I pause for a second, watching Jenelle scurry down the hallway, head down and shoulders hunched. I wonder what squashed her earlier bravado.

A part of me is relieved that she looks deflated. But it's late. How long have she and Marcy been alone in our private room? And is there something going on between them I should know about before confessing how I feel to Marcy?

I walk through the door and into the room.

Marcy sits on the bed, slouched. When she hears me enter, she looks up. Her face transforms, her eyes expanding and mouth dropping. She stands.

"What was Jenelle doing here?" I ask.

"Oh. My. God," she says, punctuating each word, ignoring my question. "You–you look..." She lets her hands finish the sentence, waving them enthusiastically.

"I know," I say, my gaze falling to my feet. My ears burn and I rub at my shaved neck.

"Wow." Marcy steps forward, but even as she gets closer, somehow the space between us yawns.

There is a tension in the air that's never been there before. A barrier.

"Wow," she repeats. Her hand hovers forward but doesn't touch me.

Is it because of Jenelle? Or is it because of my new look?

I want to ask, but I don't know how. I don't have the words.

Harry was wrong to encourage me to finally make my move. If something is sparking between Marcy and Jenelle, maybe I'm too late. Maybe I shouldn't risk our friendship.

As usual, Marcy breaks the silence.

"How much of this is tech?" she asks, tilting her head, studying me.

"Some," I admit. "But the hair is all me. And, well"—I gesture down at the untucked collared shirt and dark jeans—"the clothes don't have any advanced technology."

I square my shoulders as Marcy's eyes scan my frame. The binder Harry gave me squeezes my ribs as the lycra smashes my breasts into some semblance of pecs. He told me that layers were my friend. And to always favor thicker fabrics and shirts with patterns. Following his advice, my chest looks flat even when I'm standing up straight, and none of that is biotech.

Straight-cut denim masculinizes my legs. Bulky sneakers give me an inch of height. Altogether, the outfit and the haircut have provided quite the transformation.

Marcy takes another step towards me and squints. She's close enough to me that I can feel her body heat.

"Your jaw looks different," she exhales the words, her breath on my neck.

"It's just a small tech enhancement. My jaw, hands, and a bit of thickness to my brows and sideburns." I tilt my head down and our eyes meet. I can't read the look she's giving me, and it makes my stomach twist. "What do you think?"

"It's amazing." Still looking in my eyes, she smiles. It's a relaxed and honest smile that shows off those teeth she's usually so self-conscious about. "You're amazing, Charlie. We've been here one day, and already... Just look at you."

After a beat, her gaze adverts. She tucks a strand of her loose, dark hair behind an ear and steps back, swiveling away from me.

"What's wrong?" I ask, wanting to move towards her but hesitating, feeling the barrier building between us.

Her smile folds away and I wish I could read her mind. Know what she's thinking.

Did something happen when Jenelle was in the room? Is that why she looked away from me? Is she feeling guilty? Is she torn? My mind spins.

"Nothing's wrong." Her eyes dart back to me, sweeping over my new appearance. "Just so much has happened in so little time."

Didn't she want me to change? To get the body that matches my mind? We've talked about my Choosing Day for years.

"Well, you've become fast friends with Jenelle in this short time." The words taste unexpectedly bitter. And by Marcy's expression, I can tell that I've caught her off guard.

"What?" she asks, brows suddenly furrowed.

"Nothing. I just mean, like, sure, I've picked up a trick or two, but Harry has really helped me. And you've been busy, too." I try to back-pedal, but I just make it worse.

"Excuse me?" she scoffs.

I don't speak. There isn't anything for me to say.

"Is this because Jenelle was leaving when you got here?"

I shrug, looking down at the floor.

"You went off with Harry for the entire afternoon. What was I supposed to do?" Marcy shakes her head, laughs, and then steps back towards the bed. "Are you jealous?"

"I–um," my response gets gummed up in my throat as heat rises to my ears.

