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Author's Note:Here we are, Ch.7. The story is slowly winding itself down now. Two more chapters to go after this one. Sadly Book 3 is going slower than I want. I am writing something else in the meantime while I try to figure it out. Maybe I'll start posting that new one until I can work on how to progress with Book 3. I appreciate any kind of feedback or comments that people might have :).
 

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7.

When the final bell rang on Wednesday, Taylor took a deep breath.

Today was meant to be her first official meeting with Dr. Morris after school.

"You want me to go?" asked Kayla, as they walked toward the school counselor's office.

"I think I'll be ok alone" Taylor admitted, even if she was a little apprehensive with it all.

"Text me if you need me" her sister squeezed her shoulder, leaving with both Jess and Callie, both of whom had also stayed behind.

Alone, Taylor made her way to the counselor's office. Dr. Morris had emailed her last night, telling her that the school had been nice enough to let her use it to her convenience.

Taylor hesitated outside the door—the same frosted glass panel she'd walked past countless times as Tyler, never once considering what lay behind it. Through the blurry glass, she could make out a silhouette moving inside. Taking a deep breath, she knocked twice.

"Come in."

Taylor stepped into the office, finding the warm face of Dr. Morris.

"Taylor" she said, smiling. "Its good to see you again. Take a seat, get comfortable"

Her voice was warm, professional, but Taylor felt anything but comfortable as she settled into the plush chair. 

Taylor sat delicately in her skirt, keeping her legs close together like her sister had taught her.

Dr. Morris smiled again. "How have your first few days been?" she asked, "finally happy to be back?"

Taylor nodded, "Yeah, its been ok"

Dr. Morris hummed, nodding as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "And how have things been with Kayla?"

"Great, better than great. She's been awesome" Taylor enthused.

"And your friends?" Dr. Morris checked her tablet. "Benny and Callie, right?"

This woman knew more than Taylor thought.

"It's been..." Taylor thought about how to word it. "Different".

"How so?" asked the doctor.

Taylor shrugged. "I was close with Benny before but I would have never really called us friends in the sense that most people are. We hung out together sure, ate lunch at the same table, gamed with each other online."

Dr. Morris chuckled. "I think that's the very definition of a friend actually."

Taylor paused for a second. Was it? "Why didn't Tyler think so."

Dr. Morris raised her eyebrow. "You refer to yourself in the third person?"

"No," Taylor corrected. "But I'm not Tyler anymore. He's gone."

"Is he?" asked Dr. Morris. "As far as I can tell, other than a change of name and gender, you are in fact still very much Tyler Carver."

Taylor was confused. "Doesn't changing gender make me different?"

Dr. Morris smiled, amused. "You tell me?"

Taylor blinked at Dr. Morris's question, her fingers tightening around the hem of her skirt. The office smelled like lavender air freshener and stale coffee—too floral, too bitter. "I don't know," she admitted. "Everything feels different now, but also... not?" She gestured vaguely at herself. "Like I'm wearing someone else's skin that fits better than my own ever did."

Dr. Morris's stylus hovered over the tablet. "Interesting," she murmured, more to herself than to Taylor. "Tell me—when you look in the mirror now, who do you see first? Taylor, or Tyler?"

"I see me," she responded. "Taylor."

"And what about before?" asked the doctor.

Taylor shrugged. "I saw Tyler."

Dr. Morris smiled. "Do you think they're two different people then?" She tapped the stylus against the side of her tablet. "You just admitted that you saw yourself as Tyler when you were Tyler and you see yourself as Taylor now that you're Taylor."

Dr. Morris's stylus clicked against her tablet—once, twice—like a metronome counting the seconds while Taylor's thoughts scrambled. The counselor's office felt suddenly smaller, the motivational posters on the walls ("Reach for the Stars!" "Mistakes Are Proof You're Trying!") pressing in with their hollow cheer. Taylor's thumbnail caught on a loose thread in her skirt seam, unraveling it further. "I don't know," she said finally. "It's like... Tyler was a bad translation of me. And now the words finally make sense."

"Why?" asked Dr. Morris.

Taylor shrugged. "I don't know. I never really thought about it before The Bug. But afterwards, looking into the mirror, something felt right suddenly."

The stylus stopped mid-click. Dr. Morris leaned forward, her perfume—something sharp and botanical—cutting through the lavender air freshener. "Tell me about 'right.'"

