---

 
 
Author's Note:Here it is the first part of Taylor's second story! This one is all finished too, it will be posted in nine parts, once a week like the first story. Most of it takes place at school, so be prepared for that. I will say that there are some slow, dull patches to this story because school life isn't all that exciting to me. I can also say that I'm currently working on a third story too, which I will pace differently. I appreciate any kind of feedback or comments that people might have :).
 

---

1.

The mall's fluorescent lights made Taylor squint as she stepped through the sliding doors, the sudden blast of conditioned air carrying the mingled scents of pretzels, perfume, and too many bodies in one space. Behind her, Kayla hip-checked a display mannequin wearing something that looked like a denim nightmare. "That," Kayla announced, pointing at the offending outfit, "is what happens when you let aliens design clothes."

The mall. It had been Kayla’s idea. She was with their mother when she came to pick Taylor up. There was no point arguing with her when she got her shopping fever.

Now she was just along for the ride.

Taylor's fingers brushed against a rack of sundresses, the fabric whispering against her skin in a way that still felt foreign. "You're hesitating," Kayla murmured, appearing at her shoulder with an armful of hangers. "Stop thinking like Tyler. That coral one would make your skin glow." She flicked the tag with a smirk. "And it's 40% off, which Mom will pretend not to care about."

Taylor was apprehensive and terrified. All of this was totally new territory for her. Not the mall of course. She'd been to this mall in Huntsville multiple times. Back then though, she acted just like any other guy. When it was time to shop for clothes, he'd just pick out some generic blue jeans, printed tees and call it a day. Now though, he knew how Kayla shopped.

He was now on the other side of it as it were.

This was Kayla Land.

Kayla started pulling things off various racks, not waiting for Taylor's input.

Taylor's arms buckled under the sudden weight of hangers as Kayla dumped another armful of garments onto her already overflowing pile. A silky emerald blouse slithered off the top, landing on the mall floor with a whisper. "That's the one," Kayla declared, plucking it up before Taylor could react. "Emerald makes your eyes pop—trust me, I've been studying color theory since sixth grade." She thrust the blouse back into Taylor's arms with the precision of a blackjack dealer sliding chips across felt.

"Kayla, I can't possibly—" Taylor began, but her sister was already marching toward the dressing rooms, the plastic soles of her sandals slapping against tile in a staccato rhythm that brooked no argument. Taylor shuffled after her, the mountain of clothes swaying precariously. A saleswoman shot them a wary glance as they passed, her mouth tightening at the edges—probably calculating the odds of having to refold everything later.

The dressing room door clicked shut behind them with finality. Kayla leaned against the mirrored wall, arms crossed. "Strip," she commanded, nodding at Taylor's sweatpants and generic gray top---both provided by the CDC. "We're burning daylight." When Taylor hesitated, Kayla rolled her eyes and snatched the coral sundress from the pile. "Look, either you try these on willingly, or I start dressing you like a life-sized Bratz doll. Your call."

"Leave first and I'll do as you say" she was still feeling pretty self conscious.

Kayla huffed but left.

As soon as she was done, Taylor stripped to her underwear. She grunted in the full length mirror. While the CDC had provided a week or more of fresh clothing, it was all pretty bland. The set she was currently wearing was one that Kayla had bought her---purple, from Victoria's Secret. It was by far the fanciest thing she owned and the MOST embarrassing.

She pulled on the coral dress and sighed. She might have been a girl now but she wasn't looking forward to this---her first dress.

Turning she looked into the mirror.

She wasn't seeing Tyler in a dress. She was a girl now. She was Taylor and she was actually pretty. She also hated to admit she looked good in the dress too.

Damn it.

"Kayla. I'm done" she said softly, still amazed.

Kayla burst into the dressing room without knocking, her gasp loud enough to make Taylor flinch. "Holy shit," Kayla breathed, circling Taylor like a fashion critic assessing a prize-winning design. She stopped behind Taylor in the mirror, their matching hazel eyes locking in the reflection. "You look...better than me in this." The admission slipped out before Kayla could stop it, her fingers hovering near Taylor's waist where the fabric cinched perfectly.

Taylor swallowed hard, watching Kayla's face flicker between admiration and something sharper in the mirror. "It's just the dress," she muttered, tugging at the hem self-consciously. The coral fabric really did make her skin glow—another thing she hadn't anticipated.

"It's not just a dress," Kayla said brightly. "It's your butterfly phase finally showing itself!"

Kayla's hands descended on Taylor's shoulders like a stylist possessed, spinning her away from the mirror. "Okay, new rule—you're trying on everything I picked." She began yanking out things hanging in the dresser room with alarming efficiency. "This wrap dress will make your waist look tiny, these jeans will make your ass look phenomenal—yes, I know you're blushing—and this blouse?" She held up the emerald silk like a matador taunting a bull. "This is going to ruin Callie's ability to form coherent sentences."

Taylor grabbed for the blouse, mortified. "Kayla!"

"What? You kissed her, she's obviously into you—capitalize on it!" Kayla tossed the blouse over Taylor's head before she could protest. "Now arms up, we're doing rapid-fire outfit changes. Mom gave us two hours and we've already wasted twenty minutes on your existential crisis."

