body. I eye what’s left of the uncooked gutted fish and my mouth starts to water despite the fact it looks unappetizing. Climbing out of the water I look down the bones of the fish and find some bits of meat that I had previously left because they were too small and popped them into my mouth raw. Sushi is okay I figured so this should be alright every once in a while. Before I noticed there was nothing left but the inedible pieces, I had even eaten most of the tail fin which tasted surprisingly good. With a slightly more satisfied tummy, I prepared to go catch more fish if I could. It being mid afternoon there were no fish along the beach, so I swam out to a bit of the coral and managed to find some really small fish but nothing big enough to eat. Swimming back I made it to the beach and checked the tide pool to find it empty, the same as yesterday. Looks like the only time I will be able to find food here is the mornings to I better stock up for the day then.

Once back at the cave my stomach started to rumble again. Knowing that I have an unlimited supply of water I start swallowing large amounts of that to flood my hunger away. It worked for a few minutes before the rumbling returned, and now I was low on water and the cooking wasn’t going fast enough. Eying my last power bar, I make a split decision to enjoy the last one now that I have figured out the food supply times. I get about half way through the bar before I start to feel sick. I set the rest of the bar aside, chastising myself for eating that fish raw. In one last churning from my stomach I run outside the cave and heave up what I have just eaten. Surprisingly I don’t heave much, with all the water I have drank I figured it would be a fair bit of liquid coming up, but all there seems to be is the power bar. I guess I was more dehydrated than I thought. I will have to keep an eye out to drink more. Thinking about all the water I have been drinking today, I suddenly feel the need to pee.

Despite the fact that I have the easy to use outdoors equipment, I end up going in a more ladylike fashion out of sheer habit. Feeling a little better I go back into the cave and find myself hungry again. Knowing that I have eaten the power bar before without getting sick, I slowly nibble on it so as to be gentle with my unsettled stomach. A few minutes after the power bar is gone I end up running out of the cave for a repeat performance. I can’t afford to be getting sick like this, I will get dehydrated quickly if I’m not careful.

Knowing I have a bit of time with all the water I have been drinking before that happens I check on my current water production and find an issue. In my hurry to make more water I wasn’t careful of the bottles height to the flame. Looking at the now melted bottle I feel crestfallen for the second time today. There goes my water supply. I search through my pack for something to use as the heated water holder but find nothing suitable. As a drip of water from the ceiling lands on my leg I have a realization. I didn’t feel at all bad yesterday from drinking that little bit of water from the pool or the ceiling. The pool is salt water so that is out but the ceiling is freshwater. As long as I can find a safe way to collect it then maybe there isn’t anything toxic in there. I set out my empty water bottles so that the water drips into them and before long there is enough for a mouth full. I swallow that water and set the bottles back out to collect more while I wait for me to feel sick.

Growing bored I head out to the shore in hopes that a stray fish will come in so I can cook something to keep in my stomach when the hunger returns. Moving slowly and steadily in the water I manage to get close enough to a couple small fish in the reefs that skewering them with my spear is easy, they might not be that big but with enough of them they could make a snack large enough to hold me over. Still feeling perfectly fine I set down the fish to cook and taste the water while taking my medication. I feel a sense of dread for when my hormones run out. Only a couple of days left. As it was I was taking half doses in a hopes to make it last longer, most of them were destroyed by the water from the plane crash.

Still feeling fine after my bout with the flu, I drink more of the water and munch on the little fish. I am careful to avoid the in-edibles and I find myself shortly having cleaned the entire fish with my teeth without even looking at the fish. With a satisfied stomach and no thirst to speak of I set out some curved leaves between piles of clothing to make suitable collecting pools for the dripping water. I climb into the water of the pool after stripping out of my bathing suit and tennis shoes. I sit in the water until it starts to get dark, I start to think about climbing out of the pool when the moon shines through the caves entrance. I notice that the moon is much larger today than it was a couple days ago, it must be quickly approaching a full moon.

Mesmerized by the moon I absentmindedly sit in the water. Once the moon has past the entrance I notice that I have been playing with my left breast. Feeling embarrassed I move my hand away. As I do I notice that my nipples are engorged. Looks like I will be going through another growth spurt there soon. I frown, if I have enough hormones to last me that long.

Now in a bad mood at the potential loss of my prides growing, I climb out of the water and move to my bed, throwing some wood on the fire to ensure it won’t die, I go to bed in the nude that night.

Waking up I feel an incredible thirst, I drink all of the water in my water bottles and the leaves I have set out and still feel thirsty. I quickly crawl over to the pool in frantic thirst and start drinking from the pool. As my brain starts to wake up I realize where I am drinking from and stop. Pulling my face back from the water in surprise I mentally chastise myself, this is bad. I just drank salt water, chances are I’ll get sick and really dehydrated. I quickly run out of the cave and set out additional leaves in hopes to catch every drop of water falling from the ceiling in preparation for the salt water drinking to hit me. With all of the preparation I can take care of done, I feel my stomach grumble for food. I walk out to the water’s edge with tired legs. After the hike up the mountain yesterday I’m not surprised they are making some complaints.

Upon arrival I look in the tide pool and find several crabs, I take all of them and set them out to cook after rekindling my fire. While they cook I grab my spear and head out to the shore again to catch some fish. I manage to catch one fairly easily today that isn’t large enough for a full meal but a snack when my thirst hits me like a truck. I frantically swim back to the island and run as fast as my unsteady legs can carry. I arrive to find my water collection has been slow today but there is enough for me to fill my mouth a couple times, reducing the frantic thirst.

Again I chastise myself for my stupidity at drinking from the pool of salt water. Making a mistake like that out here could be life or death, I need to try to think my actions through before I do something that stupid again. Now only feeling a normal amount of thirst I head back out to catch more fish while I wait for the water to collect again. While back in the ocean I catch another two fish about the same size as the first. My hunger is growing painful, so I make my way back to the cave without delay. I eat the now partially burnt crabs and they don’t taste very good. I cook one of the fish, figuring I would save the rest for later. Before it has a chance to thoroughly cook, I find myself grabbing it and biting into the juicy fish. I make quick work of this fish and end up eating the other two raw before I can stop myself. With my meal finished, I frown in disappointment. I really need to be more careful, but that tasted too good. Shaking away my thoughts I drink all of the water in the leaves, removing the last of my salt water driven thirst.

While they collect more water, I go back out to the beach to catch more fish before they are chased away by the mid-afternoon sun. Walking on the shoreline I find the fish closer than they have ever been. As I prepare a spear lunge I stop, this doesn’t feel right. Lowering the spear causes the fish to spook and swim away from me. I dive into the water and swim out until the water is up to my hip. Dipping my face below the surface I open my eyes to be able to see where the fish are. I have opened my eyes up underwater since I was a child, every time the water seemed to distort my vision making everything blurry. This time I could see like I was wearing perfectly clean goggles, not even the movement of the water from the waves bothered my eyes. With my clear vision I managed to catch fish with my spear much more easily, I had two decent sized fish on the spear when a nice sized one started to swim by. I waited patiently holding my breath, but the fish refused to get close enough for me to nab him.

After a while I couldn’t hold my breath any longer. As I went to rise out of the water, my need to take a breath suddenly disappeared. I must have convinced myself I didn’t need air quite yet. With the new found time, the big fish finally swam close enough that I could reach out with my hands and touch him. With that thought my hands lunged forward and grabbed him at the gills in one swift motion. Having surprised myself with my motion, my grip falters and soon the fish is swimming away quickly. I look down and to grab my dropped spear when I see some black things lying on my stomach. I quickly panic, grabbing the spear and throwing my head above the surface I run as fast as I can in the water to the beach. Once on the safety of the beach I look at my stomach and find it in a perfectly normal condition. It must have been some seaweed, look at me freaking out over a little piece of grass.

No longer feeling the desire to be in the water because of my little freak out, I walked back to the cave. I drank the water that was available and before long I was hungry again. Cooking the fish didn’t even cross my mind this time. I simply set out eating one, then the second. Realizing that there was the beginning of a bone pile in the cave, I moved them outside to an area away from the cave so that there wouldn’t be a smell. Even with the fish away from the cave I could still smell a lingering stink. Smelling my hands and body, I could smell the fish smell all over me. Climbing into the pool of water I set out to wash any trace of fish off of me. Even after 30 minutes of soaking and rubbing, the smell of fish didn’t seem to dissipate. Finally I gave up, conceding that I will have to get used to the smell since that is all there is available to eat.

I lay in the pool taking a nap in the shallows. When I finally awake it is starting to get dark outside, and my hunger has returned. Drinking some of the available water, I set out to see if I can find some fish. The tide pools prove fruitless, but the waters of the reef produce four decently sized fish. While I’m walking back towards the cave I finally realize that I didn’t use the spear to catch the fish. I had grabbed them with my bare hands and simply bit them to kill them. I also had caught all four fish in one breath. While walking I stumble on the beach and fall flat on my face causing the fish to fly from my hands in an attempt to catch myself. My hands make it fast enough to slow my descent but I still feel one of my toes snap at having been bent the wrong way.

I cry out in pain, making more wailing sounds than audible words. Stupid clumsy me, trip over nothing on a sandy beach and manage to break a toe. Hesitantly I stand up and brush some sand off of my naked self. My brain clicks in this instant, I have been naked the past two days and I didn’t even think anything of it. Dismissing the thought as a new wave of pain comes from my toe; I grab my scattered fish and limp back to my cave.

With my feet completely covered in wet sand I move over to the pool of water and rinse them off. I can see my toe already turning shades of purple, blue and green that it shouldn’t have. Pulling my foot out of the water, I clumsily make my way to my bag and try to find something to make a cast or stint. I don’t manage to find anything useful when I have an idea. I grab one of my sports bras and rip one of the shoulder straps off of it. Using a rock I manage to cut the strap down to a manageable piece of elastic. I wrap the elastic around one of my good toes and my broken toe. I then use what little I have left of my fire to heat a stick to have an ember tip then singe the elastic strap ends so that it makes a tight seal. Holding the ends in place while the strap cools I wait. Once the ends feel secure I pull my hands back. It looks silly, but I would say it’s an otherwise successful toe taping without tape. With my now hindered mobility, my fire dwindles to the point where there is no heat coming from it.

Dragging myself to the pool instead of walking I drip myself into the waters, finding that it is warmer than the air this evening. Rinsing off my fish I dig in while I wait for morning to come.

I awake to the feeling of a warm day breeze blowing across the pools surface, ruffling my long hair. I climb out of the pool shallows with much protest from my legs. I give them a good stretch this morning, in a hope to remove the lingering fatigue. They seem bigger than usual, curvier. With all of the exercise and my high protein diet, I must finally be getting the curvy look I have been trying to get for the past few years. Realizing that I forgot to take my hormones yesterday I quickly take one and drink some collected water. As I bend over I see more boob than I am accustomed to. Must be all of the water I have been drinking, it will probably go away once the water weight goes down from physical activity. With a gurgle from my stomach I head to the tide pool and find a jackpot of crabs. Taking all seven so I don’t have to fight the water with a broken toe I head back to my cave.

The fire is completely dead today, so cooking them is going to take a while. My stomach gives another loud gurgle signifying it’s not willing to wait. I drink a bunch of water to drown away some hunger and grab two dry sticks and start rubbing them together. After a little while of rubbing sticks with the smell of fresh seafood in the air I grab a mashed crab and start eating while I’m making the fire. Eventually the fire is ready to go and I turn to set my crabs on the cooking rock and find I have eaten all of them while waiting, raw.

Feeling disgusted for having eaten raw shellfish and having enjoyed them, I climb in the pool to wash all reminders away. On the way in I slip with my fatigued uncoordinated legs and end up gently kicking a rock under the water. Thankful I didn’t break something else, I climb in the rest of the way and start washing. Half way through my process of cleaning I realize that the foot that kicked the rock was the one with my bad toe. Lifting my one leg up in the water proves to be a struggle but I eventually get it over the surface and I examine my toe. I timidly touch the toe expecting pain when I move it but no pain is produced. The blue green color of the bruise has spread to include the toes on either side and some of my foot, but that could happen with how much it hurt yesterday. Taking off the makeshift toe taping I try to wiggle my toes and slip further into the water when I end up moving both feet. That’s impossible, my toe was broken yesterday and now I can move it? Maybe there was just swelling that prevented it from moving last night and the cool water soak caused the swelling to go down enough it could move.

Shaking my head with disbelief, I slowly climb out of the water. With nothing else to do today, I decide to go take a swim. With my food supply figured out and the water reliable all that is left is having fun. Heading out to the ocean I pick an area where there isn’t a reef and dive into the water. I swim for ages, when I get hungry I swim closer to the reef and using my fast hand technique grab a fish. I eat it while drifting on my back in the water and then with a satisfied stomach I go back to swimming. The process continued without me taking a break for water all day. Eventually I started to grow tired. I grabbed a couple of straggler fish from the reef and made my way back to the cave with some difficulty. The land didn’t feel right, I couldn’t feel the rocking of the ocean.

My legs having had a full day’s work eventually gave up at walking right when I made it to the cave. Dragging myself into the cave on my butt with my fish in my lap I drink a bunch of the collected water to satiate the days thirst then climb into the cool pool to soak my tired limbs. While soaking I eat the fish I managed to catch. Before long an ever increasingly large moon peaks through the caves entrance as I fall asleep.

When I awake I don’t feel right. I feel pins and needles on my lower body like I have slept in a bad position and cut off the blood flow. With a groan I hoist myself up out of the water with my arms and drag myself to get a drink of water. Lying on my back on the dry ground of the cave I wait for feeling to return to my legs, vowing that is the last time I sleep on the hard floor of the pool.

Eventually the feeling returns, sitting up I am startled by what I see. The bruise from my toe has moved to encompass most of my right leg and the lower part of my left. Being very familiar with the symptoms of deep leg thrombosis caused by hormones given by paranoid doctors I start to panic. I’m lucky I’m alive, it could have caused a brain clot and I could have died in my sleep. Part of me knows the stupidity of my next action but I don’t care because it is such a part of who I am, I take my last estrogen pill and swallow with a little bit of water.

I wait, expecting some huge moment where my life ends to happen but it never comes. I start to get hungry and climbing to unsteady feet I meander to the beach probably looking like a drunk person. I skip over the tide pool today and head straight to the water. The closer I get to the water, the stronger a desire I have to run and jump straight into its loving embrace. Eventually I can’t take it anymore and I stumble as fast as I can until I feel the touch of water up to my shins, then I dive. Once I’m off my feet, any clumsiness that I had vanishes. I go about swimming faster than I ever have before, my colored and swollen legs proving to be unhindered.

After enjoying my moment of freedom in the ocean I take off to catch some food. I make quick work of my hunger following a similar routine to yesterday with much more efficiency. When the sun starts to lower in the sky I call it a night. Grabbing five fish to snack on later I make my way to the beach. Once I’m in shallow enough water that swimming is impractical, I get to my knees in an attempt to stand. As I do my legs brush one another and I feel bumps on my legs. Not being able to see them well in the crashing waves I try to pull one leg up in front of me like I have taken a knee. The only thing I succeed in doing is falling back into the water as both legs try to lung forward at the same time. With me now on my back facing the beach I can see my legs as I lift them both out of the water together. My legs look entirely bruised now with bumps all over them. At the base of my legs where my leg ends and my ankle begins I find the source of my trouble standing. My legs are attached to one another. No other parts of my legs are connected, despite the fact the swelling has caused them to more than touch. My penis and sack are pinned between my swollen legs, making it look like I have no genitalia at all.

Breaking into tears over my situation I sit there as the water flows back and forth over my lower half. By the time it’s pitch black outside, I change position in my crying and pull one of my knees to my chest. Hugging my knee with one breast on each side, I have a moment of realization. My legs aren’t fused anymore. I quickly stand and force them as far apart from each other is possible. This causes my penis to become more visible which I don’t like but having my legs fused was too scary. After standing there for a while I become convinced that they won’t spontaneously fuse, I gather the remaining fish that weren’t washed away by the waves and head back to the cave. That night I sleep with my bag between my legs on dry land, but throughout the entire night I have dreams of basking in the pool when the moon is full with legs that don’t separate.

After a fitful night sleep I awake and feel a similar unusual feel to yesterday. I feel wet, like I peed myself during the night. Groaning at the thought of going on myself and causing my bag to now reek of pee, I roll onto my back from my side. Looking down I see my greenish blue bruised bumpy legs covered making them glisten. Reaching down, I try to wipe any excess wetness off of each only to find that this liquid isn’t pee. It isn’t even water. Pulling my hand away from my leg produces a trail of thick sticky goop. Grossed out by the disgusting fluid, if you can even call it that, I try to wipe my hand on the cave floor. Getting the majority off but still feeling the residue left on my hands I pull myself over to the pool’s edge and rinse my hands off.

Having gone through puberty as a guy, I know what a wet-dream is like. Although, never in my entire life have I managed to produce enough sperm to coat both of my legs to the point they feel slimy. Feeling sick at the thought of sperm covered legs, I spin my legs into the water and start wiping off any trace I can find. Once my legs are a semblance of clean, I pull them both out of the water in one swift motion. They look even more swollen than yesterday, to the point that it feels painful to even try to keep them separate. After managing to put enough space between them to see light, I concede to their unruly behavior and let them close back together. At least they aren’t joined, that really freaked me out yesterday.

Realizing that the swelling has gotten to the point where walking is impossible, I drag myself towards the beach. Regardless of whether or not I will die from clots in my legs, I’m a fighter. I won’t give up until I see the light at the end of the tunnel. Even then I will probably turn around and run from its embrace. There is always a chance that a cruise ship or private plane will go by, providing me expert medical equipment that saves my life. Then I can go back to my boring life of work, books and television.

Once I reach the water, I let myself drift out into the ocean, letting the water soak through me. I start to feel a bit peckish and head towards the reef and snag enough fish to fill my stomach. I’m a little clumsy in my movements, having to swim with your legs unwilling to separate proves an interesting challenge. Before my meal is finished, I manage to adjust to my new swim style. Despite my legs inability to function well on land their increased size proves valuable in making large bounds through the water with one unified kick.

With my hunger resolved, I play in the water’s current. Despite its strength that caused me trouble only days ago, I swim through without any difficulties. Once I make it to the other side of the reef, I look back and realize how far from the island I actually am. It’s in this moment that my legs seize up, my powering through the current must have tired them more than I realized. I try to use only my arms to keep myself afloat while my now uncontrollable legs try to sink me I panic. In my panic I start thrashing in the water, which causes me to descend even faster. With one last gasp for air my head plunges under the water. Clawing for the surface gets me nowhere and before long I am 10 feet underwater with the light on the surface getting further and further away.

Recognize no hope of reaching the surface with my current thinking. I try to swim sideways to reach the reef so I can pull myself up out of the water. After several pulls in the water with my hands, the reef is no closer than it was before.

My lungs start to burn from my quick oxygen usage during my struggle. As the last bit of oxygen in my lungs is consumed my body instinctually opens my mouth and gasps for air. Instead of the choking feeling that I usually get from getting water in my windpipe, I find myself take a breath, then another, then another. My lungs rise and fall filled with oxygen rich air.

With the ability to breath I manage to steady myself and think rational thoughts. I must be dreaming, there has to be something in the water I have been drinking that’s causing me to have really vivid dreams because there is no way I should be able to breathe underwater. My vision in the water is surprisingly clear, and after pushing my floating hair back out of my face I take survey of what’s happening. I feel relatively normal, two eyes, one nose, two arms, two breasts, and one tail. Wait a minute, what was that?

My legs have completely fused looking like a solid muscular mass without even an outline of legs visible under the surface. Beautiful teal scales start sporadically at my waist, increasing to full fish at my hips. This isn’t my first mermaid dream, but it certainly has to be my most vivid. I normally can control my dreams to a limited degree, yet this one acts exactly like reality, ignoring my intention to steer.

Testing a theory I take a swift kick, in the one motion I feel myself propelled significantly closer to the surface. Taking another kick to reach air, I feel a strange sensation on either side of my tail and find myself propelled not up this time but slightly sideways. Pausing I look down and take notice of collapsible fins of some kind on either side slightly below my hips. Flexing the muscles of what my brain tells is my upper thighs I notice the different movements the fins make, clearly having the purpose to help steer and stop. Relaxing my fins and kicking with my tail produces the right result to shoot me forward to the surface.

With my first breath of air comes a momentary pause before I feel normal breaths. Grinning from the thought of being a mermaid, I dive back under the water surging forward with new found speed. Stopping and steering proves to be difficult to get right at first until I just relax and let my body move instinctually.

I play in the ocean losing track of time and come to a conclusion when it grows dark enough that I should get out of the water. I don’t want to get out of the water, if this is a dream then I don’t want it to ever end. If this is real, this feeling is better than anything my life on land offered. Swimming as quickly as I can away from the island, I run from my old life.

Several hours later I find a coast guard vessel. With an inexplicable certainty I know this is my last chance to return to land before becoming an inhabitant of the sea forever. I give pause, thinking of all the things I would be leaving behind. The only people in my life were those I worked with and my relationship with them was nothing but a professional one. Diving under I surrender to the sea, praying I never have to go back.

I wrote this back in High School so please excuse its rough nature, however I always thought it captured a few of the things I felt rather well. I have never coded in HTML so this will be a little interesting to see how it turns out. And without further wait, my first and hopefully not my last contribution to this wonderful website:

Setting down the fresh cappuccino for the difficult customer, I give her a forced smile, “Here is your corrected order maam.” I speak with as much sincerity as I can offer under the circumstance but the fake value of the words still carries through, so I add “Have a nice day!” Looking at me with a look of disgust she continues to chat on her phone with work. After picking up her cup she turns to leave and I hear her say rather rude remarks towards my future in life to the person she is chatting with on the phone.

With a frustrated sigh and eye roll I move on to the next customer. With how popular our little hideaway coffee shop is this early in the morning, you have to get used to rude customers who aren’t the least bit civil before a cup or five. Thankfully it’s a Friday so everyone is a little friendlier than they would be on a Monday. What keeps me working in this particular place is that once all the crazy morning crowd leaves, it’s actually a nice quiet place to stop and hang your hat for a while. With several shelves of books open for public use we tend to attract the quiet reading type. If we weren’t so close to the corporate district we wouldn’t ever have the morning rush but the influx of people keeps the place afloat so the more relaxed can enjoy the rest of the day without feeling claustrophobic.