Taylor's fingers stilled against the unraveling thread in her skirt. "Right," she repeated, tasting the word like a foreign candy. "Like... when you're wearing shoes that fit perfectly?" She huffed a laugh at her own clumsy metaphor. "No, that's stupid—"

"Actually," Dr. Morris interrupted, tapping her stylus against her chin. "That's remarkably apt. Your body used to pinch in places you didn't realize until it stopped pinching." She tilted her head, studying Taylor like a particularly fascinating equation. "When did you first notice?"

Taylor smiled. "The first day I went shopping with Kayla. There was this dress..." Her face lit up at the memory of wearing the coral sundress for the first time. "When I looked at myself in the dressing room mirror wearing it, I knew then."

The office chair creaked as Dr. Morris leaned back, her burgundy skirt stretching taut over crossed knees. "That dress," she mused, stylus hovering. "Describe the moment you put it on."

Taylor's breath caught as the memory unfolded behind her eyelids—the coral sundress's fabric whispering against her newly sensitive skin, Kayla's rare grin in the dressing room mirror, how the straps had settled perfectly on her shoulders like they'd been designed for her. "It wasn't just the dress," she murmured, tracing the seam of her school skirt. "It was how..." Her hands fluttered vaguely at her collarbones. "Everything lined up."

The stylus clattered onto the tablet as Dr. Morris suddenly straightened. "Ah," she said, like she'd just solved a puzzle. "Gender euphoria." The words hung in the air between them, unfamiliar yet instinctively correct. Taylor's chest tightened—she'd never heard the term before, but it resonated like a struck tuning fork.

'What does that mean?" she asked, confused and curious.

Dr. Morris tapped her tablet awake, pulling up a diagram that looked like a rainbow-colored fever chart. "It's when your external presentation aligns with your internal sense of self," she explained, rotating the screen toward Taylor. "For some people, that happens naturally. For others..." She gestured at Taylor's coral-painted nails. "It takes a virus. Or hormone therapy. Or both."

Taylor stared at the diagram—neon lines zigzagging across categories labeled "Social," "Physical," "Mental." The colors blurred as Dr. Morris continued, "Most people experience this alignment gradually. You..." She smirked. "Took the express lane."

Taylor stared at the screen. "You think....you think, I wanted to be a girl?"

Dr. Morris set the tablet down gently. "I think Gamma-3 didn't change who you are—it just removed the static between who you've always been and how the world sees you." She tilted her head, watching Taylor's reaction like a biologist observing some rare creature. "Tell me honestly—when you played video games as Tyler, did you ever choose female characters?"

Taylor twitched. Maybe not in the shooter games because it didn't matter but in all the other games...

Taylor's fingers twitched against her skirt fabric as the realization hit—every RPG, every character creator, every avatar she'd ever customized flickered through her mind like a highlight reel of denial. "Not always," she muttered defensively, then swallowed hard when Dr. Morris's eyebrow arched. "Okay, usually. But that's just—stat bonuses! Female elves get better agility modifiers!"

Dr. Morris's smirk widened as she tapped her stylus against the tablet's edge. "Mmm. Of course. Stat bonuses." She leaned forward, her burgundy skirt whispering against the chair. "Tell me, Taylor—when you dreamed at night before Gamma, who were you in those dreams?"

Taylor's breath caught in her throat like a hooked fish. The office walls seemed to ripple—"Reach for the Stars!" shimmering into sudden clarity. Not all her dreams. Not most. But the ones that lingered, the ones that left her cheeks hot and her chest aching in the morning darkness... "I was Kayla," she whispered. The admission tasted like stolen candy, sweet and shameful.

"Are you sure it was Kayla?"

Taylor's fingers went numb against the chair arms. The lavender air freshener scent turned cloying, thick in her throat. "What?" The word came out cracked—like old pavement splitting under sudden pressure.

Dr. Morris's stylus hovered, her gaze unwavering. "Think carefully. When you dreamed of being Kayla—were you *her*, or were you *yourself*?" The question hung in the air like a held breath.

She thought about and at first, rationalized it had to be Kayla. In her dreams she was her sister, same face, same blonde hair, same blue eyes.

She gasped.

Kayla's eyes were green.

Taylor's stomach dropped like a stone. The realization twisted through her—sharp and undeniable. Those dreams hadn't been about Kayla at all. They'd been about *herself*, seen clearly for the first time.