I should have never told her about kissing Callie, she thought as she pulled the dress over her head.

The rapid-fire dressing began with the merciless efficiency of a military drill—Kayla tossing garments at Taylor like a quarterback under pressure while Taylor fumbled with zippers and straps she barely understood. "Left arm in—no, your other left—now twist slightly so the fabric drapes properly," Kayla commanded, flicking Taylor's wrist away when she tried to adjust the neckline herself. The emerald blouse clung to Taylor's torso like liquid, the silk cool against her suddenly hypersensitive skin.

"Now pivot," Kayla ordered, snapping her fingers. Taylor spun awkwardly, nearly tripping over a discarded sandal. Kayla's critical gaze swept over her like a scanner. "Hips forward more—you're standing like you're waiting for a punch. This isn't boxing, it's fashion." She jerked Taylor's shoulders back with surprising force. "Posture is free real estate, and you've got the spine for it now. Use it."

Taylor grimaced as Kayla yanked the blouse off her in one fluid motion, immediately replacing it with a wrap dress that smelled faintly of lavender. The fabric slithered around her body with unsettling sentience, tying itself in a way that made Taylor's waist disappear into some sort of-defying optical illusion. "How does this even—"

"Magic," Kayla deadpanned.

The dressing room mirror reflected a stranger—someone with Taylor's face but none of her uncertainty. The girl in the mirror held herself like she'd been born in silk, her fingers lightly tracing the neckline with practiced ease. Taylor blinked. The Gamma variant was doing that thing again—the muscle memory she hadn't earned.

She made a mental note to discuss it with Dr. Morris at their first session.

Kayla flung a pair of high-waisted jeans at Taylor's chest. "These," she declared, "will make your ass look like you invented gravity."

She took off the dress. She then pulled on the jeans, pairing them with a tank top. Looking in the mirror she was mesmerized. Kayla was right, these jeans did make her ass look amazing. The thought kinda scared her. Never in a million years did she think she'd be standing in a dressing room with her sister, admiring how she looked.

"That looks really good," Kayla admitted.

Taylor traced the waistband of the jeans with hesitant fingers, the denim hugging her hips in a way that felt both alien and exhilarating. She twisted slightly, watching the way the fabric curved around her rear in the mirror—a shape that would've made teenage Tyler combust with embarrassment, but now sent a flush of something warmer through her. "I look..." The words died in her throat as she caught Kayla's smirk in the reflection.

Taylor's fingers lingered on the ribbed hem of the tank top, tracing the way it skimmed her waist—higher than she'd ever worn anything before, revealing a sliver of skin that made her breath catch. The jeans hugged her hips with a snugness that should have been uncomfortable but felt oddly... right. She flexed her knees experimentally, marveling at how the denim moved with her like a second skin.

Taylor couldn't stop running her hands down the sides of the jeans, feeling the way the rigid denim yielded slightly under her fingers before springing back into perfect shape. The tank top's spaghetti straps tickled her shoulders—so thin compared to the thick cotton tees she used to wear—and when she breathed deep, she swore she could feel air moving across newly exposed skin at her midriff. "I think..." She swallowed hard, watching her reflection mirror the movement of her throat. "I think this is my favorite."

"I think you might be right," her sister agreed. She then looked at the pile. "We're still taking the rest of course".

Taylor sighed but learned long ago not to argue with Kayla.

The cashier's scanner beeped ominously as Kayla swiped the CDC's prepaid credit card with the casual arrogance of someone who'd never paid a bill in her life. Taylor watched the total climb with mounting horror—three digits, then four—but Kayla just smirked and tapped in the security code like she was entering a cheat for unlimited lives. "Relax," she said, pocketing the receipt. "This is what's for".

Taylor clutched the shopping bags to her chest like a shield as Kayla steered them toward the cosmetics department with terrifying purpose. The perfume counters loomed ahead like minefields, their floral-clouded air thickening with every step. A sales associate in a pristine white lab coat materialized before them, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. "Looking for anything special today?" she purred, eyes darting between their matching faces.

Taylor looked around. "Where's Mom?" she asked.

"She said she'll meet us in the food court after we're done" her twin said as if it was a common occurrence.

The sales associate looked annoyed at being ignored. "How can I help you, ladies?" she asked again, the annoyance clear in her voice.

"We need the essentials" Kayla said without missing a beat. "And I mean ALL of them".

Taylor groaned. This was going to take forever. Kayla's version of essentials included everything from primer to setting spray and everything in between.

Kayla grabbed Taylor's arm and pulled her toward the display counters. "First, we need to find your foundation shade," she said, pushing Taylor down onto a stool with the authority of a seasoned sergeant. The sales associate—her nametag read 'Janice'—perked up at the prospect of a big sale.

Janice circled Taylor with professional detachment, tilting her chin toward the lights with gloved fingers. "Cool undertones," she murmured, swiping testers along Taylor's jawline. Taylor sat frozen, acutely aware of every brushstroke against skin that still felt foreign. The foundation smelled chemically sweet, triggering a phantom memory of watching Kayla do this ritual through their shared bathroom mirror for years.

