Mark Lansing never wanted to stand out. He was perfectly happy disappearing into a football huddle with the rest of the team until one play made him the talk of the town. Thrust into a spotlight he never wanted, every choice can reshape his future, and every decision could transform him in ways he never believed possible. Mark’s destiny will be determined on the field … assuming he can figure out how to dress the part.

Chapter 10

Mark wasn't one to make grandiose boasts like some of the guys in the locker room. He always tried his best to never make a claim that wasn't true. That said, based on what he'd seen, Mark was fairly certain he was bigger than most. At least he was…

"Oh my god … oh my god … oh my god."

Fog from the shower had clouded the mirror, but it wasn't so foggy he couldn't see. Mark wiped a hand across the glass anyway, hoping a clearer view might change the result.

Maybe it was the cold. Perhaps it was the viewing angle.

A distant voice shouted, "Mark! Are you up? Your breakfast is almost ready."

"Yeah Mom!" Mark jumped in the shower.

He got dressed without looking. The bra slipped into place with ease. The rest of his clothes felt wrong.

Mark forced himself to look in the mirror. Nothing had changed. At least, nothing he could see. He wished he felt that way.

"Is everything okay?"

Mark looked down as he shoveled food into his mouth. "Why? Don't I look okay?"

"I don't know." His mom gave him a curious stare. "You seem different."

Mark blushed. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." A knowing grin grew on his Mom's face. "We were gone all weekend. I know Emily stayed Saturday night."

"Mom…"

His mom smiled. "I'm just saying … be careful. It wasn't that long ago I was a teenager. I remember what can happen."

"I know, Mom. Dad gave me the speech last night." Mark muttered the next part just loud enough for her to hear. "And not that it's any of your business, but Emily is saving herself for marriage."

With that, Mark jumped up from the table, leaving a half a plate of food behind. Mom would tell Dad. At least he could report to Emily her honor had been restored.

His mom shouted as Mark ran into the hallway. "You need to eat more than that. You're a growing boy."

"Ugghhhh." If she only knew. "Love you."

"Love you too."

Emily pulled into the driveway just as he exited the house. They gave each other an air hug when they got close. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." The lie sat heavy as he spoke. "Why do you ask?"

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

"It's my mom … she's being nosy." Images of the bathroom flashed in Mark's mind. Maybe it was his imagination, and maybe it was the curse, but one thing was certain. He wasn't about to tell his girlfriend about a loss of manhood.

"You need to relax. You look amazing." Emily's words only made Mark feel worse. "I wish I could kiss you."

"Me too." Mark stared at Emily's blouse and skirt combo. Shifting thoughts flitted through his head and looking at her face only made the feeling worse. "Are you wearing makeup?"

Emily said, "You said you liked it when I wore a dress and put on makeup."

"I did… I mean I do." Mark nodded. "It looks really good. Seeing you like that makes it hard not to kiss you, babe."

"Babe? Are we doing nicknames now?"

"Sorry. It just came out."

"Let's not." Emily pointed at her car. "Are you ready to go?"

"Uh … I can't." Mark looked up the street.

"You can't?"

"Jeffrey will be here soon." Mark's hand brushed his crotch before he caught himself and shoved his hands in his pockets instead. "I appreciate you stopping by to check on me. Seeing you always makes me feel better."

"You're welcome." Emily didn't bother with a goodbye air kiss. She put her car in reverse without saying a word, backing out faster than normal before lurching to a stop as she threw it into drive.

Mark shouted, "See you at school."

Emily's tires squealed as she sped off down the residential street.

Mark didn't have to wait long for Jeffrey. His best friend showed up right at 7:10 AM sharp. Mark hopped in the car like he'd done every day for the past two years.

Jeffrey smiled. "Wow. Mark Lansing waiting for me when I arrive? Will wonders never cease?"

"Shut up."

Jeffrey asked, "You get a new haircut?"

"Yeah. It was Emily's idea."

"Nice." Jeffrey flashed the grin that made most girls go crazy. "You're starting to learn, bro. You gotta give in on some things if you want to get that pussy. You ready?"

Jeffrey's voice made Mark's heart beat a little faster. "Yeah. Let's get out of here."

Mark tried not to look at his friend. Jeffrey pulled away from the curb, already talking before they'd cleared the driveway.

"We spent an hour after the dance taking pictures for the school newspaper." Jeffrey shook his head. "Being Homecoming King is basically a part-time job."

"Tragic."

"It is tragic. You know I don't like that stuff."

"You like it more than you want to admit."

Jeffrey laughed, "Yeah, maybe a little." His friend glanced over. "You doing okay, bro? You look kinda pale."

"I'm fine." Mark's voice came out higher than he meant it to. He cleared his throat and tried again, lower this time. "Didn't sleep great."

"Emily keep you up?" Jeffrey waggled his eyebrows.

"Shut up." Jeffrey would never believe what was keeping him up. Not that Mark would ever tell him.

"I'm just saying, I'm here if you need some pointers…"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine, fine." Jeffrey said, holding a hand up in surrender. He cranked the radio when he heard a familiar sounding pop song and Mark joined in when Jeffrey started singing. It didn't matter neither of them knew the words. For a second it was just the two of them riding to school, the same way they'd done every morning for the last two years.

But as the voice of the girl singing rose, Jeffrey’s voice cracked as he tried to match her pitch. Mark continued on, his voice reaching new heights until he realized what he’d done and slapped the power button.

"Why'd you turn off the radio?" Jeffrey asked.

Mark stared out the window. "I don't like that song."

Jeffrey shrugged and went back to telling another Homecoming Court story, this one about Gina's argument with another girl about the Homecoming Dance's color scheme. Mark nodded along but didn't dare speak, afraid of what might come out of his mouth.

Chapter 11

Mark did his best to look inconspicuous as he entered the school. Being overlooked had never been a problem for him in the past, but there was no hiding today.

A group of juniors waited by the school's trophy case.

"Nice catch, butterfingers."

Tim Miller laughed with the other juniors. He was good-looking, arrogant, had rich parents, and a nice car. He'd rule the school next year but for now was a backup wide receiver who was never shy about sharing his feelings.

"Ball was right there, but look at those hands. Those dainty little things can't catch a cold."

Mark shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked past the group. The attention continued as he made his way down the hall. A pair of sophomores whispered as he passed the drinking fountain. Others didn't bother to hide their stares, which was even worse.

"…shoulda caught it."

Similar murmurs came from students making their way through the hall. Mark knew it was pointless to fight back. They were right. He should have caught it.

