Chapter Five

Chapter Five

I Find Myself Back in Health Class


I can’t imagine a more awkward silence than the one I had been experiencing for the last few minutes. I was avoiding looking at Logan. He was ignoring me entirely.

As we walked down another empty hallway, I tried my best to focus on where we were headed, so I wouldn’t get lost later.

But it didn’t help. Nothing could distract me from the fact that…I had never felt so alone.

I couldn’t call my parents—my voice was at least an octave too low for them to believe it was me. I couldn’t talk to Alice—she had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t believe I was me, even though I had been altered right in front of her.

But I had to make her believe me. She was my only hope for sanity during this whole…whatever the fuck this was. Alice was my lifeline, and I would fight like hell to get her to believe me.

Thankfully, I had sort of regained control of my emotions. I was no longer on the verge of crying, but I could feel anger, welling up like an explosion waiting to happen. To say this was unfair was the biggest fucking understatement in the world. But I needed not to wallow in the terrible injustice of it all. I needed to find out everything I could about Ryan Lane and try to move forward. Moving was the only way I could see to keep me sane.

And though the thought was terrifying, I had to get to a mirror—fast. It was extremely disconcerting not knowing what I looked like.

Maybe I’m vain.

Logan stopped and the sudden halt made my feet ache in my too-small shoes. He pulled out his key and opened the door, stepping inside. To my surprise, he held the door for me. When he looked back, surprise mixed with annoyance on his handsome face, I realized that I hadn’t moved and was still in the hallway.

I quickly ducked through the doorway, not looking at Logan—though I detected the faint scent of his cologne as I passed, and stood beside the computer desk that sat beside the doorway to the bathroom. I wanted to be as close to a place of privacy as possible.

I didn’t really look at my new room. I was still too flustered about rooming with Logan to care.

I heard the door shut.

I had to face him. I had to make eye contact or he would think I was even weirder than he probably already did.

He was standing beside the small bookshelf we would share, arms crossed, watching me with those gorgeous eyes of his. I was surprised to see that he didn’t look that angry, just…resigned maybe. “So…you’re Ryan, right?”

I nodded.

“Cool.” He paused.

Damn it this was so awkward, but I was afraid to say anything. I had no idea who Ryan Lane actually was.

“So…” he ran his hand through his sandy hair, “I guess you probably want to,” he glanced at my shirt, “get your stuff unpacked?”

I nodded again, feeling embarrassment mix with a welcome elation. Finally, some privacy.

Logan looked at the door. “Alright, man. I’ll be in the courtyard—if you need me.” It sounded like he really hoped I wouldn’t.

As soon as the door closed, I kicked my shoes off, stretching my toes and sighing in relief. They tingled, the blood rushing back into them. My hands immediately went to give some relief to another cramped area. Fingers on the button of my jeans, I hesitated.

After a moments consideration, I locked the deadbolt on the door.

Still avoiding what I knew I had to do, I quickly stripped my shirt off, hearing a few of the stitches pop as I yanked it over my head. For a time, I looked down at my chest. I felt an awful, heart-wrenching emptiness at the absence of my breasts. Though I’d really only had them for the past three years or so, I felt like I had finally gotten used to them. Though they weren’t the most amazing breasts in the world, I had become sort of proud of them—proud of what they represented.

And now they were gone.

Holding back tears, I bit my lip and put my hands back to the waist of my jeans. But my fingers were shaking. I wasn’t sure if it was more fear or adrenaline, or both.

Looking back, I think the simple act of taking off my jeans was one of the bravest things I have ever done.

I warned you before, this gets graphic. But it has to, or you would never understand exactly what I’ve gone through. And don’t think this isn’t incredibly difficult for me. I mean, for some reason, talking about my breasts is easy. Maybe it’s because I’m well acquainted with them. Or it could be because Americans are so bombarded with images of naked women. Naked men? Not really.

I popped the button and slid the zipper down, pushing my hips back away from my hand. Even that couldn’t keep my thumb from brushing the newest addition to my body.