With every difficult customer I have to remind myself of the reason why I need to keep this job. While we are very much the book café with free wifi most would recognize, there are also small musical performances on Friday and Saturday evenings to help attract a little night life. Normally I work mornings as I seem to be the only one able to handle difficult patrons without throwing the coffee down the front of their $10,000 suits. If not to ruin the suits then to ruin their snobbish expressions as they take pity on the poor hourly associates. With free afternoons and evenings I work as an intern in a radio station that plays oldies music. I may not be a huge fan of the genre but I can appreciate the talent that goes into making classics. You see, I am one of the people who spend their entire life in the pursuit of a music career. I only have the opportunity to play at coffee shops or side venues since I don’t have the best material but it’s always been a dream of mine to have one of my songs on the radio.

Between the two jobs and performing every weekend in the hope that someone will like my songs enough to sign me; I have no real free time. It’s probably for the best, since my place is a rather raggedy loft in desperate need of repairs, but it suits my needs for a dry place to sleep.

As the café starts to empty out of all the nine to fivers, I move away from the counter and start wiping down the tables. It always amazes me that in the ten seconds that someone sets their coffee down to pick up a newspaper they manage to spill crumbs from some mysterious food source all over the tabletop. But that’s why I make the big bucks I guess, to clean up after those not awake enough to be aware. As I take to scrubbing up a particularly stubborn coffee spot I look up at the sound of someone coming in the door. The first thing I notice is that she is alone, the next that she is pretty in the girl next door kind of way. She looks my way scanning the room and we lock eyes. An innocent smile dances along the corners of her mouth before she sets off to one of the book corners.

She picks up one of the more popular books and takes a seat at one of the big comfy reading chairs while I resume my cleaning duties. She sits there doing nothing but reading the entire rest of my shift. I move closer to strike up a conversation or elicit a small smile of acknowledgment, but she is so engaged in her book that I don’t have the heart to disturb her. As my shift ends, I cast a final glance towards the girl before walking out the front door. The weekend came and I worked at the radio station when I wasn’t performing. Come Monday at the same time as before, the girl walked into the café and picked up a different book and started reading in the same chair as before. This time I saw her smile in amusement and cry with sadness at different passages but I didn’t recognize the book to know why. As my shift ended I again took a last glance before leaving.

On Tuesday I found the book she had been reading and put it with my belongings to borrow. We have always had an open policy for employees to borrow the books, but I have always been reluctant to have the distraction away from my music. When she came in today I noticed something a little peculiar. When one of the newer baristas was serving an elderly gentleman, there was a fumbling of the saucer and it crashed to the floor and shattered. Everyone looked up disturbed by the sound, everyone that is except the girl. The sound did nothing to distract her from the novel’s imaginary world. Thinking the book was that engaging I played it off as being inconsequential. After my shift at the radio station I found myself sitting in my place with the book in my hand. Tired from my hectic day at the station I set out reading a couple of pages. One page turned into two, two into ten, ten into a chapter, and then a chapter into the whole novel. I’ve always been a fast reader, thankfully, but I did cost myself a bit of sleep. I did not regret my decision. In that moment I decided that the books this girl was reading would be must reads, regardless. Days turned into weeks and I found myself becoming more versed in various literature genres. She seemed to read every type of book we owned, so I decided to follow suit. One particularly slow week at the station I read a book she had not and decided to place it at her normal reading spot with a note.

As she walked in this particular Thursday she went over to pick out a book. With a book in hand she walked over to her chair where she found my book and note waiting. Picking up the book she read the note I had heavily debated writing. “I noticed you sit and read a book here every day. I particularly enjoyed this book. Despite the fact it is a bit shorter than what you usually read I hope you give it a chance.” I decided not to sign my name so I wouldn’t seem quite so creepy, but she looked around the room upon reading the note. Her vision fell on me and she smiled while I shied away in embarrassment at having been found out. Picking up my book selection she opens to the first page and sets off on a grand adventure. Every couple of minutes I would look over to see how she was reacting and I even walked past a few times to see which part she was reading. She proved to be a slower reader than I am but I could see her speed in no way inhibited her joy and sorrow she felt in each event played out in the book. My shift ended and I noticed she had only a few pages left, but I had to get to the radio station so I wasn’t able to see her final reaction when she came up for air. I found myself writing songs more geared towards love and affection than the sorrow and loss of my previous focus during my free time that evening. Friday could not come fast enough.

When her normal time did roll around on Friday something unexpected happened. She showed up with a friend, a female friend, thankfully, but it meant we wouldn’t be having a conversation about the book today. Instead of retreating to her corner with her friend she walked over to the counter where I was currently sorting out the new batch of muffins from earlier this morning. I smiled at the pair and stepped up to assist them before any of the other associates had the chance. “What can I get the two of you?” I wanted nothing more than to ask the girl about the book but I figured now was not the time. With a meaningful look shared between the two of us her friend spoke. “I’ll take a latte with one of your chocolate chip muffins.” Then looking towards the girl I have grown to care for despite our lack of conversation, she started making hand motions. The girl responded with her own hand motions while smiling at me the entire time. Her friend then turned towards me “she’ll take a mocha with one of the scones.”

In that moment her doe eyed innocence made sense, she was deaf. I wanted to slap myself for being so stupid and not realizing but there was nothing in our interaction to know, not that it mattered. With surprise written all over my face I carried out their order like I have so many others before them. As the friend stepped away from the counter the girl looked toward me with a sad smile. I looked straight into her eyes and smiled the friendliest smile I have ever made. It seemed to lift her spirits a little bit but the enthusiasm of earlier was lost. They went over to her corner and broke into conversation without saying a word. From a distance I marveled at the ability to speak with your hands as the artistic flow and motions that seemed to speed up the entire conversation to a streamline. When my shift ended I looked over to the pair still talking and smiled my own sad smile. The girl looked over to me for a moment and I waved goodbye while giving a smile. She gave her own small wave goodbye which caused her friend to look over at me. Blushing, I ducked out of the awkward situation on my way to the radio station.

On Monday I had another book waiting for her, this one from my own limited collection of books. It was a story of a boy whose parents kicked him out of the house when he revealed his dream to become a musician. The book was one of those you read which feels more like an autobiography than a fiction novel for me. To me this was the ultimate test to see if we could ever get to know each other. Setting up the book and the note at the chair I waited. A customer tried to take the seat but I persuaded them into another chair using the allure of a free muffin. She walked into the coffee shop at the same time as always and gave me a smile. She recognized that I had had a rough morning but at the sight of her I broke into a contented smile, the difficulty of morning patrons forgotten. Upon spying the book at her chair she looked at me questioningly. I motioned towards it with a nod of my head and she wandered over and picked up the book. I played the lines of the note out in my head as she read them. “This has always been my favorite book. I hope you can give it as well as me a chance.”

With a smile she sat down and started devouring the book in leaps and bounds, reading much more quickly than I had ever seen her read before. Every once in a while I would see her look up towards me with heartfelt eyes before returning to the turmoil hidden within the pages. I knew the book almost by heart despite my previous lack of passion for reading. With each look she cast me I could tell where she was in the book, but I also got the feeling she recognized this was more than just a book to me, it was my life.

When she reached a particularly rough patch in the story, I brought over a box of tissues without having been asked. In my motion to place the tissues her eyes had managed to scan my wrist seeing the lowest of my scars before I quickly pulled my hand away and covered them under layers of clothing. She looked at me in sorrow while she took the time to dab her eyes and blow her nose. With greater fervor she returned to the novel while I resumed my duties. She finished shortly before my shift ended and sat motionless in her seat thinking over the novel. Looking towards me while I helped a gentleman ordering for a meeting needing fifteen coffees of various makes I saw that this book now meant the world to her. She took out a note pad and started writing while I continued to make the coffees as quickly as I possibly could so that we could chat. She set the book and note down on the counter, smiled toward me, and then walked out of the coffee shop. Sad to see her go, I continued making the order a little slower. With the end of my shift I stood there looking at the note setting on top of the book, contemplating unfolding it to read the message or accepting her walking out as punishment enough. It wasn’t until that night after my work at the station I finally worked up the courage to open the message. The first thing that struck me was her hand writing, it was like calligraphy in beauty adding emotion with every stroke. “Thank you for sharing this with me. I will cherish this story forever.”

Sitting on my bed I pick up a book from the café’s shelf and delve into another ingenious world. I know she hadn’t read this one in our stock as it was kept in another section in the back to keep it protected from the clumsier patrons. This book proved to be less enjoyable than some of the others but the end message is what sealed it as worthy, the level of love and acceptance the friends have for each other speaks more than all the words in the book could ever say themselves.

In this moment I realize that she has accepted my life and I still haven’t shown full acceptance of what she has shown me. Throwing on a coat I race to the library and check out several books to help me learn sign language. The next day we return to our routine. Come Friday I’ve educated myself slightly on deaf culture and can sign enough to have a basic conversation even if I’m a bit hesitant and slow in making my signs. As she walks in I wave hello and she smiles in response. Heading over to her corner I see her sit down to start reading, before she has a chance to get started I interrupt. I place a complimentary mocha on the table and sit down across from her. She looks up at me questioningly. With slow hands and many moments of hesitation I start our conversation, “How are you?”

With a surprised happiness she signs back much too quickly for me to catch it all. I shake my head from the overload and she seems to catch on. With a smile she responds, “Good, thank you. How are you?”

Glad of her courtesy in using simple sentences and signing slowly I respond with the only response I know. “Good.” Then with hesitation and well practiced hands I go for broke. “I would like to get to know you better.” The pause after my asking feels like an eternity before I see her start to sign in motions I can’t understand.

She gets the hint and then responds with a simple “Yes.”

My heart feels like it wants to burst through my chest from joy and I find myself letting out a sigh of happiness. She smiles and looks over towards patrons at the counter. I look over and let out a surprised, “oh.” She picks up her book and starts to read while I help the customers. When my shift ends I see her wrapped up in her book so I write on a napkin that I have a performance in the café tonight and I would love it if she came. I never saw her response as I walked out of the café on my way to the station.

My work at the station dragged despite its crazy pace. I couldn’t get tonight out of my mind and trying to decide if I should sing one of the songs I wrote about her or my usual fare. When setting up on stage I still hadn’t decided which type of songs I was going to perform. I kept tossing the idea back and forth in my mind. It wasn’t until I saw her standing just inside the doorway with her friend that I knew which song to perform. Dressed in a skirt and blouse my heart more than my head decided that she deserved to be serenaded. She sat next to a speaker like I anticipated which was why I had plugged in my guitar instead of leaving it unplugged like I usually would. I started off with a more melancholy song about growing up and not being able to meet the world’s expectations. The girl and her friend both exchanged a look of significance and signed a couple things to each other before returning to listening. I didn’t recognize the word being used a couple times but figured it was in reference to the book I lent her to read. The next song was a more upbeat song of rising to the occasion that life has placed before you. The final song of my set was the one where I poured my heart out to a mysterious girl I met one day at a coffee shop. I sang the song directly to her more than anyone else in the room. From the feel of the beat and my look of significance she understood the words I was singing. Her own heart seemed to melt a little bit before she closed her eyes and just felt the beat ignoring me entirely. Hurt, I pushed through to the end of the song. As the cheering went around and several people shook my hand I cast my glance to the speaker and saw they had already left. That night in my bed I felt on the verge of a breakdown that never came.

I spent most of the weekend learning sign language instead of working on my music. When Monday rolled around even the worst customers couldn’t distract me from my intention to talk to her in a full conversation, but she never came. Despite her no show, I continued to study sign language instead of reading or writing music. On Tuesday she never came. My enthusiasm for studying sign language faltered thinking I had scared her off. It wasn’t until Thursday that she showed up with a book in hand. Walking to the front of the counter in determination I gave pause in my effort to clean the countertop. She set the book down in front of me on a dry spot and looked me directly in the eyes. Concerned by her holding gaze I start the conversation. “Are you okay?”

Ignoring my now fluid hand motions after my constant practice she begins, “Read this book. If you still want to get to know me after then, you will know where to find me Monday.”

Without another sign she walked out the café as my calls for her to wait fell on deaf ears. I looked down at the leather bound book seeing that it had been through a rough life making me fear what lay beneath the safety of the cover. I placed the book in my bag before returning to work. My shift dragged in the café without her there and the book taunting me from its home in my bag. During my shift at the radio station I ran into one of the talent scouts for a record company. He told me he would be going to my performance next Friday because he kept hearing good reviews of my talent. The fact I worked at the radio station and served him coffee from time to time didn’t hurt, I’m sure.

Once reaching my bed that night I opened the cover of the book. The first thing that struck me was the title page. In the corner I saw a picture of the author, it was written by the girl! Looking at her name printed next to the picture while I played it along the tip of my tongue before practicing signing her name. Once content that I could sign her name like I have been doing it my entire life I start reading. The story that followed was probably the most brutal account of a life I could have ever read. At multiple points I had to set the book down and stare at it across the room like it was some animal that might attack at any moment. The book was about a boy who grew up in a rather normal household. At the age of 12 the boy started puberty and hated the fact he was turning into a man. He started his own hormones to prevent a male puberty after searching online extensively. In the process he learned that he was transgendered, but he also learned he would never be accepted by his parents. In secret he prevented his male puberty until one day his father caught him dressing up in his mother’s clothes. The punishment was so severe that the boy was hospitalized from being beaten. In the process enough shots had landed on the boy’s ears that he could no longer hear, but it was his father crushing his vocal cords under his fist that prevented the boy from ever speaking again. Child protective services stepped in at this point. He was adopted by a single college professor who would never be able to have children because she was infertile. It was in the safety of this home the boy grew into a woman, learned how to communicate with the world, went to college, and aspired to become a writer. The journey was long and tortured in this full length novel. It ended much like the novel he had shared with her, the protagonist wondering if anyone could ever love someone so damaged.

That night I found himself unable to sleep while I reread the entire novel this time without interruption. The next morning came early but with so many thoughts and emotions on my mind the day passed in the blink of an eye. Throughout the weekend I read her book several more times, between lyric writing sessions or working at the station making sure a new band’s debut was flawless.

Come Monday morning I found myself struggling with what words I would say when she finally walked through the door. All too soon I found her sitting in her chair with a book in her lap. I noticed her casting glances my way more often than normal and that when she would turn a page was impractical for how little attention she paid the words. When my break arrived during a lull in customers I carried over two mochas and two scones and set them down on the table. I pulled her book out of my pocket and set my folded note on top of the leather cover and slid it across the table. Then I casually took a sip of my mocha and nibbled on my scone waiting for her to read the message. I knew firsthand how tough it was to face that folded message after sharing your life story with a complete stranger. After minutes of hesitation where I patiently sat eating and drinking relaxed, she worked up the courage to pick up the note. I didn’t make any significant motions so as not to scare her while she read the note, “Thank you for sharing this story with me, I will cherish it and you forever.”

Another piece that I wrote at the end of High School. This will probably be my last piece for a bit, while I try to tackle a larger piece.

My name is Todd… or at least I think it is. It’s getting hard to tell these days. You see, I’ve been plagued with a bizarre phenomenon. My day goes normally, I get up, go to school, come home, do my homework, watch some TV, then go to bed. That’s when everything starts getting weird. Instead of getting sleep with the occasional dream you remember I instead am awake. Or I think I’m awake. I know the world feels all too real to be a part of and that the person I dream I am does actually exist.

I don’t know what causes me to get these special wakeful dreams but I do know when it started. On the night of my sixteenth birthday, after having gorged on cake and homemade lasagna, I found myself crawling in to bed, content, only to have my eyes close and then open again with me as a girl named Erin who lives half way across the country. At first I thought I was having a weird dream, but when I went through an entire day in her life I began to doubt that I was dreaming. The first few months I was riding as a passenger, unable to influence her in any way at all. I had experienced periods, kissing of boys, and the most boring chick flick movies ever to be created. It might sound terrible but after riding through with her for so long it began to become normal. I became used to the way she spoke, moved and interacted with people. On occasion I had to catch myself when I was awake as Todd because I was acting like Erin.

I didn’t realize just how confused my mind was getting on who I was until I found I was able to influence what Erin did. It started small. I had a craving for a smoothie while riding shotgun in her head one night, and then the next thing I knew she was walking up to the counter of a coffee shop a couple blocks away ordering a strawberry smoothie. At first I wasn’t sure that I was the cause of her sudden hankering for a strawberry smoothie until I remembered that she preferred the mango over all others. I played it off as a fluke when I found I couldn’t influence her in any way.

One day while I was standing in the mall with my friends waiting to purchase a movie ticket I glanced up at the choices to verify our choice of time to go see the last action explosion zombie movie was correct. Skimming over the other titles to find my movie I locked eyes on the latest chick flick. It had come out last night I knew even though I couldn’t remember ever seeing an advertisement for it. I forced my vision to continue on to find the movie I was planning on watching. As my bud Marco stepped away from the counter I stepped up to order my ticket.

“Hi.” The girl behind the counter said with the enthusiasm only a minimum wage employee can manage.

I remember that I started talking in response and having a sudden compulsion to see the new drama so when I said that title I thought nothing of it. It wasn’t until I turned to my group of friends who were all staring at me that I began to wonder what was going on.

Marco gave me a strange look, “Dude, what did you get that ticket for? I thought we were going to see some zombies blow up.”

It took me a second to put two and two together and when I looked at my ticket I realized my mistake. I knew at this point I only had one way to play this off and salvage what little dignity I had left. “Did I forget to tell you I’ve got a date so I won’t be able to go into the movie with you all?” They shook their heads as I knew they would, I had no such plans. “My bad, slipped my mind. You know it would rock to go see the movie with you all but the ladies call.”

Several of them gave disappointed looks but it wasn’t long before they decided to let it go. “We’ll see you after the movie, right?”

There was only one answer I could give, “Yeah, see ya after. Let me know how it was.”

While standing in line with a bunch of teenage girls with their moms or friends I found myself the only boy in a sea of estrogen. I didn’t mind so much, after all none of them gave me threatening looks and those who gave strange looks were too intimidated by my temporary neck tattoo making me look like an ex convict to dare say a word. So I’m 16 and still wear temporary tattoos to play up my toughness without going permanent and having mad parents, what of it?

My mind was in a whirl while waiting for the theater to open up. I would never have wanted to see this movie but here I was in line waiting. With how strange my life is I immediately began to question my alternate life dreams. What if this is just like the smoothie fiasco only the girl is trapped in my brain when her body sleeps. I ponder for a moment how the small differences in time zones should make it impossible since we would be awake at the same time some days, but shaking it off as inconsequential when the big thought hits me. What if I lose control? Today it’s only a small issue, an embarrassing one, but still not something I couldn’t get out of. Tomorrow I might find myself buying a skirt like Erin wears all the time. The line to file into the theater starts to move so I abandon my train of thought resolving to not ever let that happen.

Several months passed without any more incidents on either side. One day while sitting day-dreaming in my English class while we were supposed to be taking notes on some dead poet I looked down to see that my notebook was full of beautifully written words. I don’t mean that they were written poetically but that they were written very artistically, girly. The letters were very bubbly and smooth without my usual jaggedness. Afraid that someone would see my notebook I tore the page out of my notebook which earned a disapproving look from my teacher while he continued to babble. I stuffed the page in my pocket and looked around a little conspiratorially before feeling safe that no one saw.

When I got home and I was taking my keys out of pocket I found the page. Standing on my front stoop I unraveled the now thoroughly wrinkled page. I thought initially that they would have been notes on the class like Erin had acted as a diligent student, which she tended to be in her body. I partially collapsed and partly leaned against the door frame as I realized it was a note, for me.

“We need to figure this out before something bad happens and we ruin each other’s life. Text me
Erin”

I walked inside my house and moved quickly towards my bedroom ignoring my mom’s greetings. I closed my bedroom door and threw my book bag on the floor and pull out my cell phone. I’ve spent enough time in Erin’s head to know her phone number, regardless of whether I wanted to or not. What do you say in a situation like this? Hey, sorry for spying on you while I sleep, did you know that those shoes don’t go with that shirt? I shake my head in frustration before settling on keeping it simple.

Todd: Hello?

Erin: Finally, I thought you were going to just ignore me after what I put you through today.

Todd: Today? What was so bad about school then watching TV with your folks last night?

Erin: Oh, you haven’t dreamed today yet then. Sorry in advance :(

Todd: What did you do?

Erin: I’m not sure I should tell, it’s not something a girl talks to a guy about.

Todd: you can’t just leave it at that after that build up

Erin: After I realized that you were really a person, I stopped playing with bits.

Todd: Oh that, I’ve already put you through that so fair is fair I guess

I don’t know why but the thought of experiencing the female side of arousal appealed to me. Call me curious or Erin rubbing off on me but after having experienced a period it didn’t seem all that intimidating.

Erin: I still feel weird, it’s like we’ve had sex but I haven’t even met you

Todd: We can’t just stop our lives because of some crazy brain mix-up every night. Maybe we should promise to live our lives as if the other person isn’t there

Erin: but then I’d be stuck in you as a boy every night. That’s just too much, I like being a girl.

Todd: And I like being a guy, but it’s not like there is anything we can do to stop it.

Erin: True

I hear a light knock from my mom as she opens my door. “Your father isn’t going to be home until late so it’s just you and me for dinner. I was thinking Mexican?”

I’ve always been a fan of Mexican but for some reason I feel more of an interest towards Italian even though we haven’t had Mexican in ages. “Sure, sounds great.” I pick up my phone, angry with Erin, I thought we had just agreed to not mess with each other.

My mom sees my rush to pick up my phone and gets suspicious. “Texting a girl?”

Her happy tone causes me to look up into her eyes, “Yeah, just some girl I met awhile ago that I keep bumping into.” Technically it’s not a lie.