Mark's fingers fumbled with his locker, missing the correct combination a couple of times as groups of haters passed behind him. As Emily suggested, he tried his best to avoid direct contact with girls but there was no avoiding them completely. Thankfully, October's cold winds meant more coats and fewer sleeveless shirts than roamed the school in August.

It did little to stop the rising nausea in his chest. Thankfully the teacher in his first class didn’t schedule a pop quiz so Mark buried his head in a book and didn't look up the entire hour. He used the same strategy for all his morning classes.

"Think fast."

No girl dared to sit at the football lunch table. It wasn't like they weren't allowed. A couple of girls had tried it over the years, girlfriends mostly, but between belches, semi-offensive jokes, and a conversation mainly centered on sports, it wasn't long before they decided to sit elsewhere.
The lunchroom had over a dozen rows, all full of tables, but the entire school knew the middle three rows mattered most. The football team took the table closest to the serving line exit, claimed by right as de facto kings of the school. The cheerleaders and their friends took the table to their left, close enough to be a part of the team, but not so close as to be grossed out. The rich kids took the table on the other side, a sign of respect for their killer parties.

Emily sat with the field hockey team at a side table.

Mark avoided sitting with Jeffrey today. He sat at the end, hoping no one would notice. He almost didn't see the roll thrown at his head until it was too late. He got a hand on it, but the hard roll, covered in something slimy, hit his hands and bounced off, landing on his tray.

"Nice catch, butterfingers."

Only a few people laughed as Mark wiped the mess off his hand. The roll sitting on his plate had a thick coating of butter.
He knew the culprit, even without seeing who threw it. "Very funny, Tim."

Tim smiled from the other end of the table, holding up another roll. Mark could see most of the team turning red, all of them holding their breath. "Does anyone have something to say?"

The entire team burst into laughter.

Mark said, "Assholes."

He shook his head. Miller hadn't been shy about telling everyone since summer camp that he should start at wide receiver. Mark knew Tim's hands weren't as good as his, and he also knew Tim wasn't as fast. Tim did have a 6'3" frame, long arms, and the chiseled looks usually associated with football players. Tim never shut up either.

Tim said, "Geeze, Mark. Can't take a joke, bro?"

Mark looked down the table filled with some of the hottest guys at the school. The one thing you couldn't do in this group was show weakness, or they'd eat you alive. "Too soon."

Vince said, "Did you think we wouldn't say something? The whole town is talking about it, dude."

Mark nodded. "I'm on social media."

Jeffrey looked up from his plate. "Hey, Vince. Do you want to talk about that block you missed in the third quarter? My back is still sore."

"Not really, dude." Vince laughed. "I'm not looking forward to seeing that in film study. Coach is going to bust my ass today. I heard State is looking to recruit that Rockford defensive end."

Jeffrey said, "Yeah? Well, he's got some good tape sitting on top of me."

Mark shook his head. He'd forgotten about film review. Maybe Coach would be nice and not go over his play. Yeah… right. Coach Denny wasn't about being nice.

Mark looked over to Emily's table. The girls seemed to be having fun. For a brief moment he thought he'd caught Emily's eye, but she turned away.

"Mark Lansing, report to the office…"

"Mark’s in trouble… Mark’s in trouble…"

Lunch had almost ended when the announcement sounded over the school’s speaker system. The table full of football players reverted to a third-grade mentality and continued to chant Mark’s name as he moved towards the door.

Mark hadn’t said much while he ate. His nausea had turned into a headache over the course of the morning. His headache was pounding enough now that Mark was glad to go to the principal’s office. Anything to keep him away from groups of other people and also out of class. Only three more to go.

Jeffrey whispered as Mark passed, "What’d you do?"

Mark shook his head. "I have no idea."

The walk to the principal’s office didn’t take long. A chubby secretary sat at the front desk.

"You called for me over the loudspeaker?"

The secretary didn’t bother to look up from her computer screen. She pointed toward the vice principal’s office. Mark found a youngish-looking woman sitting behind the desk. He’d seen her around the school but only knew her by reputation.

She stood as he entered. "Mr. Mark Lansing. I’ve heard a lot about you."

Mark gulped. He’d never been called to the principal’s office before. The placard on the desk read: Deidre Ryan – Vice Principal. On the wall was a degree from State University in secondary education. Books filled the shelf behind her desk, along with a bunch of trophies.

Mark didn’t know her except by the nickname everyone used on social media, Robo-dyke.

"Sit down."

She waited for him to sit before speaking further. "I got a disturbing report this morning. Do you want to explain what happened?"

Miss Ryan got to the point so fast that Mark did a double take. "I don’t know what you’ve heard." A thousand possibilities ran through his mind, but he couldn’t think of anything a principal might have heard.

"Nothing you want to confess?" Miss Ryan didn’t look happy. She waited a few moments more before speaking again. "The janitor found an awful mess in the boys’ bathroom Saturday night. Reports say you were seen running inside just before it happened." Miss Ryan resumed her silence.

"Oh… yeah." Mark had forgotten. "I don’t know what you heard…" He wasn’t sure how to explain. "I drank some punch. I didn’t feel good. I threw up."

Miss Ryan said, "Did you spike the punch?"

Mark’s voice rose an octave. "I didn’t spike the punch. I swear. I felt sick most of the day."

Miss Ryan asked, "So you admit getting sick in the school bathroom, not telling anyone, and leaving the dried mess for the janitor to clean up?"

Mark thought for a second. Coach Denny always insisted his players respond with honesty and accountability. "Yes, ma’am. I am guilty of that."

"Well, I’ll give you points for not lying." Miss Ryan smiled. "But it’s not good either. What do you think would be a fitting punishment?"

"I don’t know." Mark wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say. "Do you want me to clean toilets?"

Miss Ryan smiled. "That’s an interesting offer, Mr. Lansing, and while I’m sure Mr. Roberts would appreciate the help, unfortunately the school board would deem that punishment cruel and unusual. You do deserve detention, but I’m feeling generous since you didn’t lie. How are you feeling today?"

"Me? Feeling?" Mark hadn’t expected the question. "I … uhh … think I caught something over the weekend … still not … feeling myself."

"I bet." Miss Ryan nodded. "Friday’s game was a tough loss for the whole town. I’ve seen some of the posts on social media. Have you gotten any threatening messages that make you feel unsafe and would like me to intervene?"

Mark shook his head. "I haven’t opened any DMs since Friday."

