Chapter 4

Cate Fox and the Case of the Fading Magic by Emily


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Synopsis: Cate's first day of school

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I had that dream again. 


“Jack, save me,” the Emma in my dream begs.


And again, I am powerless. The more I move, the more Emma and the Slider are out of reach. If only I was a little quicker.  If only I was more aware.


I don’t understand why I am having this dream. I’ve had cases that I couldn’t solve before. Why is this case haunting me? Is it because it’s still ongoing and I’m not allowed to be a part of it? Is it because I’m grounded here? Is it because I’ve stolen Emma’s life?


I heard an alarm clock wake me up. I rolled over to see Sophia shut off her clock, turn on the light and walk around the room. I covered my head with a pillow - after I extracted a whole bunch of my hair from my mouth.


Then I felt someone bounce on the bed.


“Wake up sleepyhead,” Sophia said as she bounced on the mattress to make me bob up and down.


“Stop,” I groaned. “Sophia, please.” I wonder which comes first, me completing this case, or me shooting my annoying roommate.


“Don’t you have class soon?” she cheerfully inquired.


Maybe? Did I? I left my schedule on my nightstand. “I don’t know.” I rolled over to look at it. Therapy? At 8 a.m.? “I only have therapy. What time is it?” Then I looked at Sophia’s clock. 


“It’s 7,” she said before I could focus on the digital clock.


“It’s only 7?” Before this week, my daily routine started whenever I woke up. 8-ish. I’d shower, grab a coffee and roll into the station around 9.


“You have less than an hour to shower and get dressed.”


I didn’t answer her and instead rolled over. She disappeared for twenty minutes while I managed to drift back off to a shallow nap.


I awoke when she came back into the room and turned the overhead light on. She walked right by me with wet hair and a towel wrapped around her. Then she threw her towel on the bed to reveal pale blue panties. That got my attention. When I realized I was getting turned on, I quickly turned over and buried my head into my pillow. Get a hold of yourself, Jack. God, I haven’t been this horny since I was a teenager. That's when it occurred to me, I was a teenager again. These hormones surging through my body might get me into trouble. It also occurred to me that she might be doing this on purpose.


“Cate, I know you’re awake,” she said. “You have to get up soon.”


“In a few minutes,” I groaned into my pillow. She was doing this on purpose.


“Are you afraid to get changed in front of me?” she asked.


“Me?” I replied, lifting my head away from the pillow. “No.”


“Then let's go. Rise and shine! We’re both girls here.”


I groaned again and got out of bed. I had slept in the same clothes I wore yesterday. I kept my back to Sophia as I took off my shirt, then the jeans. Why did I keep my back to her? Was she right? Was I too timid to change in front of her?  She was right - we’re both girls - at the moment.  We’re also both former guys.  The difference is, I was clinging to my masculinity and she was not.


My uniform was hanging up next to my bed. I grabbed the blouse - I mean shirt - first. I slipped my arms through it and went to grab the first button. “The button is on the wrong side.” I muttered.


“Women’s buttons are on the left, men’s on the right.”


I was annoyed at the uniform lady. “She said shirts are shirts.” I then proceeded to button the first button. It was difficult because I wasn’t used to doing it from that side. One down. More to go.


Suddenly I felt an arm wrap around me and grab my boobs. I jolted and let out a startled gasp.


“Bra check!” Sophia gleefully sang out.


“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled. “Personal space, yo!” Now I am gonna shoot her.


“You aren’t wearing a bra.”


I turned around to confront her. My shirt wasn’t even buttoned up yet. “I don’t have to wear a bra!”


She looked down at my chest and smirked. “Oh, yes you do. That’s a white shirt.”


I crossed my arms over my chest. “I was gonna put a blazer over it.”


“Do you need help?”


“No.” I turned back around and quickly finished buttoning up the shirt - which went much easier and faster than that first button - then slid the blazer over it. I then stepped into the chinos and pulled them up over my boxers.


After I put the socks and shoes on I walked over to the shared mirror in the room and started tying my tie. It’s been a while since I tied a tie, and this one surprisingly wasn’t a clip-on. When I was satisfied with the tie, I took a step back to look at my overall appearance. 


Between my frazzled hair, the outline of my bunched up boxers and the overall disheveled nature of the uniform I just put on, I realized I was a mess. I looked nothing like the Emma I saw all put together only days ago. I also looked nothing like the boys who I saw in the quad yesterday. I saw Sophia looking at my reflection as well. “Don’t fucking say it,” I growled.