Taylor tuned them out mostly. Thanks to Kayla's tutelage over the month, she could do her own makeup in her sleep.

Janice pulled out another shade. "This one matches perfectly," she announced, holding up a mirror.

Taylor blinked at her reflection—the foundation erased every trace of boyhood sunburn and unevenness, leaving behind skin so flawless it looked airbrushed. Kayla leaned in, inspecting Janice's work with a critical eye. "Good call on the neutral palette," she said, already grabbing concealers and blushes. "We'll take the full line—primer to setting spray."

Things progressed like this until they were at the cash register, buying their purchases.

"You know you need to know this stuff" said Kayla, nudging her.

Taylor shrugged. "You taught me a bunch already"

"Not enough" said her sister, grabbing her arm and steering her some place else.

Taylor froze mid-step when she saw the neon "Piercings" sign flickering above the kiosk, its garish pink light reflecting off trays of surgical steel jewelry. "No way," she said, backpedaling so fast she nearly tripped over a stroller. Kayla's fingers closed around her wrist with the precision of a bailiff serving papers.

"Oh yes way," Kayla grinned, dragging her toward the kiosk where a bored-looking woman with a septum ring was buffing her nails. "You already have the lobes—Gamma gave you those for free—but we're upgrading you to a full set."

Taylor's pulse thundered in her newly sensitive ears as Kayla shoved her onto the piercing kiosk's stool with the enthusiasm of a cult recruiter. The vinyl seat stuck to her thighs through the thin fabric of her new jeans—another sensation she hadn't anticipated needing to process. "Second lobes only," Kayla announced to the piercer, tapping Taylor's left earlobe with a manicured nail. "And make them symmetrical, or so help me—"

The piercing gun's mechanical whir made Taylor's newly-feminized nerves jangle like loose change in a dryer. She clutched the stool edges as the piercer—introducing herself as Marla with all the enthusiasm of someone who'd seen too many teenagers faint—swabbed her earlobes with antiseptic that smelled like a dentist's office. "Relax," Kayla murmured, squeezing her shoulder. "This'll feel like a mosquito bite."

The gun's pneumatic hiss made Taylor's stomach flip before the sharp pinch registered—a brief, bright pain that radiated through her skull like a tuning fork. She hissed through her teeth, fingers digging into the stool as Marla worked with robotic efficiency. Cold metal clicked against her earlobe, followed by the scent of alcohol and something coppery. "One down," Marla intoned, already swiveling to the other ear. Taylor barely had time to process before the second piercing gun pressed against her flesh.

"All done!" Kayla clapped excitedly.

The cold metal studs felt alien against Taylor's fingertips when she gingerly touched her newly pierced lobes—like discovering extra buttons sewn onto a favorite shirt. Marla handed her a care sheet with the solemnity of a pharmacist dispensing controlled substances, but Taylor barely registered the instructions over the dull throb radiating from each earlobe. "No swimming, no touching, rotate twice daily," Kayla recited from memory, pocketing the paper before Taylor could read it. "Basic stuff. You'll forget they're there in a week."

Not likely, she thought, already feeling the foreign things in her ears.

The food court's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like a swarm of lethargic bees as Taylor clutched her pierced earlobes, the cold metal studs still throbbing dully with each heartbeat. Kayla strode ahead with the confidence of a general returning from battle, their shopping bags swinging like trophies from her arms. Taylor's stomach twisted—not just from the lingering sting of the piercings, but from the impending maternal judgment awaiting them at the plastic food court table where their mother sat stirring a rapidly cooling cup of coffee, a plate of fries in front of her untouched.

"Jesus, did you buy out the entire mall?" Their mother's eyebrows disappeared beneath her bangs as Kayla dumped the bags onto the table with a theatrical flourish. Taylor winced when one of the Sephora bags toppled over, spilling lip gloss tubes that rolled across the greasy surface like radioactive marbles.

Kayla shrugged, stealing a fry from her mother's tray. "CDC's paying. Besides—" She nudged Taylor forward with her hip. "Check out our masterpiece."

Taylor stood frozen as her mother's gaze traveled up from her new jeans—the ones that "invented gravity"—to the emerald blouse that clung to her frame like liquid. The silence stretched three heartbeats too long before her mother's coffee cup clattered against the table.

"Taylor... you look..." Her voice cracked.

"Like me, but hotter," Kayla supplied, popping another fry into her mouth.

Taylor looked at the food in front of her sister. When did she grab one of those?

Their mother's coffee cup hit the table with a sharp clack, brown liquid sloshing over the rim. Her lips parted, then pressed into a thin line as her gaze flickered between Taylor's new piercings and the mountain of shopping bags. Taylor fought the urge to cover her ears—the studs suddenly burning like brand marks.

"You got her pierced?" Their mother's voice was dangerously calm, the way it got before thunderstorms of maternal fury. Taylor instinctively took a half-step behind Kayla, the unfamiliar sway of her hips making the movement awkward.