My mom’s glee at me having a potential girlfriend surprises me. “I don’t believe in coincidences, if you keep running into her it must be meant to be.” She ducks out the door quickly to avoid my dirty look.

Todd: I thought we agreed to not influence each other.

Erin: I don’t know what you’re talking about, I didn’t do anything.

Todd: you just tried to get me to eat Italian when I wanted Mexican.

Erin: I had Italian for lunch and it’s planned for dinner at my house, that wasn’t me.

I’m taken aback for a moment. Does that mean there is a third person floating around in my head or that I truly wanted Italian food and just played it off as Erin? Knowing I’ve never dreamt another person the first seems unlikely. That’s when the feeling of being confused really hit home. How can you tell between what it is that you like versus someone else when it feels exactly the same.

Todd: I’m sorry if I pushed you to eat Italian today, just realized I’m hungry for some.

Erin: That’s why I think this whole plot to not affect each other is a terrible idea. We should find a middle ground because otherwise we will feel bad every time we affect each other. It’s hard to live when you’re afraid the other person is the reason you like someone or something.

Todd: yeah I guess. What do you suggest?

Erin: to start, I’ll stop wearing dresses all the time if you’ll stop wearing those baggy jeans and raggedy t-shirts.

Todd: Okay, I can live with that. Can you dial down on the makeup and hair time too.

Erin: But I like looking nice!

Erin: Fine, I’ll try to be quick and simple. But you can’t keep playing those blasted video games all night long.

I look over at my game console that I play now out of boredom more than interest.

Todd: Consider it done, I’ll sell it tomorrow.

Erin: Let’s try this for now, feel free to text me but I think we both have to accept that we sometimes won’t be able to stop ourselves from influencing the other.

Todd: I know, but at least we can be conscientious.

Erin: I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word. You hiding your genius in that brain of yours?

Todd: better than storing it somewhere else

Erin: haha, that’s more what I’m used to hearing from you. See you tonight to…. Talk to myself.

Todd: Yeah, should be interesting, later

I throw my phone on my bed and lose myself in thought. Middle ground, this is either brilliant or an absolutely terrible idea.

That night I experienced what Erin apologized for before she got ready for school. I must admit I like the female experience a lot more. She even had a little extra in every step she took throughout the day.

It was the first day of our altered lifestyles that we learned a very significant lesson. I was wearing a polo shirt and fitting tan pants, something that caused my mother to take my temperature in fear something was wrong with me. I felt out of place in the clothes because they didn’t fit my style. I wasn’t sure what Erin was feeling trapped inside my head until I looked in a mirror with my new look and felt queasy. I had worn something like this before and it always felt a little off to me but something I could easily deal with. The unmistakable horror I was feeling I knew was not my own, even if it felt like it. I looked even more masculine without my baggy t-shirt and the baggy jeans to hide my bulge. I ran upstairs to change immediately. I changed the pants for my usual baggy pants and threw on a hoodie from an obscure band I’d never heard music for. I was relieved by the change I felt even before I looked in the mirror, and it was Erin’s sigh that escaped my lips that let me know she still wasn’t happy but could live with this today.

Otherwise my day went about how it usually would until after I went to bed and had to experience Erin’s attempt to try on clothes outside of her norm. I could sense her being unnerved about wearing jeans to school and kept casting wistful glances towards her dresses. Eventually she steeled herself and did the tight jean dance to pull them all the way up and over her round butt. She picked up a pair of tennis shoes and pulled them on, an item I didn’t even think she owned. Despite her attempt to be a bit less feminine on her lower half her tight t-shirt only accentuated her womanly curves. Looking in the mirror I saw the same Erin I always had only she wasn’t dressed up as much. I suppose it was my ability to see her body as someone else that let me make it through the day with what she picked, where she had failed. I could tell she was uncomfortable, but I felt more at easy now that guys weren’t staring at her legs as much and I didn’t feel the swish of a dress.

It was the next morning that I got a text from her.

Erin: I’m sorry I couldn’t make it with what you chose.

Todd: It’s okay, I dunno if you could tell, but I didn’t like it either.

Erin: I could tell a little. Thanks for making it through with what I wore; I didn’t really like it either.

Todd: I didn’t feel like you were on display as much, which helped me relax, but I could tell you weren’t happy

Erin: I know I suggested middle ground but I’m not sure if this is going to work any better.

Todd: You seemed okay when I dressed androgynously.

Erin: it was better than what you had before but still wasn’t good

Todd: Not much I can do past that

Erin: you could always wear a dress :p

Todd: The goal is not to get BOTH of us beat up

Erin: Oh, yeah… forgot guys can’t dress as freely as girls

Todd: If you’re willing to keep your dressed down look, I’ll try to compromise and grow out my hair and shave more

Erin: your whole body right?

Todd: What?

Erin: arms, legs, armpits, chest, face. You aren’t that hairy to begin with but I think it would help. And no one would see since you wear sweatshirts and jeans so much.

Todd: Fine. But if this goes badly for me you should shave your head.

Erin: HAHA, never going to happen. I know you like my hair, you finger it a lot.

I did a double take of the screen, rereading her text. I very rarely influenced what she did consciously, what if….

Todd: do I influence you much?

Erin: Not a ton, but I feel like it’s a lot more than I influence you. You never have big slip ups like I do, but then your influences always come off girly.

Todd: What do you mean?

Erin: Little things, you play with my hair, make me sit with my feet tucked under me sometimes, talk with my hands a little more. None of them are bad things, just not something I did before you.

Todd: Sorry, I didn’t even realize.

Erin: Really, it’s okay, I figured you didn’t but since they don’t bother me no need to worry. Well other than that you started doing some of them as yourself

I stared at my phone screen and then tried to think how I had changed in how I acted. I couldn’t think of anything but in my self-consciousness I examined how I was sitting and I had my answer. Erin was rubbing off on me, and it wasn’t her mind.

I spent my entire day examining my every motion, word, and interest. By the time I made it to lunch I was scared. I hadn’t realized just how much I had changed. As Erin had said it was the little things mostly but several larger things had somehow been thrown in to the mix. Like when I saw a guy I’ve known since early elementary school and thought him to be attractive, not that my body really reacted to him. The next was looking at a girl I thought drop dead gorgeous only months ago and now I was more interested in examining what she was wearing and how it fitted her. The biggest of them all was when I almost walked into the girls bathroom, thinking it normal after seeing Erin walk into one night after night.

Once I had sat at one of the benches outside away from anyone I might know with my lunch I proceeded to text Erin.

Todd: I’m freaking out a bit about what you said earlier, I’ve changed a lot more than I realized.

Erin: How so?

I sat on the bench for several minutes trying to figure out how to tell or if I should even get specific. After all she’s a girl and I’m still a guy. It’s not like I really had a shot with her or that she would ever run into anyone in my life, I might as well. After I type out my message I re-read it several times before taking the leap and sending it. I await her reply which feels like an eon.

Erin: I know it’s scary but it must mean your adjusting to living with me. I don’t know how it happened so quickly because I don’t feel like I’ve adjusted at all but I would say just ride it out.

Of course she would say that. “Ride it out” yeah right into a fist in my face repeatedly. I let out a frustrated sigh. My phone goes off again and I contemplate just ignoring her unhelpful messages.

Erin: I mean, you seem to get along better living as a girl than I do as a boy. We will rub off on each other but you seem to pick up my habits easier.

Todd: But what does that mean? If I keep this up I’ll end like a freak.

Erin: Try not to worry so much. I know plenty of girls who act that way and are normal.

Todd: Yeah but I’m a guy.

Erin: Until you go to bed, then you’re a girl.

I wanted to have some witty comeback but couldn’t think of anything. Maybe she was right, it’s okay to act like a girl since half the time I am but I have to be mindful when I’m a boy so I don’t act all feminine.

It turns out that is easier said than done. When Erin it was all fine and dandy, I could act however I felt without worry that she wouldn’t act like a girl because there was a enough of her there too to help, but when living as Todd it got difficult. I found myself in a constant state of paranoia. Did I act too girly? Did I act too exaggeratedly macho? Is this thought or action mine or Erin’s? It got to the point that one day I was sitting in my bedroom on my bed doing my homework, or rather Erin doing my homework, that I started to cry. It wasn’t like I had a thought going through my head or saw something sad, I just found slow tears making lines down my face. It took a moment for Erin to snap out of her school mode to realize that her vision was blurry.

I wrapped myself into a self hug and lay down on my bed before I tossed my covers over my head to hide from the world. I felt love and compassion being sent from Erin but all that sank through to my brain was how terribly isolated I felt. I was acting like a girl naturally, being comfortable as a girl every night, and to top it off I was having difficulty telling when I was Erin. You would think it easy to just look at your clothes and know but it wasn’t that simple anymore. Sometimes I would react without thinking and end up saying something really girly. At first people played it off as me joking, but now they were starting to think I was serious because they didn’t laugh. In fact it had become obvious to others of my plight. I was fighting a losing battle against Erin’s femininity. I suppose the femininity was actually mine but it was easier to blame her than accept that my predicament was self imposed.

I was always a fist fighter. How can you fight that way when what you’re fighting isn’t physical. I just wanted to beat out my frustrations at never being able to act like myself without fear of being girly, while hating that being girly was what had become natural. I swirled and swirled round and round skipping dinner and not getting to bed until five in the morning.

When I woke as Erin I felt like my burden had been lifted from me, if only for a little while. We climbed out of bed, donned our clothes, spent a few minutes doing simple makeup and hair styling before meandering downstairs for a normal day of school. We sat with our friends, talked about articles we had read in a magazine, and gossiped about the boys and girls of the school. Classes were a breeze with Erin’s ability to pay attention while I was able to day dream. Once the school was over I nudged her to go to the mall with her friends and wander the shops. She seemed to recognize that I was the source because she said “such a girl” under her breath before calling all her friends to go. We ended up hitting every clothing shop; I even let her try on dresses. Something she seemed to appreciate. In the end we bought little since our allowance wasn’t due until next week, but we made some memories with our friends. It was with a contented smile that we went to bed that night.

I heard my morning alarm go off, and slammed my hand down on it before I rolled over and went back to sleep. I awoke as Erin in the middle of the night as she got up and went to the bathroom before crawling back in bed.

I felt my world shaking as my mother tried to wake me. I felt my covers getting pulled away and I scrunched up to try and stay warm. “Get up this minute; you’re going to be late for school.”

With tired eyes I looked at the clock and saw I had overslept by 45 minutes. I quickly rose and threw on some clothes before I sprinted down the hall past my mom to the bathroom. I heard my phone go off as someone had texted me. I grab my phone on the way out the door and read.

Erin: What’s wrong? You scared me last night. I couldn’t get through to you.

Todd: I was feeling low.

Erin: Next time you feel low, please text me or let me take over. I felt so helpless trapped while you were hurting.

When I decided to ignore her text she became more insistent in her message sending.

Erin: I know you probably blame me but I want to help. I care about you.

Erin: Please don’t shut me out, I want to be there for you.

It was her next text that Erin finally kicked me out of my unwillingness to let her respond to herself.

Erin: I know you don’t want to talk to me right now, but you need to talk to someone.

Todd: Who else can I talk to? No one else would understand.

Erin: Then please let me help.

Todd: Not sure there is any help in this situation.

Erin: :( just remember I’m here if you feel like talking.

I threw my phone deep into my book bag, wanting to be as far from the offending object as possible. During classes that day, Erin didn’t take over, she spent the entire time sending happy thoughts while I did my best to ignore her presence. When we made it to my room after school I collapsed on my bed and proceeded to stare at my ceiling for a while. During my nothingness Erin must have decided to hop into the driver seat because I found myself going through my closet. She put the most masculine clothes on me that I owned. When I looked in the mirror I just collapsed into a ball on the spot. I couldn’t tell if the pain was my own or Erin’s from seeing my own reflection but the fact I wanted to punch the mirror made it clear a part of me was reacting that way.

I sat there for a few minutes crying before I heard my mom get home. The first thing she did, with her special mother ESP, was to head to my room to check in on me. She took one look at me on the floor crying and she immediately moved and wrapped me in a hug. She spoke words of comfort but she didn’t know what I was feeling which only seemed to add to my pain. Why do I keep crying? I shouldn’t let her see me cry. What will she think if I told her what’s going on?

Through all my pain Erin had taken the wheel long enough to get out a few words to my mom. “I don’t… want to be… a girl.” My mom continued to comfort me, completely unfazed by my, er Erin’s words.

When I finally felt like I had no energy left to cry. My mother pulled me back and looked me in the eye. “I will always love you. No matter what.” With her words I found new energy to cry as the tears started anew.

When I ran out of tears she continued to hold me for a minute. I pulled back from her embrace and gave her a sad smile. “Thanks.”

“Anytime. Do you want to talk about it?” she probes tentatively.

I start to form an emphatic no in my mouth but Erin kicks in, “yeah.” I mentally curse her but as my mom looks at me expectantly I realize I’m in for the long haul now. “Sometimes I act really girly, and I don’t know if that’s me or someone else.”

My mom contemplates my words for only a brief moment. “If you naturally act or say something then I’d say it’s a part of you.”

I hang my head at her words. Why can’t I just blame Erin for all this, then I don’t have to feel like a freak. “What if I don’t want it to be a part of me? What if I feel like it’s going to ruin my life?”

She pursues her lips, “It’s important to be yourself; otherwise you’ll have to fight yourself every day. No one should have to live like that.”

“Even if you’ll hate me for it?”

“I could never hate you, you’re my baby.” She says with a motherly smile.

Timidly I bring up a thought that I was actively trying to not give strength by admitting its existence. “Even if I was a girl?” It’s Erin who causes me to gasp and cover my mouth.

My mother takes my action at being surprised at my own words. “Hey, it’s okay. I would love you just the same, girl or boy.”

I feel a small smile creep up at the corner of my mouth. “Thanks, mom.”

“I didn’t tell you anything that you shouldn’t already know.”

Two Years Later

“Erin get out of bed, you’re going to be late for school on your first day of senior year!”

I leap out of bed happy. Today is my first day of school after having my SRS! Ever since I had started living as a girl I found Erin and me becoming almost the same person. We finally felt free to influence each other whenever since we had become so comfortable as each other. Throughout most of our days the only way we could tell who was who was when we looked in the mirror. So you can see now why it’s gotten difficult to tell who was born Todd and who was Erin because now we’re the same person.

4/6/21
I don’t really know where to start this, I guess the beginning is as good a place as any. My twin sister and I were born at 11:11:11 am on 11/11/11, or at least that is what our mother says. I doubt we were both actually born at that time, but she won’t fess up and say which one of us is older. My vote is I am, since I am so much more mature than sis, if it wasn’t for her my life wouldn’t be so messed up right now. I wish I could just be myself, but instead I have to be like her. In classes, I’m made fun of because of it.

My parents first learned my sister and I were not your average kids not long after we were born. My parents wanted to have my sisters ears pierced so that they could tell us apart easily because we looked too similar. While she was getting her ears done with my mom, I was being held by my dad. My mom came back with my sister having brand new holes, and when they finally stopped fussing over her, they realized that my ears were pierced too just without the stud. It’s really weird, anything that I do to my body happens to my sister and the same goes for her to me. My parents had our blood tested, and genetically we are identical except I am a boy and she is not. It all is too complex for me, I have no idea why it works. I do know that my parents set rules for us so we don’t mess up the other. For instance, I have to keep my hair at about shoulder length so my sister looks like a normal girl and my ears are pierced because of my parents first mistake. My sister isn’t allowed to have long finger nails so that I don’t get made fun of, but I do anyway.

Only things that physically affect our body happens to the other. We learned that when my sister put on nail polish that I am lucky enough to not have colored nails. Our clothes can also be different, but if one of gets sick the other gets sick at the same time regardless of where they are. It is really annoying, I blame my sister for getting me sick all of the time but she blames me and we end up fighting about it. We get into a lot of arguments. Usually because one of us didn’t consider what would happen to the other. Scrapped knees are the worst, luckily no shared broken bones since neither of us are that active.

The reason I am writing this journal is because I did one of the stupid things and didn’t think about what would happen to my sister. My parents don’t seem to understand the torture I go through at school every day. Yesterday was the worst yet. The school bully kept mocking me and shoving me around about being such a girl. When I came home I cut off my hair so I would look like a boy no matter who saw me. When my mom got home I was yelled at, but no hitting since it would hurt my sis too. Instead they did something worse. They had my sisters hair cut in a shorter feminine style and said she was allowed to grow it however she wanted. To get back at me she said she wanted it really long. I am glad it will take a long time to grow out, at least for now I won’t be made fun of.

4/7/21
I was wrong the bullying hasn’t stopped, but it isn’t as bad as it was before. My sisters friends all said they like her new hair cut. I wish I could have friends, but all the boys see me as a freak.

6/14/21
Summer is finally here! The best part about summer is being able to go swimming all the time. I am a very good swimmer, I can hold my breath for a really long time. Hopefully this summer I will be able to convince my parents to take us to the pool more.

8/28/21
Summer was great, but we are going back to school. My hair is starting to get a bit long again, I wish I could cut it. If I wasn’t so afraid of my parents letting my sister be really girly freely I would cut it again. Maybe the bullies will find someone else to pick on this year.

11/11/21
It’s my birthday! I can’t wait to see what my parents got me, but they won’t be home for a few hours I will have to enter later what they got.

I got a soccer ball and some action figures. My sister got clothes and horses and was excited. I will never understand her.

12/14/21
Christmas is getting close. I can’t wait to see what I am getting. I also can’t wait for Christmas break to avoid all of the work school has. Who needs to know how to write fractions? I was doing just fine before when you just had a piece of cake or the whole thing.

12/20/21
Something has been wrong lately. My mom and dad have been talking with my sister a lot and any time I try to listen I get yelled at to go to my room. I don’t know what is going on, hopefully it is a Christmas surprise but I get the feeling it’s a bad thing.

1/3/22
Christmas was weird, my parents got me a lot of things like my sister. I got clothes that were similar in colors and shapes that are really different from what I normally wear. I feel like they are trying to turn me into a copy of my sister. To make matters worse I can’t seem to get a good night sleep because my shirts always seem to bunch in my chest causing me pain.

1/20/22
I blew up at my sister today and hit her in the chest to teach her for making fun of the way I walk. I knew that it would hurt me too but hitting something always made me feel like I was doing something to make it better. This time though, it made me double over in pain myself as an excruciating pain went through me. I had to sit down with dad and talk about why I got so mad and I told him that I haven’t been able to sleep well. He asked if it was because of my chest, and I told him about it and what it felt like when I hit sis. Dad told me about how I was getting lumps on my chest because sis was starting to go through puberty. I would have to go through it with her since girls start their puberty first.

This is really unfair! Not only do I have to look like a girl but now sis is turning me into a girl! According to dad the doctors say when I hit puberty the same will happen to sis just in reverse. Whichever of us produces more hormones will determine whether we look like girls or boys. Could I get anymore freaky?

Author's note:
1) I didn't want to edit this too heavily since a kid supposedly wrote it, if it is too mistake heavy or difficult to read let me know and I will polish it.

2) This is probably all I will write for this story, so anyone who wants to continue on with the story is free to do so in whatever manner they wish (journal, novel, even verse). If you have any questions about the concept feel free to message me.

Author's Note: Just a little something I threw together while the server was down. Let me know what you think. Thanks to djkauf for the speedy edit.

I met my best friend Sarah back in elementary school. She was trying desperately to get along with the boys in the class but we were still at the age where girls had cooties. In the end she took the consolation prize, me. I got along well enough with the other people in my class but I never really had an interest in being friends with the other boys. To me she was a godsend, saving me from being alone since none of the girls wanted to be around a ‘smelly boy.’

We spent hours back then talking. Eventually with all of our talks I began to learn more and more about her. One day I realized that she didn’t like being a girl. Not that she said that she wanted to be a boy but that she hated anything to do with girls. When her mom forced her to start wearing a training bra she immediately called me in rage at the concept of being forced into a bra. I didn’t understand what it was that was so bad about one. As I tried to calm her down describing the practicality of wearing one and how she would be growing up, that was when she said it, “God, you’re such a girl. Why don’t you just wear one?” She hung up on me without another word. I sat there with the phone still to my ear. I wasn’t mad at her for hanging up on me because I was too caught up with what she said. Did I want to wear one?

The next time the two of us got together at my house, she rushed upstairs to my bedroom and took off the bra. With all her might she flung it across the room, with it hitting the wall and falling in to my waste basket. I stood at the door to my room in awe, why would she do such a thing? I walked over to the waste basket and fished out the bra.

“I’m not putting that back on! It can stay in the trash where it belongs!”

I wasn’t about to let a perfectly good piece of clothing go in the trash so I tried to reason with her to talk with her mom about not making her wear one. I tried to give it back to her, not to wear but so that it wouldn’t go to waste. Maybe they could return it and save her parents some money. “If you’re so afraid of it going in the trash why don’t you just keep it? I’m never touching one again!” That was of course a lie. In the end I kept it, since she was so adamant about throwing it out.

A couple days later she visited again and at the end of the day I found myself with another brand new bra. This happened several more times until eventually her mom got the point that she wasn’t going to wear one. With a dozen or so bras stashed at the back of my closet I prayed that my mom wouldn’t go snooping and find them.

About a month later we were sitting going over school work when I noticed her staring at me. Eventually I had enough and demanded to know what she was interested in. “Do you ever feel like you hate being a boy?”

Her question confused me. “It’s not like there’s another option so I try not to think about it.”

We didn’t say another word to each other for a couple minutes before she decided to continue. “You know, even though you’re a boy I see you as a girl.”

I blinked dumbfounded. Why would she think that? But then I see her as more of a boy even though she’s a girl. “Um, thanks I guess. I see you more as a boy.”

A small smile played at a corner of her mouth, “You’re welcome.” We returned to our work dropping the issue.

Later that week when at her house in her room I noticed it had changed. Her pastel colored walls were now plain white, her canopy on her bed had been taken down, and the decorations in her room were all gone with nothing replacing them. She caught my interest in the décor change but merely said, “I’m redecorating now that I’m getting older.”