"Probably for the best." She smiled. "I’ll let you off with a warning this time."

"Really?" Mark saw Miss Ryan nod. "Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am."

Miss Ryan smiled. "I get my share of grief on social media too. Do your best to ignore it. They’ll get bored eventually."

Mark nodded again and again. "Yes, ma’am."

Miss Ryan said, "I understand if you went a little overboard Saturday, but let’s not make partying a habit. It appears you aren’t good at it. Okay?"

"Yes, ma’am." Mark hadn’t had any alcohol to drink, but knew when to keep quiet. "Understood."

Miss Ryan pursed her lips. "Is there anything else wrong with you, Mr. Lansing? Are you having girlfriend troubles? Did you have a fight with your parents? Is a teacher riding you extra hard?"

Mark answered. "No, ma’am."

Miss Ryan stared. "I usually have a sixth sense about these things. Something seems off about you. Do you need to see the nurse or talk to a counselor?"

Mark thought a second before answering. He surely needed help, but a vice principal was the last person he’d tell.
"I’m fine, ma’am."

"Good to know. Remember, the school prides itself on its staff of guidance counselors so don’t hesitate to see one of them if the angry masses get to you.” Miss Ryan’s face softened. “I don’t condone the things people have said to you on social media, and… well… I wish I could do more. I fear my direct involvement would only make things worse."

Mark said, "It’s fine, Miss Ryan. I swear I’m okay."

Miss Ryan’s face returned to its normal stern demeanor. "OK. I don’t want to hear of another repeat of Saturday night, Mr. Lansing. Do you understand?"

Mark said, "Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am."

Miss Ryan gave him a slight smile. "Don’t be too hasty to thank me. I get the feeling there’s something you aren’t telling me. I’m going to keep an eye on you."

Jeffrey asked, "Robo-dyke let you out of detention?"

"Yeah."

"You lucky dog! She never does that."

Stevens was standing nearby. "So it was Lansing who barfed all over the gym bathroom Saturday night?"

Miller said, "That was some foul-smelling puke, man."

Mark tried to smile. His headache felt a little better after he left the principal’s office. "When you have to puke, you have to puke."

But his nausea had never gone away and now felt worse. Thankfully, Mondays were light workout days. No helmet. No shoulder pads. Mark’s eyes darted from one guy to another. As usual, all of them were in various states of undress. He’d grown used to seeing them a long time ago, which is why it took him by complete surprise when he felt the twitch between his legs.

"Shit."

"You okay, Lansing?"

"Yeah." Perhaps a positive sign. He had to check. Besides, there was no way he could undress in front of the team in his current state. "Gotta go."

"Where are you headed, Lansing?"

Mark said, "Uhh … gotta take a piss. You got a problem with that, Miller?"

"Hell no. Just try not to puke all over this bathroom."

Mark wished he could puke. He’d gone to the bathroom a couple of times that afternoon and stuck his finger down his throat, but couldn’t make himself get sick. Now his hands were shaking, and the headache was returning. He double-checked the lock on the stall door.

Mark let his pants fall to his knees, and his disappointment was immediate. His penis stood full mast, yet well short of normal.
One hand, his now smaller hand, more than encompassed it. If he were home, he’d take care of the problem in no time, but the last thing he needed today was for one of the guys to walk in and hear him rubbing one out.

Sweat poured from his body, hot flashes and cold chills taking alternating turns in his roiling stomach. Mark pulled the sweatshirt off, revealing the bra. Sweat covered the area, trapped under layers of fabric. He pulled off the bra, the sudden chill bringing instant relief. The cool bathroom air felt nice on his nipples.

He’d heard girls complain about how uncomfortable it was to wear a bra all day. Now he knew what they meant. There was a kinship in that, an understanding he never expected to share.

This must be what it feels like for girls when they take off their bras. It felt nice.

The cold hit at once, starting in his extremities and paralyzing Mark from head to toe. The feeling centered itself, moving up his body. He remembered feeling the same thing on the dance floor, in the girls’ bathroom, and in the backseat of Emily’s car.

Mark wanted to fight, but knew it was no use. The cold moved up past his waist and down his neck. It came to rest in the center of his chest, freezing the whole area solid. The change happened in less than a second.

"Oh fuck, no."

Mark grabbed himself with both hands. Gone were a boy’s pecs, replaced by the real thing. They weren’t big. He doubted anyone would notice with the sweatshirt on, but the roundness would be unmistakable in a form-fitting top. He had tits.

A voice called out. "Everything okay?"

Mark choked back a tear. "Uhh … yeah."

He closed his eyes and pressed down on the flesh. A flash flared from the area, the pain so great he would have fallen if not already seated.

"Dammit."

Mark fought the feeling, pulling the straps over his shoulders, the now ill-fitting bra squishing the area flat with pain so great he found it hard to take a breath. Only when he put on a looser t-shirt and then his practice jersey did Mark feel comfortable stepping outside the stall.

He stared in the mirror for a long time.

A different voice shouted down the hall. "You okay in there, Mark?"

"Yeah…"

"Coach is wondering if you’re planning to join us at film study."

Shit. He doubted Coach had put it so nicely. Mark turned to take a last look in the mirror. Maybe the guys wouldn’t notice. He had two options -- face the team or sneak out of practice. Neither option was ideal. He looked down and saw he’d forgotten to put on shorts. On a positive note, at least his hard-on was gone.

The game film was running when Mark entered the room, Coach Denny called out in the darkness.

"What were you thinking on that block, Vince?"

"That defensive end is going to State."

"I expect results, not excuses."

"Yes, sir."

Mark sat near the back. Jeffrey sat in the front of the room next to Coach Denny.

As if on cue, Coach Denny barked, "Was that Lansing I saw skulking in late?"

Mark shouted. "Back here, coach."

"Afraid to face the music?"

"No, sir, coach."

Coach said, "I wouldn't blame you if you did. Half the town wants to string you up for dropping that ball. Luckily for you, the other half wants to string me up for calling that play." A couple of players laughed, but most remained quiet. An eerie silence fell over the room.

"Might as well get it over with. You ready, Lansing?"

A flickering light cast the image on the screen. Eleven guys broke the huddle. Mark focused on his image.

Coach shouted out, "Good snap. Great fake. Decent blocking except… what the hell was that, Vince?"

"I expected him to go inside, and he bull-rushed to the outside."

"You gotta keep your feet, son. Simmons barely got the throw off."