“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” Sophia said, putting her hands up defensively. She, on the other hand, was perfectly put together. She looked great, wore the same uniform she did yesterday but accented today with pale pink knee high socks and matching arm warmers.


I pushed some locks of hair behind my ears. A part of me wanted to ask for her help. She was, after all, also a former guy. But the other part of me wanted to rebel and was resigned to being a mess.


“This doesn’t have to be difficult, Cate.”


“I’m going to my first class,” I said as I rushed out of the door.


* * *


As my schedule stated, my first class was not a class at all. It was my therapy session. That was across the campus in the Sociology Building. I hated therapists. A few years ago I had to see a department-mandated shrink the first time I shot and killed someone in self defense. That sucked.


I waited in the lobby and the door opened promptly at 8. A younger woman in a button down shirt and jeans was standing in the doorway.


“You must be Cate,” the younger woman said as she led me into her office. She looked to be in her early 30’s. Maybe she's single and looking for her next ex-husband.


“That’s me,” I loudly proclaimed. “Why do you get to wear jeans?” 


She didn’t answer me. 


I took a seat on the couch. Did she want me to lie down, like my previous shrink?


“Welcome to PAA, Cate. I’m Virginia.”


“What were you before?” I asked, getting the hang of what people around here talk about.


“Before I was a therapist?” she responded. “I wanted to be a history teacher.”


“That's not what I-”


“I’m what your classmates call a ‘Normie’. I just work here. The school hired me as a counselor and therapist.”


Oh. “So, listen, Virginia. I’ve done this dog and pony show before. I saw stuff, you ask me about my parents and how it makes me feel. We part ways amicably. Let’s get this over with and I can head to class.” The quicker I get done with class, I can work on my investigation.


“Of course, Cate. I understand this can be difficult for new arrivals. I will do my best to help you get out of here as quickly as possible.”


“Great.”


“Can you start by telling me about yourself?”


“Can’t you just check the file on me? I’m sure it says a lot.”


“I’m actually more interested in hearing it from your point of view.”


I groaned. “OK. Fine. I’m 42. I got put into this body a few days ago. This is my first day in this school. I just want to go back to my body and back to my previous life. There. I should probably head to my first class. How much are you charging per minute?”


Virginia chuckled. “OK, that’s a good start. We will be doing this all semester though. Cate, I do want to emphasize that this is a safe space, and you can talk to me about anything. Including your transformation. We don’t even have to talk about your transformation if you don't want to.”


“Great!” I responded sarcastically. I leaned back onto the couch. Maybe I can get a good nap if I laid down.


“Eventually we’ll build up to heavier topics, but I like to start light. Let’s start with your roommate. You have one right?”


“Yeah.”


“Moving into a new situation can be stressful for anyone. How is she? Are you getting along?”


“She’s way too energetic.”


“You were living alone before your accident?”


“For a year.”


“What’s it like for you to suddenly have a new roommate?”


“It sucks. I wanted to sleep, but she woke me up to come here. I’d like to go back to sleep.”


“Have you roomed with a girl or woman before?”


“Does my ex-wife count?”


“Of course,” she said as she looked down to write something. “We’ll be coming back to that later. Are you getting along with your new roommate?”


“I guess. I got into an argument with her before I came here.”


“What about?”


“Because I wasn’t going to wear a bra. I’m still not.”


“Oh? What was that like?”


“The bra or the argument?”


“The argument.”


“Well, she told me I should wear a bra. I declined.”


“Why did you decline?”


“Because I was told I could be my own person. That I didn't have to wear one. Are you going to tell me to wear one too?”


“No. I’m more interested in understanding why.”


“Because I don’t want to.”


“Are you aware of the function of a bra?”


“I, um…” Nice cleavage? “Support, right?”


“Amongst other reasons. Do you know your bra size?”


“No. Isn’t that kinda personal? Can I ask you for your bra size?”


“I asked because wearing the wrong bra size can cause pain. How long have you gone since you last wore one?”


“I took Emma’s off four days ago.”


“Is Emma your body’s previous owner?”


“Current owner. It’s on loan to me. I plan to give it back to her.”


“How do your breasts feel now, compared to that first day when you did wear it?”


I was silent. I didn’t want to answer these questions anymore. These aren’t my breasts. I crossed my arms and could feel my breasts - I mean Emma’s breasts, under them. I looked around for a clock. There it is. Only four minutes have passed?


