I suppose there are many ways in which I could tell my story. I thought I would at least change all the names and for a time I even considered writing in third person, hiding my identity in the clinically-detached, phantom embodiment of a narrated character.
Then I realized you would never believe me anyway.
So I say, fuck it. Here's my story. Believe it or not, I don't give a damn. I have to write it down or I'll lose my mind.
I didn't use to be so heavy-handed with the expletives. In fact, I rarely ever cursed at all. But when you've been through what I have, a foul mouth is the least of your worries.
As I write this, I am still...altered, for lack of a better word. I can't just come right out and say what's happened to me or you'd never get past this sentence. And what's worse is, I have no idea who has done this to me, how it was done, or, perhaps most importantly, why. Maybe as I write this, things will become clearer. Maybe I will become clearer. Maybe this is my only way of finding out who I really am.
Or maybe this is who I really am, and that other body was just a dream--an illusion.
See? Crazy. I'm going crazy.
Everything began with a school known as St. Xavier's. It's my second year at the school. Nothing notable happened my freshman year, so I won't bore you with the details. However, there are a few things you should know about the school itself.
St. Xavier's is a private, coeducational preparatory high school. It has been in existence since 1862 in the quaint Virginia town of Silvergrove. Because it's so old, it has some structural oddities, like low ceilinged hallways that no longer lead somewhere, or boarded up and painted over doors. Even after being here a year, I still don't know all the ins and outs of the cramped campus. St. Xavier's students have the option of boarding here, or, if they live close enough, may choose to live off-campus. Most of the student body boards fulltime, and consists of the wealthy, spoiled and intelligent.
When I first came to St. Xavier's, I was expecting all of the students to be of that particular brand. And I was mostly right. Except for one girl. I'll call her...Alice, I guess.
Alice Warren is a highly interesting person. We are the same age, and, as St. Xavier's is a small school, we shared every single class our freshman year. I say she is interesting because she was so easy for me to get along with. It's unusual for me to easily make friends with other girls. I mean, I have a lot of female acquaintances, but they're acquaintances only. I try to avoid back stabbing when at all possible.
As to why else she is a highly interesting person, you'll find out.
So fast forward to one week ago.
I can't believe it all began just seven days ago. 168 hours is all it's taken for me to not only question who I am, but to question reality in general.
But before I dive in, I must give you a disclaimer. Graphic things have happened to me. I'm not talking about abuse, or even violence. But they have been graphic all the same. I will be forced to go into particular details that might make you uncomfortable. Just think how it makes me feel. As you read, please don't judge me. Try and put yourself in my shoes, or you won't understand why I did what I did--made the decisions I had to make. And above all, please don't try and find out who I am. If you're anything like me, then you've got itchy little fingers hovering over your keyboard, primed to Google St. Xavier's or bing Silvergrove, Virginia. You won't find anything relating to my story. Those were the first names to pop into my sorely confused, insanity-laced mind, and if there really are places like that, it's pure coincidence...
It was the Sunday before the first day of classes would begin. I was highly excited to begin my sophomore year, and to room with Alice. We both were fulltime boarders, or "lodgers," as we're known in student lingo.
I swung open the door to my new dorm room, which had taken me a considerable amount of time to find, and threw my forest green duffel bag onto the bed, rolling my larger suitcase next to the chest-of-drawers. It was easy to see that Alice had already been here. On the bed were several little hand-stitched pillows that declared sugary cliches like Hallmark cards. On the cork board above it were a number of pinned pictures--quite a few of them portraying the two of us in various poses, each framed with a different colorful paper border, probably from one of her scrapbooking kits. A glance at her tiny closet, its door slightly opened, revealed a myriad of shoes, neatly piled beneath perfectly hung white sweaters and shirts.
At St. Xavier's, any shoes are fine as long as they are closed toed, anything but shorts are allowed, and any shirt is acceptable as long as it has sleeves, is modest, and is white.
I don't think the administration is racist, but you never know. Maybe they think white symbolizes the purity they are trying to instill in their elite student body.
Pulling open one of the drawers, I began to dump in my plethora of white tops. I try not to think about style, thought I have my preferences. I know if I get too into fashion, then going to a private school where I am daily forced--even on the weekend--to wear uniforms would only piss me off.
I opened another drawer, and stuffed my socks and colorful underwear inside. They can't make us wear underclothing of a single color, so I try and get the most interesting, strange panties I can find. Of course, socks have to be all-white, though. I shoved the drawer shut, the toe of a single sock sticking out.
I am not a neat person. I don't begrudge Alice her tidiness, and she doesn't harp on me about my slob tendencies.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Alice walked into the room, humming some melody with her soprano voice. Alice is a musician. She's a fairly decent singer, who has to constantly hum or whistle. Fortunately, I'm good at ignoring most things that annoy me. When she does sing, though, she sounds like the chick who sang Zombie.
As soon as she saw me, her eyes lit up and she stopped humming. "Fiona!" she exclaimed as she hugged me tightly. I returned the gesture as best I could, some of my pajamas still in one hand, waiting to be thrown in another drawer.
So my name is Fiona Lane. Don't waste your money paying for those creepy internet companies to search for my information, because it won't be me.
Hell, people don't even call me by my real name anymore anyway.
The moniker change wasn't by choice.
"How was your summer?" Alice's hands gripped my own tightly, and she gave an excited girly jump. It warmed my heart that she was so happy to see me and so I giggled a little with her.
"Oh, you know," I said noncommittally once we had calmed down. "We travlled some; Miami, Boston, New York." I shrugged. I hated it when my parents dragged me around. Wherever we went, it was only for their jobs so I was always left alone in a hotel room. Room service and HBO only go so far, even when you're in Miami.