Okay, at the time, I wasn’t exactly an expert on male body parts…I had played doctor with a fellow kindergartner, and taken health class, but I’d never before had personal contact like this.

Believe me or not, I’m a virgin. Mainly from a lack of opportunity. It almost happened once in eighth grade. Let’s just say it ended prematurely via make out.

For a moment, I just stared. I wasn’t entirely sure what my reaction was supposed to be. It’s difficult for me to admit, but I was relieved to find that I wasn’t “small.” I’d watched enough movies to know that much.

I can’t believe I’m thinking like this.

But I wouldn’t examine anything closely at the moment. Right now I just needed to get these jeans and underwear off. My gut had been a constant roiling ache since Mott Hall.

Without looking, I peeled my jeans off my legs, a little disgusted by the thicker hair I felt on my thighs and calves. My leg muscles felt sort of familiar, but they were harder, more defined. My jeans were so tight they pulled my socks off.

Now for the underwear. I was wearing one of my previously favorite pairs, which I now hated with the fiery passion of a bazillion suns. They were red with patches of yellow polka dots and blue stripes. Ironically enough, they were of the “boy short” cut. Right now they were barely covering anything, the elastic waist cutting into me and causing most of the pain.

Wincing, I put my hands to my hips and eased the panties off, popping more stitches as I did. Now that I wasn’t constrained, everything felt even more strange, wrong, exposed.

I thought perhaps I should move away from the door. Even if it was dead bolted. I looked to my left at the open door of the bathroom, darkness beyond with a hint of the white sink visible. I needed a shower. Unfortunately, I smelled. I guess that much sweating was bad news in the B.O. department. I wondered if there was special deodorant or something for down there. Or at least something that might ease the fantastically annoying itching.

I tried to not be too grossed out by all this. If this was my new body, then I’d better fucking get used to it.

I tossed my discarded clothing into the trashcan by the computer desk. Even if I woke up tomorrow, and I was my old self once more, I would never, ever wear those clothes again.

As I made my way to the bathroom, I tried really hard not to be fascinated by what happened when I walked.

When I reached the door, I swung it wide open. I put my hand to the light switch and hesitated. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d taken a shower in the dark. I had always found it extraordinarily relaxing. I’m one of those people who could stay in a shower until the hot water ran out, letting it flow over me and beat onto my back.

These little personal consistencies really helped me feel not so displaced from who I used to be.

So I left the light off, pulled the curtain aside and turned the water on. After fumbling in the near total darkness, I found what felt like a bottle of body soap or shampoo. I’d use it for both, I didn’t care. I just didn’t want to stink anymore.

Showering for the first time as my altered self was one of the strangest experiences of my short life. Trying to clean everything while not really being able to see it made me more aware of my new body than looking at it ever could have.

Honestly, and this is very difficult to admit, I was worried that I would turn myself on.

I’m still a girl, right? Right? I like guys. Shouldn’t this, I don’t know, make me react?

I can’t really explain why, but this did not happen. I’m not sure how I felt about my non-reaction because, on the one hand, if I am straight, and I’m still a girl, shouldn’t something happen? On the other hand, my body was male now. So if I did react, would that now make me gay?

This led me to a much more complex question. What, exactly, is me?

Am I simply a mind that reacts to the hormones and endorphins supplied to it?

Or am I inherently male or female and nothing can change that? In which case I would be totally fucked.

Or is there a soul involved? If true, then the real me would be a bodiless entity anyway. After all, if you believe in reincarnation, can’t you technically be reincarnated as a different sex?

These were all questions that I would research the first opportunity I had.

In the meantime, I was trying very hard to be as careful as possible with everything that was especially tender after being smashed by those damn underwear. For having a male body—traditionally portrayed as strong and powerful—I was extremely irked to have already become intimately aware of its weaknesses.

Though I had intended to stand in the water for a time to try and force myself into relaxing, I kept being distracted by the sheer feeling of it all.

Depressed, I shut the water off and leaned against the tiles of the shower wall.

A knock on the bathroom door just about gave me a heart attack.

So much for the fucking deadbolt.