“Cate?”


“Yeah?”


“Can you answer the question?”


I was silent again. I wanted to run. “What was the question again?”


“Cate, how about a more simple question?”


“Sure,” I shrugged.


“Do you have breasts?”


What kind of question was that? Was she blind. I looked down and saw the white shirt, tie, and blazer tented up under my crossed arms. “Yes, of course.”


“You hesitated.”


“Because I’m a guy, I’m not supposed to have these.”


“Is that why you’re not wearing a bra?”


“Yes,” I blurted out. 


She was silent and was writing.


Shit. Did I just admit that? I should clarify. “Women wear bras. I’m not a woman.”


“Can we revisit the previous question? How do your breasts feel right now?”


I sat there, nervously tapping my foot. “My nipples are sore,” I admitted. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” It's true, I could feel them rub against my various shirts every time I took a step. Apparently the T-shirts I’ve been wearing aren't the softest fabric in the world. Who knew?


She took notes. “So, if you wear one, you’d be admitting you’re a woman? Or at the minimum admitting that you’re in this situation?”


Dammit, she trapped me again. “Yeah.”


“What do you think would happen if you wore one?”


I thought about that for a moment. What would happen? Maybe these nipples would stop hurting. Maybe people would stop staring. Maybe people would see me as a girl. “Nothing.”


She continued to write.


“This is where you tell me to wear one, right? That nothing will happen. I have nothing to lose.”


“Clearly you have something to lose. You’re afraid of losing your masculinity.”


“Great work, Sherlock. Can I go yet?”


“This is the second time you were afraid I was going to make you wear a bra. Do you want me to tell you to wear one?”


Again with the circular questions.


“Would you feel better if someone took that decision out of your hands?”


“Why do you always answer questions with questions?”


“I’m your therapist. I’m here to assist you in asking and answering these questions yourself. Let’s try this. Cate.” She paused to make sure she had my attention. “You’re allowed to wear bras. It’s OK. Nobody will judge you if you do. In fact, I doubt you’d judge yourself. You were put into the predicament against your will. Allow yourself to accept that.”


I rolled my eyes.


“Let’s move on, shall we? We can talk about your parents. About their decision to send you here.”


“Here we go with the parents,” I sighed. “My parents are dead.  Those were Emma’s parents.”


And thus it went like that for the rest of the time. She did however let me go 10 minutes early so I could either get to my next class early or return to my room for 5 minutes of reflection. Or sleep.


* * *


After that rather excruciating therapy session, I found myself walking back to my dorm. Her monotone, yet affirming, words ringing through my head. When I reached my room, I pulled a tan bra out of my dresser and stared at it. I’m not really going to do this am I? What about the Jack Baker streak of only removing bras?


I took off the blazer and the shirt and stood in front of the mirror topless. So this is going to be my body for a little bit longer. Staring at myself was weird as I cupped one of the breasts in my hand. 


Suddenly I heard a key enter the door and then Sophia waltzed right in. I quickly covered my breasts with my hands.


“Wow!” Sophia said, checking me out. “For someone who insists she’s a guy, you sure do cover up your boobs a lot.”


“I’m protecting this body’s owner’s privacy. She’s not around to ask her for permission.” Virginia’s words advising me to accept my situation rang through my head again. I put my hands down and let… the girls… be displayed in their full glory to Sophia.


Sophia noticed a bra dangling out of my hand. “Did you have a change of mind?”


“No,” I said, throwing the bra back into the open dresser drawer. “Neither you nor anyone can make me.”


Sophia looked at me and tilted her head then a devilish smile appeared on her face. It was different from Sophia’s normally bubbly personality, it kinda surprised me. 


“Sophia?” I quietly said, surprised at her sudden change of disposition.


“Is that what this is about, Cate?” She slowly approached me.


I wasn’t following, so I looked at her in confusion.


“You know I saw Virginia last year too. You know I was wondering to myself this morning if you had the same aversion to the bra that I did.”


“I don't know what you’re talking about.”


“Yes, you do.” Sophia came over to me and whispered into my ear. “It’s why you’ve been very vocal about resisting it. Same as me. I wanted to be forced to wear it.”


“That’s ridiculous.” I felt my face go flush from Sophia being up in my space. From the warm breath tickling my ear.


“This way you can continue to deny the femininity inside of you. You can continue to tell yourself you’re a man. No, you didn’t put a bra on. Someone forced you. Deniability.”