I know I sound like a spoiled brat. Maybe I am.
But whatever I've become totally fucked that up. And I'm not just talking about the spoiled thing. Right now I can't even talk to my parents.
Anyway, I suppose you want to know what their jobs are. We'll say they're motivational speakers.
Go ahead. Laugh at the irony there.
Alice shook her head as if she could tell what I was thinking. "You are so lucky, Fiona."
I shook my head in disagreement. "What about you?"
Alice smiled brightly and then launched into a complicated story about a yacht, three different boys, and a wayward beach ball. Since none of it has to do with my story, I’ll leave it at that.
After she had finished telling me about her summer, and I had finished laughing, she looked at the alarm clock already set up on her nightstand, then at my partially unpacked luggage. “You’d better hurry. We have the welcoming ceremony in an hour. Then—couscous!”
Couscous, in all known forms, is guaranteed taste bud heaven for Alice. She’s kind of obsessed with the stuff. They serve it at pretty much every lunch and dinner.
You may be making a face about couscous, as I am just looking at the word, but don’t make hasty judgments. Let me explain. St. Xavier’s has two chefs. That’s right; chefs. One prepares breakfast and lunch, while the other spends all day getting dinner ready. They also have a virtual army of staff to help them. So naturally, the food here is fantastic. As long as you steer clear of the couscous. Alongside all that culinary fluff, they also have plain food for those from planet America. Any given day, you can find “healthy” hamburgers, pizza or hot dogs at lunch and dinner. Mainly for all the people like me, who are pickier than Koala Bears and have several pages worth of food allergies listed in their student profiles. In other words, Americans.
I yawned, somewhat theatrically. “I’m bushed. It was a long flight. I think I’m going to take a nap and finish unpacking later.” To prove my point, I tossed the pajamas back in the open suitcase, shoved my duffel bag off my bed and flopped down. But I was just saying that so I could complete my alone time. I loved Alice and all, but I’m kind of a loner after flying. I’d blame it on my parents, who always left me alone right after every hotel check in, but that’s probably a cop out. Maybe I’m just selfish like that and I like my privacy as I unpack.
Whatever the reason, Alice understood, though she shook her head in disapproval. “You’ll regret it later,” she said in a sing-song voice. But true to her accommodating nature, Alice stepped back out into the hallway and shut the door.
Sometimes her people pleasing prowess really impressed me.
As I was sitting on the bed, I realized that shockingly, I actually was tired. I yawned again, this time for real. It felt like I was crashing after having an energy drink. Or like my eyelids suddenly had weights attached to them.
Almost without volition, I curled up on my new bed, not even bothering with the covers. I blearily set three alarms on my phone, and fell asleep almost immediately.
That was the last entirely sane moment I remember. Everything that followed was pretty much royally fucked up.
I slept fitfully, falling in and out of strange dreams.
When I finally woke up, I peeled my eyes open, feeling extremely disoriented. For just a moment, my vision was slightly blurry around the edges, but then I blinked and it was gone. That pressure that comes with sleeping too long or at odd times was crouching menacingly in my head, threatening me with a massive headache.
My phone was blinking. I picked it up. Apparently, I had slept through all three of my alarms, and had missed one call and four texts from Alice. According to the digital clock display on my phone, I had been asleep for nearly two hours. I had already missed the welcoming ceremony, and if I didn’t hurry, I’d miss lunch as well.
Crap.
Chapter Two
I Find Myself Crushing…Again
As soon as I walked into the dining hall, Alice nearly knocked me over. “You slept through your alarms,” she said by way of greeting.
I rubbed my forehead. The pressure seemed to be fading. It didn’t feel like I would get a headache anymore. “You know, I don’t believe what people say about you. You really are smart.”
“Shut up.” Alice lightly smacked my upper arm. Oddly, the skin felt a little tender. Maybe I had a bruise.
With a look of disdain, Alice checked out my outfit. I had changed quickly before rushing to the dining hall. Students weren’t allowed around campus unless they were in compliance with the St. Xavier dress code. “You’re wearing those jeans again?” She was referring to my habit of wearing slightly over-large jeans. They’re way more comfortable that way, and I know it’s not fashionable, but don’t judge. When you’re forced to wear a uniform, a girl has to find liberty somehow.
But I wasn’t really listening to Alice. I nodded automatically, and Alice turned to see who or what I was looking at with such distracted interest.
It was Mr. Rellik, the Assistant Head of School, the man all St. Xavier’s students loved to hate. He was the kind of man who reminded me of a circus ringmaster with his fat gold ring, monochromatic suits, and compact body. His suits were always tastefully colored, but very rarely were they neutral. Today, he was wearing a perfectly pressed dark navy blue suit with a matching navy blue shirt and tie. It was a little mesmerizing to be honest.
But I can’t hide it. I wasn’t just staring at Mr. Rellik. The ringmaster was talking animatedly to his son—a boy I had been in love with like an idealistic idiot since my first month at St. Xavier’s.
Logan Rellik.
Logan is tall, powerfully built, with Sandy blond hair that would make a Ken doll jealous, and he has the most interesting eye color I’ve ever seen: little flashing pools of river green floating in a backdrop of vivid blue. He also has an impeccable sense of fashion, takes singing and acting for electives, and could probably outsmart most of the student body.
I know my description is a little lacking in the personality department, but if there are any imperfections in Logan Rellik, I gleefully gloss over them.
Also, there’s the unfortunate reality of me not really knowing him.
As I was staring, and probably drooling for all I knew, Mr. Rellik saw me. I quickly looked away, but not before I had caught a curious expression on the ringmasters face.
Peripherally, I watched as Logan stormed off, sitting down at a table with a bunch of his guy friends.