"Mom, she's 15" Kayla said, not backing down. "I had mine pierced at 8. Do you honestly expect her to go to school tomorrow without them pierced?"

Taylor watched their mother's fingers tighten around her coffee cup. The argument hung suspended between them—the unspoken truth that Gamma had already rewritten Taylor's body more drastically than any piercing gun. Their mother exhaled sharply through her nose, the fight draining out of her shoulders. "At least tell me you went somewhere sterile."

Marla's kiosk flashed in Taylor's memory—the peeling "Certified Piercer" sticker barely clinging to the counter. She touched her earlobes again, the metal already warming against her skin. "It was fine," she lied.

Their mother's sigh dissolved into the food court's greasy air. She pushed her untouched fries toward them—a white flag. Taylor reached for one just as Kayla stole three, the familiarity of the gesture settling something in her chest.

While the fries looked enticing, thanks to Kayla's insistence on eating healthy, she couldn't stomach things like that. Besides, they just didn't taste the same to her anymore. Not since becoming Taylor.

"I'm going to go look for something edible," she said, getting up from the chair.

"I'll come with" said Kayla, moving to stand.

Taylor held up a hand, stopping her. "I'm a big girl".

Kayla frowned but didn't press the matter.

Taylor was inwardly relieved. She loved her sister but Kayla was starting to get clingy. She was grateful to her sister and especially to all the help she'd been providing. She was also a little overwhelmed too. Their new found closeness was something she cherished at first but after a month of it, Taylor needed her space too.

She walked away, her sneakers squeaking on the polished tiles as she navigated the labyrinth of food stalls. The scent of frying oil and sugary syrups clashed in the air, but none of it appealed to her anymore—not since her taste buds had shifted along with everything else. Then she smelled it—the rich, earthy aroma of slow-cooked vegetables and spices. Her stomach growled in response, guiding her toward the Mediterranean kiosk tucked between a pretzel stand and an Orange Julius.

The Mediterranean kiosk's overhead menu swam in Taylor's vision—hummus, falafel, tabbouleh—each word triggering a visceral response she couldn't explain. Her fingers twitched toward the laminated counter as if pulled by some deep-coded craving, her new biology overriding fifteen years of pizza-and-burgers programming.

"First time?" A voice cut through her daze—low and amused. Taylor turned to find a leany boy leaning against the condiment station, his faded band tee riding up to reveal a strip of tanned stomach. His dark eyes tracked her movements with unnerving precision. "You're doing the thing," he said, gesturing vaguely at her face. "The 'what-the-hell-is-this-food' squint."

He was tall, taller than her. He had a mop of sandy blonde hair and one of those laid back surfy boy attitudes. He had lean compact muscles. She looked at his biceps. He had spent time in the gym but he wasn't one of those heavy weightlifters. If she had to guess, he was probably a soccer player or on the track team.

"Am I that obvious?" she asked, trying to be polite and make small talk.

"Might I make a suggestion?" he asked, pointing to something on the overhead menu.

Taylor followed his finger to the lamb gyro. She wrinkled her nose. She'd never eaten lamb before.

Travis grinned. "Trust me."

Taylor hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."

"You're new, right?" he asked, still standing closeby. "I've never seen you in school before."

They were in Huntsville. That was understandable.

"I go to Ridgewood," she said, trying to clear things up.

The boy nodded and smiled. "Travis," he said, extending his hand.

"Taylor" she said but didn't take his hand.

She might have looked like a sweet and innocent girl but she was a boy before. She knew exactly what he was doing and unfortunately for him, it wasn't going to work. She wasn't going to shoot him down though. Not because she was interested, far from it but because she'd been here before. Well, in his shoes. She knew what it was like to "put yourself out there" as a guy ad she felt kind of bad for him in that sense.

Travis grinned, unphased, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Taylor," he repeated, like he was testing the name on his tongue. "So, Ridgewood, huh? That's like, what, twenty minutes from here?"

She nodded. "Give or take"

He grinned. "Never seen you here before."

"Come here often then?" she asked.

Travis laughed, leaning against the counter. "Enough to know the best things to order."

"And the new girls apparently".

He grinned, flashing white teeth against his tan skin. "Only the interesting ones."

Ugh. Ok, so he was definitely not like her old self.

This guy didn't need her pity.

Taylor folded her arms—a defensive gesture that felt different now with the way her elbows pressed into soft curves instead of angular bone. "Look, Travis—"

"Order for Taylor!" The cashier's call sliced through whatever smooth line Travis had been about to deliver. His grin widened as he gestured toward the counter like he'd personally arranged the interruption.

Taylor grabbed her gyro with a muttered thanks, the warm pita almost burning her fingertips through the wax paper. The scent of garlic and cumin hit her like a physical force, making her mouth water in a way frozen pizzas never had before. She barely registered Travis falling into step beside her as she headed back toward the seating area.

"Can I get your number at least?" he asked, trying to keep step with her.

Taylor sighed. "I don't think my girlfriend would like that very much".

Travis stopped mid-step. "Girlfriend?" he repeated, blinking.

Taylor nodded. "Sorry bud, better luck next time."