During a lull in our conversation she quickly stood and walked to her closet. She began pulling different clothes items I’ve never seen her wear and tossing them carelessly onto her bed. I moved to her bed to make sure they wouldn’t get wrinkled. The various dresses, tops and skirts were all beautiful but with Sarah being so much like a boy had never even taken the tag off of them. Once most of the contents of her closet sat on her bed she turned to me. She gazed into my eyes in thought then turned back to her closet and began changing. First to go was her top. She flung that over onto the pile of clothes where I picked it up and folded it. From my angle all I could see of her was her back. By looking at her top half she looked a bit like a boy, she hadn’t grown into her shoulders yet and with her short haircut she looked to fit that part. I glanced at her waist and noticed the definite curve of a girl. Her pants were next off and I saw her wide and shapely butt hidden inside boring white panties, along with her strong but slightly hairy legs.

I knew I shouldn’t be watching but this was the first time I had seen her without clothes on. This was also the first time I noticed the differences between boys and girls in body. If it hadn’t been Sarah I don’t think I would ever have analyzed the difference. My view of her was cut short as she donned a boy’s soccer t shirt and a pair of loose fitting boy’s jeans. She turned to look at me timidly. “Do you mind if I wear this?”

Even though the clothes weren’t what I was used to seeing her in they seemed to fit her as a person better. “Not at all, whatever you feel comfortable in.”

Relieved she smiled. We spent the rest of the evening as two boys playing, even if one was named Sarah.

A couple days later she asked me if I could call her Steve and use boy pronouns when she was dressed as a boy. I merely shrugged, after all I already saw her as a boy. The change of name and pronouns came easily I found, it was when I had to switch back during school or when she wasn’t dressed like a boy that I started to have trouble. I never outed him but I almost said the wrong thing several times a day. When Steve finally talked with his parents they were surprisingly receptive. Whenever he wasn’t in school he could dress like a boy but in school was always a girl. The assigned uniforms for school only seemed to make it worse for him in classes. Girls were to wear skirts or dress pants with a blouse and a cardigan or jacket. Sarah would push the limits of the dress code tolerance. Her pants were boy’s dress pants, she wore a blouse and a jacket that made her look like she had shoulders. Strangers or substitutes were getting confused with pronouns but whenever they said ‘he’ Steve would beam, but when they said ‘she’ there was an almost imperceptible change in the eyes.

With all the changes going on in Steve’s life I started to examine my own life to figure out what I would do if the opposite happened to me. When I realized I wouldn’t mind if it did I started freaking out. I had seen firsthand that people could switch genders, even if only when outside of school. I noticed that in school Sarah was making friends with boys and girls other than me now but was still my best friend and would get together almost every day.

One night, I had a dream about Sarah and me being in a more than friend’s relationship. While we were kissing I pulled back to find Sarah had switched to Steve. I looked down between us, both wearing boys’ clothes. He pulled me in for another kiss that made me feel wonderful. As he pulled back I noticed that he was a bit taller than me now. He had developed into a man with facial hair and Adam’s apple. I looked down at myself wondering what I would look like. I found a rather unexpected sight, I was a girl. Complete with boobs and a flat front. I was wearing the girl’s uniform from school that managed to showcase my assets. Steve pulled me in for another kiss that pulled me to my toes as I tried to reach further. As the kissing ended I felt him spin me and pull me into a comforting back hug. I felt something poke me in my backside that sent wonderful chills through my body. He leaned close to my ear and said, “You’re the best girlfriend ever!”

I awoke with a start and basked in the left over good feeling the dream had left me with. The good feeling began to trickle away being replaced with fear, sadness, and a general discomfort. I cycled through my mind thinking. I wanted that dream to come true, but did I want to be the girl?

During school I didn’t speak to Sarah much. As we were on the bus to go home she demanded to know what was eating at me. I shrugged and played it off as nothing. The look she gave told me I hadn’t heard the last of this discussion.

During the walk home she told me she wanted to show me something in her room. I knew my parents wouldn’t mind my going to her house before going home I agreed. She darted up to her room while I followed slowly behind. I expected to see her already changing when I made it to her room but she was sitting straddling a desk chair. I slowly walked in and plopped down on her bed. Her walls were now covered with pictures of girls, cars, and sports teams. I could feel the walls closing in around me trying to eat me. “So what’s wrong?”

I chanced a glance at her before shifting my vision to the door. “Nothing, don’t you want to get changed?”

She followed my vision to the door before looking back at me and speaking carefully. “It can wait. I want to know what’s wrong first.”

We sat there, her waiting for me to say something while I adamantly refused to talk about it. “Are you upset because of something I did?”

I sat there stumped for a moment, “Well yes… and no.”

She pursued her lips. “Is this about me being a boy?”

“No!” I answered quickly so she wouldn’t think I had a problem with it. “But at the same time yes.”

She sat in thought for a moment weighing my words. “Let’s play a game.” Curious I look up from my spot on the floor into her eyes. “We’re always boys playing with each other so why don’t we do something different. Let’s play as a boy and a girl again.”

“Okay.” I say more to get her to leave me alone. If she thinks her playing with me as a girl today will help then why not. She smiles a bit before moving to her closet and digs through. I focus on my spot on the ground ignoring her. A piece of silky cloth smacks me in the face pulling me out of my head. I see Steve dressed in his usual tee shirt and boy jeans. I don’t understand why he asked to play as a boy and girl again when he was going to change until I look at the item in my lap. “Oh no!” I toss the blouse onto the ground and back away across the bed.

Steve looks at me as I continue to stare at the blouse now sitting balled up in a way that would wrinkle it. “It’s just for fun, it doesn’t have to mean anything. Just because I wear guy clothes and want to live as a boy doesn’t me that if you wear girl clothes you’ll start wanting to be a girl. If that could happen then how did I end up a boy after all the dresses my mom’s made me we wear.”

His logic makes sense but I couldn’t help but feel afraid. What if I liked it? What if I hated wearing it, then my funk would have been for nothing. I knew immediately that hating it wouldn’t happen. In fact I knew in such a way that I could guarantee I would love it, and that was what worried me most of all. Steve could sense I was warming to the idea, “Besides you already agreed and you wouldn’t be so mean as to make me be a girl after all I’ve put up with at school.”

I looked away and knew he had me. I slowly crossed the room and Steve bent and picked up the blouse, handing it to me. I held it up to me to see if it would fit, “God, you’re such a girl.”

I stuck my tongue out at him since I knew I was going to try it on even if he decided to stop me now. He rolled his eyes at me and delved back into his closet producing the pleated and never been worn school uniform skirt. He looks at me expectantly but I simply stand there holding the white school blouse. “Aren’t you going to change?”

I look at him questioningly, “underwear?”

Sheepishly he heads to his chest of drawers and digs to the bottom. There he manages to find a left over pair of panties. He then goes into another drawer where he digs through until he finds an actual bra, not a training bra. “Since when did you get a bra?”

“I saved a couple in case a situation arose that they would be needed… like now.” I glare at him in disbelief, he looks guilty under my gaze but sticks with his story.

I snatch the items from his hand and head for the bathroom. “You can change here if you want, I won’t look.” I weigh his words so he pushes, “I’ll even turn around so I can’t look.” He turns in place.

I start changing out of my boy’s uniform for school. First off is the oxford which I replace with the bra and blouse. Next my pants and boxers go and the panties and skirt are added. I look up into the mirror in his room and examine myself. The clothes don’t fit perfectly but they aren’t far off. A faint trace of a male figure peeks through but otherwise I don’t look too bad. During my lack of sound Steve has turned around. Without a word he merely nods.

“Do I look okay?” I say weakly.

“Not bad, if your hair was a little longer I’d say you were really a girl.”

At the mention of my hair I reached up and subconsciously ran my fingers over it. Steve didn’t give me the opportunity to dwell on it before he launched into conversation after conversation without a single lull. I had never seen him talk so much but he was forcing me to engage in the conversation. After a couple minutes I realized he wasn’t giving me the time to feel self conscious so the clothes had become merely clothes.

When it was time to go home I changed back into my boy’s uniform, thanked him, then ran home. I hated to admit to myself but wearing the girl’s clothes hadn’t been too bad. In the end, I was even beginning to enjoy the feel and freedom associated with them. I could act however I wanted without worrying Steve would think me girly or weird. It was when I got dressed to come home that solidified the thoughts in my mind. Wearing the boy’s clothes wasn’t good enough anymore.

After school the next day Sarah asked if we could get together over at my house since we were at hers yesterday. I didn’t know how to respond, I found myself wanting to go to her house so I could get changed. I reluctantly agreed to let her come over. Once in the safety of my room we started on homework with Sarah still dressed as Sarah. When we finished the first assignment and were about to start on our writing assignments she brought up the clothing situation. “Can I put on something of yours? I’m tired of these clothes.”

I simply say sure and began pulling off my blazer and tie. I hand them to her while she starts peeling off her own layers. Once all our clothes are swapped we both look like boys since she always wears masculine clothing even as a girl. I was deep in thought on a problem when I hear Steve shout, “Kara!”

“Who’s Kara?” I question.

“You, I was asking what you got for number four but you were in your own little world.”

“Steve, I’m wearing your clothes and most of them are guy’s clothes anyway. Why are you calling me Kara?”

“Sorry, you seemed okay with me thinking of you as a girl, I guess the blouse and that made me think girl.”

However strange I manage to understand. “But why call me Kara?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know, it was just the name that came out. You aren’t mad are you?”

Was I mad? I didn’t seem to be, only curious as to what caused him to act as he had. “No, not at all. I kind of like it.”

He smiled like I had given the right answer. From then on any time we traded clothes or I wore his school girl uniform I was Kara. I realized that I still looked like a guy because Steve wore mostly guy things but it didn’t seem to matter. He called me by the name I was increasingly beginning to think of as mine.

My parents never spent much time at home so our bouts never were discovered by my parents. Steve’s parents seemed more than happy to play along and call me Kara, even when I was wearing my own clothes. I don’t know how they heard my name but apparently they knew nonetheless. On one visit to their house Steve’s mom offered me his old girl clothes. An offer I was more than happy to take. He was a little bigger than me so his clothes from only six months ago proved to be more my size. I snuck them home and stashed them in my closet.

With all the extra clothes I found myself swapping out items from my own uniform with girl items instead of buying replacements. Steve caught on to my switching and our uniform swapping stopped becoming a temporary thing. He would get more and more male uniform items from me while his remaining girl items were given to me. Together Sarah and I made quite the pair, her dressed fully as a boy but still being called a girl and me wearing almost completely girl clothes but still being called a boy.

The school’s faculty took our swapping in stride so long as we abided by the dress code. Nowhere in the rule book did it say a boy HAD to wear a boy uniform, only that boys SHOULD wear this and girls SHOULD wear that. Sarah was never picked on as most of the boys seemed to think of her as one of the guys. I was a different story. People started making snide comments about what I was wearing. I grinned and bore most of them, any that were going to set me off I immediately got lost so they wouldn’t beat me up. Once they made the mistake of saying one around Sarah and she flat out punched the guy in the stomach. From then on, everyone knew that I was Sarah’s friend so they didn’t pick on me.

When Steve started talking about taking hormones I knew that Sarah would be leaving permanently soon. I also learned that there were options. I had always thought that puberty was inevitable, we could enjoy dressing now but eventually our bodies would force the issue. When I heard a psychiatrist would be required I asked my parents if I could go to one who knew transgendered issues since Sarah was becoming Steve.

I met Dr. Powl and knew immediately I was going to like her. I found her really easy to talk to and she was able to keep up with my whirlwind style brain. On one visit she asked why I chose to come to a person who focuses on transgender individuals. I tried to play it off as wanting to understand Steve better but she was too smart for me. She managed to fish out that I like to wear girl’s clothes, not that she couldn’t already tell by my basically female attire. When asked about Steve’s HRT I grew quiet and she knew she had hit a sensitive point. We talked indirectly about hormones, like what I had heard about them, did I know the kinds and what they could do to a body. After she finished describing to me the male hormones she asked if they were the kind of effects I would be okay with in puberty. I wanted to say ‘yes’ but I couldn’t, it would have been a lie so I went with ‘no.’ When she asked why I said that Steve may want that for his body but I didn’t want any of the effects she described.

She didn’t seem to be bothered by my response. Instead she asked if I had effects that I did want in puberty. The dream I had of Steve and I kissing came to the forefront before I pushed it away. When I didn’t answer her she began to describe female hormone effects. When she asked if those interested me at all I was only able to nod, too embarrassed to say anything.

After extensive talking with Dr. Powl I knew I was going to have to come out to my parents. If I was serious about avoiding becoming a man then I had to get my parents help to get on hormones. My mom seemed to be excited at the prospect of having a daughter instead of a feminine son. My dad didn’t take it well at first but later came and apologized to me and since has become one of the best supporters I could have ever asked for.

I started exploring everyday girl clothes when off from school and when Steve and I got together we would go out as a girl and boy, with me as the girl. I found more and more of my clothes being replaced with girls while my old baggy clothes turned into nice fitting Steve clothes. I even bought some makeup and nail polish on one of our excursions, much to the chagrin of Steve.

The only place I wasn’t out had become school, and even there I was everything but out. After talking to my parents we decided that if I really wanted to do this then I could go to school as Kara when we switched to the upper school. When I told Steve he smiled at me and told me congratulations. I got the feeling he was glad to see me live my life but at the same time feeling sad he wasn’t going to be doing the same.

On the walk home on the next day he told me that he had talked with his parents and they agreed to let him go full time when he switched to the upper grades as well. As we graduated from the lower grades I found my excitement building. By now my hair was past my shoulders and well kept and I was proficient in makeup and nail polish. When out with Steve people always called me a girl while always calling him a boy. The feeling was spectacular! When I was told by the Dr that I could get my blood hormone levels checked I was over the moon.

After about a week we received the results. It said that my puberty was starting, but not the puberty I wanted. I cried right there in the office. According to my doctor I wouldn’t be able to take anything until I had been full time for a year and had reached sixteen. I was horrified. If I had to wait until I was sixteen then my body would already have been tainted by the foul boy hormones.

In my room later that evening I continued to bawl. Nothing anyone said managed to rein in the doom I felt. Even when Steve came by and cuddled with me I continued on and on. It was only when he produced a small vial of birth control pills that my tears of horror ended and were replaced with tears of happiness and love for my caring Steve.

He had gone to every girl he knew from school and asked if he could have some. Most were willing to give a few days out of their supply. I immediately popped one in my mouth. I knew it was a reckless thing to do but so did Steve and he understood the pain I was in.

When that month’s supply started to dwindle a new month’s supply showed up. I knew I had to get prescribed hormones but for now the birth control would do. After being told no on hormones we got in touch with another doctor, one that Dr. Powl recommended. He did his blood test and found my levels were induced by birth control. I was told that I was to stop them immediately because improperly monitored levels are dangerous. When I told him I would rather die than go through a boy’s puberty he smiled and said that I wouldn’t be going through a boy’s while I was taking the drugs he was prescribing.

I popped the first in my mouth before I made it home. No more birth control, hello normal hormones.

Steve and I celebrated by going out to eat. He was already on his hormones but he hadn’t told me because he was afraid it would upset me. The dinner I realized was more like a date than two friends. We sat opposite each other in the ambient lit restaurant and even shared our food. When we departed he had dropped me at my door to continue to his own. There was no goodbye kiss sadly.

The summer months passed and Steve was starting to look different while I was waiting to see some change in my own appearance. School started back up and we ended up with different schedules so our time together was limited to after school. When Steve’s voice dropped I was thankful I would never experience that ordeal, but was happy to congratulate him on a mile stone. Steve got on well with the other guys while I had formed a few friendships with girls in my classes.

Steve and I started to pull away from each other. With each of us having people of our own gender to be around, the interest in spending time with someone else didn’t appeal as much. The only thing that seemed to remain of our friendship was our transition. We started out spending only days apart but the days turned into a week, then a month and finally I didn’t ever see him. We might pass in the hall but we would only wave or he would do a head nod. His facial hair came in and he started to fill out in all the right ways, I was finding him interesting in a more than friend’s way. Sadly he never seemed to notice.

It wasn’t until a few months after my hormones were upped to full levels that he seemed to take a notice of me again. My boobs had officially come in, filling out a full B. My butt had seemed to change shape over night and I found myself bumping into things or losing balance in positions I used to be able to do. It was in one of those missed balance moments where he looked over at me and laughed. He walked up to me while I blushed in embarrassment. “Hips coming in huh?”

I giggled, “Must be because I keep losing balance, I’m such a klutz.”

He laughed while his eyes drifted down to my chest. His eyes stayed in that position for a moment before catching himself. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I like looking at them too from time to time. Hard to believe I used to be flat-chested.”

He smiled and rubbed a hand up the side of his face. “Hard to believe I didn’t have hair on my face.” We paused in an awkward moment looking at each other but not knowing what to say. “Hey listen, do you want to go out sometime and catch up?”

My heart soared but I had to be sure. “Like on a date?”

Timidly he responded, “Yeah.”

I smiled, “I would love to, text me the time and place.”

As we departed for our classes the dream I had a long time ago floated through my mind. Neither of us had had surgery but it’s always good to have something to aim for.

Epilogue:

“And that Lily is how I caught your father.”

“Tell it again mommy tell it again!” Lily shouts.

“Yeah Aunt Kara tell it again!” my niece Stacy begs.

As they continue to plead I see Steve poke his head in the door and wiggle his eyebrows suggestively before speaking up. “Sorry kiddo but not tonight. Stacy needs to get going home.”

I hear a collected awe in discouragement before Stacy grabs her purse to walk home. We both tuck Lily in before heading to downstairs to watch TV.

As I’m on my way out my bathroom door Steve pulls me to him and gives me a passionate kiss from behind. I feel his bulge hitting me in the backside while one of his hands traces down to my flat front. Dreams really can come true.

Author's Note: This story is a Fanfiction, meaning that the story takes place using Karen Page's Hayfield Hall setting but does NOT actually take place within her universe. The point of view in this story has a tendancy to jump around a lot so be forewarned. Any comments, good or bad, are appreciated. Special thanks to djkauf for editing.

Warning: Contains dark thoughts and suicide themes

Oliver:

Why is it that time always seems to find a way to slow down when class is about to end. Just two more minutes left! I look down at my notebook, comprised of more doodles than notes which makes me smirk. Whoever named a spiral pad a notebook clearly had never attended school. Sitting through this class alone would probably cause the namer to rethink their choice.

I look back at the clock and check to see if the second hand is even moving. Reassured that time is indeed moving forward, I try to focus on class. Listening to Dr. Dork go off on one of her rants usually is entertaining in a pitiful sense. It’s always ‘hug a tree here’ or ‘save a whale that.’ I mean, I get the whole save the planet kick, but her method of promotion probably has caused more people to throw things out in spite than recycle. Having cut off her rant midstream to fit more course work in before the end of class I go back to counting down the minutes.

I look at my watch, still 2 minutes left. I don’t even know how that is possible. The seconds seem to be ticking at a pace a snail would find too slow. By the time this nightmare of a class ends for the day we might even have cured cancer.

Maybe if I just ignore the clock, things will seem to move along faster. I look at the girl sitting next to me, she’s cute in that awkward kind of way. She must not know it or else she probably wouldn’t have sat next to me. Her eyes start to gravitate from the teacher my way and I quickly look down at my notebook to avoid eye contact. I see my terrible doodles, and look up at her to see her now looking at my notebook as well. Instinctively my arm moves to cover up my garbage of artwork. She makes a half smile, finding humor in my embarrassment. I look at her face and give her a forced lippy, awkward smile. Her smirk morphs into a copy of my own as she returns her attention to the teacher.

My curiosity getting the better of me, I chance a glance at my watch. Only ten seconds have passed! I could be the next Flash, if time always moved this slowly. Perhaps counting the seconds would work. One, two, three…. Ten… thirty…. Fifty. Okay, just one minute to go. I look at my watch to verify my counting is accurate. That’s not possible, THAT’S NOT POSSIBLE, I shout at myself in my head. I put my head down and sigh, only a minute and a half of eternity to go.

Having heard my sigh, the girl sitting to my left turns and gives me a disgusted face. One of those how dare you contaminate my air with your air. I then audibly release air through my nose to get the point across... it’s all the same air. Her look of disgust turns to one of almost hatred, and with an over-exaggerated eye roll she repositions in her seat as far from me as possible. The guy to her left, looks at me and gives me an approving look for having helped him get a few inches closer to the girl. I look back towards the front of the class and see in my periphery the girl to my right giving me an approving look. Ah, the glory of tormenting the attractive popular people.

I look back at my watch and see that time has continued its pace despite my lack of hounding, just under one minute to go. Maybe if I fall asleep, time will somehow do its magic and it will just suddenly be later than I think. It works when I sleep at night so might as well try. I put my head down and close my eyes, as I feel some form of loose sleep mentality start to claim me, I hear the world start to ring. My mental state is broken and I look up to see the teacher walking over to the phone in her classroom.

She speaks softly on the phone so that no one in the class can have a chance of overhearing. Her back is turned to the class, so even lip reading is out of the question. After a second or two she hangs up the phone and resumes teaching like nothing happened. Everyone just accepts that it was probably a private call or the wrong room and resumes what they were doing before the phone rang.

Only thirty more seconds to go! I start to pack up my things, and get as far as putting my notebook in my bag when the teacher gives me a strange look while she is continuing to talk. Taking the look as a please don’t pack up yet, I silently halt my pre-emptive measures to bolt the second that class ended. The cute girl to my right looks directly at me to the point I take notice and she then points at her own wrist. Thinking she is asking for the time, I show her my watch by extending my arm across the aisle. She gives me a surprised look as I recoil my arm. She turns and points at the clock on the wall in the back of the class.

If anything could of ruined my joy of class ending, what she was showing me was it. The room clock, the one the teachers go by, showed that there was still roughly five minutes left in class. Crestfallen, I look down at my watch to readjust the time in my head of when class will end. As the last few seconds of the previous end of class tick off, I realize exactly four minutes and 32 seconds are left. The status of torment changes from end is nigh to eternity again in my head.