With a stab of annoyance, I saw that Mr. Rellik had started to make his way toward us. He was probably coming to chastise me for missing the thrilling welcoming ceremony that I had already sat through last year.
I grabbed Alice by the arm, eliciting a surprised “hey!” and quickly got us in line for lunch. There were only two people in front of us. Because I had slept like the dead through all my alarms, I had missed the lunch rush.
Beside me, Alice was complaining quietly. I was only just now noticing it because of my rush to avoid Mr. Rellik. “I already stood in line. My tray’s over there,” she gestured to her right. “I got you a hamburger.”
I stopped in the middle of placing my tray on the sliding counter, and looked at her. “Oh,” I said in genuine surprise. “Alice, that was…really cool of you. Thanks.”
She shook her head like I should’ve known she was the most thoughtful person on the planet. “Now come on, my couscous is probably already cold.”
I made a face at her mention of the scourge food of the earth, and followed her to the table, leaving my tray behind.
On the way, I could feel someone’s eyes on me, and looked to my left. Logan Rellik was staring at me. When our eyes met, he didn’t look away. I was transfixed. Mainly because he looked mad. Not furious, just sort of pouty. I put one hand in a pocket, and waved mechanically with the other like a dumbass. He looked away, jumping into a conversation with his buddies.
Damn it.
In a bit of a daze, I sat down at our table, my hamburger looking cold in front of me.
Alice giggled a little. “Smooth move, Robot Chicken.”
“Well aren’t you the clever one today,” I conceded, trying to ignore the humiliated little girl cringing inside.
“It’s so obvious you like him, I don’t know why we’ve never really talked about it before.”
I dropped the bun I had picked up. “Because it’s none of your business.”
I can be a real pill sometimes.
Alice shrugged, hardly even phased. Then, in true Alice fashion, she began quietly humming the “K-I-S-S-I-N-G” song.
I picked up the bun and shook my head. “You can be so juvenile.”
Alice stopped humming. “You know you like it. I have to dumb down everything anyway or you wouldn’t understand me.”
“Haha. Have you seen the bottle of Dijon?” There was only one bottle of Dijon on the entire campus of St. Xavier’s. All the money in the world and they can’t afford at least two bottles of the greatest mustard on earth? It was always a hunt to find the elusive condiment loner. For some reason, the staff never put the bottle in the same place, so I never knew where it might be at any given time.
Alice picked at her couscous, a strange expression on her face. “I might be able to tell you where it is if…you admit—out loud—that you like Logan.”
I rolled my eyes. “I like Logan. There. Are you satisfied with your seventh grade nostalgic déjà vu? Can we return to high school, now? Are you even listening to me?” I had kept talking because Alice was laughing so hard. I grumbled until she settled down. Then she pulled the bottle of Dijon out of her coach purse and plopped it down in front of me.
I stared at it for a moment. “You had it hidden in your purse? You are so evil.”
Alice laughed again, stirring her couscous happily.
After we had finished eating, the place was nearly empty. Students had either run off to celebrate the nice weather, gone to meet with a counselor or Headmaster Slater, or to finish unpacking, like I needed to do. There was nothing on the official school schedule until dinner.
I stood up, empty plate in hand. “So what do you want to do? I picked our first Sunday afternoon activity last year, remember?” It was a playful jab, but I was genuinely trying to be nice. I felt a little guilty about kicking her out of her own dorm room earlier.
Alice looked thoughtful for a moment. “That’s right. You made me play sand volleyball. And I hate volleyball. Then you didn’t even make sure we were on the same team. I had just met you, you were the only person who even knew my name, and then you get on the other team and beat mine. I should’ve known then.”
I set my plate in the water-filled return basin, smiling at the memory. “Should’ve known what? That I’m an awesome volleyball player?”
“That you liked Logan.”
I felt my cheeks burn. Damn it, she knew me so well.
“You had to be on his team, so you took the last spot, leaving me to fend for myself. Great friend you are.” Alice dumped her plate in the basin after me, all the while trying really hard not to smile.
We walked towards the exit, me trying to hide my flaming cheeks, while Alice walked behind me humming You Belong With Me.
When we had almost reached the door, I noticed Mr. Rellik, arms crossed, standing by the emergency exit, talking with Ms. Perry, the Assistant for Headmaster Slater. He was clearly listening to her, nodding a few times, but his eyes were on us. When I turned my head to look at him, he smiled politely. Still wanting to avoid the lecture, I ignored him and quickly walked out the door, Alice right behind.
As soon as we were outside the dining hall, I started to feel a little nauseated, that pressure in my head returning. I put a hand on my stomach and leaned against the wall for a second. I really felt terrible.
Alice peered at me. “Hey, you look kind of out of it.” She paused, raising an eyebrow. “Are you just trying to get out of sand volleyball payback?”
I managed a tiny smile and shook my head. “I’m fine. Just, distract me.”
Alice looked thoughtful for a moment. “Follow me.” She grabbed my hand and led me away from the dining hall, toward the large double doors at the end of the hall.
I groaned. “Alice, are you really taking me to Mott Hall?” Mott Hall, named after a donor back in the 19th century, was the official name of the old theater. Its unofficial name was “Pot Hall,” due to its popular utilization by students and teachers alike for extracurricular activities. Everyone knew it, but no one really talked about it. Also, it was supposed to be haunted or something. Although the pot thing probably fueled those rumors. Nowadays, Mott Hall was hardly ever used for anything because in the late eighties they had added on a better, larger theater; Holdings Grove. The administration had decided not to renovate Mott Hall in favor of keeping its historical integrity intact. Or something ridiculously unpractical like that. Alice and me had plenty of theories as to the real reasons, most of them involving extracurricular activities.
Alice just giggled in response. “You said you needed to be distracted. This is me distracting you.”