She left him standing there, gaping like a fish as she walked back to her family's table.

The gyro almost slipped from Taylor's fingers when she saw Kayla's raised eyebrow—the same one she'd perfected for interrogating tardy boyfriends. Their mother's lips twitched as she sipped her coffee, the steam long gone. "Find anything interesting?" Kayla drawled, stretching the last word into three syllables.

Taylor shoved a bite of pita into her mouth to buy time, the flavors exploding across her changed taste buds in ways she still couldn't process. "Just food," she mumbled through the mouthful.

"Does the food have a name?" asked their mother with a hint of amusement.

Kayla leaned forward, elbows on the table. "He was cute. He ask for your number?"

Taylor shot her a look. "Girlfriend line worked."

Their mother nearly choked on her coffee. "Girlfriend?"

Taylor shrugged. "Not yet but here's hoping".

Kayla's grin turned predatory as she leaned forward. "Tell me, does Callie know about this arrangement?"

"I think so" Taylor said with a smile. "After all, she kissed me back".

Their mother sighed, rubbing her temples. "I'm not sure which part of this conversation concerns me more—that my daughter just used another girl as a human shield against unwanted attention, or that she's apparently already kissing girls with no prior dating experience."

"I've dated..." she started but her mother stopped her.

"No," her mother said, clarifying. "Tyler dated. You're not him anymore. This is a whole new ball game now."

Kayla smirked, twirling a fry between her fingers. "And what a ball game it is. Our little Taylor's batting for both teams now."

"One team" she quickly corrected her sister.

Though, she had to admit, the attention was kind of nice.

******

The bedroom door clicked shut behind Taylor as she flopped onto her bed, the mountain of shopping bags spilling their contents across the duvet in a waterfall of tissue paper and price tags. She stared at the coral sundress pooled in her lap—the same one Kayla had forced her to try in the dressing room—and ran her fingers along the delicate straps with hesitant fascination. Her phone buzzed against the mattress before she could overthink it.

Callie's contact photo flashed on screen—a selfie from last summer where Taylor could still see Tyler's sunburnt shoulder pressing against the frame. She hesitated for half a heartbeat before swiping accept. "You will not believe what Kayla made me buy today," Taylor blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush she didn't recognize coming from her own mouth.

A beat of silence. Then Callie's laughter—bright and startled. "Wait, who is this? Did Kayla steal your phone?"

"Haha, very funny".

"No seriously" Callie insisted, laughing. "This is Taylor right? Because you sound... different."

Taylor blinked at her reflection in the full-length mirror—at the way her fingers unconsciously twisted a lock of hair around one finger, at the unfamiliar lilt in her own voice. She cleared her throat, but the girlish cadence remained when she spoke again. "Yeah, it's me. I just... got excited about this stupid sundress, okay?"

"Excited," Callie repeated slowly, drawing out the word like she was tasting it. "Taylor Carver, excited about clothing. Pinch me, I'm dreaming."

Taylor rolled her eyes, but her fingers kept tracing the sundress's floral pattern with something dangerously close to reverence. "It's just... the way it fits," she muttered, holding the fabric against her torso. The coral brought out the golden undertones in her skin—something Kayla had lectured about for twenty minutes at Sephora. "Like it was made for me."

She stopped, catching herself. "Shit" she muttered, letting go of the dress. "What is actually wrong with me?"

Callie's chuckle came through the line, warm and teasing. "Nothing's wrong. You're just being honest about liking something for once." A pause. "It's kinda refreshing, actually. Like watching a robot learn to feel."

"Does not compute" she replied, doing her best robot voice.

Callie snorted. "See? Still you."

"It's really weird though, Cal and scary" She sighed.

She then told her about meeting with Dr. Jones and Dr. Morris this morning.

Taylor flopped onto her bed, staring at the ceiling while tracing the raised pattern of her new bedspread—another Kayla-approved purchase that somehow felt *right* in ways she couldn't explain. The phone pressed against her newly pierced ear, the stud cool against her skin. "Dr Morris said I was different than Jasmine, that the variant I got had very little mental changes but..."

"And you're afraid she's wrong?" Callie asked.

Taylor hesitated. "Think about it. I hate playing games now. I want to run all over the place. I didn't want fries today. I went and got a gyro of all things. Then there's this whole shopping thing. It's such a girly thing and I pretended to hate it but I really liked it, Cal"

"Well newsflash, Tay, you are a girl now" Callie said, stating the obvious.

'Its just terrifying the fuck out of me" she sighed. "Then that shit with Travis."

Crap. She blurted that out without thinking.

"Travis?" Callie's voice immediately sharpened. "Who's Travis?"

"Some guy from Huntsville. He hit on me. I tur..."

"Some doofus was hitting on my girl?" asked Callie defensively.

Taylor blinked at the unexpected possessiveness in Callie's tone. Her fingers stilled on the sundress fabric. "You're not actually... jealous, are you?"

A pause filled only with the faint static of the phone line. Then Callie huffed a laugh that sounded forced. "Please. Like I'd waste energy being jealous over some mall rat named Travis." The bed creaked on Callie's end, as if she'd shifted abruptly. "What'd he look like, anyway?"