“That’s… ridiculous,” I said. I gulped as she walked over to the dresser and pulled the bra back out and held it up for me.


She approached me with the bra and I didn’t back away. “You can tell me at any moment to stop.” 


I was curious how this would play out so I stayed silent.


She took one of my arms and put it through the bra. I didn’t resist her. Is this what I wanted? Then the other arm. She then slid the straps up to my shoulder. She grabbed each breast and adjusted them in their cup. Her hands were cold and I flinched. This would be the second time she’s grabbed them this morning. 


I didn’t stop her as she turned me around to have access to the straps behind me. As she clasped them, I felt locked in as the straps felt snug. But the soft fabric on my nipples was a welcome sensation. 


“See,” she whispered. “That wasn’t so hard. You’re still yourself. And you can keep denying you need a bra for another day.” Without another word, her demeanor changed back to the bubbly girl, she pranced to her side of the room, exchanged one book for another, and left for class.


I stood there in silence wearing my bra. A tingling down below told me exactly why I let her put that bra on me. I clamped my legs closed as I thought of cold showers and divorce papers. Without a doubt, my new roommate was much more interesting than I had given her credit for. What else was below that bubbly exterior?


* * *


My first classes were Algebra and English Lit. Those felt like normal classes. I nearly fell asleep from boredom. Except I was now vividly aware I was wearing a bra. I could feel the straps on my shoulder and the band across my sides and back. When I would look down, the breasts appeared larger. The silver lining was, the fabric felt nice on my nipples.


Ironically, just as I started getting used to the bra, I had to go to my next class - titled “So Now You’re A Girl.” Predictably the class was full of girls. Everyone was wearing the feminine version of the uniform as well. I was the rebel with chinos.


Other classmates shot me knowing glances. I nodded and smiled in response. Yes. I’m the new girl.


The teacher, Mrs. Barnes, introduced herself to me. She was a petite woman in her 40s and was apparently a swapper. She and her wife swapped bodies during their honeymoon 15 years ago. She is also the school’s Physical Education teacher and lacrosse coach. 


Mrs. Barnes said that Mr. Barnes is a teacher at this school as well. My thoughts drifted to how crazy it was for this married couple to swap gender. What if Cheryl and I had swapped places? 


As the new girl in class, I was given a stack of pamphlets by Mrs. Barnes. I flipped through them and turned several shades of red as I saw the title of each. Hygiene, Puberty, Menstruation. 


The class topic of the week was famous suffragists of the 20th century. I had nothing to contribute to the discussion.


After class, I was stopped on my way out of the classroom. “Miss Fox,” Mrs. Barnes announced. “I have a special assignment for you.”


“Why me?” I asked.


“Because you missed the first few weeks of the semester.”


“Oh. Right. What is it?”


“Do one thing different tomorrow in your morning routine.”


“My morning routine? Like what?”


“Something new or different. New shampoo or conditioner. New brush. Something has to be different. Come to class and tell me what it was.”


“Are you telling me I stink?” I asked, sniffing my armpits. 


“I’m telling you to step outside your comfort zone, Miss Fox.”


‘Well, where do I get a conditioner?”


She shot me a very judgemental gaze. “The store, Miss Fox. Listen, I also saw you dozing off in class. Please pay attention.”


“Sorry. I’m 42 and have done school before. I really don’t want to be here.”


“Oh really?” she shot back at me. “Do you think I went to school on a football scholarship just so I could sit here and teach a bunch of new girls about their periods?”


I stood there in silence. I hadn’t expected this petite teacher to push back. I had forgotten there was a jock behind that facade. One that likely hates her situation as much as I do. Something something about judging books by their covers.


“Drink coffee. Chew gum. Do something to stay awake, please. Oh. And take a shower before you come back into my classroom.” She waved me off.


I nodded and walked out of the classroom. I’m glad that was over with. Was there a grocery store on campus?


My next class was Science. Just Science. It didn’t say which science though. The teacher was an older man. Mr. Sanders.


“Class,” he said after shutting the door. “We have a new student. Miss Fox, can you please introduce yourself?”


I heard whispers of “Foxy” around me. Maybe I should’ve thought longer about choosing a last name.


I stood up. “Hi. I’m Cate. I guess I’m a Displaced.” I sat down hoping that was good enough for Mr. Sanders.