“Hey, man,” came a now-familiar boy’s voice, “sorry to bother you, but my dad told me to come tell you that we should head to dinner.”

I couldn’t talk—couldn’t speak a word. I was naked. Logan Rellik was just a doorknob and shower curtain away.

The silence dragged and I thought I might hyperventilate. Finally, he spoke again. “Just wanted to let you know.”

A moment later I heard a door close.

I released the breath I’d been holding and peeled myself off the shower wall. That could’ve really sucked.

I thrust the shower curtain aside and flinched at the burst of cold air. I stepped out onto the mat and blindly reached for the light switch. When I flicked it on, I braced myself for a moment, and looked in the mirror.

Of course, dumbass, it was fogged up.

Almost relieved. I tried not to peer too closely. But I could easily make out my outline. That was shocking enough. Instead of flaring out a little at the hips, as I was used to my body doing, I was now broadest at my shoulders. And my hips were even narrower than my ribcage.

I grabbed a towel from the cupboard above the toilet, and almost wrapped it around me beneath my armpits, before I realized I only needed to wrap it around my waist.

I ran my hand through my shockingly short hair, flinging water everywhere, opened the door and stepped into the room.

“Fuck!”

Logan, who was at his computer desk typing, jumped. “Dude,” Logan said, laughing a little at his own reaction, “you scared the shit out of me.”

I pretty much felt the same way. “I—I—” spluttering, I swallowed hard, “I thought you were at dinner?” My new baritone voice sounded a little closer to my old one.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Yeah,” he said slowly, “I was about to leave. I was checking my email.”

“But—but I heard the door…” I trailed off, thinking I should stop now. Just stop.

Logan raised one side of his mouth into a sideways smile. “That was my closet door.”

I nodded, a little too vigorously, getting water droplets on my own computer desk.

I guess I should explain that every student at St. Xavier’s has their own school-provided computer and printer/fax/copier/scanner. Most students also have at least one personal laptop as well. Logan was typing on his computer and had his laptop open next to it, quietly playing Stepping Razor.

Logan broke into a full-blown smile. The kind that I used to dream about. Just last night to be exact. “You’re kind of uptight, aren’t you?” he asked teasingly.

I let my eyes wander for a minute, slowly nodding my head before looking at him again. “You could say that.”

There was a beat of silence before we both laughed a little. Him in genuine humor, me in self-conscious relief. This conversation was…sort of going well. Especially since I’d never really had one with Logan before.

I hitched my towel a little higher as it had slid down to my hip bones. Logan watched me.

I was waiting for him to finish emailing and leave so I could get dressed. He was probably waiting for me to get dressed. Damn it. I ran my hand through my hair again, forgetting about the flinging-water-everywhere thing that would happen.

“My dad cut your hair, didn’t he.” Logan’s eyes were on my hair now, his expression sympathetic.

Blood flooded my cheeks. I cleared my throat. “Yeah.” It probably looked like hell.

“I have some clippers—you can use ‘em. If you want.”

I nodded. That seemed to be my choice response at the moment. I had never used clippers before.

Logan went back to typing, like we had never even talked.

After a minute of standing there in a damn towel, I gave up on the idea of him leaving to give me some privacy.

Trying not to be too annoyed, I looked around the room for my supposed luggage. There, next to the chest-of-drawers, just as my real luggage had been, sat a large black suitcase. Next to it, was a brick red and orange backpack. With a quick glance at Logan, who was still typing, I walked over to the black suitcase, hoping it was mine, and unzipped it. Without even really looking, I grabbed the first white shirt and pair of jeans I saw. In a smaller pocket on top, I found briefs and a few pair of boxers.

Um… Not really sure which one to grab, I took one of each.

Please let these fit.

I wasn’t sure what I’d do if they didn’t.

But I didn’t know how they could possibly be my size. Especially if “my size” hadn’t technically been in existence before lunch today.

Not wanting to continue down that line of thought at the moment, I made my back to the bathroom, flipped on the light and shut the door behind me.

The mirror was no longer fogged up.