"I was me" she said softly, surprised and confused. "I don't understand. I never wanted to be a girl, I never even voiced it. I was happy being a guy, I liked being Tyler."

Dr. Morris set her tablet aside with deliberate slowness, the stylus rolling toward the edge. "Taylor," she said, her voice impossibly gentle, "do you remember being upset when puberty hit?"

She shook her head. "I remember being annoyed that Kayla stopped playing with me. We used to be real close when we were younger but as soon as puberty hit, she changed. She pushed away and we grew apart"

Dr. Morris's gaze softened. "And how did that make you feel?"

Taylor's fingers dug into the chair's upholstery as the memory surfaced—Kayla slamming her bedroom door shut after Taylor tried to join her and her friends for a sleepover, their mother sighing about "natural changes." The hollow ache in her chest back then mirrored the one she felt now. "I hated it," she whispered. "But not because I wanted to be a girl. Because I lost my best friend."

Dr. Morris's office chair creaked as she leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. "Loss and change often get tangled up," she said, her voice low and steady. "Especially when the person changing is you."

Taylor stared at her hands—smaller now, the knuckles less prominent, nails painted coral like the sundress that had started this whole revelation. Her pulse throbbed in her throat. "So what are you saying? That I was... supposed to be a girl all along?" The words felt dangerous, like stepping onto thin ice.

Dr. Morris shook her head. "No one knows that for sure" She picked up the tablet again, scrolling then showing her the screen.

Dr. Morris turned the tablet toward Taylor, displaying a heat map of brain scans pulsing with neon blues and reds. "We've studied thousands of Gamma cases," she said, tapping a region that flared gold. "See this? The anterior cingulate cortex—it lights up differently in people who transition smoothly versus those who struggle." Her stylus circled another area. "And here? The insular cortex shows activity patterns we now associate with latent gender dysphoria."

Taylor's fingers tightened around the chair arms as she stared at the glowing images. "So you're saying..." Her voice wavered, unsure of what to ask.

"Not saying—observing." Dr. Morris zoomed in on a neural pathway that branched like coral. "People who adapted easiest to Gamma's changes? Their pre-infection brains already had these structures wired for gender fluidity." She met Taylor's wide-eyed gaze. "Your neural architecture was primed for this shift long before Moira kissed you."

It made sense she supposed.

"What about Jasmine?" she asked. "I mean Jason was gay before, so he clearly..."

Dr. Morris shook her head, tapping the tablet screen to bring up another scan—this one pulsing with jagged red patterns. "Jasmine's case is different. Gamma didn't align her neural pathways—it overwrote them." She swiped to a side-by-side comparison, the left scan smooth and branching, the right fractured like broken glass. "Jason identified as male, but his brain showed no latent female patterning. His transition was..." She paused, searching for the right word. "Violent. Like forcing a square peg through a round hole."

"Is that why she's so..." Tyler was trying to struggle for the right word, other than "bimbo" or "ditz".

"Spirited" Dr. Morris said, clearly struggling for the proper word herself, before continuing. "Jasmine is what we call a 'disruptive transition'—someone whose neural pathways didn't align with their new gender identity. Think of it like..." She tapped her stylus against her lips, searching for the metaphor. "Your brain was always wired for Taylor, you just didn't know it. Jason's brain was wired for Jason, period."

"What about Henry?" She asked, wondering if Cara had wanted to be a boy before.

Dr. Morris swiped to another set of scans—these showed smoother transitions between colors. "Henry's case mirrors yours," she said. "His pre-infection scans already showed latent masculine patterning. Gamma simply...completed the circuit." She tilted her head. "Why do you ask?"

"He's angry a lot. He doesn't seem like he wants to be a guy" Taylor said, sighing.

Dr. Morris sighed and nodded. "Just because its there, doesn't necessarily mean it was meant to be for her."

The silence in office stretched like taffy, thin and sticky. Taylor stared at her hands—smaller than Tyler's had been, the veins less pronounced under skin that now smelled faintly of vanilla body wash instead of Axe spray. "So what now?" she asked, tracing the coral polish on her thumbnail.

"That depends on you" Dr. Morris said then paused. "I heard the government was making some arrangements for you. There were some endorsements offered?"