"If anyone should be jealous, it's me. Jenelle was in here trying to help me control wearable tech. I haven't been able to muster anything. Not even for a second. But look at you." She points at me accusingly as she sits on the bed with a sigh.

Marcy isn't used to being second-best at anything. But I keep that thought to myself.

Instead, I step forward and sit down next to her.

"Maybe I just need this more than you," I say. "Like, what would you even change about yourself? You're practically perfect already."

She shakes her head. "You know that's not true."

"To me it is." I lean over and bump her knee with mine, sending an electric shock through my body. I'm filled with an unbearable craving for her touch.

She bumps my knee back, but when I look at her, there is no playfulness in her eyes. "Well, good, because I don't think I'll ever figure this tech stuff out."

"Hey." I place my hand on top of hers. "Of course you will."

She doesn't answer right away, looking down at our hands instead. Is she studying the glamor that I've created? Jealous of my tech? Or is she thinking about someone else she would rather be holding hands with?

I push the thought away.

"I barely know what I'm doing. Harry's been here for like ten years, so he knows a few things, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess," she says.

I take that as an opening. "Harry said it's all about balance. You have to picture your goal, but also figure out how to shift your energy to keep things in equilibrium. Does that make sense?"

She nods. "Jenelle said something similar...before things got weird."

I pull my hands into my lap, stomach clenching. "Weird?"

Marcy takes a deep inhale and then puffs out her cheeks as she slowly exhales. "Yeah, weird."

"How so?" I ask, even though I'm not sure I want to know the answer. Don't want the image in my head.

"She–"

"Did she hurt you?" I interrupt, unable to help myself.

"No, she just–"

"Tried to kiss you?"

God, what's wrong with me?

"No. Stop interrupting. No. She just, well..." Marcy pauses and looks back down at her hands. "She said I was beautiful."

"You are," I say, because it's true.

Maybe I'm right about Jenelle. Maybe she does feel drawn to Marcy, recognizing she was special right away. I don't quite know what to do with that knowledge.

But, Marcy didn't reciprocate. That's what's important. Right?

"It was the way she said it. Like she was expecting something in return. It was just–"

"Weird?" I complete the sentence.

Marcy nods, looking at me. "Yeah."

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I'm caught. Not frozen, because my heart is too warm and beating too quickly to be turned to ice. But I can't look away.

Harry might be right. I should let her know how I feel. Get things out in the open.

"Is it weird when I call you beautiful?" I whisper.

"No," she whispers back, our eyes still locked.

"You know," I say, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lip, "Harry thought we were dating."

Marcy bites at her bottom lip. "Oh, yeah?"

I nod. "Is that weird?"

"Why would it be?" she asks, causing my forearms to get goosebumps.

My whole body tingles. We're treading into unfamiliar territory, and I'm both nervous and giddy. Harry was right when he said Marcy and I had already risked our lives for each other. Yet this feels just as dangerous.

More dangerous.

I stall. What if I say the wrong thing? Do the wrong thing? What if I fuck up our friendship forever? It would be my fault and I would never forgive myself.

With sudden clarity, I realize what I need to ask. "Do you remember that first bonfire on the beach our freshman year?"

"I think so," Marcy says with a small laugh. "It got busted up right away, and we spent the night freezing our asses off in the dunes."

"Yes, that one," I say with a growing sense of hope. "Do you remember saying that you would have had a crush on me if I were a boy?"

We've never talked about that night. Has she thought about it as often as I have over the years?

Marcy bites her bottom lip again and her eyebrows flicker. "I do."

"Well." I sweep one hand back through my short hair. "I am a boy."

Marcy tilts her head, just enough for me to notice. "Yeah, you are."

I lean forward, one hand sliding behind her back, the other crossing over to touch her knee.

"Is this okay?" I ask.

She nods. Her eyelids blink rapidly twice and her body shivers.

Our faces have never been this close before. Noses almost touching.

I hesitate, even though her lips are so tantalizingly close.

This is the moment everything changes.