“I’m not smoking anything in there. And this had better not be your idea of a payback.”
Alice let go of my hand, checked down the hallway for anyone who might be watching, cracked open one of the double doors and pushed me inside.
When she closed the door behind her the darkness was fairly complete, except for the two eerily glowing red exit signs on either side of where I remembered the stage being. The exit signs no longer led outside, but to two different hallways. One of the hallways led to a stairwell going down to the basement, where there were various practice rooms for the students taking musical lessons (Alice was well-acquainted with the basement), the other was a short attachment to one of the housing wings. Because of that, and also because of the easily popped locking latches on the exit doors, Mott Hall was a very popular hangout.
As soon as the sound of the door closing had settled, and the darkness pressed against my face, a most peculiar sensation overcame me. It was a mixture of fear and disorientation. The pressure increased in my head until I felt almost as if I were floating, like my conscious mind was being cradled away from my body, or rather, my body was being suffocated by the blackness. It was, by far, the strangest feeling I had ever experienced.
Well, until a few minutes later.
The lights flickered on, blinding me for a moment. The act of shutting my eyes against the intrusion sort of shoved me back into my body.
When I opened them again, I felt dizzy, like I might puke.
“Fiona? Are you okay? You seriously don’t look so good.” I peered through the gloomy, poorly lit space at Alice. Her oval face looked worried, and ghostly pale in the yellow lights than ran along the walls of the hall in equally spaced intervals.
"I think…I just need to walk for a minute.”
Alice nodded. “Let’s walk to the front row. There’s a cross breeze there from the vents. You look like you might have a fever.”
I put a hand up to my cheek. It felt clammy to my hot hand.
I let Alice guide me down the center aisle. As soon as we reached the front seats, where the lighting was poorest, I heard an eerie, faintly echoing sound like multi-voiced whispering. Seriously freaked out now, and in a near panic, I whipped my head to either side, looking for the source of the noises, but my head seemed to move much slower than I thought it should.
“Fionnnaaaa?” I watched Alice form my name with her lips, her expression concerned, but the movement was in slow motion, and her voice sounded like I was underwater.
My body went rigid. That was when everything sped up. I could feel myself…altering.
I shut my eyes.
Chapter Three
I Find Myself Altered
I closed my eyes as tight as they would go. I could feel myself sweating, beads forming on my forehead, cheeks flushed. Skin shrank and tightened and tingled, rippling over my frame. My insides felt like they were bubbling. My spine stretched slightly, as did my legs, even my arms. With a thrill of terror, I noticed an uncomfortable ache develop in my nether regions.
Beside me, Alice sucked in a sharp breath. That’s when I knew. This couldn’t be my imagination. This couldn’t be a dream. What was happening to me was happening for real, and there was nothing I could do about it.
The ache down there blossomed into a sharp pain, stabbing into my abdomen and I doubled over, which only made it worse. I thought I might be sick. I could feel that my underwear had been pulled down in the front, stretching uncomfortably around my waist. Eyes still shut tight; I quickly pulled at my jeans, forcing them lower. The pain eased, giving me some relief, but something was horribly, horribly wrong. Trembling, drenched in sweat, I collapsed onto my side, nearly every muscle in my body giving out.
I tiny moan escaped without my consent. It didn’t sound like my voice.
“Fiona?” Alice’s voice, shaken and weak, echoed oddly in the hall. A hand, delightfully cool, rested itself on my hot shoulder. My skin felt too-tight there, and I flinched away from her touch.
Knowing I couldn’t forever shut out what had just happened, I slowly opened my eyes. What met them nearly broke my mind in half.
Shaking slightly, and resting on the cool floor, was a hand that seemed to be attached to me. I recognized the fingernails, the pink part that was slightly too long with crescents of white at their bases, the rounded joints of the fingers. But there was a slight patch of barely-visible hair just above that familiar bump on the wrist, and the fingers were wider and slightly longer, the hand itself thicker, as if I were looking at a magnified version of my own hand. There was also more hair just above the bottom joint of each finger.
I stared uncomprehendingly.
In a daze, my eyes traveled up the forearm that was attached to the hand. More hair and slightly thicker muscles combined in a sickening way with a few familiar freckles and the vein placements I knew so well. My eyes reached the edge of a white sleeve, frayed in the same place I knew it would be. But this sleeve was stretched tightly around a bicep I didn’t recognize.
A whimper escaped my lips when I saw that this foreign arm was indeed, attached to my own shoulder—a shoulder that now strained beneath the white polo—my white polo—with unfamiliar muscles.
Then, unable to stop my wandering eyes, I shuddered deeply when I saw that my breasts were gone, just—gone, as if they had never even existed. My shirt sat strangely now over rumpled material, and I realized it was my bra that was making it look like that. As soon as that realization struck, I noticed a slight burning that was wrapping itself around my suddenly wider chest, in conjunction with my bra strap. I sat up and reached behind me and under my shirt with shaking fingers. This made the burning worse for a moment, until, struggling clumsily with my slightly larger fingers; I was able to unhook my bra. It snapped open beneath my shirt. My left hand found the front of it, and with a vicious yank, I was surprised to find that I had actually ripped it off my own body. I threw the lacy remains of it across the wooden floor. It slid to a stop in the shadows beyond the edge of a chair.
I could feel Alice beside me, quiet. But emanating from her like she was screaming into a bullhorn was terror. It gripped my own heart with an icy fist. She trembled next to me, but I dare not look at her.
I suppose my suddenly empty bra, now torn and abandoned, had tipped her off.
“Alice—“I stopped. Gone was my beautiful alto voice. Gone was the familiar vibration in my own throat. I now sounded like a baritone. The unfamiliar voice rattled against the skin of my neck. And yet, horribly, the tembre of it seemed to match my old voice—my real voice.