Taylor rolled onto her stomach, the sundress crumpling beneath her as she kicked her feet in the air—a habit she'd picked up from Kayla that now felt disturbingly natural. "Tall. Blond. Soccer player shoulders. Kept smiling like he'd practiced in a mirror."

"Ew." Callie's nose scrunch was practically audible. "Sounds basic."

"Totally".

They both shared a laugh.

Taylor paused for a moment. This. This is what he was talking about. Tyler didn't do this. She was acting like a girl.

She was behaving like a girl.

The realization hit Taylor mid-sentence—she was sprawled across her bed with one knee bent, idly twirling a strand of hair around her finger while gossiping about Travis. She froze mid-motion, staring at her own hand like it had betrayed her. The hair slipped from her fingers as she sat up abruptly, the sundress still lying underneath her.

"Taylor?" Callie's voice sounded distant through the phone. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just..." Taylor swallowed hard, her throat suddenly tight. She looked down at herself—the way her legs were tucked neatly to one side, the smoothness of her crossed ankles, the absent way her thumb rubbed against her newly polished nails. Every inch of her body language screamed 'girl' in a way that made her skin prickle.

She remembered Tyler's sprawl—how he'd always occupied space with careless abandon, limbs flung wide like he owned every inch of air around him. Now she sat folded in on herself, shoulders slightly rounded, elbows tucked close. She experimentally tried to sprawl like she used to, but her hips protested the angle and it felt awkward.

"Taylor?" Callie's voice pulled her back.

"I just..." Taylor's fingers found the hem of her tank top, rolling the fabric nervously. "I'm sitting here playing with my hair. Talking about some guy who hit on me. With fucking..." She reached up to touch her earrings, the cold metal confirming their reality. "What happened to me?"

The silence stretched long enough that Taylor checked if the call dropped. Then Callie exhaled softly. "You're still adjusting. It's been, what, three, four weeks? Cut yourself some slack."

Taylor flopped onto her back, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars Kayla had insisted they stick to the ceiling when they were eight. Tyler's half had peeled off years ago. "It's not just the big stuff anymore," she murmured. "Yesterday I caught myself humming along to some pop song in the shower. Me. The guy who only listened to death metal."

Callie's chuckle was warm syrup. "That's horrifying. Should I stage an intervention?"

"Seriously, Cal." Taylor pressed her palms to her eyes until colors bloomed. "This morning I cried at a fucking yogurt commercial. Full-on ugly sobbing because the little girl shared her snack with her dad."

The phone line crackled with Callie's sudden inhale. "Okay, that's objectively funny."

Taylor kicked the sundress off the bed. It floated to the floor in slow motion, straps fluttering like surrender flags. "Its... so why am I—" She caught herself bouncing one crossed leg, the motion fluid as a metronome. Her bare toes were painted shell pink. When had that happened?

A memory surfaced—Kayla commandeering her feet during last night's movie, the brush strokes tickling between giggles. Taylor flexed her toes now, watching the polish catch the lamplight. The vanity of it should've repelled her. Instead, she noted how the color complemented her skin tone. Her breath hitched.

This was all so damn crazy.

The realization crept in like dawn—subtle, then undeniable. Taylor caught herself rubbing her wrists together absentmindedly, the way Kayla did when nervous. Her fingers traced the delicate bones there, thinner now, more pronounced. She used to crack her knuckles constantly. The urge was gone, replaced by this... this fiddling.

Taylor rolled off the bed and stood before the full-length mirror—really *looked*. The girl staring back tilted her head in perfect unison with her. She mirrored the motion when Taylor smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her tank top. When Taylor tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, so did her reflection. Except—

Except it wasn't just mimicking anymore. The gestures came naturally now, fluid as breathing. Taylor pressed a hand to her sternum, feeling the rapid flutter beneath. Her nails—short but neatly filed, painted that shell pink—grazed the dip between her collarbones. A shiver ran through her.

I'm going nuts, she thought.

She went back over to the bed and flopped down on it.

Taylor stared at her phone screen where Callie's face still waited, eyebrows raised. "You still there?" Callie asked, voice tinny through the speaker.

She needed to change the subject. "I called you my girlfriend" she blurted it out without thinking.

The silence on the line stretched long enough that Taylor pulled the phone away to check if Callie had hung up. When she put it back to her ear, she heard a soft intake of breath. "You... what?" Callie's voice had gone strangely high.

Taylor winced at the silence stretching through the phone. She could practically hear Callie's brain short-circuiting. "Uh," she started, then stopped, her fingers twisting the hem of her tank top tighter. "It just kinda slipped out? Like, Travis wouldn't take a hint, and I panicked—"

Callie's choked laugh crackled through the phone—half hysterical, half something Taylor couldn't name. "You used me as your fake girlfriend?"

"Well we did kiss....twice...and I thought maybe..." She was stumbling and stuttering and wondering how she suddenly got to here from where they were just moments before.

