I squint at Harry, still groggy, my brain trying to catch up. "What?"

"Get dressed and come with me. I'll explain on the way."

I glance back at Marcy, who stirs in the bed. With a nod, I close the door and quickly get ready, my mind abuzz with possibilities.

What does Harry have in store for me? Does it have something to do with his plan?

I get dressed in the dark and tiptoe towards the door, wondering if Harry has a pen so I can leave a note for Marcy. But before I reach it, Marcy turns over.

"Where are you going?" she asks, her voice husky with sleep.

"I didn't mean to wake you." I kiss the top of her head, not sure what to say. Not sure what I'm allowed to say. "I, um, am just going for a walk."

I hate lying. But this is more of a half-truth than an outright lie, right?

"Where?" She squints her eyes, confused.

I glance around the dark room, trying to think of a plausible excuse. Something innocuous. My eyes land on a half-full water bottle. "Looking for a snack. Be back soon, okay?"

"Mmm," she mumbles and turns over, believing me. Going back to sleep.

When she wakes up, is she going to freak-out that I'm still gone? Should I have told her that I was going with Harry?

I swallow away my doubt as I move to the door and shut it behind me. Harry, who's leaning against the wall, pushes himself back up.

"Let's go," he says, starting to walk.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, hoping the words don't sound too rude.

"You'll see," Harry says with a smirk.

I don't know how to interpret his smile. Is he going to tell me more about his plan? Tell me more about what he's thinking? Has he figured out more since we spoke yesterday?

"Is this about the plan?" I push.

"Shh." Harry shoots me a look. Then he holds up one finger and motions around towards the ceiling and walls. "Someone could overhear."

I nod, chastened, but still curious. Why did I leave Marcy? Why did I lie to her? Will it be worth it?

Harry leads me down a hallway to a service elevator I'd never seen before. He presses a button labeled SB3 and after the door closes, the elevator begins a slow descent.

My mind flips through a deck full of possibilities.

I'm not ready to act.

Don't know enough.

When the elevator doors slide open, my gut reflexively clinches. It's like we've been transported to the Choosing Day center.

We are greeted by rows of green-vinyl cushioned chairs. Bright linoleum floors reflect the beaming fluorescent lights above. A clock ticks away above an empty nurse's station.

Looking at me, Harry lets out a small chuckle. "Don't worry, we're still in the compound. We just, um, acquired these chairs from a truck that had been headed to the city."

I nod and step forward, still feeling a buzz of anticipation in my stomach as I look around. It's just so eerily familiar.

"What is this place?" I ask. "Can you please tell me what we're doing?"

"This is the compound's clinic," Harry explains.

"Where is everyone?" I glance around at the empty chairs.

"Well, it doesn't open for a few hours, but you're such a natural with the wearable tech that I was able to pull a few strings." He steps behind the nurse's desk and sits in the office chair. "Policy is that you need to wait at least a month before getting any advanced tech, but you're ready. You're a natural."

"Advanced tech?" The words pique my interest, but confusion lingers. "What kind of tech?" I ask, my curiosity growing.

"The good stuff," Harry answers mysteriously. Then he presses a button on the side of the monitor and clicks on a keyboard. "You don't need to keep this a secret, but do me a favor and don't brag about it. Christopher and Sequoia don't like it when the rules are bent."

"Do you work here?" I ask. But as soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel dumb. Of course he works here.

"I think I'd get in trouble for doing this if I didn't work here," he says with a chuckle. "When I'm not working as an orderly at the Choosing Day Center, I put in some hours working with patients here."

"Wait. Are you a doctor?" I ask.

"He wishes," someone behind me says.

I swivel around to find a skinny woman with a blond bun. Her face looks familiar, but it takes me a second to place it.

The Choosing Day Center.

This was the orderly who told me to run.

"You saved my life," I say.

She smiles, revealing pearly white teeth. "Based on the story I heard, sounds like you saved yourself."

My ears burn. "I wouldn't have gotten far without that card."

"My name is Amelia," she says. "Nice to officially meet you."

"Amelia is, in fact, a doctor," Harry says as he steps out from behind the nurse's station.

"And I won't let Harry forget it." She laughs. "Let's head back to the exam room."

We walk down a hallway and past a row of doors. At one, she stops, turns the handle, and enters.

The room has all the expected features: a sink, drawers, a desk, some chairs, an exam table. But it also has what appears to be a large, blue metal cabinet with a medium-sized color screen.

Neither Harry nor Amelia gives the odd machine any extra attention as they both take seats near the desk.

Amelia logs onto a workstation and Harry indicates I should sit down with them.

"Remember our conversation in the barber shop?" Harry asks as Amelia pulls something up on her workstation. "About transformation?"

"Of course," I say, looking down at my hands. The wearable tech is still masculinizing them.

"Well, Amelia is going to help your body transform itself," Harry says. "Just how your body transformed itself from a child to an adult."