Alice flinched beside me, clearly as surprised by this new voice as I. “Fiona, or—who are you? How do you know my name? Where’s Fiona?” Her voice was a near whisper that rose at the end, traveling and echoing around the hall like an angry lost wasp.
I released a shaky breath. Her response triggered a thought: was I still—still me? Quickly, I did a mental check. I still had my own memories. My mind seemed to work the same way it always had. I even thought of certain foods that I had always hated and they still sounded gross. Then I saw my own dark hair, hanging in my peripheral vision. I was still me. But was I?
My eyes refused to follow the trail of my hair down. I still couldn’t quite bare to see what I knew had changed down there. I could feel it, but I wouldn’t look. Not yet anyway. My mind already felt like it might explode, flinging shards of insanity into my skull.
After a slow breath, I turned my head slightly and my eyes found Alice’s. She was pale; her mouth slightly parted like it was in a permanent state of surprise. Her brown eyes were tight, fear and sadness mingling in them like wounds. One hand was raised slightly; poised to comfort or prepared to fend off, I didn’t know which.
I brushed my hair from my face, and Alice’s eyes widened at my familiar gesture. We stared at each other for a moment more. “You—“ she whispered, “—are you Fiona’s…brother?”
A part of me inside shriveled up and died.
“You look,” she continued hesitantly, her face leaning slightly forward as she peered at me, “so much like her.”
“That’s because I am her.” I almost choked at the strange voice coming out again. “Alice, it’s me, I swear to you. Something—I don’t know what—but something happened.” I grabbed a fistful of my white polo. “Look, I’m wearing the same clothes—I have the same hair!” I sounded like I was trying to convince myself as well.
Alice’s eyebrows drew together, her eyes flitting around my face, my body. They rested for a moment on my jeans, and then darted away.
I shifted my legs uncomfortably, still averting my eyes while trying to focus on Alice’s face. The rough material felt way too tight around my thighs, but impossibly loose against my hip bones. As I moved one of my legs again, a sharp pain wedged itself into the arches of both feet. Trying not to cry out at the sudden pain, I quickly leaned forward and fumbled with the laces of my tennis shoes. As I did so, my jeans once again made me aware of something I was desperately trying to ignore.
Once I had untied and loosened the laces of both shoes, my enlarged feet felt slightly better.
As soon as my eyes made contact with Alice’s, she looked away as if the sight sickened her. “Alice, please,” I pleaded. “You have to believe me.” Alice didn’t react.
If Alice wouldn’t believe me, my mind really would lose itself. Knowing that, a little shiver ran up my spine.
In that moment of desperation, inspiration struck. “Alice, not ten minutes ago we were eating together in the dining hall, talking about Logan. You said that—that you knew I liked him.” A thin cold sliver of ice mercilessly pierced my heart. I could almost feel bloody pain welling up around it. What would happen with Logan now? I clenched my teeth, trying to focus on the situation at hand. I needed Alice. She had to believe me. It was like she was my only connection to who I really was. “You ate couscous but got me a hamburger. You even found the bottle of Dijon for me because you know I hate ketchup—“
“Stop, just stop!” Alice had taken a step back. She was breathing hard, looking shaken.
At that moment, the double doors at the back of the hall burst open. “What’s going on in here?” asked a man’s voice.
My heart sped up and I broke out in a cold sweat.
Oh, shit.
It was Mr. Rellik.
“Miss Warren, what are you doing in here?” Alice froze beside me.
Before I could do anything, Mr. Rellik had moved into view, his navy blue suit hanging slightly rumpled on his large frame. When he saw me, his blue eyes locked onto my own and I couldn’t look away. As he stared, a light seemed to spring up in his irises and his mouth stretched into a polite smile. “You must be our new student.” Stupidly, my eyes darted around for a moment, looking for the new student Mr. Rellik was talking about. “Ms. Perry told me you would be visiting campus today. You’re late for your meeting.” Mr. Rellik was still looking right at me.
Fuck. He was talking to me.
Mr. Rellik glanced at my shirt, my hair. He clucked his tongue. “Mr. Lane, is it?” I started at the mismatch of the name he was using to address me. “Your hair is past regulation. I would’ve thought your cousin might have informed you of our dress code here at St. Xavier’s.” He briskly walked toward me and I couldn’t help but cower slightly. As he approached, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the pair of scissors that all St. Xavier students knew he carried with him at all times.
I scrambled to my feet, which still throbbed in my too-small shoes, and my jeans, though I had tugged them lower, were still slightly too short. I resisted the urge to adjust myself. There was definitely…more of me down there. A lot more. Briefly, I looked down. Holy Shit.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to cut that before you go into your meeting with Headmaster Slater.” My eyes shot back up. Mr. Rellik’s expression was contemplative. “I don’t want you to earn a detention your first day at St. Xavier’s. The student handbook you received in the mail clearly states that male students cannot have hair past their jaw line.”
Male students. I couldn't ignore it any longer. This was real. I wasn't imagining it. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“I’ll try and make it as clean a cut as possible,” Mr. Rellik promised as he stood in front of me, scissors in hand, reminding me strongly of a ringmaster, whip in hand. “You can trim it after dinner and you are free to leave the campus. Perhaps this will be a good lesson for you, young man.” Panic welled up inside of me, but before I could react, Mr. Rellik had stepped behind me, swept my beautiful dark hair into a high bunch and I felt the small tugs and pulls as his sharp scissors cut through my only remaining connection to who I was—to who I had been.