Mark wasn't listening. He saw his fake and then the release. He'd done everything perfectly. He watched the ball floating… floating… floating… Half the players on the team made mistakes on the play, but his was the most obvious.

He watched as the ball hit the ground.

"What the hell happened, Lansing?"

Mark said, "Can't explain it, coach. I dropped it."

"I saw that. Good route. Poor execution. You know how we get better?"

Mark spoke without thinking. The whole team did. Coach had drilled all of them to be of one mind since they were freshmen. All sixty-five guys answered with one voice. "We practice, sir."

"We're practicing in full pads today, gentlemen. Linemen with Coach Stanton. Backs and wide receivers with me. Everyone on the twenties in five minutes. Don't be late."

Coach had a rule. If you win, Mondays were film study and walkthrough in shorts. If you lost… well… it was better not to lose.
Mark was the first player to the 20-yard line, but everything felt off. The front plate of the shoulder pads hurt like hell as it pressed down on his chest, but that wasn't the biggest problem. He'd done a couple of stretches hoping to rid himself of the nausea, but that didn't work either. He thought about stopping by the bathroom to try to force himself to puke, but didn't need to visit that place again.

The team hadn't run gassers since two-a-day practices in August. The concept was simple. You start on the 20-yard line and run to the 30-yard line. You touch the line at the 30-yard line and run back to the 10-yard line. You repeat the process there, then run to the 40-yard line. Once that's done, it's an all-out sprint the other way to cross the end zone. The distance was 100 yards in total, but after you've done a few, it began to feel like a mile. Back in August, Coach liked to make them run gassers until the first player puked. It rarely took long.

"Hut!"

The entire team sprinted from the line as a group. Coach had one rule. No lagging. Mark always finished first when they ran this drill, but something felt off after the first step. He almost fell when he touched the 30. Miller had a clear lead at the second touch, and Cutler had him after the third. Mark tried to make up the ground on the final stretch, but his legs wouldn't move any faster. He finished in the middle of the pack.

"Poor effort, Lansing. Go again. Hut. Hut."

The team sprinted from the line as a group. Mark did his best to find a rhythm, but the harder he tried, the worse it got. Both Miller and Cutler were ahead by the first touch. Mark stretched out his strides as best as he could, but it wasn't enough to keep him from finishing near the back.

Mark fell to his knees as soon as he crossed the finish line. This time he had no problem throwing up.

Coach shouted. "Puking again, Lansing? Don't think I haven't heard about Saturday night."

The whole team laughed as Mark tried to catch his breath. Everyone was staring at him when he looked up, which made it worse. His lungs. His arms. His legs. Everything hurt, but it wasn't just that. The roiling in his stomach moved up his throat again. Mark barely bent over before the rest of his lunch came out in a hurling mass.

The team's laughter grew even louder. No one on the team had puked after two gassers since the start of camp in July. Mark looked up to see the coach had a frown on his face.

"Let's work the passing tree. Everyone line up."

Mark could scarcely breathe, but that was the point of doing this drill after gassers. First they tire you out, then they force you to think.
Mark let Miller take the first spot in line.

Coach Denny called out the route. "Curl."

Mark watched Miller drive his legs out of his stance and cut ten yards downfield. The younger boy had made it clear all year he thought he should be the starting wide receiver. He caught the ball in stride and took a few strides upfield before turning around and tossing the ball back to the quarterback.

Mark could see Coach Denny staring at him. This was a test. He expected him to respond. Mark toed the line.

Coach Denny called out the route. "Sluggo."

Mark nodded. Of course. Giving the man the benefit of the doubt, Mark figured Coach Denny was doing this because he expected Mark to redeem himself. Mark had always responded in the past.

He burst out of his stance, pretending to bait the imaginary defender to the inside, then gave a half-step and then a stutter-step before bursting the other way. He'd done this a thousand times before.

Only this wasn't like a thousand times before. Subtle changes over the past few days caused him to stumble. Thankfully, Jeffrey threw a soft pass. It should have been an easy catch. Or it would have been if he still had hands made for catching.

Mark watched the nightmarish sequence unfold as the ball hit his hands and bounced high into the air and seemed to hang there. Just like Friday night, Mark dove for the ball as it flew out of reach. Again, like Friday night, he landed flat on his chest with a thud. Unlike Friday night, Mark's swollen chest was not designed for that kind of impact.

Both boobs took the full brunt of the blow. Mark found it impossible to stop his scream.

"Catch the god-damned ball, Lansing!"

Mark couldn't move. Even the thought of moving brought more pain. For a brief second, the inability to move made him fear this might be something else. He fought back the panic until he realized he wasn't cold.

"Get back in line, Lansing."

Mark couldn't move. As he lay there, the coach called out the next play and the team played around him. It took a minute before Mark felt able to stand. He stood to the side and watched his teammates continue the drill. He wanted to join in, but knew further efforts would be just as futile.

"Get off my practice field, Lansing. Go get yourself checked out by Doc Glenn."

The coach didn't even look in his direction as Mark walked away. It felt like betrayal. Mark had always known Coach Denny was a hardass. He'd seen him treat others like shit, but never expected it would happen to him as long as he gave full effort. He knew Coach wanted Mark to fight back. He wanted Mark to push through the pain.

But he couldn't. He'd had enough for one day, and the last thing Mark needed was for Doc Glenn to check out his chest.

Chapter 12

Groups of girls with sticks chased a little ball up and down the field. Mark saw Emily standing on the side of the field nearest the opponent's goal. Mark saw her look up to the bleacher a couple of times, but she didn't react when he waved.

A voice sounded from behind. "I didn't know you were a fan of field hockey, Mr. Lansing."

"I'm not." Mark turned to see a tall woman standing behind him. "Miss Ryan? What are you doing here?"

"I'm the field hockey coach. Are you here to bother my girls?"

Shit. He should have known that. Emily had mentioned Coach Ryan a thousand times, but somehow he hadn't put two and two together.

Mark said, "I'm dating Emily Cawthorn," as if that explained his presence.

Miss Ryan asked, "Shouldn't you be with the football team?"

"Yeah." Mark felt his face grow red. "Coach threw me out of practice." That wasn't exactly true, but it was true enough.

Miss Ryan laughed. "That sounds like Coach Denny." She thought for a bit. "You are welcome to join us down on the sideline if you want to get a closer look at your girlfriend in action."

Mark knew his face was now beet red. "That's okay. I'm good sitting back here."

Miss Ryan smiled as she headed toward the field. "Your loss. Emily is quite skilled. She's one of my best."

"I know." Only because Emily had told him.