Taylor shook her head. "I'm turning those down. I don't want to be puffed up and paraded around like a sideshow for their entertainment"

Dr. Morris leaned back with an approving nod, her burgundy skirt whispering against the chair. "Good for you," she said, tapping her stylus absently against the tablet. "Though I suspect they'll keep pushing. Gamma survivors are political gold right now." She tilted her head. "Speaking of—how's your father handling everything?"

"He left again. Work was more important" she said bitterly.

Dr. Morris's stylus froze mid-tap. The office air conditioner hummed too loudly in the silence that followed. Taylor watched a drop of condensation slide down the counselor's water bottle, tracing a crooked path like the tear tracks she'd wiped away last night.

The condensation droplet hit the desk with a quiet *plink*. Dr. Morris cleared her throat, setting her stylus down with deliberate care. "That must be difficult," she said, though her tone suggested she already knew the depth of that difficulty. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No" Taylor said quickly, coldly.

Dr. Morris nodded. "Fair enough. Perhaps we can do so at our next session then."

Taylor stood abruptly, her skirt swirling around her knees. "Is that all?" she asked, fingers twitching toward her phone in her pocket. She needed air—needed to text Callie, needed to not be in this lavender-scented interrogation room anymore.

Dr. Morris’s stylus tapped against her tablet once—twice—before she set it aside with a deliberate motion. "For today, yes," she said, her gaze lingering on Taylor’s tense posture. "But we have a lot more to unpack. Next session, we’ll discuss coping strategies—especially with your father’s absence."

Great, she thought.

"Friday, we'll have our first group session with the others" she said as she led Taylor to the door. "I think it might really do you all some good if you sit around and talk about everything"

Taylor nodded. She thanked her and told her she'd see her on Friday.

She walked through the quiet hall, lost in her thoughts.

Taylor pushed through the school doors into the afternoon sunlight, her skin prickling with the residue of Dr. Morris’s revelations. The parking lot asphalt shimmered with mirage-like waves—too bright, too real—as she fumbled for her phone. She fumbled out a text to Kayla---*I'm done*.

Taylor looked across the parking lot, not sure how she missed the SUV before. Kayla and Jess were both outside of it, waving. She could also see Curtis behind the wheel.

She walked toward them, her skirt swirling around her knees with each step—still not quite used to how fabric moved differently now. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the asphalt, stretching Curtis's black SUV into something vaguely predatory-looking. Kayla leaned against the passenger door, idly kicking a pebble while Jess balanced on the curb like a tightrope walker, her arms outstretched.

"You look like you got hit by a bus," Kayla announced as Taylor approached. Not *How did it go?* Not *Are you okay?* Just that blunt, brutal honesty only a twin could deliver.

Taylor forced a weak smile. "I'll tell you about it when we get home?"

Kayla raised an eyebrow, like she wanted to say something but nodded instead.

Jess hopped off the curb and intercepted Taylor with an exaggerated curtsy. "Milady," she teased, gesturing toward the SUV's open door like a chauffeur. The absurdity of it punched through Taylor's lingering tension—she snorted despite herself, swatting at Jess's shoulder as she climbed in.

The SUV's air conditioning blasted Taylor's face as Curtis pulled out of the parking lot, the vents humming louder than necessary. She pressed her forehead against the cool window glass, watching the school shrink in the side mirror—Dr. Morris's words still buzzing in her skull like trapped flies.

The SUV's tires crunched over gravel as Curtis turned onto the main road, the radio humming some pop song Taylor didn't recognize. Kayla twisted in the passenger seat, studying her with that laser-focus only twins could manage.

No one said anything to her, no one asked questions.

The ride home was in relative silence. Jess waved them goodbye as the SUV drove off, Kayla promising to text her later.

When they got home, the house was empty. Their mother's leave of absence from work---the month or so long one she had taken---was over. She was back at work now, so the twins had the house to themselves.

Taylor dropped her backpack by the door with a thud that echoed through the empty house. Kayla nudged it aside with her foot—same old choreography, just different shoes now. "So," Kayla said, popping the 'o' like bubblegum, "you gonna spill or what?"

"I'm a girl" Taylor said hollowly.

"Well duh" Kayla said with a snort. "Anyone can see that."

Taylor shook her head. "No, Kay, I've always been a girl apparently."

Kayla froze mid-step, one sneaker hovering above the staircase. "Wait—what?" Her voice cracked like ice under sudden pressure.