The door to the classroom opens off to the right, and all heads in the room turn to find who caused the disturbance. The president walks in! I know what you are thinking, I wish it was the president of the United States, then the last few minutes of class would rush by in a mixture of shock, awe, and being too shy to talk to him. No, instead the president of our school pokes his head in. He could look like the US president if you squinted and he was in the distance. With all attention on the principal, he just nods with an acknowledging look towards the class. He turns to the teacher and gives her a look of expectation. “Sorry to bother your class, but is the student in question still here or did he leave for the bathroom?”

The teacher turns to look directly at me and gives me a sympathetic look. The pit of my stomach drops through the floor and past the basement. Something tells me that I am not going to like this one bit. I look to the principal portraying a look of pure terror I’m sure. The girl to my right gives me little reassurance, her face starts going white just looking at my expression. The principal, giving me his best reassuring look announces, “Can I have a word with you out here in the hall.” The words themselves seem like it could be a question, but the tone makes it undeniable that it is a demand. Sensing my doom is at hand, I pack up my things while readjusting my poker face and make my way to the end of the row and across the front of the room to the door.

I guess on the bright side, class ended when I thought it was going to end. Down side being I have to have a conversation with the principal at his own special request. A request that required my presence verification via phone. Oh joy, oh bliss.

I step through the door and out in the hallway. The hallway itself is a very non-threatening place, lots of lockers with scattered doors here and there and a niche every so often to hide in should you be chased through the school. The rather benign hallway is offset by the presence of the principal whose previous look of non-worry has morphed into something to be concerned about. Despite the hard look, which could light a fire under just about any student, I retain my composure. My mind however gets the better of me in this situation causing my guilty conscious to produce words before considering the consequences. “Whatever it was, I didn’t do it.”

The hard look turns to a surprised eyebrow raise coupled with a smirk. “I never said you did something wrong, but this you did in fact do. I have someone that wishes to speak with you in the office.” With that, he turns his back to me and starts walking down the hall towards the front office. Realizing I have little choice but to follow I keep pace a few steps behind.

Walking down the hall I see some classes wrapping up; people moving to pack up their belongings while the teacher tries to get a word or two in edgewise. As we reach the front office the bell signifying the end of class rings. I glance down at my watch and see time has done the impossible again and managed to pass five minutes in the walk from my classroom.

As we enter the office and veer towards the principal’s room I take note that all of the secretaries and general office folk are dressed and acting very professionally. I have never been to this school principal’s office for any reason. I tend to keep a low profile, except for the occasional smart remark when the mood strikes me. It being only the first week at a new school as a freshman also tends to help the record.

As I walk into the principal’s office, I turn to look behind me. Just before the door is closed I feel all eyes from the previous room bearing down. The door clinks shut and the feeling quickly subsides. Before having a chance to turn around and see the room I feel a new set of eyes fall upon me. I turn expecting to find the principal behind his desk scrutinizing me, looking for some reason I would have such a guilty conscious. Instead, I find a woman roughly 30 years old dressed in what looks like a suit from what I can see over the desk.

Unsure whether I am supposed to start the conversation or wait to be addressed, I simply stand waiting to find out. I look towards the principal with expectance intentionally portrayed in my eyes. Your move, Mr. principal.

Instead of being a confident and collected person under pressure, he looks to the woman behind the desk hoping she will jump in and tell him what is supposed to happen now. Realizing she is the ring leader in this show I glance over at her, and begin to play the waiting game. Accepting that she will have to start things she speaks. “I only have one question for you Mr. Andrews and then I will have to ask you to wait outside. When you called out for Oliver to step out what was his reaction?”

Being put into the hot seat, the principle quickly answers making his words practically one word. “He was scared for a split second then he returned to acting as he is right now.”

Having received the answer she desired she flagged for him to leave, and with a sigh of relief he stepped out of his office. I should probably be careful with her, making him that nervous in his own room spells trouble for me.

The door closes behind me signifying Mr. Andrews has left the room. With the telltale click of the door closing her demeanor changes from the very business professional corporate type to more of a caring and friendly person. The change is of little surprise to me, I know how easy it is to act one way and be another. The only question is which is the real person, if either of them are that person. My thoughts are disturbed by her motion towards a chair announcing for me to have a seat. Unsure of the purpose for me to sit I slowly make my way to the hard plastic chair across from her that someone had the bright idea of putting a lawn cushion on. No sooner have I sat down that conversation begins.

“Oliver, do you remember taking two tests a little while back regarding being accepted to a school with an alternate style of teaching?” With my eyes signifying that I am following the conversation she continues. “I am here to talk to you about the possibility of you going to that school after you have answered a few questions. You will need to get this signed by your parents should you choose to accept if you are invited to attend. Should you accept, you would not see your parents until you turned 18 years old because the school is a boarding school that does not break during the usual breaks.”

Throughout her monologue I understood everything she was saying, even the things that were not vocalized. Her saying answer a few questions meant, I was going to have to answer something personal. I have met with enough shrinks in my life to know the tone. Secondly, my being ‘invited to attend’ was clearly open for discussion by whoever is doing admissions. Lastly, the fact that I would not be able to see my parents until I was 18 sent up a red flag. Not because I’m not okay with leaving them, but because the 5 years until I would see them didn’t feel right. The impression that I would never see them again starts going rampant in my mind for a brief moment. The noise of my mind quickly disappears and I shrug to show what she has said has registered and I am okay with it.

She looks at me with the psychologist’s stare of trying to decipher the events playing out in my mind. I know for a fact it drives them nuts when a person doesn’t volunteer to speak how they feel. This woman seemed to think of it as a challenge because the stare converted to a smile. “You can call me Jen.”

The ball was in my court. The first thing that comes to mind I blurt out, “Hi Jen, I’m Oliver. How are you doing today?”

With a small chuckle she responds, “Fine thank you, how are you today?”

Fearing the end of the pleasantries quickly approaching I try to draw them longer. “Can’t complain too much, you know with school being all school like.” My happiness of managing to say nothing a normal student wouldn’t say is foiled when her interest of me mentioning school grows.

“Oh? How is school like?”

Portraying a childlike carefree attitude, I give her my answer “Schooly.”

“What is your favorite part?”

Conceding that this is safe territory to talk about I give her what she wants “Classes, I guess.” I add a shrug just for good measure.

“I wouldn’t think you would like class, I pictured you as one of those people who count the seconds before the day is over.”

Not wanting to admit to her ability to read me I try to throw her off, “Just goes to show you, you can’t judge a book by its cover.”

“How right you are.” She jots something down on a piece of paper in her lap. Ugh, the dreaded writing. I always hate it when they write something down, makes me feel like I said something wrong or did something I shouldn’t have. Recognizing my staring at where she is writing, she puts the pen on the table and resumes conversation. “What do you like most about going to a school where no one will know you?”

I shrug, “It isn’t any different from being at another school, same class system, same problems, same work, same drama.”

Reaching for her pen, she looks up and sees me staring at her hand. Her hand pauses before touching the pen causing me to look up and meet her gaze. She grabs the pen and sticks it in a pencil holder sitting on the desk and places her manila folder that was sitting in her lap face down on the desk. Seeing that I am making her uncomfortable in some way I look away and examine anything else in the room.

She resumes before I have a chance to look at much, “Don’t you want to have your friends with you at this school?”
Ah, and now the difficult questions start. I knew it was coming, but usually they take a little longer to get warmed up. She clearly thought she knew me fairly well already. Judging by the size of the manila folder she sat down, she had done her homework on me. She could probably tell me things about my life that I wouldn’t even know. Testing the ground, I give her the opposite of the truth, “Of course.”

“Which friends would that be? Names would be great.” I could see this as a jab, her friendly attitude makes it feel like a legitimate question without intending to be hurtful.

Knowing that I have almost been caught in a lie I go for the non-answer. “I’m sure you know, you have enough papers there to write a better history of me than I could.”

My lack of zeal to play along goes unnoticed, or at least ineffective. “I could, but I’m trying to understand how you feel about things. Names and dates don’t say things like that.”

“Then just assume that a normal reaction is my reaction, I’m about as normal as they come.”

Folding her arms on the desk and leaning forward she proclaims, “Oliver, you are far from normal.” Narrowing my eyes to provoke her she continues. “You don’t try and manage to get straight B’s, your ‘best friend’ from your previous school only spoke with you a few times a week only at school, and in sitting here now you managed to show me zero real emotion. None of that is normal.”

Seeing her point, I simply shrug. “So I’m not a candidate for your school, does that mean I can go?”

She gains a sudden burst of enthusiasm that seeps over to her voice, “It means you are a perfect candidate for our school. But without you giving me something to work with I’m afraid you will just be trapped here until school is over.”

I glance down at my watch and start counting the hours. As the boredom starts to take me around minute two, I motion for a truce. “What do you want from me?”

“At the moment I just want a simple one word answer to this question. After you answer 100% truthfully you can leave.” The demand sounds simple enough. It beats waiting for an eternity of time to pass at a standstill. Nodding to show I am ready, she smiles. “What feeling do you carry around with you everyday?”

I look her in the face calculating my chance of lying. Some part of my brain tells me that it is a terrible idea since lying only hurts me in this situation. If I don’t get accepted then she will just be some stranger that I told one word of truth. If I am accepted then I could be no worse off than I am here, but if by some small miracle things are better there than here, this one word of truth could save me. Going against my better judgment and a lifetime of experience I search for the one word that could encompass my entire being.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath and slowly let it out. Looking at Jen’s face could only make this harder so I choose to keep my eyes closed for the speaking. My voice fights me to block the word from escaping my lips, but the sigh I release with it gives enough strength to produce a soft response “Anguish.”

Having heard the word escape my lips, I open my eyes to find a blank faced Jen. No tell tale signs of disapproval or sorrow, just a telltale psychologist blank look. “Why?”

Recognizing a violation in the terms of our agreement I object, “You said one question, that’s number two.”

She shrugs in much the same manner that I do. “So I lied. Would you have told me otherwise?”

“Probably not.” A feeling of being in over my head starts resonating through my body. She’s managing to get a reaction from me, of all the things in the world she managed to find a way to get to me. Recognizing a moment where I could learn something about myself without telling anyone I would probably ever see again, I start to contemplate the question. Why...? Why...? Nothing jumps to the forefront of my mind in that moment, no sudden epiphany of who I am or what is wrong with me.

Seeing Jen sitting waiting patient for my response I decide to give her the only answer I know is the truth. “I don’t know. The world just hurts to be a part of, so I choose not to feel….”

“How do you feel about yourself?”

Knowing that I am on the verge of some kind of breakthrough in understanding why I don’t fit anywhere I start to think aloud hoping it will help me see something my mind is overlooking. “Something is wrong with me, some part of me is missing or broken. I don’t fit with people.”

The conversation about me felt like forever but only took one class period. I said little while thinking lots, gaining no insight into myself. For me the event felt like a gigantic waste of time. Jen, on the other hand, seemed to be understanding and following somehow. How I guess I will never know seeing as how she will be leaving after today never to be heard from again. At least that is what I thought until her closing announcement.

“Tomorrow I will be back here to let you know the verdict. Please come with the paper signed if you decide you wish to attend our school. If you are accepted we will be leaving from the school tomorrow night so be sure to have said your goodbyes by that point.”

With the torture over, I leap up and return to my normal class schedule. The day carries on normally as if nothing has happened. No one questions me about my visit to the office, and the teacher I return to takes no notice of me sliding into class because he is writing on the board. My mind focuses on the present and soon forgets about the past and doesn’t care about the future. The day ends without fireworks or parades much to my dismay. I walk home from my bus stop, sit down, and read some cooking magazines my parents decided they wanted.

Several hours later, my parents arrive home in their usual whirlwind manner. They have boxes showing they have eaten out together so I am on my own for dinner again. I grab some quick snacks and disappear to the safety of my room. We do not interact until my mother stops by my room to make sure I’m not getting into trouble, she says good night and makes to disappear.

“Mom, I have something you and dad need to sign. It’s about a boarding school that has shown interest in me. You wouldn’t be able to see me until I turn 18.” It’s not really a lie if you don’t know for sure if it’s false.

The only answer is, “I’ll show your father and we will discuss it.” She vanishes back the way she came to go talk to my dad while he watches the TV. While I stay awake waiting for their decision I hear bits and pieces of the conversation over the ruckus of the television. Phrases like ‘straighten him out’ and ‘solve our problem’ standing out from the rest. 15 minutes later my mom returns and hands me the form signed by both of them. The only words she says to me before leaving the room not to be seen again until I turn ‘18’ being, “Stay out of trouble.”

She closes my door and turns out my lights. That night I toss and turn in my bed having an uneasy feeling I am going to regret tomorrow until I conclude it can only get better.

I awake and go to school much the same, except that during first period this time I am called to the office; this time without a principal escort. Following the same pathway in the office provides the expected results as Jen is sitting on the other side of the desk. “Come in and have a seat.”

Deciding to ease the situation for her, knowing I was not accepted, I make an attempt at humor. “How’s it looking doc, am I going to live?”

She smiles and says, “It appears that way, leave your bags unpacked; you have been accepted.”

I smile at her lame attempt at humor but her smile remains constant. It isn’t until a couple seconds until I realize the seriousness of what was said.

“Really? I didn’t predict that one. What time should I be expecting to be picked up tonight?”

“Around 5pm; so you have time to say your goodbyes. You will need to make sure you take nothing with you, no keys, wallet, watches, books, or luggage. Everything will be supplied for you upon arrival.”

“My parents already said their goodbyes, so if you want to you can pick me up earlier.”

She gives me the blank psychology face and says, “Okay, I will aim to pick you up right after school. We can get back early and I can work on all the paperwork.”

I soon return to class and carry out my last day at my old school. I secretly hoped for some kind of farewell party when I arrive home but my parents would still be at work for another couple of hours. Soon after depositing my items in my bedroom, I hear knocking at the front door. I walk down the stairs and open the door to find Jen in her business suit again.
“All ready to go?”

“As ready as I will ever be.”

With no other words spoken, we hop into her black SUV and set off. The road drags on and on and my view of the world through the window slowly converts to a blank stare. Not long after I fall asleep. Sometime later, my body senses the slowing of the vehicle causing me to awaken. The place isn’t much to look at, just another place despite its unique style.

I am shown into what I assume is the main building. Jen is talking about things but my mind feels like it is in a fog. Much of the facility is a blur and before I know it, I am in a bedroom.

“Feel free to explore this room since it’s your bedroom. The door on the right is your study partner’s room, the door on the left is the bathroom, and the door that looks like a closet is where all your clothes are stored. The television and radio will have almost any channel you could want. You will need to get changed into the clothes that we provide. You can place your old clothes in the bag on your bed and drop them down the laundry chute over in the corner. On your computer, you will find an option for meals at the main menu. You will need to select the meals you want each day. Since we want you all to be healthy, selections will be limited for other meals to make up the health differences.”

Despite the massive amounts of information thrown at me, it all seems rather trivial. The setup is not much different from back home, except the whole idea of getting a choice of what to eat. Quick snacks have carried me through the long nights my parents have worked, having actual cooked food instead of hotdogs and frozen pizzas might be nice. If I have to eat bland greens or mystery meat, I’d rather stick with my old menu.

Jen stands at the doorway with an expectant look, waiting for me to make some kind of conversation. I just nod my head, and say “Thanks.”

My pitiful conversational skills don’t go unnoticed but she has the decency to be polite, “You’re welcome. I’m going to head off to do some work in preparation for the other arrivals. Your study partner should be here in few hours. Feel free to watch some TV to pass the time. Enjoy the free time before we put you to work slaving over assignments.” The look in her face as she says the last sentence is one that would do a mad scientist justice.

I give her a raised eyebrow for effect, which satisfies her comical side causing her to smirk. “We will be meeting in your year’s common room once everyone arrives at 6:30. Try not to be late on your first day.” With that she turns and walks out the door leaving it open.

I guess they do that to promote friendliness to those who live around you. I, for one, have never been comfortable with the door standing wide open. It must be my guilty conscience playing on me, but I always feel like someone is watching me or will walk by and mock me for something I’m doing. I give Jen a little time to go down the hall before I close my door quietly. Turning towards my new ‘home’ I get an unnerved edginess. Here I am miles from my bedroom about to live with complete strangers all for the sake of some special education program. I sure hope I’m not the guinea pig in this outfit.

With the strangers thought going through my mind I turn back to my door and lock it. Remembering that my study partners door is connected to mine I also walk over to that door. I test the handle to find it unlocked. Closing the door I examine it for any locking mechanism. Nothing apparent jumps out at me, it must be one of those ‘your study partner is also a make shift roommate’ things. Having to trust someone to have access to my safe zone is not something that comes easy to me. People lie, cheat, and steal; it’s just the way the world is. No matter how good your selection process is one or all of them will happen.

Vowing to think of a makeshift lock, I turn towards my bed and the bag for clothing storage. Might as well get changed first so I can lounge for the rest of the time. Opening the closet door, I am instantly assaulted by a mass variety of colors. Blinking past the array, I take notice of the style of the clothes, female. Without another thought going through my mind, I quickly slam the door shut. The high tech door masks my motion, closing with only a quiet click.

Where most people would probably question why there are bunches of female clothes in their closet first, my first thought is ‘I can’t believe I overreacted. They are just clothes and here I am acting like I just saw the bogey man in my closet.’ Reopening the closet door, I set off assessing the damage. Looking around the miniature mall called a closet from left to right I see female clothes going from dresses to everyday things, to rather non-descript clothes that I tend to wear, and then obviously male clothes. Looking on the ground there are all types of shoes except the ones that I want, tennis shoes. Small heels, flats, loafers, dress shoes, sandals, and some that I don’t even know what they would be called. Looking down at my own shoes, I see they would have no place in this closet. Mine, having been beat upon from constant wear and tear, do not match the fresh new style portrayed.

Since the closet has both boys and girls clothes, they must stock the rooms before they know who will be living there. I grab a selection of boy clothes with the goal of looking stylishly presentable. Turning to walk out of the closet, I turn to the right allowing my main vision to remain in safe territory, the awful female side only visible in my peripheral vision. Using tunnel vision to escape the confines of the closet relatively unscathed I close the closet door. Setting my new clothes on the bed I start to motion to take off my shirt. As I look up to remove the shirt from my head, I glance at the interconnecting door to my study partner’s room.

An overwhelming uneasy feeling starts to take hold. With the shirt around my neck and my arms contorted in an effort to remove it, I decide to put my shirt back on. I gather the new clothes and bag for my old ones then make my way to the bathroom. Once inside with the lights on I lock the door and change without further distractions. With my new clothes on, I put back on my tennis shoes. Gathering my old clothes and shoving them sloppily folded into the bag I make my way out of the bathroom. Looking in the mirror to ensure I haven’t messed up in some way I take stock.

Blue striped polo shirt smooth and fitted- a good choice when unsure how formal you are supposed to be, Khaki pants with belt — I’m not a fan of pants but shorts aren’t good if we’re supposed to be formal, and tennis shoes- my comfort item. The clothes fit strangely; I have never been one to buy things that hug my frame. These items try, but like all clothes fail at my skinny waist. Glancing at the bag of old clothes still in my hand I long for their slightly loose style. Maybe I could find a way to hide them so I can have their comfort later when they are no longer looking at my clothes? Although, they have laundry in a chute so I would have to hand wash them and they are probably looking for set bags of clothes with what we came here in. Realizing that they will be looking for my shoes as well I take them off and toss them in the bag. I walk back over to the closest and grab the closest thing to tennis shoes that I can find. They look androgynous but then most tennis shoes can give that impression.

I place my old clothes in the laundry chute with thoughts of how to get around the system. It would be easy really, but causing trouble on your first day gets you noticed. Noticed in a bad way. Once people see you, they monitor you. Then the never ending watching of what you are doing begins. I doubt they could do it at the level of my mom, but you never know. They might have cameras in here and are watching my every move.

My eyes dart around the corners of the room near the ceiling looking for the obvious cameras. Seeing none, I start my search for the less obvious. The camera on the computer becomes my first victim, I turn it around so that it’s facing the wall. I glance at the various items sitting on my desk and shelves in an effort to determine if a miniature camera is stored in them. Before coming to any conclusions, I realize how ridiculous I am being. What would the school accomplish by bugging my room? Going to gain some Intel from a kid doing homework? Definitely a possibility, everyone knows how crafty kids can be. My thought causes me to smirk.

I lie down on my huge bed and pick up the remote to watch TV. Absentmindedly I flip through the channels to see the extent of Jen’s ‘almost any channel you could want.’ Every one that I know as a major one is present, along with a couple hundred others I haven’t heard of or don’t know the language of.

Sticking to the channels I know from back home, I watch the remnants of after school cartoons as they switch to the evening garbage. Glancing at the clock, I snap out of my zombie like state. Time has done its thing again, without my noticing several hours have passed. The time is now 6:03pm and my study partner still hasn’t arrived. I return to watching TV with greater alertness to the time.

A minute or two later I hear voices from the room next door, both female. The presence of voices reminds me of Jen’s tour and all the things she said. That reminds me, I forgot to place an order for foods. I turn off the TV and quickly make my way to the computer to make a selection. The menu options are simple enough, and the selections are vast. I quickly select my meals for the next week so I won’t have to remember to do it every day. As I am logging off the computer, I hear a knock at the interconnecting door.

I stand up, walk over to the door, and place my hand on the handle. Closing my eyes, I take a slow steadying breath in and release. I adjust my facial expression to a friendlier one than my normal neutral. Not allowing myself a chance to second-guess my choice of opening the door, I swing it open.

Sarah:

I don’t know what I was expecting when they said we would be having study buddies. I do know that the person beaming at me having opened the door was not who I was expecting. I was expecting someone a little more… female. The boy standing in front of me beaming is somewhat cute. An average build, a little short for a guy, and fit. Not fit in the buff hot jock sort of way but in that well toned without the mass way. The thing making him officially cute in my book definitely comes from the smile. It lights up his entire face with that nothing can touch me while I’m happy look. His hazel eyes, partly covered by his stylishly shaggy strawberry blonde hair, have a shine to them showing innocence. His words break my trance.

“Hi, I’m Oliver but everyone calls me Oli. I guess I’m your study partner.” He comes across as confident without that arrogant part, and the smile remains.