Chapter Four
I Find Myself Royally Fucked
I fidgeted in the chair, my back straight, legs slightly apart; fingers restless on my knees. My eyes kept sneaking their way past my conscious control and I would find myself staring at my crotch. Every time this would happen, I would mumble a few choice words beneath my breath and jerk my head up to stare at the crappy abstract oil hanging on the wall opposite me. The waiting room for Headmaster Slater’s office was filled with generic paintings just like the one I was currently staring at.
Well, at least I still thought they were all crappy. My artistic tastes hadn’t changed. Maybe I was still me. “I’m still me,” I whispered to myself in the deep voice I hardly recognized.
I’m sure Ms. Perry thought I was insane.
I sure as hell did.
What I couldn’t get was why everyone thought I was “Mr. Lane,” including Ms. Perry. She had introduced herself and welcomed me by that name when Mr. Rellik had led me in. Her face had fallen slightly when she had glanced at what I was wearing. And rightly so. My polo now barely reached the sagging tops of my jeans, which were way too fucking tight, and my tennis shoes were clearly bulging, laces undone. And who knew what my hair looked like.
Now, whenever I would glance in her direction, she would quickly look down at whatever mystery work she was typing up on her computer. Then, whenever the phone would ring, she would talk very quietly into the receiver, as if she didn’t want me to hear her.
Just then the door to Headmaster Slater’s office opened and Mr. Rellik stepped out. Ms. Perry and I both jumped. Mr. Rellik smiled kindly at the Headmaster’s Assistant. “The Headmaster will see Ryan now,” he said, nodding in my direction.
Okay. My name is apparently Ryan. Ryan Lane. I could handle that. Ryan could be a girl’s name.
No! My name is Fiona. Not Ryan. I felt my cheeks flush.
Shit. I really was insane.
“Go ahead, Mr. Lane,” Mr. Rellik prompted, his arm extended toward the door.
Feeling numb, I stood up, pushing my fingers into my front pockets to try and covertly pull my jeans down and away. I was hating my underwear now. I mean, really fucking hating them. Ducking my head, I stalked awkwardly past Mr. Rellik and Ms. Perry, whose stares I could heatedly feel on the back of my newly-shorn head like they had lasers for eyes.
When the door shut behind me, Headmaster Slater looked up from a piece of paper he was holding and smiled. I had seen him a few times about campus, but hadn’t been in his office since my first day at St. Xavier’s, almost exactly one year ago. According to the students, the man was a mystery. Not at all like his Assistant Head of School, Mr. Rellik. He wasn’t intimidating, or even overly authoritative, though he was a steely man. His hair was peppery and slicked to the side, though he wasn’t balding. His eyes were a dull gray but surrounded by laugh lines. It was an odd combination.
As I took a small step forward, he stood up and offered his free hand for me to shake. After a second’s hesitation, I reached forward and shook it, glancing at the paper he was still holding. On it, I saw it was addressed to Slater, and in the first line I saw the name Ryan Lane.
“Mr. Lane. Welcome to St. Xavier’s.” He released my hand. “We are so pleased to add another exemplary Lane to our student body.”
Another Lane? “You mean Fiona?” I blurted before I could stop myself.
The Headmaster’s gray eyes darkened. “Yes. It is so terrible about your cousin falling ill. And on her first day back.” Slater set down the paper. “She is in our thoughts and prayers, Ryan.”
I didn’t know what was weirder. That I was Ryan, that I was also apparently sick, or that Headmaster Slater said I was in his thoughts and prayers when I was standing right in front of him.
Also, I am apparently my own cousin.
I have no cousins. My mother is an only child. My father has one brother who never married and is, as far as I know, childless.
I sat down in one of the visitors chairs before my stomach could convince its contents to spew out of my mouth.
Headmaster Slater sat as well, shuffling a few papers around on his desk.
As he did so, my consciousness finally caught up with something my brain had thought of a few seconds earlier. Slater had said Fiona was sick—that I was sick.
Maybe all of this was some sort of coma-induced nightmare. Maybe I was lying in some hospital, tubes hooked up to generators, my parents hovering about me in agitated worry.
Wouldn’t that be nice.
Sort of.
In the meantime, I’m stuck in this alternate universe known as Hell, an unwanted package in my pants, a new mystery identity, and not a soul who would believe that I wasn’t Ryan Lane.
And what did that say about me if I was imagining myself a man?
“Mr. Lane?” Headmaster Slater was looking at me, waiting politely for a response. “Are you feeling well? You look a little pale.”
I was sure I looked more than “a little pale,” but I shook my head. “No, I’m fine. I’m sorry, I was thinking about…about Fiona.”
Shit, this was weird.
Headmaster Slater nodded his head sympathetically. “Indeed.” With a quick gesture, he pulled a small pink slip from a tray on his oak desk. “But it’s not good to dwell on such things. Don’t worry Mr. Lane, we have the perfect remedy for your concern. Perhaps it would be best to immerse yourself in your new life here at St. Xavier’s.” He smiled kindly, as if he really understood what I was going through. Not in a million fucking years. “I have here your class schedule, and I have taken the liberty to include my cell phone number, in case you get lost. Normally new students are assigned a peer tour guide, to help them learn the campus, but as your guide was Fiona, well...”
I tried to ignore the irony of this statement.
Slater had paused like he was waiting for something. “Uh, thank you, Headmaster Slater. But I’m sure I’ll be able to find my way around. I have a pretty good sense of direction.”
Slater nodded. “Good, good. But just in case, you will find a map of the campus in your dorm room. Your personal belongings are waiting for you there—all delivered this morning. Now,” he said in his most serious voice yet. “We received all your paperwork over a month ago—“
I began to sweat again. Unfortunately, this made things down there even more uncomfortable. I shifted slightly in my chair, trying to keep myself from panicking. Could I really be making all this up? Was everything I was experiencing just an outpouring of my subconscious while the real me lay sick in a hospital?