The silence stretched like taffy. Taylor pressed the phone harder against her ear, listening to Callie’s uncharacteristically quiet breathing. The bed creaked as she rolled onto her side, knees pulling up instinctively—another new habit that would’ve been impossible with Tyler’s lanky frame.

Callie's exhale came through the phone like she'd been punched. "You thought maybe... what?"

Taylor swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. The words had sounded so casual in her head, but now they hung between them like a live wire. "Maybe..." She tugged at the neckline of her tank top, the fabric sticking slightly to her collarbone where she'd started sweating. "Maybe it wasn't... fake?"

The phone line hissed with static—or maybe it was just Callie's shocked breath. Taylor pressed her forehead against the cool screen of her phone, the tension in her shoulders making the straps of her tank top dig in. She could see the faint reflection of her own wide eyes in the black mirror of her phone's display.

The silence stretched long enough that Taylor's stomach twisted into knots. She could hear Callie shifting on the other end—the rustle of sheets, a soft intake of breath—but no words came. Taylor's fingers tightened around the phone, her freshly painted nails tapping nervously against the case.

Callie's voice came through the phone at last, softer than Taylor had ever heard it. "You mean that?" The question hovered between them, fragile as a soap bubble.

Taylor's pulse pounded in her newly pierced ears. The silence on the line stretched tight as a rubber band about to snap. She opened her mouth, closed it, then blurted: "I don't know." The words tasted sour—too honest, too vulnerable. She scrambled to sit up, her hair tumbling over one shoulder in a way that still startled her. "I just... the way I feel around you now is different than before. But I don't know if that's the virus or—"

Wait. That was a lie. It wasn't different and it wasn't a lie.

She bit her lip. "I'm lying. I've always felt that way about you" she admitted. "I think the virus and this change just finally gave me the courage I was lacking before"

The moment the confession left Taylor's lips, her stomach dropped like she'd missed a step in the dark. The phone pressed against her ear suddenly felt scorching hot. She jerked it away slightly, staring at the screen where Callie's contact photo—that sun-drenched summer snapshot—now seemed impossibly bright.

The silence stretched so long Taylor thought the call had dropped. Then—static. A shaky breath. The sound of fabric rustling violently, like Callie had grabbed her phone with both hands.

"Shit," Callie whispered—barely audible, more breath than word. Taylor could hear her pacing now, the rhythmic creak of floorboards betraying her agitation.

Taylor clutched the phone tighter, her pulse hammering in her throat. The silence stretched like taffy—sticky and endless—until Callie's sharp inhale crackled through the speaker. "You—" A choked pause. "You're serious." Not a question. A revelation.

"I've never been more serious" she admitted and meant it.

Taylor's pulse hammered against her ribs as Callie's silence stretched into eternity. The phone slipped slightly in her sweaty palm. She could hear faint shuffling on the other end—Callie moving, breathing—but no words came. Just as Taylor opened her mouth to retract everything, Callie's voice cut through, softer than she'd ever heard it:

"Ok" she said softly at first then louder, "Let's do it!"

The word hung between them like a firework frozen mid-explosion. Taylor's fingers tightened around the phone until the plastic casing groaned. "Wait—just like that?" Her voice cracked embarrassingly high.

Callie’s laugh burst through the phone—bright and sudden, like sunlight breaking through clouds. "Uh, yeah? Did you expect me to throw down a gauntlet or something?" Her voice dropped to a mock-serious whisper. "Taylor Carver, you must best me in combat for my heart—"

Taylor's breath caught—half-laugh, half-sob—as she clutched the phone tighter. "You're ridiculous," she managed, voice wobbling between relief and disbelief. The coral sundress lay forgotten on the floor where she'd kicked it, straps twisted like dropped reins.

There it was. Callie wanted to be her girlfriend. It was the most amazing thing in the world. She felt like doing one hundred backflips or running a marathon or...

She sighed, calming down. "That's cool."

"Cool" Callie said, echoing her words.

Taylor's finger hovered over the 'end call' button when her stomach lurched—she'd completely forgotten about the text. "Wait, Cal—" Her voice came out sharper than intended.

"What?" Callie's playful tone instantly sobered.

Taylor's fingers froze mid-air, her thumb hovering over the disconnect button. The glow of her phone screen cast eerie shadows across her face as realization slammed into her—she'd been so distracted by the Travis encounter and the girlfriend confession that she'd completely forgotten the reason she'd texted Callie to call her later.

"Cal—" Taylor's voice cracked, suddenly dry. "There's something else."

The mattress springs squeaked as she sat up too fast, her freshly pierced ears throbbing with the sudden movement. Her phone slipped slightly in her sweaty palm as she fumbled to reopen her messages. The anonymous text glared back at her in cold white letters:

*I KNEW YOU WERE GOING TO BE GORGEOUS*

Callie's impatient sigh hissed through the speaker. "Spit it out, Tay."

Taylor swallowed hard, her throat clicking. "I got this... text." She rubbed her thumb over the screen as if she could erase it. "No number. No contact name. Just..."

"Just what?" Callie's voice sharpened like a knife edge.