“I’m Sarah! Can you believe this place?” My bubbliness makes me sound like a school girl with a crush. I hope he’s one of those boys who are oblivious to things like that.

He smirks in a cute half smile that makes my stomach do butterflies. I am so lucky I’ll be living right next door to him! I’ll have to work hard to concentrate on school with him around. “Yeah, it has all the bells and whistles it seems. Except wall decorations, it could use a little pizzazz.”

It’s like he is reading my mind, I was thinking the same thing before I knocked. “Yeah, some posters of dolphins, unicorn, and hot guys.” He smiles and lets out an indulgent laugh. “Oh, you would probably want hotrods, airplanes, and girls on yours.” His smile wanes just a tad. The innocence in his eyes vanishes and it briefly flashes with a soulful look.

“I would be okay with anything other than white walls. It feels so jail like. Not that I’ve been.”

“It’s a school, that’s almost jail.”

He gives me that full smile again, “How right you are. If you haven’t changed yet then you probably should, we have to meet in the year room in a few minutes.” Before I have a chance to respond he closes the door connecting our rooms. That was… interesting.

Oliver:

Once back in the safety of the room I let out another sigh. Acting all upbeat and peppy almost makes me feel that way, almost. It’s the best way to throw people off though. They see you as some wonderful person who they just don’t relate to very well so they don’t spend time with you. They stop examining your every move and you start to blend as just one of the group. The best way to avoid trouble is not to be seen.

Sarah decides we should go together to the year room so she walks with me down the hall towards the room. I put back on the sociable front; it feels good every time she smiles. It makes me feel like I’m actually having a regular conversation. Okay, so maybe not regular since she is all girly and I’m not hitting on her but we are getting along well enough.
Don’t get me wrong, she is an attractive girl, but I just don’t think about people in that way. They are just people, why would I want to be in a relationship with them? I do feel some kind of unusual draw to her though. I wouldn’t say it’s attraction but there is something else. Almost a hurtful longing feeling, I must have been cooped up at home too long.

As we gather in the year common room, I notice a handful of students mixed with almost an equal number of faculty. The faculty is sitting calmly waiting for everyone to congregate and the time to be right to start. The students are all in a cluster talking to each other, getting to know every new face. Their faces light up with each new person as if they have struck gold. Me? I just see a sea of people.

Walking into the room, Sarah herds me over towards the rest of the students to meet them. I am polite and put on a 1000-watt smile. Each person introduces themselves to me, after one or two they all start to blur into a single collective mass of people. By the end of the introductions, no one’s name has stuck with me and all the faces are mashed together. With all the common pleasantries out of the way, which I am excellent at if I do say so myself, the meeting commences.

The head of the school goes on and on about stuff that doesn’t really concern me. This school being a special school for people to discover themselves and thrive seems to be common knowledge. The mention of transgender surprises a few, but no one interjects or outright slams the idea. I just smirk at the thought; you gotta do what you gotta do. If that means spray painting your body green and wearing antlers, you are just another person to me. Perhaps not someone I would jive with, but if it makes you happy then who am I to question it.

At the mention of a Mix-up Monday, some people go a little fish eyed while others seem to be excited. I just give a pondering look with a slight nod to show acceptance, when in doubt always good to seem impartial. Sarah’s enthusiastic nod tells me she will be going all out, certainly will be intriguing.

As the head wraps up, different ‘support people’ are introduced. Why not call a duck a duck? The shrinks are all acting very normal, but I can see them watching how people are interacting. After the introductions, where Jen was a part, the announcement of our study focus begins. Each person is assigned an area of study, from I assume the tests they took way back when. Computer security, electrical engineering, human tactics, and driving being just a few of the ones mentioned. I pulled public relations. Whoever thought that was a good idea needs to be shot… several times.

Based on the jobs they are preparing us for, makes it seem like they are trying to make us into MI6 or something. Figuring it will be something people can laugh over to help soothe the heartbreak of getting a bad position I speak up. “Are you trying to turn us into James Bond?” Everyone chuckles, and the effect on the students is immediately apparent. Some become more relaxed, while others maintain their good mood. Looking towards the shrinks and head, they are chuckling too, but there is something in their faces that tells me I hit too close to home. Best keep a low profile on any more insightful tidbits. Would hate to turn up one day dead because I told a joke, would put a serious dampener on the year.

Everyone is soon given a PDA that contains our schedule, phone capabilities, and features I generally only see a full computer have. It all seems very high tech, must cost a fortune. They must see some great potential in my classmates to make it worth all this money. Who knows, one of them could be the next prime minister!

When the conversation ends in the year room, everyone makes their way to the food area and sits at the tables. There are several tables setup filled with other students, what I assume are the other years. Most have a smile plastered on their face looking at the new fresh meat that has arrived. Based on the smiles, I am going to guess they don’t torture the students, maybe it’s brainwashing? My fake smile turns real for a moment before the humor of my thought passes. Announcements are made before the meal begins by the head. He announces our presence and then some other unimportant things I just smile and nod to.

The food is served by two year mates who were lucky to be the first to collect the food. Everyone else is surprised by the serving arrangements, until I point out that that is what they do at some summer camps. They all seem accepting after that. The staff member that is sitting at our table minorly critiques the two students serving style, telling them they shouldn’t just plop the plate down but instead place it gently.

The meal itself is rather uneventful considering. Everyone talks comfortably with everyone else, getting to know their study partners and soon to be classmates better. I continue my conversation with Sarah and have a few words with every other person sitting at our table. Everyone seems glad to be openly accepted and I soon become comfortable in the role I am portraying.

Dinner ends and we all congregate in the year room to continue the conversations. I tag along with Sarah but don’t play as active of a role in the conversations as during dinner. People soon get tired long before the curfew of 10pm. We all part ways and return to our rooms.

Once inside the safety of my room, I get changed into gym shorts and shirt to sleep in inside of the bathroom. Once I return to my room, I lie on my bed and look at the clock. 9:32, no chance I will ever get to sleep, especially after sleeping in the car on the way here. Before I have a chance to turn on the TV I hear a soft knock at the interconnecting door.

Rolling to a stand, I walk over and open the door. Sarah is standing there wearing a robe with mixed emotions playing across her face. “Sorry, I was wondering if you wanted to stay up a while and talk. I won’t be able to sleep with all this excitement.”

What can I do, turn away a girl clearly in some kind of distress? I don’t have it in me. “Yeah sure, come in.” She walks in and sits on the edge of my bed. What do I do in these situations? Do I go over and sit next to her, no that will freak her out. I could stand here with the door closed, my back to the wall. That seems too distant though, as if I don’t want to actually help her. I move to the edge of the bed and sit down, giving her plenty of space. “What did you want to talk about?”

She closes the space between us so that she is now sitting less than an arm’s length away from me. “I don’t care; I just want someone to talk with. I miss my family already and want the company to distract me.” Her smile is sad, almost forced.
I give her a broad smile and puff out my chest. “Then you have come to the right place, I am a professional at getting distrac… oh look butterfly.”

My pitiful humor produces a small laugh, and relieves some of her tension. “I usually have my sister to talk to when I need someone. She used to use the same type of distractions, except with her it was shiny things.”

Growing slightly uncomfortable with the direction the topic is going, I redirect to slightly less personal topics. “Shiny things are very distracting. You could be walking by and then the sun catches it right and then BAM it’s in your face.” I throw my hands up in the air for effect.

Her smile grows larger at my antics but she doesn’t say anything. Ugh, I hate that. I failed to produce a way to continue the conversation so now she will feel uncomfortable. I search my brain for a way to continue the current topic producing nothing. She comes to my rescue, or is that downfall? “You aren’t like other guys. Most of them are so busy trying to hit on me they don’t even try to have a conversation. It’s all, one bad pickup line after the other or you’re so hot so we should date.”

Ouch, that stung a little. All this effort to act normal and I’m not even acting normal. She probably sees it as a compliment though. Deciding to ignore that part of the comment I push forward. “I can act that way if you want, but I figured I would at least give you time to get settled before I made my move.” I wink to show that I’m not going to turn into some creepy guy she has to worry about living next to.

“I would like to see that, you being smooth and trying to pick someone up. I don’t see you as that kind of guy.”

“Hey! It could happen. It won’t, but it could!”

She lets out a full giggle. “No, you are too innocent for something like that. You would probably have better luck being smooth to try to get someone to pick you up.” Her giggle changes to a full out laugh. She tries to stifle it with her hand but fails completely.

I feel my face start to color as a blush, causing tears to come streaming down her face from laughing so hard. She certainly has a very active sense of humor, I didn’t even have to try that hard and I have her in tears. As her laughing subsides I decide to take my revenge. “What are you doing tomorrow night?” I raise my eyebrows in a very suggestive manner causing both of us to break into giggles. Okay I admit it, my laugh is the only thing I can’t control and it sounds like a giggle more than a hearty guy laugh. It could be worse, I could sound like an elephant.

Once any remnants of laughter passes, we talk about random odds and ends. Things like when does purple become blue and blue become purple, where would you shop if you had a wad of money to spend, and what was your favorite Disney movie. None of the things I was completely truthful on, but I did my best to limit the number of lies. By 10:30 we are both getting tired and she leaves for her bed closing the door behind her.

I reflect on how we interacted with each other. We carried on like we were friends who were closer than we actually are. The common ground of being stuck in this place with only each other as comfort must make us act closer. Other than that though, I don’t think we have anything in common. I check the door before hopping into bed to sleep. I guess we do have one other thing in common, we both like sleeping with the door closed.

Sarah becomes glued to me in the following days, and we soon fall into a routine. We go jogging most mornings before classes, come back to the rooms to shower, and then head to breakfast. We go to class, lunch, class, break, dinner, homework, and then socializing. The classes are engaging and somewhat interesting. The teachers certainly do a better job than the ones back home. The entire faculty seems eager to help everyone. Some sets of study partners have been having issues that have been met with swift responses. Things ranging from missing home to being gay are all handled very comfortably, ensuring that everyone is okay with what is going on. The road has some bumps, some larger than others, but in the end none of it really changes anything. We are still here going to school with our “family,” Sarah’s words not mine, and the people act the same. Regular visits with Jen are a pain. She always tries to bring up something about me, causing Sarah to focus on it, and then I casually dismiss the topic. When group sessions didn’t appear to be fruitful, Jen tried having solo sessions. The end result was the same, she asked me questions and I answered them more or less. Jen’s face carries this, I know there is something there; I just can’t put my finger on it look. She disguises the look well, but sometimes it peeks through. My last visit with her was a group session talking about the upcoming Mix-up-Monday.

Sarah is extremely worried that someone will laugh, but wants to go through with it. I don’t really care about it, if everyone else does it then I will feel like the odd one out. Putting on girls clothes, while a daunting idea, doesn’t overly concern me. They are just clothes right. Right?

Mix-up-Monday:

I walk into my closet to pick out my clothes to wear for the day. The thought of deciding what to wear for this day has been hanging at the back of my mind for the past few days. As the event has drawn closer and closer, my previous view of not caring has slowly changed to blind ignorance. Now that I stand in my closet faced with the female side, I can feel my body shaking from nervousness. My entire life has been about people perceiving me in a certain way, a role that I’ve become familiar with. I am about to destroy that image. People will see me not as the person I have been portraying the past few weeks but as some guy in girls clothes. I have no reference on how I should act as a girl. To me, people are people, the line between the way one person acts and another, is non-existent.

The whole goal of this fiasco is for people to figure out who they are and teach acceptance. I can check acceptance off as being accomplished, which leaves me figuring out who I am. That’s easy, I am whoever I am needed to be. Jen’s voice rings through my mind, “That’s not normal.” Then what is the right answer in this situation? The obvious answer is that there is no right answer, but the fact of the matter is there is. We are supposed to figure out where in this crazy spectrum of sexuality … er… gender? we are. Since I have no point of reference, what if I just am the same person as both a guy and a girl? It would save the complication of figuring out and remembering to act a certain way, besides Sarah already told me I don’t act like most guys. At least there is that going for me.

I shake my head to clear all thoughts and return to the issue at hand. What should I wear? A skirt just seems like a bad idea, while being distinctly girl it would also serve as a reminder of how little clothing I would be actually wearing. Besides, what would I do if I got cold? Freezing to death does not sound very pleasant. Looking past the skirt portion of the girl clothes I come across the pants section. Most follow the same trend as the guys clothes, semi —formal to formal wear. It’s only a school day, no reason to go formal. I grab a pair of tan pants and toss them over my left arm. Moving on to the shirts, I feel my stomach tighten. The curves shown on shirts make it obvious that they are made for someone with a smaller waist and… boobs. Rolling my eyes at having forgotten about needing a bra I quickly grab the first bra I find in a drawer. Returning to the shirt situation, I figure most things go with tan pants so I grab a black cardigan, red button down, and a white one of those strappy undershirt things.

Okay, mental checklist time; pants are a check, shirt is a check, sweater is a check, and bra… check. That leaves socks, underwear, and shoes to go. I grab a pair of plain white underwear from the drawers. I smile and let out a single giggle realizing the situation, drawers stored in drawers. I also remove a pair of socks from the same drawer before closing it. Moving towards the shoe ‘department’ I look at the eight million types of shoes available, okay so maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. Going from having only one pair of tennis shoes like I had at home to this many, tell me you wouldn’t be in shock. Looking at the guy tennis shoes I wore the first day, I have the thought of having just stayed home and avoiding this entire issue.

Thoughts like that won’t help me now. Okay, which shoes would work for what I have chosen? Heels are definitely out of the question at this point. Dressy shoes are never comfortable, which leaves tennis shoes and flats. Tennis shoes would be more comfortable, but I am wearing a cardigan. I will have to wear something to dress up the look. I grab a pair of black flats and set out of the closet. Looking down in my arms and seeing the bra I am about to put on reminds me of the forms we were told about to be placed inside the cups. Carrying all of ‘my’ clothes I go into the bathroom to change. Figuring how everything goes on is simple enough. How things are closed is also simple enough, I don’t know what all the fuss is about for bras. You line it up, reach behind, clasp and wala you’re done.

The weight of the forms in the bra cups is a little strange, but then again it is something new. I look down at myself and see an obvious issue. I may look girl like up top, but down below in form fitting pants there is no question that I am a guy. The look of it sitting there, destroying the look of the pants irks me. Why do you have to ruin what is otherwise a success.

I sit and ponder for a moment, moving it into different positions in hopes it will disappear; no such luck. What if it wasn’t there? Then everything would look regular down there more or less. How could I make it disappear? That would be physically impossible, so what if I put it in a spot that it looks like it doesn’t exist? I reach down and fix myself. Removing my hand I look at my work, yes that will work for sure. I smirk at my handiwork. He-he, there go those puns again.

Exiting the bathroom, I comb out my hair until it looks tame and turn my face from side to side looking in the mirror. I look like the same guy head, floating over top of an otherwise girl body. I pull my hair back with my hands and immediately see the change I was looking for. Instead of seeing the same guy face, I am rewarded with a feminine looking face that strongly resembles the guy. Part of me still sees the guy, but another part sees a girl. The two parts are unsure of how to respond to the other part. Putting my hair in a high ponytail, I take one last look in the mirror before turning toward my bed satisfied with my look.

I freeze in place while my heart jumps into my throat. Standing in the interconnecting doorway is a masculine Sarah. If I didn’t know any better I would swear she was a guy. Either she is extremely good at this or she has had extensive practice. “Wow, Oli you look great! If I passed you in the street I wouldn’t think anything other than you were a girl.” Her voice, while trying to be male, still had enough female in it that it gave her away.

“You look like your average guy. I don’t know what you were so nervous about.” My voice, while definitely my voice has a quality to it that I don’t normally use. I can’t put my finger on it, but it is definitely not my normal voice. Sarah doesn’t take any notice of my speech.

She tries to push her non-existent long hair behind her ear as she blushes. “Thanks, I’ve done this before. I like to wear guy things on occasion and a few times tried making myself look like a guy. What about you, you look like you knew what to do.”

I raise an eyebrow, why would she think that? “Uh, no this is my first time. Why?”

It is Sarah’s turn to be surprised, “You just look so convincing, and I expected you to look like a guy in a dress for your first time. I guess you won’t need those classes they mentioned.”

Feeling the need to defend the fact I have been a guy all my life I speak out, “I may take the classes anyway, since I have no clue how to act like a girl.”

“You should talk to Jen, I’m sure she would be willing to set something up for you. She might even have heart failure if you seek her out on your own instead of making her track you down.”

I smile at the idea, “You know I might just do that so I can see her face.”

Sarah:

We head out of our rooms through my door and head down the hallway side-by-side. As each person passes, no comment is made on how either of us is dressed. I start to feel nervous right before entering the food hall. Oli turns to me and takes a moment to look back and give me a reassuring smile. The smile gives me some confidence, but it is him… or is that her… hooking her arm inside of mine so that I can escort us into the food hall that’s give me enough courage to open the door and walk inside. Several heads turn our way as we walk through the doorway and then return to their previous conversations.

I look to my right, where Oli is perched on my arm and see her ever constant radiating smile. It is the same smile that she uses when presenting as a guy, except now it has a more feminine feel. She notices my looking and we lock eyes long enough for me to turn my head away embarrassed at having been caught, just like I had caught so many guys.

We close the distance between us and our table and then sit next to each other at the first year table. Several of the first years look a bit uncomfortable at wearing another genders clothing. Others look more relaxed and baffled, probably trying to figure out what is running through their minds. As we sit down next to each other, most people at our table look up to see who is joining them. Jen is sitting with us today and smiles while we sit. Once seated she pulls out her PDA and touches some buttons on the screen. “I see you haven’t updated your names for your male and female personas. What name did you want to use Sarah?”

Blushing I lower my head slightly, in hopes my now short hair wig will somehow cover my face with bangs. “Chuck Douglass, please.”

Jen makes a small nod, and types the name into her PDA to update the information. She then looks back up towards Oli. “You look great Olivia, did Chuck help you?”

Olivia? I guess during their one-on-one talks they must have talked about today. I wish she had told me she had chosen a name. I looked to my right towards Olivia awaiting her answer. “I’m sure he would have if I asked, but I managed to put this together. I wasn’t sure about the shoes, but I think they work alright.”

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. Not only does she sound completely like a girl in her speech but she said them without a hint of hesitation. I have to pause and think about how to make my voice and words organized in a male version, while she just flowed right through as a natural. I more closely examine her for a moment while she turns to talk to a female looking Andy. She isn’t really doing anything differently, yet I can’t see the cute boy I have been living next to in her anywhere. Why isn’t she obvious in some way like everyone else around the table? While some people clearly have had experience dressing, all of them have a ‘tell’ that I can see cluing me into their birth sex. Frustrated I turn straight ahead and look right into the eyes of Jen who must have seen all of my thoughts portraying on my face. She types away on her PDA for few moments and then mine and Olivia’s PDA both go off indicating a visit with Jen shortly after breakfast.

Breakfast is a bit surreal but once the initial awkwardness of how we all look is over we carry on like nothing is any different. I smile, glad that we go to a school where something like this is not only tolerated but encouraged so that everyone is on the same ground. I look at Olivia, well, almost everyone.

As breakfast draws to an end, our year all heads out towards class while Olivia and I head towards Jen’s office. Once inside, we see Jen already sitting at her desk despite the fact we left at the same time. We close the door and take a seat in our usual seats on the couch.

Jen decides to jump right into the conversation, probably so we don’t miss much class. “How are you two dealing with Mix-up-Monday?”

I sit their awkwardly, hoping that Olivia will start the conversation. She must realize that I have no intention of talking so she starts, “I’m fine, Chuck was a bit nervous at first but that seems to have passed and by the end of breakfast was carrying on with the best of the guys.” She gives me a sideways smile to show her faith in my abilities.

“How about you, Chuck?” Jen inquires.

“I think it’s great that we have the chance to do this, as you and Olivia both know I like to cross dress from time to time. Acting male seems to fit the clothes in my mind so I’m okay with presenting male.”

Jen, realizing I didn’t answer the part of the question she was asking becomes more obvious. “How do you feel about Olivia presenting as a girl?”

Olivia raises a single eyebrow and looks at me questioningly. Nervous for being in the hot seat I fidget a bit and instinctively cross my legs in a feminine manner before correcting my posture to be more masculine. “I think it’s great that she can dress as a girl and have this opportunity that most boys would never experience to find out if there is a female part of themselves.”

“Her being female hasn’t caused you to feel awkward around her or jealous that she gets to be female while you are male?”
Shocked at the statement I let it show in my voice, “No, we have been carrying on as we always have. I may act a bit too much like a girl in the conversations but we still interact in much of the same way. I was surprised at how naturally she fit the female role. Everyone in our year has something about them that I can tell that they are different than how they appear. Olivia just seems like a girl, except she is the same as Oliver which makes no sense.” At Jen’s encouraging look and Olivia’s silence I press on. “I can understand her acting a different way to be more female, but it’s like she is just Oliver if he had been born and raised a girl.”

I look at Olivia, trying to see if I hurt her in some way. She gives me her feminine Oliver smile saying it was okay, but her eyes have a depth to them I have never seen; eyes that have lived through terrible times that are now trying to seem as if everything is okay. She turns back to Jen, with her classic expectant look awaiting Jen’s next question. I guess that’s one thing not feminine about her, most girls that look as pretty as her would be talkative enough to have said something, not wait for someone else to initiate.

Jen weighs my words in her mind before starting, “How did you develop your female skills Olivia?”

A minutia of surprise enters Olivia’s face before fading. “I thought of how the girls around school carried themselves and went with that. My voice isn’t any different, something I was surprised to discover once I finished dressing is that it still works.”

Jen nods, accepting Olivia’s answer or lack thereof for her voice. “Did you want lessons to learn to be more masculine, Chuck?” Having thought of this before I got dressed today I nod. “How about you Olivia, do you want female lessons?”

Without a moment’s hesitation to decide she answers, “Yes, please. I could also use some help in figuring out how to get my darned boobs to stay in place.” With that she rearranged her bra in a very unladylike manner while making a face. I broke into giggles while Jen tried desperately to keep a straight face.