Doubt crowded my mind like fog on a bridge.
“—we just need your signature on the student behavior contract.” Slater lifted another piece of paper from a tray, and handed both it and the pink class schedule to me. I reached out with my unfamiliar arm to grab it. I set the contract on the edge of his desk, trying to keep my hands from shaking, pulled a ballpoint pen out of the stainless steel cup beside his monitor, and pretended to read it. I had to get out of here. I had to be alone so I could try and figure out what was happening to me.
More importantly, I had to get out of these fucking underwear.
“Once you fill that out,” Slater nodded at the paper, “your file will be completed and you may begin classes tomorrow.”
My file? Oh, I had to see that. Maybe I could get some answers.
Maybe I should go visit myself in the hospital, or wherever the hell I was.
My stomach clenched.
Maybe I shouldn’t.
I had to concentrate as I signed “my” name. At least I had the last name down. As soon as I had finished, I stood quickly, thrusting the contract at the Headmaster.
He stood as well. “It was a pleasure meeting you Mr. Lane. I hope you find our school is a good fit for you.”
“Thank you, sir,” I mumbled, trying to get the hell out of there as fast as possible.
“Your roommate is waiting outside to show you to your new home here.” The Headmaster smiled again, his gray eyes crinkling.
I froze, my heart racing. Shit. Of course. I couldn’t room with Alice now. I was a fucking guy. I felt my eyes begin to water. I nodded quickly at Slater and turned to the door so he wouldn’t see that I was on the verge of crying.
Actually, this was sort of a relief.
Finally, a recognized emotion in an unrecognizable body. I felt like curling up and crying. For a long, long time.
I stepped out the door. Ms. Perry was watching me though she was trying really hard to hide it.
And in front of her desk, waiting impatiently and looking peeved, was my new roommate.
Now I was going to throw up.
“Hey,” he said blandly. “Welcome to St. Xavier’s.”
It was Logan Rellik—my new roommate.
Fuck.
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 obvious bulge at the zipper, 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.
Chapter Six
I Find Myself Still Hating Couscous
Logan was stealing sideways glances at me as we walked to the cafeteria.
I was surprised I was even noticing because I was so distracted with the seemingly simple task of walking. I kept having to slightly adjust the way I walked, which was really annoying. And it’s not what you’re thinking. Okay, it was a little because of that, but it was also because my muscles were different now. I would’ve had to concentrate really hard to be able to walk like I had before anyway.
But I didn’t really want to walk as I had before.
Back in our room, I had spent all of one minute convincing Logan that I was fine, and I just needed to eat something.
Amazingly, he hadn’t pressed me. Had he been Alice, I would have been drilled non-stop until I had confessed every little detail of the near-vomiting episode.
Yet he was still watching me.
Feeling a tad confrontational, I stared back at him. “What?”
Logan shrugged.
I was at a loss. Did guys ever talk about anything? How was I supposed to find out why he had been upset about me being his roommate? Or was it just that he genuinely didn’t like me? Or was it something else entirely and had to do with the heated conversation I’d witnessed between him and his dad, the ringmaster?
And all I got out of him was a shrug.
Trying not to be too annoyed, I purposefully split away from him once we reached the cafeteria. I went to the drinks and grabbed a glass instead of standing in the lunch line with him. I was going to get chocolate milk. Whole chocolate milk. If I was a guy now, then I could at least eat like one. If I was going to be forced into this, then I would enjoy every little pro that I could think of.
Teenage boy metabolism here I come.
I had already drained half the glass, when I saw Alice. She was sitting at our regular table by the window, outright not-even-trying-to-hide-it staring at me, a plate of untouched couscous with a side of carrots in front of her.
Without even thinking about, I walked over and sat down across the round table from her. As I had gotten closer, her eyes had gotten wider and wider. Now she pretty much looked like an owl.
I set my glass down and she seemed to snap out of it. Her expression changed to one of anger. She leaned forward. “What are you doing?” she hissed.
Trying to ignore the sting at her tone, I took a sip of my chocolate milk to buy some time. “I can’t sit with my best friend?”
Alice’s nostrils flared. “You’re not my best friend.”
“Then who am I?”
Alice shook her head in jerky motions. “I—don’t—know. But stay away from me.” She got up from her chair and started to walk towards the exit.
Oh no you don’t.
I chugged the last of my milk and followed her.
As soon as I burst through the double doors, I looked both ways and saw her slip into the girl’s restroom.
Sneaky, clever Alice.
But that wasn’t stopping me.
After looking to see if anyone was watching, I slipped into the girl’s restroom. Alice’s head whipped around when I walked in. “What are you doing?!”
I put my hands up to reassure her. She looked seriously scared. “I just want to talk.”
Alice backed up against the wall. “Fine. Talk. But if you come any closer, I will scream so loud your ears will bleed.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I know. You’re voice could probably break glass.”
She shook her head, releasing a shaky breath. “You don’t know me.” Her lips were quivering. It made me sick to my stomach. I tried to remind myself that she was probably just freaked out from seeing me change right in front of her. And I suppose that, even though I was now in a male body, looking so similar to my old female self was probably the most disturbing thing of all. It had totally fucked me up for sure.
“Yes. I do.” I tried to keep my voice as even as possible. “You’re the girl who can’t stand it when it rains. You have to have sunshine or you shut down. In fact, you love the sun so much, that you told me when you get your own house, you want to paint all the walls different shades of yellow.” I grimaced at the thought. I hated yellow. But I kept talking, speeding up as I went. “You’re the girl that loves British humor. You have every season of the original Office memorized, you introduced me to Monty Python, Shaun of the Dead and Eddie Izzard. You think any European accent is sexy. You love anything having to do with the ocean. You secretly want to be a backup singer for Lady Gaga. You—”
“Stop!” Alice was shaking, tears falling down her cheeks. In response, I felt my own eyes well up with tears. I hated seeing her so scared like this. “It’s not possible,” she whispered.