Mark watched the girls move up and down the field for a little while before he grew bored. He spent most of the time looking at his phone.

A voice shouted from the sidelines and got closer. "Wow, ladies. We should feel blessed today. Do you see that a big, strong football player has come to watch us? We should feel honored."

Mark shook his head. "Really, Gwen?"

One of the girls asked, "Are you looking for Emily?"

Mark nodded.

Another girl answered, "She headed to the shower."

Mark said, "Oh."

A third girl asked, "Is she still pissed at him about Friday night?"

Gwen smiled. "Nah. He's done something else dumb."

Mark looked at Gwen for answers, but she just continued to smile. Not wanting to have this conversation with a bunch of nosy girls, Mark turned and tried to jog to the locker room, but only made it a few steps before needing to slow to a walk.

Mark stood in the hallway for a long time. Half the team exited before Emily appeared. She didn't say a word as she walked past him.

"Emily?"

"What do you want?"

"Can I get a ride?"

"Are you sure you don't want to catch a ride from Jeffrey?"

Mark shook his head. "I need your help."

Emily said, "Oh, now you want my help? That's bold."

"What did I do wrong?"

Emily frowned. "You are so clueless. And you stink."

"I didn't take a shower. I couldn't risk going into the locker room."

"Oh?" Emily paused, her eyes narrowing. "What happened?"

"I… uhh…" A couple more girls exited the gym locker room, laughing at the couple's raised voices. "I can't explain it here."

Emily shook her head. "Fine. Follow me."

It was starting to feel almost normal showing his breasts to Emily.

"Those are almost an A-cup. You say it happened in the boys' bathroom?"

Mark nodded. At least Emily wasn't teasing him, though he suspected the fact he'd spent the last five minutes sobbing had something to do with it.

"There weren't any girls around? You know, like what happened with me and Fiona."

Mark said, "The girls' locker rooms are on the other side of the gym."

"Yeah. And rally girls sneak into the football bathroom all the time."

"You know about that?"

"Everyone knows about that." Emily gave him a derisive look. "Your chest didn't change all by itself. You had to do something."

Mark knew what Emily must be thinking, but it wasn't true. "I didn't touch another girl. I swear! I had to change for practice but didn't feel comfortable doing it in front of everyone else." That wasn't the only reason, but Emily didn't need to know the details. "It happened after I took off the training bra."

"It happened AFTER you took off the bra?"

"Yeah." Mark saw Emily staring at him and realized he was caressing his chest.

Emily said, "Stop playing with your tits."

Mark moved his arms to his side. "Will you stop saying I have tits?"

Emily appeared unphased by his request. "We need to get you a new bra. Do you think Missy might have something that would fit?"

Mark shook his head. "I'm not wearing Missy's bra."

"Your sister isn't coming back until Thanksgiving. She won't care." Mark could see Emily was in a mood. "How big is your sister?"

Mark said, "Big? What do you mean big?"

Emily shook her head. "Don't be stupid, Mark. Does she have lemon-sized tits? Or are they more like a pear or an apple? Possibly an orange? Or a grapefruit? Maybe a cantaloupe?"

Emily's words came out so fast that Mark had trouble keeping up. "She's an orange, I think. I never really looked. I think it would be weird if I did."

Emily was already through the bathroom door before Mark could stop her.

"Emily!"

He heard the other bathroom door open that connected between their two bedrooms. "Missy's not back for six weeks. She'll never know."
Mark ran into his sister Missy's room, but stumbled as soon as he entered. It felt like a force. A desire he couldn't explain. He found refuge sitting at her dressing table.

Emily said, "You need to find something to wear before we go to Fiona's. Growing breasts hurt, and you've had a year's growth in two days. That's bound to hurt more. You need to wear a bra."

Mark shook his head. "I'm not wearing one of my sister's bras."

"It's either that or a department store. It's your call."

"I'm not going to a mall."

Emily was elbow-deep in his sister's dresser, tossing bras aside one by one. "Your sister has, like, zero practical options here. They're all built for someone with an actual chest. Are you sure you don't want to go to the mall?"

"No way."

Emily held up another one, shook her head, and tossed it onto the reject pile on the bed. "You could get away with a compression bra, the seamless kind."

"What does that mean?"

"It's like a training bra, but with a little extra room."

She abandoned the dresser and moved to the closet. "Your sister's gotta have something simpler in here. It doesn't look like she ever throws anything away."

"You know Missy."

"Yeah. I remember Missy. Maybe she still has something from, like, eighth grade." Emily emerged holding something plain and stretchy, no padding, and no wire. "Try this. You don't need much structure."

Mark held the fabric. The bra was made of a Lycra and polyester blend to give it shape. "It doesn't have a clasp. How do I put it on?"
"It's a sports bra. You pull it on like a t-shirt."

Mark turned the bra around. "These things are a lot more complicated than I realized."

Emily laughed. "You do know there are entire stores devoted to bras."

Mark pulled it over his head and let it settle into place. He felt no digging, no pinch at his back, just even pressure.

"Better?"

Mark didn't want to agree, but his smile spoke for him. "…yeah, actually."

Emily held up another bra, a similar style, but this one looked shinier and colored pink. "You seem to be getting the hang of this."

Mark opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

Emily was right. Between his crying, trying on bras, and Emily's discussion of finer points of bra construction the two of them were in the middle of a girl-talk. He and Emily were having a girl-talk. And considering the whirlwind of the last few days, Mark appreciated her support.

The thought had barely formed before his body began to freeze. "Oh shit… it's happening again." He repeated one idea. “Not the chest… not the chest… not the chest.”

The cold started on his extremities before covering every inch of his skin. It stopped at his chest for the briefest of moments before moving up his neck.

Emily stared at Mark's chest. "Your breasts didn't change."

Mark shouted. "It stopped further up."

“I see now.” Emily nodded. "Your face changed."

"It did?" A close look in the mirror showed subtle changes. His brow looked softer, and he had a slight puffiness around the lips. His nose looked a bit trimmer, his cheekbones a bit fuller, and something happened around his eyes, though he couldn't say for sure. "Is it noticeable?"

"You look… kinda hot."

Mark stared in the mirror, turning side to side. "You think so?" He had to admit there was something extra in the image staring back.
"It's kind of like… yeah." Emily nodded. "You almost look like one of those Hollywood pretty boy action hero types."

"Me?" Mark laughed. "An action hero?"

"I like it."

"Do you think anyone at school will notice?" Mark saw Emily hadn't taken her eyes off him.