“There is a boy in the room, that’s improper.” Her tone indicated her appreciation for Olivia finding humor to comfort me in her acting so natural while also trying to set a precedent. “If you go down to medical, they can set you up with some glue to help with your…” I could see several possible words wanting to make their way out of her mouth before she settled on one, “predicament.”

With any possibility of seriousness ruined, Jen declared us ready to go to class. She instructed Olivia to head to medical on the way while I was to be sent directly to class. No fair, she gets to miss more class than me!

Oliver/Olivia:

I make my way down the hall with thoughts of Sarah’s conversation with Jen plaguing my mind. I act naturally feminine somehow. Some part of that thought caused a hiccup in my mind. Here I was trying to portray a female and I had actually succeeded, then why do I feel like I’m not lying all the time? I’m male, so acting female should be one big act that requires effort. Yet, it doesn’t. Why? What does that mean? Realizing where my thought process is going I change tracks, maybe I just haven’t lived long enough as a girl for it to feel like a chore to act female like it does to act as a happy guy. That has to be it; it will just take some time before it feels like another burden I have to carry.

Walking down the hall I almost miss my turn to medical because I am lost in thought when a girl I recognize from our year walks around the corner coming towards me. “Hey, you’re Olivia right?”

I snap out of my thoughts and smile, “Yes, I recognize you from breakfast. Stacy was it?”

Her face beams with happiness, “That’s me, you headed to classes?”

I shake my head, “No, I’m actually going to medical.”

“I’m headed the same way, I can walk with you.” We both turn and start walking towards medical with a few words being passed between us, mostly focusing on how we are enjoying the classes and our focus studies. Arriving in medical, we are greeted by a nurse who says she was expecting us both. She takes us behind a curtained corner of the wing where the doctor is hiding. He gives us both a friendly smile before beginning, “You must be Stacy and Olivia. I hear you are both here to learn how to get your breast forms to stick.” With that he launched into a full description on how to attach remove and care for the ‘breast forms.’ Having to take my shirt off in front of Stacy and the doctor embarrassed me to no end until I realized he is a doctor and Stacy is in the same boat I am.

It all seemed simple enough, and within 20 minutes we were on our way back to class, slightly embarrassed but displaying a pair of attached boobs.

Each step felt different than before, but by the time we made it to the end of the hall, all foreign feelings were gone. Moments before walking into class, Stacy stops me. “Were you planning on taking girl lessons?”

Not knowing how to respond to such a question from someone I started to actually talk to 20 minutes ago and who has already seen me half naked I hesitantly respond. “Yeeeeaaah?”

“Did you want to take them together? I felt better having another student around, it helps when we both make mistakes and help each other out, outside of lessons.”

“I can talk to Jen about setting it up at the same time as yours.” My PDA blinks indicating an update. I look at the screen and it shows girl lessons starting three days from now with Stacy. “I guess she is one step ahead of us, creepy how they figure these things out so quickly.”

Stacy smiles a knowing smile, “Yes it is. Shall we join class before the teacher thinks we’ve run off?”

I grin, “Yes, let’s.”

Oliver the next day:

I roll over for the thousandth time this morning, fighting to sleep for the last few minutes I have before needing to wake up. My mind is eerily silent despite the fact I have tossed and turned all night, completely unable to get any sleep. Everything, from breathing to my room makes me feel on edge somehow.

The world feels distant, almost shadowy. My eyes are open but I’m not present. Even in the confines of my own mind where I am free to think whatever I want, there is an unwarranted uneasiness that isn’t coming from any thoughts. If I had managed to fall asleep last night, I bet I would be perfectly fine.

Looking at the clock, I see that it is time to be waking up. Conceding that I won’t be able to get any more sleep I get out of bed. Shuffling over to my closet to find clothes to wear for after my shower, I am met with a mental block on a decision. Since Mix-up-Monday is over, I should wear guy clothes. Looking at the female side of the closet, I feel some kind of connection. Reacting like I am scolded, I flee to the male side of the closet and grab the first clothes I see. Not even paying attention to the items I am grabbing.

Hoping in the shower, I start to wash every inch of me several times, trying to scrub away the thoughts and feelings. When I get to my chest, my mind takes a moment to readjust to the fact I am not wearing the breast forms, causing my stomach to clench. In a flash, the moment has passed and I resume scrubbing, paying extra attention to my chest in a hope of cleansing any lingering impressions of having boobs. Moving down to my crotch, I react how I always have reacted. I ignore it, utterly and completely. I’m not saying I don’t wash it, I do, but I have no connection to the thing down there other than it being physically attached.

After completing my shower, I move to get dressed. Any semblance of a clean feeling I managed to scrub into myself is instantly removed the moment I look at the clothes I grabbed. The dark jeans and polo shirt are exactly like what I wear every day as a guy but it all seems rather lack luster at the moment. Girl’s clothes are so much better.

Surprised at the thought, I force my mind into silence to prevent more unnerving thoughts. I get dressed and walk out into the bedroom and hear a loud knock at the interconnecting door. With a strained sighed I give a moment’s pause to change to a happier demeanor then open the door to find Chuck.

He gives me a smile, “I hope you don’t mind, but I decided to be Chuck today.”

My response could have been better. “It’s whatever.” My face shows acceptance, but in my mind my thoughts start to race into each other before I silence them.

Chuck’s smile remains and we head out to walk toward the dining area.

Chuck:

I was hoping when I saw Oli today there would be some clarity in how he managed to pull off yesterday. No such luck. He looked exactly the same as every other day, with no hint of Mix-up-Monday causing him any issues. He seemed a little less chatty today but we have never interacted before as two guys so there was bound to be a little awkwardness.

Breakfast was relatively normal, several people remained as they had dressed yesterday with a couple admitting to the fact they are transgendered. When asked if I am, I simply told them I like to dress as a guy from time to time and yesterday hadn’t been enough to satiate my desire. All the while, I cast quick glances at Oli to see if anything said caused him to be uncomfortable or stir some thoughts within him. He just sat there, eating, chatting some, and being the same person I have known him to be. Stacy seemed to be casting looks at him, as often, if not more than I was. Oli seemed to notice our looks, but never confronted either of us about them. He would simply smile at us and turn back to eating.

Turning to Andy quietly I ask him about Stacy. “Do Oli and Stacy know each other?”

Andy turns to me with a devilish grin. “Not Oli, but Stacy mentioned having talked with and soon to be having girl classes with Olivia.”

Shaking my head at Andy’s difficulty I ask a question that has been on my mind since last night. “Did Olivia say anything to Stacy about wanting to be a girl?”

Andy gives me a significant look, before looking at Oli with a surprised look. “He does? Then why did he go back to being a guy?”

Realizing what I said was being taken a way I didn’t mean, I clarify. “No I meant to ask if Olivia confided in Stacy of liking being a girl and wanting to do it more. Oli never talks to me about how he feels about himself or others.”

Looking sheepish Andy responds. “Oh, not that I know of but I can ask.”

Before giving me a chance to tell him no, Andy turns to Stacy and whispers something in her ear. Stacy looks wide eyed at Oli, then me, then Andy. Oli, catching on that he is being talked about gives Stacy a raised eyebrow before turning and starting to chat with the people on the opposite end of the table. Stacy gives me an indignant look and answers my question. “No.” She then turns and starts talking with the same people Oli had just started chatting with.

“You have your answer then.” Stacy glances quickly at Andy then joins right back with her conversation. Andy rolls his eyes. “Women.” While I may identify as a girl, the humor of the situation causes me to laugh. I now understand how guys feel when they don’t understand what a girl is doing.

Oliver:

The rest of the day seemed to drag. Time seemed impossibly slow, yet everyone was somehow moving in super speed. Everyone that is except me. Seeing people that were yesterday the opposite gender kept playing with my mind. I don’t know how to react in this situation. With people that I had only met as Olivia, I felt forced to follow that persona. When I met those who had known Oliver more, I felt forced to play that persona. My mind could keep up fairly well in the distinctions, but when the group had people who knew different personas, I found myself unable to interact.

My put on face of happiness seemed to crumble even more every time I found myself unable to keep up appearances. No one else seemed to be influenced by my mood, even though I act as a super outgoing individual in this place, I’m still just as invisible as always. Some people went out of their way to try and get me into the conversations, but I fell short. I would unconsciously say something that would abruptly end the conversation, causing me to be included in fewer and fewer of the conversations that did take place at dinner.

Sarah takes little notice, because I am putting forth an “effort” to be in the conversations I must meet her standards. Most of Jen’s attention is directed towards Stacy, who seems to be having a rough day for some reason. I would ask her about it, but I get the impression she wants to work through it in her mind first before having the world descend on her in interrogation.

I leave dinner a little early, having run out of energy to keep on a happy face. As I stand, no one takes much notice of me other than a quick look up to see who it is that’s leaving. Stacy gives a look long enough that I smile with the last bit of energy I have remaining, giving her what looks like exactly what she wanted. I turn my back to the room and walk out, with my face instantly sliding into a rather grim expression I’m sure. Usually I can make it out of a room before dropping a persona, but today I fall short by a fair bit. Each step I take in the room without my cheerful guy persona causes my mood to turn even more sour. By the time I reach the door to leaving the dining area, I feel like death.

I slip through the door, and slowly meander back to my room without fear of running into someone. I reach my door far more quickly than I expect and slowly turn the handle while banging my forehead against the door once and leaning into it to push the door open. I let my weight do all the work, and have to catch myself before I go face first on the floor. I swing the door from behind me and close it without even looking. I hear the click sound, and stand frozen for a moment letting the silence of the room seep into me. With my inner calm borrowed from the room, I manage to get myself to lock the door before I just drop to the floor leaning against the door.

I let out a long drawn out sigh, which does little to help so I try letting out another. Sensing the pointlessness of reusing this failing relaxation technique I stand up and head for another. I head over to the bed and flop down facing the ceiling. I just sit there, without moving a muscle hoping the print of the bed will swallow me up and teach me how to have such an unfazed front.

Realizing this is only making my mind worse, I go for my next technique. Slowly I progress through all of the ways to stay calm I have heard, seen or done in my lifetime. I even tried making up a few but they did nothing to calm my mind. Drying off from the shower I just took in a desperate attempt to wash my thoughts away, I am faced with what to wear. I wrap my towel around me, covering almost my entire body; these are some huge towels! I hear Sarah crawling into bed before she turns her bedside lamp off. Before the light flicks off I have a fleeting thought to go over there and try talking this strange mindset of mine through.

Why would she want to talk to me about this? People have their own issues they are dealing with, I shouldn’t dump mine on them, that would be selfish of me. Besides, if I open up to her for just a moment then all the work I have done to form a comfortable relationship with her will be ruined. Her light flicks off and any thoughts I have of talking to her disappear with it.

Standing there in an oversized towel getting cold I glance at the clock to see it is roughly bed time. I walk over to the closet to put on some sleep clothes and hesitate when confronted with both sides of the closet. I should wear a t-shirt and pair of running shorts to bed, after all Sarah might come in here and see me for some reason. Looking towards the female side I spot a nightgown. Or at least I think that is what they are called. I feel that connection in my mind again that causes all my thoughts to turn quiet, not silent but more of a distant whisper. A whisper I can deal with. Feeling a moment of level headed thought, I turn to grab my classic male sleep clothes. The moment I look at them my mind starts back up, seeming louder after having a moment of quiet. Closing my eyes I shake my head to try to restore the quiet. Instead of giving me quiet my mind goes creepily blank. I start going through the motions of getting dressed in my male night clothes but feel like I’m having an out of body experience.

I brush my teeth in a flash and climb into bed. I start out tossing and turning exactly like last night. I can tell I am exhausted, but sleep doesn’t claim me. After an hour I sit up and stare at my sheets until I feel my whole body shut down and then snap back to reality. I didn’t fall asleep; I just sort of… stopped.

I feel my mind wander to the contents of the drawer beside my bed. It doesn’t make any sense, why would my mind think about boobs when I’m trying to get some sleep? I feel a mental flinch at my own thought. No not boobs, breasts. This is a whole new level of weird. I lay back in bed feeling a little more awake at having scared myself with my own thoughts. For a few minutes I lay motionless hoping sleep is just a second away. Finally conceding to what strange compulsion wants me to do this I give in, knowing if I don’t get any sleep tonight then tomorrow I won’t even have the energy to smile once. I turn on my bedside light and pull open the drawer of my bedside stand. There they are, with the glue goop sitting next to them. My heart skips a beat and I get terrible tunnel vision. What is happening to me? I have never had this feeling before.
Peeling off my t-shirt I glue on the breast forms and then lay back allowing the glue to dry. I look down at my hands holding the forms in place on my now girly top half. I feel a smile come to my face without being coaxed. Rolling my head back into the pillow to get comfortable while I wait for the glue to dry, everything fades away with my smile playing along the corners of my mouth.

Sarah the next morning:

I dressed in my school day girl clothes, a knee length skirt with a shirt and blouse paired with a nice pair of flats. I decided pink would be the color of the day, after all I’ve spent the past two days as a boy. I have to balance things. Today when getting dressed I didn’t feel the desire to dress as a guy. It’s usually rare for me to dress for more than one day in a row, but the stress of Mix-up-Monday must have caused me to need the extended time.

Having finished getting ready, I check myself in the mirror to make sure I have no stray strands of hair. With everything looking good, I smile at myself. I hope Oli thinks I look good in my skirt. I wonder if he will notice how nice I look or just be an oblivious guy about it. Figuring I can easily find out, I go and knock on the interconnecting doorway.

To my surprise, Oli dressed as Olivia answers the door. She is giving me a beautiful smile that falters when she sees my expression. “Is everything okay Sarah?”

Shaking my head quickly to clear my thoughts I smile, “Of course, I just wasn’t expecting to be seeing you dressed as Olivia today.”

Without missing a beat she responds, “Since tomorrow I start taking girl lessons with Stacy I figured I should try to get into character on my own so all that needs to be done is fine tuning. Would you rather I dressed as Oliver today?”

Her question carries concern, concern for my well being but maybe also for her acceptance. Looking in her eyes I see no fear, only concern. She is only thinking about me, and not wanting to put me in an awkward position.

Oliver several Days later:

During the couple days after taking the classes with Stacy several things changed. First, Stacy was voted year leader, which I think she deserves. After all she is always very accepting, patient, comforting, responsive to others concerns, and all while working through being transgender. I don’t know what being transgender entails but I know it takes a person with a great deal of inner strength to even admit something like that to yourself, let alone an entire school like she has.

Since we shared the “girl” classes, Stacy has become a friend of sorts. While we may not talk about the mushy things like feelings we have grown our female sides together by practicing hair, clothes combinations, walking, and talking. I think she started to think I was transgendered as well, since I was desperately trying to portray the role correctly. The shock of reality came the day after girl classes ended.

Having gotten dressed in my usual male clothes, I made my way with a feminine Sarah towards the dining area. Sarah was another issue, her shock of seeing me in male clothes after opening the door seemed to be causing her an internal dialogue. We shared a few words in greeting, and exchanged none on the way to breakfast. She kept casting me sideways glances, until finally just short of the door I tried to start a conversation. “Are you glad the boy lessons are over?” I hadn’t seen the lessons in use yet but I could tell she had been working very hard to perfect what she was learning.

“To be honest, yes. Since I only crossdress, the male acting eventually gets to be too much.”

Satisfied with her answer and having interrupted her internal dialogue which she did not resume, I walk into the dining area with Sarah only a half step behind.

Everyone at the table seemed intrigued that I was dressed as a guy today. While no one asked directly I could tell certain people’s perception of me had changed. The most obvious being Stacy; the look of surprise on her face spoke volumes of what she thought. I helped serve the food with Sarah and we sat to eat.

One side of the table took on a more feminine conversation route while the other side took on a more male avenue. Having sat in the middle of the table I could hear both conversations. Every time I heard a part of the female conversation I pushed to take part in the male conversation. Hopefully that establishes things clearly in everyone’s mind where I fall in this dynamic.

After breakfast Stacy caught up with me on the way to classes. “Hey, like my new hair style?” Looking at her hair I notice it is one I suggested a couple days ago and had worked with her to perfection. We had carried on for over an hour just for one hair style, but today the interest just wasn’t there for me.

“It looks nice.”

Not catching on to my lack of interest she tries another topic we enthusiastically discussed yesterday. “I wasn’t sure which necklace to wear today with this top.” She intentionally left the topic wide open for me to easily be able to carry on the conversation. Instead of going into the color and size debate we had before, I gave her a smile portraying that she looked good but I had no interest in the topic.

Recognizing the full 180 from last night, she called me on it. Putting her hand on my arm to stop me she looked into my eyes and asked, “Hey, are you okay?”

Giving her a look like she is insane for asking I reply, “Yeah…. Why?”

Giving me a perplexed look, as if trying to decide how to reply she eventually gives up. “No reason, I’ll see you in class!” With that she took off to catch up with Andy.

Sarah:

“He’s been acting really weird. It’s like he’s a completely different person.”

“You said not too long ago that he acted like a natural girl, just like Ollie but a girl version. Now you are saying that Ollie isn’t Ollie anymore?” Jen questions in an attempt to understand the difference.

“Olivia talked in all conversations, acted just like a girl and is outgoing. Ollie acted the same way before the girl lessons he took, except acting like a guy. Now, Ollie acts like a guy and only takes part in the guy conversations.”

“Is it possible that he always acted that way, just you spent so much time with Olivia that the difference has become so apparent because he went from fully trained girl mode to full on boy mode?”

Looking at Ollie watching our conversation play out without even making a single facial expression to indicate how he feels about what I am saying I push on. “It’s possible, I guess.”

Satisfied with my answer Jen turns to address Ollie, “Why did you start acting so male after the lessons were over?”
Ollie shrugs, “I’m a guy portraying a guy, isn’t it what is expected? We were told that we have to be passable as a guy and a girl at some point, since everyone seemed to see a natural girl I figured it would be okay to return to being a guy.”

“You are free to be whoever you want to be here, don’t act a certain way because it’s what you think is expected. Be yourself, if anyone has an issue with that then they can talk with me.” The intensity in Jen’s voice portrays just how much she cares for our wellbeing.

Feeling as though I need to make Ollie know I also feel the same way I speak up, “I feel the same way, if you feel like Olivia is the real you then be her. If you feel Ollie is the real you then be him.” Pausing I realized I missed some options. “Anywhere in the middle is fine too.”

Instead of giving a revealing answer as to who he feels like he is, which I was expecting, he simply smiles and says “Thanks.”

Oliver:

The conversation with Sarah and Jen kept rolling over in my mind. Sitting in class my mind is miles from the lessons. I have permission to be whoever, how does that change my life? In my mind it doesn’t change a thing, even though people say they would be okay with something doesn’t mean that they are okay with it when set in front of them. If tomorrow I were to show up as Olivia, while no one may mock me for my decision there would be a moment where they question why I am dressed as I am. The same goes for every day that I spend as Ollie, now that everyone has seen me as Olivia.

~

Classes go on just like every other day, it isn’t until we have our French class that things change. As the teacher is standing at the front of the room I get the sudden uneasy feeling that someone is watching me. So as not to raise suspicion, I look in my peripheral vision and find a set of eyes across the room dead set staring at me. The staring continues for a while, me trying to ignore it while the other person does little other than blink. Then I get the brilliant idea to look directly at whoever it is so they know I know they are watching. I slowly turn my head to the side and look directly at the person.

Lo and behold, it’s Sarah. Seeing that she has no intent to look away, I look back at the teacher. I make no motion to show how uncomfortable she is making me feel, I go on as if all is right with the world. Except, instead of speaking out to the class to answer questions I choose to stay alert without being engaged. Andy, who is sitting next to Sarah, notices her intent starring. He also looks my way to see what is grabbing her attention. Noticing nothing out of the ordinary, just me sitting through another class, he pokes Sarah breaking her out of her trance.

My focus on class is shot at this point. My mind goes aflutter trying to figure out why she would be watching. Do I have toothpaste on my face? No, someone would have commented during one of the meals. Am I acting strangely? I’m still portraying the well rounded sociable guy so no reason for me to be scrutinized. What if that is really the reason, am I acting to well off? I know this school is for people who aren’t given a proper chance, most individuals having a side to themselves that doesn’t mesh well in the harsh world. Is my acting like just another person from back at their hometowns causing them to be scared of me? The only right thing to do then is to tone down the act. I CAN’T cause people discomfort, I just won’t allow myself to do it!

Class just continues on, me physically present without being there at all. The teacher takes no notice of me, my face locked in a receptive and understanding expression while I try to figure it all out. Andy and Stacy seem to get along with me without issue, but then Stacy was voted to be a year leader so it is her job and Andy is probably just playing nice then. I have all these friendly people around and still it’s the same problems as back home. No friends, no feelings, no future….

My mind goes to dark places for the briefest of moments, before my mind completely shuts down. I become my walking husk of a person, alienated from everyone and everything including myself. My expression must slip during the dark portion of my thoughts because the teacher takes notice of whatever is being expressed on my face. I don’t give her a chance to see where my mind is, I compensate by acting like a thought just dawned on me. I give her an exaggerated nod for effect and it seems to satisfy her. For the rest of class I am locked off tighter than I have ever felt. The world passes quickly in a blur, and soon it is time to leave.

As class ends I quickly make my way out of the room, without seeming like I am desperate to escape, before anyone has a chance to strike up a conversation with me. I keep a friendly smile on my face as I walk through the building. Knowing that we have a bit of free time to work on assignments I swiftly walk to my room, step inside and close and lock the door.

As soon as I feel moderately safe in the room I feel my demeanor change. A breath I was holding rushes out of my lungs in a stutter and at the same time I feel my entire body go slack. Yep, same issues as back at home. Only now I am trapped living here with them in some vain attempt to fix the unfixable. They even give me a ‘study partner’ who is so outgoing and friendly that I can hardly get a moment to relax. Speak of the devil, I can hear her voice through the wall talking to Stacy and Andy. My body instantly goes rigid, and I retreat to the bathroom closing the door silently without turning on the lights.