"Puberty," I mutter, disgust in my voice.

"You know," Amelia says, her eyes still trained on the screen, "back in the day some transgender people literally injected themselves with hormones to kick-start a second puberty."

"Trans-what?" I ask, baffled.

"People like us," Harry explains. "People whose bodies don't match their mind."

I've never heard the word before. But having a name—a label—puts me in a group. A community of people with the same struggles.

"And what do you mean by 'back in the day'?" I ask. There is so much that I don't know.

Harry raises his eyes and smiles. "You didn't think you were the first person ever to be born like this, did you?"

"Well–" The word catches in my mouth. I hadn't ever thought about it before.

I must have a ridiculous look on my face—eyebrows furrowed, lips pinched—because Harry laughs. But then he reaches out and puts a firm hand on my knee.

"There have always been people like us," Harry says, his voice suddenly soft, tinted with an edge of seriousness. "Our history is sometimes hidden. Erased. But this is not a new phenomenon." He points to his chest.

"And," Amelia interjects, "people have been using medicine to transition for hundreds of years. This technology is new. But the science isn't."

I don't know what to say. How to respond. So, I just sit with it for a moment and look around the room. My eyes land on the large blue mystery in the corner.

"What technology do we use now?" I ask.

"Well, it's twofold here," Harry answers. "The first, and most important–"

"–But also the most complicated and longest to take effect," Amelia cuts in.

Harry nods, then continues, "Is gene-hacking."

"Like what the city uses to cure diseases?" I ask. How can they cure me of being born female?

"Same technology, yes," Amelia agrees.

"But a different application," Harry adds. "Gene-hacking changes your actual DNA. The programming of your cells. Your biological systems."

"So," Amelia says, gesturing towards me, "your body will slowly re-develop itself to be male. At least, in terms of genetics and hormone production."

I look down at my hands. The illusion of hair and wider nail beds.

When I ran, it was because Harry told me that the city found it easier to change my mind instead of my body. Is that because changing my body will be such a long process? And our Choosing Day promises to be an instant transformation?

After a moment of letting the information sink in, Harry continues, "Changing your DNA won't do everything. Hormones are powerful, and you will grow hair, gain muscle, and get a lower voice. But hormones create change. They don't take it away, if that makes sense."

I nod slowly, but I don't fully understand.

When I don't say anything, Amelia speaks, "Hormones won't shrink your breasts, for instance. But the second tool we have is surgery. We have trained surgeons who can help shape your body the way it was meant to be. And nanobots, obviously, speed up the healing process."

"Surgery?" I ask, my voice tinged with excitement. They don't need to explain that to me. The city uses surgeries with nanobot healing technology as part of the Choosing Day procedure. Depending on what you want changed, obviously.

Or, rather, what the city allows you to change.

I shake the bitterness from my thoughts.

"Is that the opening in the clinic this morning? Are we going to go through options? I'd like a stronger jaw line, and—"

"No, no," Harry stops me. "We only have one surgeon, and they are booked out. You'll be stuck in that binder for a bit longer. Amelia, however, can start hacking your genes."

I take a breath. Not letting myself be disappointed. This is still huge. More than the city would have ever done for me.

"Besides," Harry continues, "doing so many major changes all at once would be too taxing on the body's immune system. We want to minimize complications."

"That makes sense," I say, even though I still wish that my transformation could be instantaneous.

I was raised believing that I'd get everything I wanted on my Choosing Day.

But every day here, it becomes more and more apparent how little I know.

"Okay," Amelia says, swiveling on her chair and pulling open a drawer. "To get started, you will need to spit in this tube."

I stare, incredulous. But Harry nods, his eyebrows raised encouragingly.

Knowing it's not a quick fix but a journey, I clear my throat and gather up the saliva in my mouth.

When I'm done, Amelia puts on a pair of latex gloves and takes the tube. She pushes it through an opening in the large blue machine, causing the screen to light up.

"Here goes nothing," she says, pressing a series of buttons.

Harry nudges me as swirls of letters spin across the screen in a jumble of information. "That's your DNA. The code that makes you you."

I don't know what to say, so I just watch.

After a few minutes, the screen flashes green, and the machine whirls. A humming fills my ears.

"Almost done," Amelia says. "Get ready to roll up your sleeve."

Right on cue, the machine stops and a small door on the side opens, revealing a line of syringes.

"It's an injection?" I ask.

"One a week for four weeks," Amelia answers as she rips open an alcohol packet. "And then you just need to wait for your body to do its thing."

"How long?" I ask as I shrug out of my button-up shirt and pull on the sleeve of my undershirt.

"Only a few years," Amelia says, pinching a bit of my skin and quickly jabbing into my upper arm.

"But the wait is worth it," Harry assures me.

As Amelia presses down on the syringe, the cold liquid enters my body, and I imagine all my cells slowly being reprogrammed.