"Oh, they'll notice." Emily didn’t stop looking. "You look good. You’re lucky I'm not the jealous type. When you get compliments, tell them I got you started on a new skin care routine."

Mark continued to stare in the mirror. He'd never been a narcissist, but he'd never been much to look at. "You're right. It does look better."

"No time for vanity, Casanova. We're supposed to meet Fiona soon. Do you want to go there now?"

"I know I need to get out of this room."

"Sounds good."

Mark hurried out of his sister's room, pulling against the feeling of something calling him back. "None of this makes sense, Emily. That's the second change I had without touching someone. I think whatever is happening is affecting my mind too."

"Your mind?" Emily looked surprised.

Mark blushed. "Something happened to me in the locker room. I had a reaction."

Emily turned around. "What kind of reaction?"

"It doesn't matter." Mark closed his eyes.

"It does matter, or you wouldn't have brought it up." Emily's eyes drifted to Mark's chest. "You need to be honest with me."

"I…" Mark shook his head.

"Mark…" Emily looked sincere. "Tell me."

Mark sighed. "I got excited when I saw the barely-clothed guys in the locker room. I had to get out of there before anyone noticed."

"You got excited by a room full of guys?" Emily's face looked more understanding than Mark expected. "Have you ever been attracted to guys in the past?"

"No." Mark responded, a little more aggressively than he intended. "Can we talk about something else?"

Emily didn't say anything for a few moments before changing the subject. "What happened in the locker room bathroom?"

"I'm not sure. I got hot and I took off my shirt. It felt good to take the bra off."

"Maybe that's it." Emily nodded. "You've had experiences guys will never understand. You felt like a girl."

"You think?" Mark looked down at his chest.

Emily shrugged. "We need to tell Fiona."

The silence in the car grew heavier the further they drove. Mark watched Emily's hands on the wheel, the same hands that twenty minutes ago had been sorting through his sister's dresser like it was nothing. Now she wouldn't look at him.

He decided to clear the air. "Gwen told me you’re mad at me. Did I do something stupid?"

Emily shook her head. "Don't worry about it."

"Please tell me. I want to avoid doing it again."

"It's not a big deal." Emily paused but didn't stop talking. "It's just… after this weekend, I thought you'd want to ride to school with me. I thought maybe you'd call Jeffrey and tell him I was giving you a ride. It's stupid. I was being a silly girl. I hate it when I get like that."

Mark nodded. "That's not stupid. I'm stupid. You've been great to me. You spent the whole weekend with me. I should have realized." He took a deep breath. He and Emily hadn't been dating long enough to have many deep conversations. Their childhood friendship made it too easy to take her for granted.

"Jeffrey is my oldest friend. He's taken me to school ever since he got his license. It's kind of our thing, but I'm dating you. I wasn't thinking."

"It's not a big deal. I'm being petty." Emily sighed. "It's just… we don't have any classes together. You don't sit with me at lunch. You don't come to my games…"

"I came to today's practice."

"Only because you needed a ride." Mark could see Emily had given this a lot of thought. "You spend most of your free time with Jeffrey…"

"He's my best friend."

Emily nodded. "We used to be best friends too."

"That was a long time ago." Mark shrugged. "We were kids."

"I know. And I hate sounding like one of those jealous girls. Like I said… it's stupid."

Mark shook his head. "It's not stupid if it bothers you. Thanks for telling me."

*** BEEP BEEP ***

Mark looked at his phone and saw Jeffrey's name. "Speak of the devil. I should take this."

"Want me to pull over to give you two some privacy?"

"Nah." Mark shook his head as he answered the phone. "What's up?"

Jeffrey shouted, "What's up with you? You ditched practice. Coach is not happy."

"Sorry. I wasn't feeling good. Emily gave me a ride home."

"You should have told someone." Jeffrey sounded concerned. "Things got weird. Coach threw his clipboard when he found out you'd left. Everyone's talking about it."

"Yeah?"

"I calmed him down." Jeffrey said, "You doing okay, bro?"

Mark put his hand on Emily's pant leg. "Yeah. I'm okay."

Jeffrey said, "OK, cool, dude. Just know I'm here if you need me."

Mark said, "Thanks, bro. I appreciate that."

"Cool."

"Cool."

The cell line went dead.

Mark looked at Emily. "That was Jeffrey."

Emily smiled. "I wish I could kiss you right now."

"Me too." Mark said the words and tried to feel something more when he looked at Emily. "How long until we get to Fiona's?"

Emily said, "Almost there."

Mark pulled off his sweatshirt, leaving him wearing only the sports bra. "Let's get it over with."

Chapter 13

The sign on the door said ‘Closed’ when they arrived. A mature-looking woman opened the door as they approached.

She spoke with a stiff tone. "You’re early."

Emily said, "Sorry. Some things have happened, and we need to speak with Fiona."

"Fiona’s not here.”

“Oh.” Emily said, “Are you the person she called to help us?”

“I am.” The woman looked at Emily and Mark, then motioned towards the door. "My name is Bridget."

The pair hurried inside.

Bridget focused her attention on Mark. "You did quite a number on Fiona."

Mark said, "I did?"

The older woman nodded. "I’ve spent the afternoon casting cleansing spells on her."

Emily asked, "Is she okay?"

"She’s home resting." Bridget pointed to the curtain. "But we have work to do. I’m almost ready."

Mark saw the table had been moved out of the center of the room and various symbols had been drawn on the floor. Bridget got on her hands and knees and began retracing the lines.

Bridget spoke without looking up. "Fiona said she thinks you crowd-sourced a spell last Friday night?"

Mark nodded. "We think so, but I didn’t notice it until Saturday."

Bridget asked, "What did you notice?"

Mark looked over at Emily. She’d taken a seat along the edge of the room. "I’m … uhh … not sure… how to explain …"

Emily said, "My boyfriend is turning into a girl."

Bridget’s face didn’t react, though Mark got the feeling she wasn’t happy with Emily’s interruption. "Fiona told me that much. I am curious about how Mark would describe it."

"I’ve … uhh … yeah … got a couple of girl parts." Mark moved a hand to touch his boob, his finger pressing down on the bra.
Bridget said, "We aren’t seeing much development, so that’s good."

Mark felt his chest. "It feels like a lot to me."

Bridget smiled at Mark, "My working theory is you’re under the influence of Maiden’s Delight."

"That doesn’t sound like a curse."