He raised his eyebrow in curiosity. “Interesting. As I explained to your classmates at the beginning of the semester, we deal with real science here. We don't deal with magic or whatever you kids call your unfortunate predicament.”


I wanted to reply with, “my ‘unfortunate predicament’ is that some asshole magically stole my body, proving magic is real, buddy.” But instead I just smiled.


“As Arthur C. Clarke most eloquently stated, ‘Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic’. Please take your seat, Ms. Fox.”


I took my seat and Mr. Sanders started lecturing about physics. Minutes into the lecture, I was startled by a poke to my arm, then passed a note from behind me. Passing notes? Ugg. I’m going to hate being back in school. 


I turned around in my seat to see the note passer. A cute redhead smiled at me. Was she the note writer or just a messenger? I turned back around and read the note.


“Wanna hang out with the Magics today during lunch?” the note read.


This was actually a good coincidence. Ashley Tart was a Magic. I can get close to her friends. I took out a pen from my backpack and replied with “Sure,” then passed it back behind me.


“Ms. Fox,” Mr. Sanders said, pausing his lecture.


“Yeah?”


“Am I interrupting social time?”


“No, sir,” I said with a twinge of sarcasm.


* * * 


As a newcomer to this school, I didn't really know who was who, and the fact that the cliques were based on some past incident, they weren’t visually identifiable. So when I walked into the dining hall, I’m not sure who I was actually going to sit with.


Thankfully, they found me. The redhead waved at me.


I walked over to them with my lunch.


“Hey Fox,” the red head said.


“I didn’t catch your name,” I said to Red.


“Amanda.”


“Hey Fox,” another girl spoke up. “Where did you find a Body Hopper?”


“The train station,” I answered with a clever smirk.


“What did that feel like?” another girl asked.


“It felt like sliding. Like gravity slowly pulling me.”


“I thought body hopping was a myth,” Amanda contested.


“I assure you they’re real. When I catch the fucker, I’m going to make him pay.”


The girls giggled.


“What?” 


“It’s just funny to hear a cute girl like you swear like a sailor,” one of the girls explained.


I rolled my eyes at being called ‘cute’.


“What were you?” Amanda asked. “Military? Poli-”


“Firefighter,” I quickly replied, hoping to not let them guess ‘police.’


I recognized most of the table from my classes. “Are we all in the same classes?” I asked, looking around the group.


“We’re all freshmen,” Amanda answered. “This is our first year here, and we’re all in the bodies of 14 or 15-year-olds.”


“So I take it, not everyone is 14 or 15.”


“God no,” Amanda scowled. “We just look like high school freshmen. I’m 24. Jessica is 55. Sally is 32.”


“Yeah, Jessica is the old maid,” Sally added with a laugh.


“I’m not that old,” Jessica replied with a hint of indignation. “I’m just…experienced.”


“I’m 42. Do you all hang out with other Magics?” I asked. I wanted to find a way to transition into talking about Ashley Tart.


“Sometimes,” Amanda replied.


“The upperclassmen look down on freshmen,” Jessica added. “Just like every other school.”


“And here I thought this school was different,” I chuckled.  “But if everyone is all different ages why does it matter?”


“A right of passage,” Sally replied.  “Or maybe it’s because we act like we’re awkward 14 or 15. Awkward bodies. Raging hormones. Zits.”


“Stupid teenage hormones,” Jessica whined. “I thought I was over this. And here I am starting this shit all over again.”


That elicited nods from everyone.


Puberty, or second puberty in this case, was rather uncomfortable to talk about so I decided to change the subject. “So, I heard a rumor…” I began with a smile. Gossip seemed an easy way to draw them all into accepting me. I think. It has been decades since I was in high school. And the only time I was at the girls table was when I was attempting to date one.


“It wasn’t me!” Jessica said, defensively.


All eyes went to a guilt-ridden Jessica.


I actually let out a chuckle. “Actually, I was talking about the missing student.”


Silence as all of the girls looked away from me.


“We’re not supposed to talk about it,” Sally said quietly.


“Why not?”


“It ruins the image of the school,” Jessica explained. “This is supposed to be a safe space, you know.”


“So the rumor is real?” I prodded, seeing what other information I could pry from them. “When's the last time anyone saw her?”


Silence again. Shrugs.


Finally Amanda answered, “I saw her.”


“Amanda,” Sally scolded. “We’re not supposed to talk about that.”


“She deserves to know,” Amanda said defensively. “I saw her - Ashley - leave campus. She was supposed to meet a teacher at the diner. I saw her enter it.”