Taylor's fingers trembled slightly as she pulled the phone away from her ear to read the message aloud, her voice unnaturally steady: "'I knew you were going to be gorgeous.'"

The silence on the line turned electric. Taylor could practically hear Callie's brain whirring—the same way it did during debate tournaments when she'd identified a flaw in an opponent's argument.

"No signature?" Callie finally asked, her tone all business now. "No 'sent from' identifier?"

"Nothing." Taylor traced the blank space where a contact name should be with her thumb. "Just... appeared in my inbox this morning as I was leaving the hospital."

"You think...?"

"Yeah" Taylor said, remembering the encounter in the dark at that party, the kiss, the girl telling her she was going to be beautiful. There was no doubt in her mind. "It was her. The girl who gave me The Bug."

Callie's sharp inhale hissed through the speaker. "Shit"

"That's exactly what I thought too" Taylor ran her sweaty palms on her jeans. "She knows who I am. I mean she probably knew me when she kissed me. I haven't really thought about it that much with everything going on but..."

Callie said it for her. "She targeted you."

It hung in the air for a moment.

Someone had deliberately given her the virus.

The phone line hummed with static—or maybe it was just the blood rushing in Taylor's ears. Her thumb hovered over the screen, the anonymous message glowing ominously.  She'd been avoiding thinking about that night—the sweaty press of bodies at Sierra's party, the stranger's lips brushing hers in the dark.

"Its messed up" Callie finally said. "I mean like all kinds of fucking twisted. What kind of psycho does that to someone?"

Well Taylor knew one, even if she refused to say it aloud.

Jason.

Well she supposed Jasmine.

But was she cruel and twisted enough to do something like that?

"I think that killed the mood" she finally admitted. "I'm sorry for being a buzzkill"

Callie's scoff crackled through the speaker. "Don't apologize for having serial killer stalkers, Taylor. That's like, basic self-preservation." Her tone shifted—softer now, with that protective edge Taylor recognized from whenever someone messed with their debate team. "We should—"

"I'll tell Dr. Morris" she finally decided. "We'll let them deal with it."

"Good plan" said Callie then she paused. "Shit. My Mom needs me to help her with something. I'm sorry to leave like this but..."

"Go" Taylor said, before she looked at the mess of shopping bags now scattered about. "I got stuff to do anyway."

They hung up, promising to call later.

Taylor's fingers trailed along the edge of her dresser, catching on a layer of dust coating the empty space where Tyler's gaming crap used to stand. The vanity mirror reflected the changes back at her—pastel makeup palettes clustered where energy drink cans once gathered, hair products lining the shelf that previously held sports deodorant. She nudged a stray bobby pin with her toe, watching it skitter across hardwood that hadn't seen dirty socks in weeks.

The bed creaked differently now—softer, without Tyler's habitual sprawl. Taylor caught herself smoothing the quilt automatically, fingers lingering on the embroidered flowers Kayla had picked out last week. Even the air smelled different—vanilla body spray lingering where Axe once hung like chemical warfare.

This was distinctively becoming a girls' room now.

Some of the furniture was still Tyler---her dresser, her bed.

But everything else?

Tyler was slowly being erased.

Taylor turned her head slightly to look at her vanity, the mirror reflecting her soft features back at her. It had been Kayla's idea—"You need space for your makeup, Tay"—and now it stood where Tyler's gaming desk used to be. The surface was cluttered with lip glosses, foundation bottles, and a small tray of jewelry. A hairbrush lay tangled with strands of white-blonde hair, a reminder and her future.

Taylor folded the last silk camisole with exaggerated care, her fingers lingering on the delicate fabric before placing it in the drawer that once held Tyler's faded band tees. The cardboard box at her feet gaped open—a maw swallowing the last remnants of her former self. Athletic shorts, graphic tees with stretched-out collars, a single pair of dress slacks worn exactly once for Freshman pictures last year—all stuffed unceremoniously beneath the shoebox containing Tyler's old sneakers.

Walking into her ensuite, she noticed how her new life had completely invaded there as well.

The bathroom smelled like vanilla and lavender—a scent so aggressively feminine it made Taylor's nose twitch. Her bare feet stuck slightly to the tile floor where stray droplets of body spray had congealed. The shower curtain, a floral monstrosity Kayla had picked out last weekend, hung slightly askew, revealing a rainbow of bottles lined up along the tub's edge—shampoos with French names, conditioners promising "silky perfection," a razor perched precariously on the rim that definitely hadn't been there a month ago.

She winced at the memory of shaving her legs the first time. Something she never thought she'd do in a million years.

She winced worse at the box of tampons.

She had yet to use those but she was told it would probably be any day now.

Taylor sighed and leaned against the counter, her reflection staring back at her with an expression caught between resignation and reluctant acceptance. The bathroom counter was a battlefield of femininity—foundation bottles standing at attention like tiny soldiers, lip gloss tubes scattered like spent cartridges, a lone eyeliner pencil rolling dangerously close to the edge. The entire scene was bathed in the unforgiving fluorescence of the vanity lights that somehow made every pore visible while simultaneously flattening her features into something resembling a mannequin.

This is my life now, she thought and left the room.

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