Kayla's sneaker hit the step with a dull thud as she spun around, her ponytail whipping against her shoulder. "Hold up—what did the shrink *say* exactly?"

Taylor sank onto the bottom stair, fingers twisting in the hem of her skirt. "Dr. Morris showed me brain scans," she began, voice hollow. "You know how Jasmine is a massive ditz and everything?" Kayla nodded, Taylor sighed. "Its because Jason's brain fought against the change, it didn't want to be a girl."

Kayla sat beside her, knee bumping against Taylor's. "And yours...?"

Taylor traced the coral polish on her thumbnail—chipped from nervous picking during the session. "Mine didn't fight." She swallowed hard. "Dr. Morris said my brain was already wired for... this." Her gesture encompassed her whole body. "Like I was always supposed to be Taylor."

"I don't understand", Kayla frowned. Taylor sighed, staring at her hands.

Taylor's nails—painted coral like the sundress that started it all—tapped a uneven rhythm against her knee. "Remember when we were kids?" she asked abruptly. "That princess phase you had in third grade?"

Kayla wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, don't remind me. Glitter glue in my hair for weeks."

"You made me play the prince." Taylor's voice was oddly quiet. "Every single time."

Kayla froze, a slow realization dawning. "You... you never complained."

"You let me play the princess once" she said, remembering it like it was some lost forgotten memory.

Kayla's fingers twitched against the stair railing. "Yeah, and you wouldn't stop spinning in that stupid pink tutu Mom bought you." Her laugh died in her throat as Taylor's eyes met hers—wide and vulnerable. "Oh. Oh shit."

Taylor nodded. "I just thought it was always fun but what if...what if..."

Kayla's hands found Taylor's shoulders, her grip firm like when they were kids and Taylor would panic during thunderstorms. "You think...?"

Taylor nodded, tears streaming down her cheek. "Kayla things are starting to make sense...puberty...some of my dreams...my jealousy".

Kayla said nothing, just pulled her into her arms and held her as she cried.

Taylor's tears soaked into Kayla's shoulder, the familiar scent of her sister's strawberry shampoo mingling with the salt. Kayla held her tighter, fingers digging into the fabric of Taylor's blouse like she could physically anchor her to reality. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked louder than usual, each second stretching like taffy.

Kayla's grip loosened slightly, her breath warm against Taylor's temple. "Okay," she whispered, more to herself than to Taylor. "Okay, I need to tell you something." She pulled back just enough to meet Taylor's red-rimmed eyes, her own gaze flickering with something between fear and relief. "I was confused for a long time when I was little. I remember asking Mom why you couldn't wear the same clothes as me and she told me you were a boy, I didn't understand. I asked her why and she said that's how it was, I remember crying and throwing a tantrum."

Taylor blinked, a stray tear clinging to her lashes. "What?"

Kayla's fingers tapped an uneven rhythm against Taylor's shoulder blades—three quick beats, then two slow ones. "I used to sneak my dresses into your dresser," she admitted in a rush. "When we were seven. Mom would put them back in my closet and I'd just...move them again." Her laugh sounded wet, tears forming. "I thought if I could get you to wear them enough, you'd just...turn into my sister."

Taylor's breath hitched. The memory surfaced like a bubble from deep water—Kayla's stubborn insistence that they trade pajamas, the way she'd sulk when their mother made them change back. "I thought you just hated your purple nightgown."

Kayla snorted, swiping at her own cheeks. "It was ugly as sin, but that's not why." She hesitated, then blurted: "I thought it would look cuter on you".

Taylor groaned. "We're a mess."

The strange is, Taylor barely remembered most of it. She wouldn't tell her sister that though. If she had to guess, she probably blocked a lot of it out. She could only recall vague instances where Kayla tried to force her to dress as a girl back then. As far as she knew, it had never happened. But after leaving Dr. Morris's office, she remembered that it with the princess dress clearly. She was shocked she hadn't remembered it until then.

The grandfather clock chimed four times—too loud, too final—as Taylor pulled away from Kayla's embrace. Her sister's strawberry shampoo lingered in her nose, mixing with the salt of drying tears. She stared at Kayla's scuffed sneakers, at the frayed hem of her own skirt, anywhere but at the twin who'd just cracked her childhood wide open.

Kayla reached out, her fingers brushing Taylor's wrist. "You okay?" she asked, voice softer than Taylor had heard in years.