The interconnecting door to the two bedrooms opens after a quick knock. She doesn’t even wait for me to say come in anymore! “He isn’t here. I wonder where he got off to so quickly.”

Andy in his usual joking fashion, trying to lighten the mood responds. “Probably to fix the hole you were trying to stare into him.” So maybe not his best, at least he tried. I hear a light smack then Stacy’s punishing remarks.

“Hey, don’t poke fun until you know why she was doing it!”

The expression crossing someone’s face at the way the event played out causes Andy to laugh despite the punishment. As the laughing dies down, a conversation starts that causes me to shake. “Oli is always so friendly to people. He always is helpful, always pays attention in class, always is understanding and accepting in ways that no one can possibly be, and to top it off I have never ever seen him have a bad moment. He never gets frustrated doing work, he never frets over doing something, and he does everything like its second nature. I was hoping that Mix-Up Monday would throw him off in some way, but he did just fine without any effort what-so-ever. I was trying to see if I could see whatever it is that is wrong with him. Everyone here has something that plagues them before coming here. Andy and I cross dress, Val, Megan, Tony are gay, you are a girl, and all the others have some kind of dark past that seems to haunt them at every turn. Why is he here?!” I hear someone drop to my bed, probably Sarah in frustration.

I hear two more bodies quietly sit on the bed, probably trying to console her in some way. “Maybe he just hides it better than everyone? Maybe it will take him longer to break through whatever walls he put up, and when he does he will need you to be there for him like he has been tolerant of you.” I love it when Stacy makes sense, but this isn’t one of those times. Me? Have something to hide? Hardly.

Come on Andy, be the voice of reason for these two girls. “I know when I have been around him he is always so nice.” Thank you Andy! “BUT….” Ugh, you couldn’t just let it go at that. “Every time he has to do a group setting he is always more quiet. It’s like he doesn’t know how to act, so he avoids interacting. Even one on one I feel like I’m always boring him.”

Someone makes a noise signifying they agree. “He’s gotten more and more distant in a one on one since we got here. I want to help, but there is nothing to help! I just want a new partner!” The cry contains every feeling possible. Frustration, betrayal, hurt, anger, and even some ray of hope. It cuts me straight through. The impervious shell wrapped around my soul shatters releasing a flood of feeling into my body. The overwhelming sense of pure chaotic emotion racing to be the first to escape causes all senses to shut off. The already dim bathroom, fades to a blackness. Instead of passing out, my body reboots prior to losing conscious. The reboot brings everything back to the way it was, everything about myself locked down.

During the process the conversation must have turned heated. I find myself coming back in during the thick of it. Stacy’s words being the first I hear, “…just throw it back in his face. You think it’s all an act, being accepting, but that is when a person shows their true colors. They could outright reject you and they didn’t.”

“He is rejecting me though! He may not care about my liking to wear guy clothes, but he won’t accept me as a friend! Everyone else has managed to become very close friends with their study partner, sharing secrets, and I can’t even get his background!”

I tune out the rest, clearly I have failed. I am a terrible person, all she wants is one thing and it’s the thing that I didn’t give her. The school must have made a mistake choosing me, I don’t fit here any better than I would have fit anywhere else. I should just submit my resignation and return to public school where no one cares if I interact with them or not. They won’t let me go though, my stupid joke about James Bond hit too close to home, they know I know too much. Maybe they will just put me out of my misery. I sit on the floor of the darkened bathroom pondering my future, if I even have one. I come to the conclusion, I need to fix what I have done in some way. Normally I would just give up and walk away, but this, this I have messed up too much to just walk away. In the confines of the dark bathroom, I make a vow to give Sarah what she wants. Even if it will kill me.

I spend most of the free afternoon thinking in the confines of the bathroom. Eventually the hard floor starts to hurt and I move into my room. Standing next to my bed I look over my different homework assignments. Finding one that will be easy to do despite my distracted brain I sit down at my desk. Half way through the paper a crazy idea slips into my mind causing me to set my pencil down and think.

What if Sarah actually cares and won’t hate me for being honest about everything. Dismissing that thought as a naive hope I set back to work on the homework.

After finishing several assignments I hear the door to Sarah’s room open and then close. I hear the scuffle of her sorting through clothes in her closet before her room goes quiet. Going back to work I soon hear two soft knocks at the interconnecting doorway. Scrunching my face up trying to think of how I’m going to talk through this situation I stand and walk to the door. Putting a casual expression on my face I open the door.

“Hey, what’s…” I don’t even have the opportunity to finish the sentence before Sarah barrels into me, wrapping me in a hug. Out of instinct, I jump back prying her hands away from my body. I’m not used to this type of affection from people. Her face clouds and her eyes start to form tears.

“I’m sorry Oli, I was so worried after you ran off like that. I understand if you want nothing to do with me after how I treated you in class.”

She starts to turn to head back into her room. Some impulse causes me to put my hand up and touch her arm, preventing her from turning. I put on a slightly ashamed and apologetic look. “I’m sorry I reacted like that, you just surprised me.”

Standing in a hug accepting stance, she gets the idea and pulls me into a hug slowly. My body is stiff from the unfamiliarity of hugging, but she rests her head at the nape of my neck for a moment and seems satisfied.

Sarah:

After the hug from Oli, our relationship changed a little. While he still didn’t open up about his past or feelings he seemed much more willing to sit close to each other. Before he would sit politely close when we were doing things, close enough to feel sociable but never ever close enough to allow physical contact being possible. Now I find him sitting close enough that he will brush up against me sometimes or accidentally bump into each other when talking with our hands. I feel more comfortable with him, even when he is Olivia. The girl-girl dynamic doesn’t seem to cause him any issues with sitting close. In fact, when presenting as Olivia he seems to sit even closer to me. I’m trying not to let my mind think he means something romantic, after all it is Oli, but I can’t help feeling attached to him in a more than friend’s way. If only I knew something about his life.

During several of our group meetings with Jen we try to work through his reservations of telling me. Eventually he starts to get frustrated every time we bring it up, leading up to today’s visit.

“How are the two of you doing today?”

Oli gives a smile, “Can’t complain.”

I try to hide my face hoping Jen doesn’t see my expression and will move onto the next question. “What’s wrong, Sarah?”
Sighing at having been caught I look towards Oli who has a concerned expression. The same one he has been giving me all day in reaction to my demeanor. Seeing that I know have to talk about it since everyone is waiting for me, I finally talk about what’s bugging me. “I noticed that Stacy and Oli have been getting close,” pausing I look to Oli and see an unchanged expression so I push on. “They seem to talk about lots of things ranging from Stacy being transgender to where they see themselves after we graduate. While Oli has had the same types of conversations with me, I’m afraid that when I’m not there that he and Stacy talk about his life before he came here, and how he feels about his gender. He won’t talk to me about gender at all.”

Normally this is where Oli allows Jen to mediate between us, but today he doesn’t wait knowing exactly what she would ask him. “Sarah, I haven’t talked to anyone here about my family. Not even Jen and she is sworn to secrecy.”

Jen nods to confirm Oli’s statement. I ask the same question this conversation always brings us to time after time, “Why don’t you?”

Jen opens her mouth to say something, but before the words escape her mouth Oli retorts. With a raised voice showing his exasperation for being repeatedly asked this question he says, “I don’t know how.” Jen slowly closes her mouth, clearly not expecting what Oli just said. Oli snaps his hand across his mouth, with a look of horror in his eyes at what he said. My mind is taken aback at the idea and can’t seem to understand how that is even possible. We all sit there for a split second processing what was just said.

With a speed that I have never seen him use, Oli stands up and runs out the door of Jens office. Jen and I both sit there looking between each and the open door slowly, trying to understand what just happened.

Jen:

Somehow in the split second between his words being said and his motion to move, his mind managed to have an entire thought process when I hadn’t even started mine. The counselors here are trained to be able to think extremely quickly in case an issue arises that needs swift handling to prevent it from getting out of hand.

With all of the other students I managed no problem at all. But with Oli it was always a bit of a struggle to out maneuver him. I knew he was always holding back when I first interviewed him. He managed the conversation like a pro, but concealed it very well. It wasn’t until I saw how fast he reacted from saying the words, that surprised him, to a thought through action he carried out with a determined look on his face shows that I had always been way out of my leave. If he applied that quick thinking other places he could be a genius. My mind reeled on just how clever he had been, even here under surveillance, to keep his ability concealed.

With my mind finally caught up, I call after Oli, who can’t be more than a couple meters down the hall. Knowing I could never catch a kid who runs as much as he does I pick up my phone and send a mass message alert to all of the counselors to meet me in my office to discuss what happened and what we should do. I then send a message to Stacy to talk to her year and be on the lookout for Oli, and that he should have some company but not to try to pry into what is bugging him unless he volunteers information.

Once all messages are sent I finally notice Sarah snapping out of whatever shock Oli’s actions had caused. The poor girl has no clue, and for the first time ever I regret my decision to pair the two of them up.

Sarah:

“I can’t believe him, he walks out just because I ask him why he doesn’t talk about his family.”

Jen gives me a surprised look. “He hasn’t told you anything about his home life at all?”

Feeling like I’m just repeating myself I try to keep the frustration out of my voice. “He hasn’t told me ANYTHING about himself. Half the time I find him contradicting himself in what he likes or how he feels about situations.”

“Can you give me an example?”

“Just yesterday we started to talk about colors and I asked him what his favorite color is and he said white. But last week when I wore that green shirt he said that he liked the shirt on me and green was… is his favorite color. And the night after we first met he said that blue was his favorite. He keeps lying to me!”

Putting up her hand to end my rant that could have gone on for hours I stop and slowly close my mouth. “Have you considered he’s actually telling the truth and he keeps changing what his favorite is?”

“That’s stupid, no one changes their favorite color that often. That’s why it’s your favorite!”

Jen gives me a look that I have seen from my parents when I do not understand what’s being said. “The day that Oliver first showed up here, he was very guarded. He didn’t talk to anyone about anything personal so he told people what he thought they wanted to hear. While he might have been intentionally lying, it’s more likely he thought what he wanted is what others wanted. So to him, blue was his favorite color.” Seeing my questioning look she continues. “Okay let’s take last week for instance. Oliver was Olivia on the day you wore the green shirt. And girls are supposed to be complimentary of others, so he said he liked your shirt because that’s what he thought he was supposed to do.”

Shocked at what Jen is saying I try to see if I understand. “So he didn’t actually like my shirt, he was just saying that because he thought that’s what a girl would say. I understand that part, but how is that not a lie?”

“Oliver likes to live within other people’s expectations. So when someone wants him to like green he believes he actually does to benefit both you and him. But, white… that’s a tricky one. My guess is that was the day you saw the true Oliver being himself in just a small way. White symbolizes purity, a place to make a fresh start. I have a feeling he will be exploring himself more and start to open up to you.”

Smiling at the prospect of having a happy Oliver that I can have as a close friend I ask the last question on my mind at the moment. “Why doesn’t Oliver talk about his family?”

Jens started wrestling with something, trying to decide whether or not to tell me. “That’s for Oliver to discuss.”

Oliver:

Sitting in my bathroom on the floor I try to work through my inner turmoil. Is my safety worth more than Sarah’s happiness? She is probably upset and I just ran out on her, friends don’t do that.

I promised I would give her the one thing she wanted, and I have let her down yet again. She cares, cares in ways I don’t understand. I don’t deserve her. The strength and enthusiasm somehow contained within her body casts shadows over anything I can muster. I have failed her as a friend, failed her as a partner, and failed her as a human. If I can’t even help one person then what is the point. My life is a waste of space, wasting everyone’s energy. I can’t be fixed because nothing is broken, there is just nothing there.

It would be better off for everyone if I wasn’t around. Sarah would have a hard time at first but she would get a new partner and move on before she knows it. My year hardly notices me, just another fly on the wall. Nobody would miss a squished fly, they wouldn’t even notice. Stacy and I might have had common ground in the classes, but where she evolved I floundered. No place fits and everyone would soon forget the faceless stranger who disappeared one night. I just want it to end, the pain I cause everyone, the cloaked feeling of agony attached to my soul, and the hurt every time I can’t be.

Standing up I look in my mirror. Who are you? Getting no answer I try a different route. What’s wrong with me? Exasperated from my efforts I mentally drift. I could punch the mirror and slit my wrists before anyone had a chance to come running. Knowing my luck, they would stop the bleeding fast enough and I’ll have failed yet again. I could walk into every secure place hoping someone will shoot me on the spot. Knowing this school, they would probably just give me a smack on the wrist and I would be right back here with them asking questions.

Genius is a fleeting thing. You can have a genius thought and rejoice at its presence, or the insight could cause you more turmoil. Mine doesn’t fit on that scale. It causes hope and sorrow at the same time. I know what I need to do and I know how to do it. I walk into my closet and grab a stack of clothes. Fancy a swim?

As I walk down the hall, clothes in hand, no one disturbs me. I am just another person walking around the place looking like they know where they are going. I walk into the boys room to change and separate the pile of clothes I have grabbed. Both a boys and girls bathing suit sit in front of me and my mind hesitates at the decision. I reach out with my hand and grab the one my hand feels drawn to, the female one piece suit. Realizing how stupid I will look, I decide to not decide. I put on both, the girls underneath the boys. I walk up to the pool without any hassles, classes are out but everyone is working diligently on their specialties. On the pool deck, there is no one around. Not a student, teacher, or lifeguard in sight. Dumb school, someone could drown. I smirk at the idea, oh yeah.

Standing at the edge of the deep end, I watch the shimmer effect the lights play on the surface of the water. It has a mesmerizing effect, the beauty almost flawless. There is nothing real in the world like this, its existence feels wrong to me. Anger at the false sense it gives causes me to jump in, destroying the calm reflecting effect upon the water. The coolness of the water causes my body to tighten and goose bumps to form quickly. It’s okay it will all be over soon, at the thought my body relaxes and the cold becomes a physical thing my mind doesn’t recognize. All else in the world vanishes except for me and the air in my lungs. I pause for a second taking in the solitude before the chaos of my mind wrecks the soothing feeling. I release all the air in my lungs screaming to the watery world, “I’m sorry!”

As the last hint of air escapes my body I feel helpless. I try to draw in a breath only to be met with water crashing into my lungs. Instinctual fighting for air tells my body to ascend, but as my body starts to motion I take control. I freeze mid motion, and collapse in on myself as my feet hit the bottom of the pool. I am in control and I say NO. All the years of forcing my mind and body to do something it doesn’t want to do culminates in this one moment. The wild feeling of survival instincts instantly tamed by my single thought. Today I end and I won’t let anything cause me to fail.

A floaty feeling starts to take hold in my body. The world seems distant and fluid; the sounds of water being my last piece of reality before everything ends.

Air is rushing around me. Could I be up in the clouds about to go to heaven or whatever equivalent there may be? That wouldn’t make sense though, I killed myself, I would have to go to hell. Maybe since I did it for a good cause I’m being rewarded? My thoughts are broken by a strong rush of air and then a faint echo.

“...Olivia….” A sound follows after but it feels too foreign to identify. “Come on Olivia….” Am I supposed to be going somewhere I forgot about? That would certainly make this awkward, excuse me god but I seem to have lost my way. Can you point me in the direction of hell?

The rushing of air stops for a moment and a sudden pain burns on my chest. My chest collapses under the pressure of an invisible hand. “Don’t you give up on me.” Again words follow after but they seem insignificant, not addressed to me. Give up? What was I giving you to give up? The background garble of words continues. What IS that? They mean something, I know they do. The answer jumps out at me as the next rush of air begins. It was saying Oliver, my name. Why can’t I hear my own name? Do I not identify as myself? Have I gone so long without air that I’m going crazy? I could be in hell and the devil could be tormenting me with games.

That doesn’t make sense though. My name being not correct feels more right. Wait, feels? How does something ‘feel’ right, I never get a feeling about myself. View points and questions sure, but something inexplicable that courses through your being? What else could it be but a feeling? The next rush of air carries with it the answer. I AM feeling. From what I know feelings don’t lie, they tell you exactly who you are and how you feel about things. You can change them, but I don’t want to. I WANT to feel, no I NEED to feel.

This feeling is telling me Oliver is wrong. He is just a shell, a stepping-stone to be who I am. Who am I? The air stops and a new pressing tightness begins in my chest.

Chocking I roll onto my side to spit up the water trapped in my throat. Standing over me is a faculty member I remember seeing around but never spoke with. He gives me a tense smile. “Don’t try to move too much, just let yourself catch your breath.”

Looking up into his eyes I speak my mind while taking deep breaths trying to catch my breath. “I’m… sorry.” That is the last thing I remember.

Waking up in medical I sense a presence beside me. Slowly turning my head I see the caring face of Sarah with a relieved Stacy behind and off to the side. Sarah jumps out of her seat and grabs my forearm tightly. “I thought I lost you.” Sensing we need some space Stacy wanders a little further away so we can talk but close enough that she can be there quickly.

Feeling bad for what I was about to say I spoke the truth. “You did for a moment.” We both hold each other’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Biting her lip she tries to think what to say before failing and wrapping me in an awkward hug. Despite how uncomfortable the hug is, we both relax into each other holding on like we will never let go. During the hug she finally figures out what she wants to say. “I won’t pressure you to open up anymore, just know that I will always be here for you. No matter how long or what path you decide to take in life, I will be there backing you up every step of the way.”

Closing my eyes I pull her even closer, “thank you.”

As we pull apart, Stacy walks closer. “I just about died when I received Jen’s text. Promise me you will come to me or Sarah if you feel low. Even if you can’t talk about it, let us be there for you. We’re friends, we’ve shared so much together, and I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

Apologizing again, I get an overwhelming urge to say something to Stacy. I don’t know why but I feel like I have to. “We have been through so much together, but in a lot of ways Stacy you are a role model to me; even more so now.”

The combination of my tone and my significant look sinks through to Stacy and she smiles. “I was wondering when you would finally figure it out.”

Sarah gets a very confused look, “Figure what out?”

Feeling bad for doing this to Sarah but unwilling to pass up the opportunity I sarcastically remark, “Sorry, some of us can’t see the future like you, Stacy.”

Sarah look flabbergasted, “Can one of you please tell me what’s going on!”

Stacy and I break into giggles and before long Sarah joins in still having no clue what just happened.

Jen Several Months later:

Looking at my log of appointments today I see Olivia’s and Sarah’s names. Sighing I wonder if the battle of minds between Olivia and myself is finally over.

<20minutes later>

“Good morning Sarah and Olivia. Glad to see the two of you today.”

Sarah is the first to respond, “Hi Jen!”

Olivia responds in her less than enthusiastic voice, “Good morning Jen.”

Getting a nudge from Sarah after they both sit in on the couch Olivia continues. “Sorry, I’m just not feeling up for our sparring today.”

Grinning wickedly I try to turn her frown upside down. “And here I was looking forward to the challenge.”

Olivia gives me an indulgent grin while Sarah can’t help but giggle. “So why don’t we start out with the usual question. How are you two dealing with being away from your families?” Sarah jumps right in like I knew she would.

“I miss them lots but now that Olivia and I are getting closer it doesn’t bother me as much.”

Olivia gives Sarah a lopsided grin. Interesting, she actually is trying to initiate a close relationship and wants it to succeed. “Well, that is good to hear. I’m glad Olivia has helped, that is one of the reasons for study partners; to be your best friend, confidant, and your other half.” Olivia blushes at that last part, obviously seeing the ulterior meaning of my words, Sarah just smiles taking them at face value. Realizing I only have received one answer I give a little push. “How about you Olivia, any regrets about coming because of your family situation?”

Her demeanor instantly changes from the quiet and shy girl to a withdrawn mastermind. Her old expression I recognize as being Oliver’s mentally alert and prepared comes to the forefront. “I miss them a bit, but seem to be getting along alright.” Opening my mouth to speak, I see Sarah move her hand to Olivia’s. Pausing to see what happens, a miracle occurs. The moment Sarah’s hand made contact with Olivia’s, Olivia went rigid for a split second and then seemed to relax out of the Oliver face. With an encouraging smile from Sarah, Olivia sighs. “No, that’s a lie. Everything is going alright, better in fact. I’m glad to be away from my family.”

The surprise on Sarah’s face doesn’t go unnoticed to me or Olivia. Olivia pauses, and then with another squeeze from Sarah’s hand continues. “I’m sure you know why Jen, but I haven’t told Sarah yet.” Both of them turn their bodies towards each other making it easier to keep eye contact. Taking several deep breaths she begins.

“When I was a little kid I thought my parents were the best parents around, but when I started seeing kids interact with their parents I noticed something missing. My parents did what was expected of them as parents, nothing more. So one day I asked my mom whether or not she was glad she had a kid. She told me she regretted having me. I hadn’t done anything wrong, I never bullied anyone, I got decent grades, I wasn’t too expensive, I didn’t argue with them at all.” Olivia’s body started to fold in on itself, trying to protect herself. Sarah scoots over and puts her arm around Olivia’s waist, interesting.

With a look between them Olivia continues. “I felt like my world was falling apart so I tried desperately for them to be proud to call me their…” She catches on the word. Almost like she knows what she wants to say but that’s not the right thing to say for the story. Shaking away the thought she pushes on, “So I joined the hardest lessons, became physically active, and tried to be the model… son they always wanted. Things changed after that. Instead of doing what was expected of them as parents, I suddenly had total freedom for myself. I guess in their minds I suddenly became self-sufficient because I stopped being lazy. The only issue was, suddenly I saw the world as a simple puzzle. Be what people want you to be and your problems are solved. But the problem wasn’t solved; I just didn’t have to see them every day so I wasn’t forced to see what was missing. On the bright side, if I hadn’t taken those harder classes I probably wouldn’t be here.”

Sarah gives Olivia a sad smile and pulls her into a hug. The next part of their conversation almost left me speechless. Whispering just loud enough that I can hear I hear Sarah say, “Thank you for trusting me, I love you.”

Afraid that Sarah has pushed Olivia too far I brace for the inevitable recoil from hearing the word love. But the recoil never comes, instead Olivia pulls Sarah even closer to her in the hug. I can’t make out the words that Olivia says but I can guess because I have never seen Sarah’s smile so wide, interesting.