“Which teacher?” I asked. “What was the meeting for?”


Jessica answered, “Rumor has it, it was an affair. But every teacher denied it.”


“You didn’t see her leave?” I asked Amanda.


“I was out meeting my girlfriend. I didn’t think anything of it.”


“Your girlfriend?”


“Yeah, Amy’s dating a Normie,” Sally tattled.


“Shut up!” an embarrassed Amanda spat. “Can we please talk about something else?”


“Let's,” Jessica said, trying to calm everyone down.


And just like that, the topic moved onto less interesting things. Who’s dating who, which Science was having a party. Something about the Harvest Moon.


I was about to eat my sandwich when a hand came from behind it and grabbed it away from me.


“What the fuck!” I spat as I turned and saw Kayla standing there. I stood up to face her.


She took a bite of it. “Thanks for the sandwich, Foxy.” Then she turned and went back to her own table.


I stood there seething. What a bitch!


I turned back to the girls at the table.


“Welcome to being a freshman, Cate.” Jessica said.


“What a…” I said before stopping my sentence.


“Bitch,” Amanda finished. “You can say it. She is. She knows you’re still mentally a guy and won’t retaliate. She doesn’t do that to girls who have been girls longer who don’t have such a hangup anymore.”


“Remember, she was a guy once too,” Sally added.


I sat there and stared at my now empty tray. I stood up. “Ladies, it was good meeting you. I’m going to head to my next class.”


A chorus of “Bye,” and “It was nice meeting you, Cate,” followed me as I left the dining hall.


* * *


After my last class I returned to my dorm. Sophia was already there, sitting at her desk with an open book writing something.


“Hey, Cate,” she greeted me. “How was your first day?”


“It was fine,” I replied curtly hoping she didn’t ask for details. I didn’t want to give a play by play. I was curious if Sophia was going to bring up our last encounter. I admit a part of me wanted her to.


She didn’t, and instead focused back on the work she was doing.


I stood there for a minute, hoping she'd bring it up. Maybe, at least, she’d help me try on another bra. I finally broke the silence, “Homework?”


“Algebra,” she replied.


“Algebra? Don’t you remember algebra from your previous life?”


“I do,” she said. “This is easy. But they’re still going to grade us on it.”


I remembered Ms. Hathaway mentioned that some of the things the school did was simply to keep state accreditation. Making adult-minded students do grade school academics is likely one of those. I climbed up onto my bed and checked the cellphone. There was a message from Max. Finally.


“No update,” was his update. I sighed and laid down. 


“Any leads? How about Emma? Did you find that boy from Pittsburgh?” I replied, then placed the cellphone back on my nightstand.


At least I have another case to keep my mind busy. Knowing that Ashley Tart was last seen in town - combined with Mrs. Barnes telling me to go shopping - gave me my next step.


I turned my head to Sophia. A day ago I would’ve been reluctant to ask her for advice.  Now the masochistic side of myself was actually eager to spend some more time with her. While I wanted to avoid the bubbly side of her, I wanted to see that other side of her again. “So Mrs. Barnes gave me a homework assignment. I need to buy shampoo and conditioner. Is there a store on campus?”


“Not for those kinds of things,” she said without taking her attention away from her homework. “We have to go off campus. To the grocery store or pharmacy in town.”


“Into town? We don’t have a car.”


“You don’t need a car. Just past the gate is downtown Weatherford.”


“Oh.”


“Want me to go with you?” She looked up with a smile on her face.


How do I want to play this? I could say “No” and hope she insists. Or I could say “Yes” and signal to her she’s started to wear down my hardened facade. “No, I think I can handle the grocery store.”


Sophia closed the math book and stood up. “Good thing there’s a school policy saying underclassmen can’t leave campus alone. Let’s go.” She grabbed her purse, walked across the room, and opened the door for me.


Clearly, I overthought that exchange. I chuckled and followed her out the door. 


As we walked out of the dorm and through the quad I ran through the shopping list in my head. Shampoo. Conditioner. Information about Ashley Tart.



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Emily

Hi, I'm Emily and I'm writing Gender Transformation Fiction! This site is a place for me to keep all of my stories in one place. I'm also a software developer in the daytime, so this site will also be a proving ground of cool new features that pop into my head. Feel free to message me on Twitter or at my Discord Server! You can also find me on TGStorytime.com and FictionMania.tv.

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