Bridget nodded. "That’s because it’s not supposed to be a curse. It’s an ancient spell, but one modern witches aren’t supposed to cast. It raises too many questions." Bridget stood tall, assuming a teacher’s stance. "In olden days, Maiden’s Delight was one of my kind’s best moneymakers. Many lords sought out witches to cast it on their daughters just after achieving womanhood."

That didn’t sound good. "But I’m a boy…"

Bridget gave Mark a look of annoyance. "I know that. The spellcast should be an impossibility, which is why I responded so quickly."

"That doesn’t sound good."

Bridget used a piece of chalk to go back over the lines she’d drawn on the floor. "Have you experienced any changes since you left here yesterday?"

Mark looked at his hands and touched his hair. "A couple."

"What do you feel when the change happens?"

"It’s hard to explain. I feel a cold breeze and I can’t move. Then the change happens."

"Yeah.” Bridget nodded. “That’s a textbook description of Maiden’s Delight."

Mark shook his head. "I don’t understand. None of this makes sense."

Bridget nodded. "Fiona surmised the town cast it on you at the end of Friday night’s game, but Maiden’s Delight is a powerful spell. It normally takes reagents and weeks of preparation. The amount of negative energy needed to cast it is off the charts."

“It doesn’t make sense. I dropped one pass. I’m a nobody.” Mark shook his head. "I play football in the fall and run track in the spring. I go to class, I keep my mouth shut, and play video games after school. I don’t go to weekend parties. I can count the number of dates I’ve had on one hand."

Emily squeezed Mark’s hand. Mark returned an apologetic shrug.

Bridget nodded. "Fiona said as much."

Bridget pointed to the floor. "These are protection runes. It’s protection for both you and me. We don’t want a repeat of what happened between you and Fiona."

“Is she okay?”

“She’s resting.” Bridget returned what Mark assumed was supposed to be a comforting smile. "Back in olden times, young women sought out Maiden’s Delight to improve their bodies in the manner of their choosing. Usually this was done by pressing their flesh against the body part of a woman they wished to emulate. In moments, the area would feel cold, and a slight change would happen."

“Slight?”

“Maiden’s Delight can only make incremental changes. The last thing a young woman would want is a sudden massive change that could invite an accusation of witchcraft. So the spell induces a change, then waits for the young woman’s blessing before making another change. For most girls, it would happen over a period of months or even years.”

“Years?” Mark repeated, his brain doing its best to process the information.

“Don’t worry. That’s why I’m here.” Bridget spoke in a soothing voice, “Fiona said the first changes happened when you touched your girlfriend.”

Mark looked at Emily. "Yeah. It’s happened a couple of times."

"How many?"

"At least three times. Maybe four. I’m not really sure."

Bridget nodded. "Can I assume your chest was the first thing that changed?"

“Why would you assume that?”

"Because you’re a guy." Bridget gave Emily a knowing smile. “What else changed?”

Mark looked at Emily, his voice cracking as he spoke. "My face, my hands, my voice, and my…" He paused for a second. “... chest.”

Bridget asked, "Have you felt ill effects?"

Mark nodded. "I’ve felt nauseous all day. I threw up once."

“That’s not surprising.” Bridget nodded. "Your body isn’t used to carrying magical energy, but you’ve been pulling power from girls since Friday and that’s what is allowing the spell to make the changes.” Bridget turned to Emily. "What does it feel like when he touches you?"

Emily shrugged. "I get a little sleepy."

Bridget asked, "What about you, Mark?"

Mark sighed. "It’s hard to describe. The first time I noticed it, it was like the hair on my arm stood on end." Mark looked at his arm. "I pulled away when I saw Emily’s eyes roll back in her head."

Bridget wrote a few more notes before standing up. "OK. I’ve got what I need. Stand in one of the circles."

Bridget pointed to the design she’d drawn. Inside the circle were three smaller circles, and inside the smaller circles she’d drawn a triangle. Each triangle intersected, so it formed an equilateral triangle at the center.

"Does it matter which one?"

“No.” Bridget pointed at Emily. "You too."

Emily pointed at herself. "You want me in the circle?"

“The spell I’m casting needs three in the trinity. I’d use Fiona, but it’s best if she and Mark don’t interact right now.”

Emily asked, "Do I need to do anything?"

"No. Just stand there. I’ll tell you what to do."

Bridget held out her hand and took Mark’s right hand in a firm grasp. "One thing at a time." She pointed for Emily to take Mark’s other hand.

"Does anyone feel any tingling? Any power draw?"

Mark closed his eyes and concentrated on his hands. "Nothing so far."

"That’s good. That means the circle is working."

Mark saw Bridget’s mouth moving, but heard no sound. Lines on the chalk began to glow as Bridget began to shout. This time Mark heard her voice, but the words were in a language he didn’t understand. Bridget repeated them over and over.

Mark waited to feel the pull of energy, but none came. It would be a lie to say he didn’t feel a little disappointed. Soon, Bridget’s words turned to English.

"Blind their eyes to what they see.
As body shifts and flesh breaks free.
Cast the veil in quiet grace.
None who know shall see a trace."

Bridget turned to Mark. "Say the words with me."
Mark joined the chant.

"Blind every eye to what they see.
As body shifts and flesh breaks free.
Cast the veil in quiet grace.
None who know shall see a trace."

"Now you, Emily." Emily joined in, the entire group repeating the words several times. Mark sensed power rising beneath him. On the third time through the verse, energy spikes rose from the middle of the circle, then dove towards Mark in a flash of light.

He woke up on the floor.

Emily stood above him. "Are you okay?"

He looked around the room. He saw Bridget standing near the back wall.

"How long was I out?"

Emily offered a hand. "A couple seconds. Can you move?"

"Yeah." Mark pulled himself to his feet. A search with his hands found no changes. "It didn’t work."

Emily looked across the room. "Bridget said it worked."

Mark felt himself with both hands. "But I still have …"

Bridget smiled. "After what happened to Fiona, I’ve decided to let the spell run its course and fix the damage once it’s finished."

"Run its course?!" Mark exclaimed. "You’re supposed to fix me now!"

"I cast Impression Morph. It’s an illusion spell. It’s a simple spell and creates a reality morph. No one will notice any changes to your body except those of us in the spell circle."

Mark said, "But I need to stop the changes."

Bridget said, "Maiden’s Delight is controlled by you. Your thoughts and actions are the cause of the change."

"I can’t play football like this." Mark touched his breast. "The championship game is this Friday."