“I know. It’s totally fucked up and crazy, but I swear to you, I’m Fiona.” I felt a single tear fall down my own cheek. “What else do I have to do to convince you?” I tried not to make it sound pathetic, but it came out as a plea. She just had to believe me.
Alice shook her head slowly, still crying a little. “Nothing. I—I believe you. I’m just…having a really hard time wrapping my mind around it.”
“Trust me. I understand.”
Her eyes shot up, a little steely glint in them. “What’s Fiona’s favorite animal?”
“Dolphin,” I answered immediately, sort of expecting to be grilled. This was Alice I was talking to.
“Why?”
“Because it’s the most intelligent creature on earth second to humans.”
“What’s Fiona’s favorite music?”
This was a trick question. She was being sneaky again. “It depends on the month. I listen to a different genre every month. This month is progressive acoustic.”
Alice shook her head, but the tears had stopped. “I don’t know.” She rung her hands. “You could be—like—I don’t know, an alien or something.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Is that really what you think?” Practical Alice, considering a theory with aliens?
Alice’s shoulders sagged. “You’re right. That’s a dumb idea.”
I kept quiet, not wanting to tip the scales. It felt like she was on the verge of actually believing me for real. I held my breath.
She looked up at me, and I knew by her expression that I had convinced her. “I’m going to go along with this, but only because I loved Fiona. For her sake, I’ll believe you.”
My relief was short-lived. Her use of past tense felt like a punch to the gut. I had to ask her, while I had the nerve. “Alice, what are they saying about me—about Fiona?”
She bit her lip. “They said that—that Fiona suffered a seizure, a really bad seizure. When Mr. Rellik came into Mott Hall and took you away, I followed and overhead him talking to Logan about her. Mr. Rellik said that Fiona was in the hospital, that she had collapsed outside the dining hall. But…I knew it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. She didn’t collapse. I went to Mott Hall with her.” Alice shivered and shook her head. “I just don’t know what to believe.”
So it was true. My real body was in some hospital nearby. But that would mean everything following lunch today had been a product of my imagination—including this conversation.
None of it made any sense.
Unless Mr. Rellik, Ms. Perry, and Headmaster Slater were all involved in some sort of body-switching cult conspiracy.
No way.
But then again, I was in a male body. I couldn’t ignore that fact. So maybe I needed to explore alternate theories that I had previously thought impossible. Maybe Ryan Lane did exist after all, and he was a long-lost son of my partier bachelor uncle, which was totally possible knowing my family. And if that was the case, then was the “real” Ryan now in my body?
I blinked. Alice was watching me. I guess I had zoned out for a minute. “Sorry, did you say something?”
Alice bit her lip. “I said that I’m not calling you ‘Fiona.’ I’ll go along with this,” she gestured from me to her, “but I just can’t—” her eyes travelled up and down my body, settling on my face, “—I just can’t look at you and call you Fiona.”
I felt something inside break off and die. “Just call me Ryan, then. I’m…kind of getting used to it.” Lie.
Alice was quiet, her eyes searching my own. “I could always call you Lane. That was Fiona’s last name too.”
The part that had died inside blossomed back into life. It took a lot of self-control to not go over and give her a big hug. Instead, I smiled hugely. “That’s…kind of perfect actually.”
Alice took a hesitant step forward, her body language looking a little more confident and a lot less scared. Then she took another step, and another, until she was right in front of me. She put a hand on my arm. Then, laser-fast, she asked, “Who’s my favorite dancer?”
“Uh…Justin Timberlake?” I was wondering if this ask-a-random-question thing would continue forever. Knowing Alice, it probably would.
Alice tilted her head suspiciously. “No, it’s Twitch from ‘So You Think You Can Dance’ Season 4. I started liking Twitch over Timberlake last February when I started watching Hulu.”
I laughed, unable to stop myself. “Alice, you can’t seriously expect me to remember every little thing about you. I just met you last year. We haven’t seen each other all summer—and skyping doesn’t count!” I quickly added, cutting her off as she had opened her mouth to argue.
The door swung open behind me, nearly hitting my shoulder. Alice and I both jumped. In the doorway was a girl I had seen before but never talked to. She was a year older than me. I think her name was…Deidre?
Deidre’s face was a mask of surprise for a moment, her eyes going between the two of us. Then her face went from shocked to slightly confused to mildly curious. She smiled conspiratorially. “Am I interrupting?”
Alice’s hand flew off my arm so fast I didn’t even see it move. “No,” Alice said briskly. She looked at me for a second, then pushed past Deidre and out the door.
Damn it.
As Deidre stood in the doorway, I realized, like a dimwit, that I wasn’t supposed to be in the girl’s restroom. I had sort of forgotten. Talking with Alice had felt so normal. But nothing was normal. Not anymore.
My face flushed, I ducked past Deidre to follow Alice into the dining hall. When I walked in, it was just in time to see Alice sitting down at her table again. Her food was probably really cold by now. If you could call couscous “food.” She gave me a look as if she knew what I was thinking and started stirring.
There was no one in line anymore. I was really hungry.
After grabbing three slices of margherita pizza, and resisting the urge to get more chocolate milk—I didn’t want to make myself sick—I sat down once again across from my best friend. Alice was still stirring. “You want some?” she asked lightly.
I tried to hide a smile and shook my head. Sneaky monkey. “You know I hate couscous.”
Alice took a bite.
I grimaced.
She chewed thoughtfully and shrugged. “Your loss.”
Chapter Seven
I Find Myself Getting Buzzed
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
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