Just get it over with, I told myself. Dumping the clothes onto the sink counter, I stepped back, letting the towel drop. I looked up.

I’m not really sure how long I stood there and stared at my body. Maybe five minutes. But it felt more like an hour. Strangely, the biggest surprise to me was the hair. I had hair on my chest now. Not much of it, but it was there all right. There was also a little trail leading down from my belly button. On closer examination, I realized that my belly button was actually shaped exactly like I remembered mine being—a shallow hollow.

That was when I started to notice all the similarities.

I took a step toward the mirror, and looked at my face for the first time. My jaw dropped. My hair, though wild, spiky in some places and short, was of the same thick texture and dark brown as my old self’s. My eyes were the exact caramel brown and were still deep set. My upper lip had the same peaks. My ears, which I had always hated before, were still sticking out slightly. My eyebrows, though much thicker now, still vaguely held the same shape.

My neck, being fairly long as a girl, was still long, but wider. My shoulders were broad before, as they were now.

In a near panic, I backed away from the mirror, examining my body first hand. After a thorough search, I found every single freckle in its proper place. Shaken, but not yet convinced, I looked for a very specific scar. I stuck my leg up on the edge of the tub to examine my left knee. There, just beside my kneecap, I found it. When I was eight I had tripped, falling down on some broken glass littering a sidewalk. It had needed seven stitches.

My mind sort of tipped over and I had to sit down or I would fall over.

This was my body. But it was like I had been born a boy rather than a girl.

I blinked a few times, feeling light-headed. I felt like this was the worst possible scenario. Because if for some strange reason I was in someone else’s body, then my own would still be in existence. But the fact that I was now the male version of me, made me feel that my old body, the female one, could no longer exist.

I threw the toilet seat up and dry heaved twice, my muscles clenching and spasming.

After a time it passed. Physically at least.

I was breathing hard, lying naked on the floor, but I was in too much of a state of shock to even cry.

Now, more than ever, I had to talk to Alice. I needed her.

That was when I remembered the hospital coma theory. A tiny bit of peace settled in the swirling storm of my mind.

A knock at the door made me swing my head around, but at that moment, I didn’t really care about much of anything. Including Logan walking in while I was lying on the floor naked.

“Dude, are you okay?”

I licked my lips. “Fine,” I whispered hoarsely.

There was a long pause. “Alright.”

I heard him walk away, and then the squeak of a chair. Along with that, I also heard a shrill high-pitched noise, and my vision was a little blurry. I assumed from the near passing out.

I pressed my cheek against the cool tiles of the floor, ignoring the fact that my face was right by a toilet, and closed my eyes. My mind wandered in and out, until I felt like I could get up again.

With a determined sigh, I slowly pushed myself up, careful to not let all the blood rush out of my head too quickly.

I once more cared that I was naked. I stood up slowly, and grabbed the briefs off the counter. I’d never worn boxers before, so I decided briefs would be safest. Leaning against the counter I stepped into them. Once I had pulled them up, I was relieved to find that they actually fit, and after a moment of adjusting, which felt extraordinarily manish to me, I found them to be very comfortable. I had support, something a girl knows all about, and yet, I didn’t feel like there was a vice down there, squeezing me to death, like before. It also felt a little more natural to stand and move about. At the very least, it wasn’t nearly as distracting.

I picked up the jeans, steeling myself if they didn’t fit. Whatever happened, I’d walk out in my underwear in front of Logan Rellik before I’d go through the hell I had earlier. I slipped them on, making sure to button and zip them much lower than I would have a girl’s pair of jeans. They fit. I could see the top band of my underwear above the waistline, but they felt comfortable where they sat. I couldn’t help but notice the bulge that remained, despite the rather inflexible material of the jeans. Again, I wasn’t really sure how I felt about that. Relieved? Embarrassed? Exposed?

I was so consumed with the jeans crotch issue, that I pulled the white shirt on without even really looking at it.

Besides, I didn’t think I could handle seeing my new male visage again. I wouldn’t look at my face in the mirror any time soon.

At least not until after dinner.


Entire Novel
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Six