Bridget said, "I’m sorry, Mark. I can’t interfere any more than I’ve already done. My elders were clear in their instructions. I’m here to minimize publicity of this incident, and my spell has done that. We’ll clean up the rest when the spell ends."

"When the spell ends? When will that be?"

“If the words you heard are correct, I suspect the spell will last until Friday night’s football game.”

“I don’t want to wear a dress.”

Bridget answered simply, "Then don’t wear a dress."

Mark looked at Emily. "What do you think?"

Emily said, "Don’t worry, babe. We’ll get through this together."

Mark squeezed Emily’s hand. "You’re calling me babe now?"

“Maybe.” Emily gave Mark a goofy grin. “Umm … Bridget? Did I hear right? You said the spell can’t make any changes while we’re inside this circle.”

Bridget nodded. “That’s true.”

Emily’s grin grew bigger as she pulled Mark closer.

It took Mark a second to understand Emily's intentions. “Oh.”

Their lips met in the middle of the circle. Mark and Emily kissed over and over, until the need to breathe pulled them apart.
Bridget gave an annoyed sigh in the distance. "Are you two done fooling around? I’ve got a sick acolyte who needs my attention."
Mark pulled himself off Emily. He’d totally forgotten about Fiona. "Are you sure she’s going to be okay?"

“She’ll be fine.” Bridget said, the sound of her voice growing more irritated with every word. “We should plan to meet here every night this week at 7 p.m. We’ll compare notes then.”

Mark asked, "Compare notes?"

Bridget shook her head in annoyance. "I’m going to do some digging around town. Try not to react if you see me."

"I’ll do my best."

Chapter 14

Emily said, "I think Bridget’s illusion spell is working."

“You don’t know that.” Mark had replaced his baggy sweatshirt with one of Emily’s tight t-shirts. They’d driven around town for the last half hour trying to see if anyone reacted. "These people can’t see me through the car window."

Emily said, "Guy’s eyes reflexively turn when they see breasts, even small breasts."

“They aren’t that small.” They felt huge to Mark. He wanted to look but didn’t dare.

Emily said, "I told you we need to do a real test. You don’t want to walk into school tomorrow and find out it’s not working then."

“I know.” Mark agreed. "What do you have in mind?"

"I have two ideas. Plan A. We go to Brickhouse Burgers. It’s near the high school and we’re bound to see people we know."

"No way. What’s Plan B?"

"We go home and see your parents. Can you imagine what your Dad would say if you showed up wearing a bra?"

Mark shook his head even harder, "There’s no way I’m using my Dad as a test case."

"Then it’s Brickhouse unless you have a better idea."

Mark shook his head. He was all out of ideas.

Gladys smiled at the pair as soon as they entered the restaurant. "Hello Marky. Are you and Emily on a date?"

Mark felt his cheeks blush. "Glady’s has been serving me cheeseburgers since I was this tall. She still thinks I’m a little kid." Mark held his hand about three feet off the ground.

Gladys cackled with glee. "Do you want a booth today? It’ll be a little more private."

Mark nodded, "Yeah. A booth would be great."

Gladys didn’t set down a menu. "Does the lady know what she wants?"

Emily grinned. "I’ll have whatever little Marky is getting."

Mark blushed.

Gladys spoke from memory. "Two Brickhouse Deluxe Cheeseburger platters it is. Do you want a side of onion rings?"

Mark shook his head. "Not tonight, Gladys."

Gladys smiled. "I’ll be right back with your Mountain Dews."

"I told you."

Mark said, "You didn’t know for sure it would work."

"We know now."

He’d known Gladys for over ten years and she hadn’t said a thing. They’d seen three groups of kids from their high school inside Brickhouse Burgers. Not one looked at the tiny curves pressing out from Mark’s shirt.

Hearing Emily’s gloat was almost more than he could bear.

Emily asked, "Do you have any ideas what you’re going to do for practice tomorrow?"

Mark shrugged. "I have no idea. The training bra was a disaster at today’s practice. Maybe things will go better with the sports bra.” Mark touched his breasts. “At least we know the spell will hide them."

"They’ll notice something if you keep touching yourself." Emily reached for Mark’s hand, but he pulled away.

"They still hurt. You wouldn’t believe the pain when I landed on them."

Emily gave Mark a look. “You think I don’t know how much that hurts?”

“It’s no kick in the balls.” Mark knew it was ridiculous to argue over something so silly but he couldn’t help himself.

Emily shot back, “Did landing on your chest made you feel like a girl?”

“Yeah…” Mark tried to stop his words. “… wait …” then paused, waiting for the inevitable chill.

Emily stared. “No change?”

Mark waited a full ten seconds before speaking. “No change.” Then paused. “Hey! You did that on purpose.”

“Sorry.” Emily smiled, “It was a test. You’ve been talking about boobs all night and only have that single change. I thought maybe similar girlie thoughts won’t change you.”

“You should have warned me.”

Emily smiled, "Have I told you how much I like your pretty face?"

Mark smiled at his face in the rearview mirror. "Jeffrey liked the way you styled my hair." A surge of energy shot through him when he thought of Jeffrey.

Emily nodded. "You need to stop thinking like a girl."

Mark said, "That won’t be a problem."

Emily smiled. "Your face lit up when you mentioned Jeffrey’s name."

“Shut up. It did not.”

Emily didn’t say a word as she continued to drive.

Mark had Emily drop him off at the park.

The place looked different in fading light than it had when he'd visited on Saturday morning. No kids played on swing sets. The basketball court sat empty. The few joggers and cyclists seemed determined to get their workouts in before the gates closed at dusk. Everyone hurried but the shapes lingering in the corners. Mark didn't bother looking at them. Looking made them real.

He walked the well worn path deeper into the park, each step causing more weight to fall from his shoulders. A sign beckoned towards a brick building with two doors. Each door had a picture.

• The left door: A stick figure with a round head, broad shoulders, and slender body.
• The right door: The same head, narrower shoulders, and a triangle shaped dress.

A look showed the path empty. No one would ever know.

He hadn’t meant to come here. This was the lie he told himself before moving off the path and pulling the handle.

Mark wasn't surprised when he felt the tendrils of change.

A high-pitched voice asked, “Are you okay?” A young woman stood at the sink, watching him in the mirror's reflection.

"I … " Mark's voice cracked. "I'm sorry. I picked the wrong bathroom."

The young woman shook her head and pointed at the mirror. "No, you didn't."

He stared into the mirror and saw Missy staring back.

Mark woke with a gasp, drenched in a cold sweat.

---

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