Taylor's laugh came out shaky, more breath than sound. "I just found out I secretly wanted to be a girl and that my sister was secretly trying to make it happen." She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, smearing mascara in a way that would've horrified her yesterday. Today, it just felt honest.

"Wish granted" Kayla said with a laugh, bumping into Taylor's shoulder with her own.

"Must have gotten lost in translation all those years" Taylor admitted.

Kayla bit her lip. "When I saw you that night, after the changes first starting happening, I thought to myself, 'What took you so long?' and I felt horrible thinking it."

Taylor bit her own lip too. "That day in the dressing room at the mall, I think I unknowingly thought the same thing too."

They hugged and had another good cry.

When their mother came home, they were sitting on the couch, watching TV and laughing.

"How did your first session go?" she asked Taylor, having been concerned all day.

"I'm a girl!" Taylor said, throwing her hands up in the air.

Both sisters laughed like it was some inside joke.

Their mother gave them a strange look but said nothing.

*******

Thursday at school things were still annoying but it was winding down some too. It got even better when she saw Sierra and her friends sitting with Jasmine at lunch. It appeared they finally decided to give up on pursuing Taylor, which made her more than thrilled. 

"Jasmine is actually a perfect fit for them" Callie commented, following Taylor's line of sight.

"Hey as long as its not me" Taylor grunted.

The rest of the day passed without incident—no ambushes by Sierra’s squad, no invasive questions from nosy classmates, no government handlers materializing in the hallway. Just the mundane rhythm of high school: the squeak of markers on whiteboards, the rustle of notebooks, the occasional snort of laughter when Mr. Henderson mispronounced "photosynthesis" for the third time. Taylor caught herself doodling coral-colored dress designs in her notebook margins, then quickly scribbled over them when Liz peeked over her shoulder with a smirk.

When the bell rang, she and Taylor got a ride home from Jess and her brother.

Later that night, found Taylor in her room. Tomorrow's date with Callie kept looping through her mind.

She pulled the coral sundress from her closet—the same one that had sparked her first moment of visceral gender euphoria. She undressed to her underwear as it was the most normal thing in the world. Seeing a girl standing there in a pale yellow bra and panties was normal now too. The fabric whispered against her skin as she slipped the dress on, the straps settling perfectly over her shoulders like they'd been waiting for her.

Taylor spun once, watching the skirt flare out just enough to brush her thighs. She caught her reflection in the full-length mirror—the way the dress hugged her waist before cascading down, how the coral brought out the pink in her cheeks. She giggled, covering her mouth with her hands before twirling again, this time adding an exaggerated curtsy that sent her hair tumbling over her shoulders.

The dress made her feel overwhelmingly girly.

She imagined Callie's reaction tomorrow—would she notice how the straps crisscrossed in the back? Would she compliment the way it matched her nail polish? Taylor bit her lip, smoothing the fabric over her hips with hands that still sometimes felt foreign but were becoming more familiar each day.

A soft knock interrupted her third twirl. Kayla leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed but expression soft. "You're gonna wear a hole in the floor," she teased, nodding at Taylor's bare feet. "Also, you're standing like a flamingo."

Taylor looked down—one knee bent, toe pointed. She hadn't even realized. "Shut up," she mumbled, but her cheeks flushed warm. Kayla's smirk widened as she stepped inside, plopping onto the bed with the ease of someone who'd claimed this territory since childhood.

"It's cute," Kayla admitted, tugging at the skirt hem. "But isn't it kinda... much for a movie date?"

Taylor shrugged. She didn't want to admit it made her feel girly but she did anyway.

Kayla rolled her eyes. "You're such a girl," she groaned, but there was affection in it. She flopped backward onto Taylor's pillows, sending a stray hair tie flying. "So. Nervous?"

"About tomorrow night?" she asked, Kayla nodded. She shrugged. "Its weird. I never really went on a date as Tyler and now, here I am in a dress, acting like the girl."

Kayla snorted. "You're not *acting*." She reached up to tug playfully at Taylor's hem. "This is you now. Deal with it."

Taylor stuck her tongue out but twirled again anyway, the skirt flaring perfectly. She paused mid-spin when she caught sight of her reflection—the way the light caught the dress's subtle shimmer, how her collarbones peeked above the neckline. Strange how familiar this felt now.

Like this had been her all along.

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