Becoming Hers Page 3

  “Oh my God! Tom! Where are you? I’m already here waiting for you! Ahhh, I’m so excited to see you!”

  I could already picture her in my mind’s eye, smiling and bouncing from foot to foot as she always did when she was being exuberant. I’d always said that she was the best cheerleader someone could ever ask for, and I was glad to hear that all these years in the Rotten Apple hadn’t taken away that girlish excitement from her.

  But then I froze. What could I possibly say? That I had suddenly turned into a woman? I apparently didn’t realize how long I’d spent silently puzzling because then she was talking again.

  “Hello? Tom? Can you hear me? I think you might have some bad reception.”

  Finally, I mustered up enough courage to make my mouth let out actual words. “I need help.”

  I heard the concern enter her tone instantly. “Uh, hello? Who is this?”

  “It’s Tom, Lyla.”

  “You don’t sound like Tom.”

  “I know. But it’s me. I promise. I need your help. I’m scared.”

  “Scared? Why? Are you hurt? You sound really weird and this is kind of freaking me out.”

  “I’m freaked out too. Like really freaked out. I’m in the women’s bathroom right outside of where you exit security. Please come and get me.”

  “Why are you in the women’s bathroom? What’s going on?”

  I shook my head, unable to fathom how I could possibly verbally get my situation across without her thinking I was somehow trying to trick her. “You’ll see when you get here. Just hurry, please.”

  I hung up and picked up all of my things, hauling the whole mess into a bathroom stall so that I could at least hide behind that flimsy partition and feel a little bit protected while I waited for my friend to come. As I slid into the stall, I caught another glimpse of myself in the mirror.

  Red faced, panicked, and most definitely a woman.

  What the hell was going on?!

  Chapter 3

  “Uh, hello?”

  The sound of Lyla’s voice drifting across the stalls snapped me away from my nervous habit of chewing of my nails, which hadn’t changed a bit despite the fact that they were now covered in a shiny, colorful layer of polish.

  “Tom? Are you in here?” Lyla called again.

  I was grateful that this bathroom didn’t seem to be used very much, probably because most people were smart enough to do their business before leaving security. It would have been so much worse to have to explain myself to Lyla with curious onlookers listening in.

  I opened the stall door cautiously and stepped out, my head down so I wouldn’t have to see her shocked expression, and waited for her to say something. This was going to be humiliating.

  I heard a slight gasp, and Lyla’s footsteps came to a sudden stop.

  “Tom?” she asked hesitantly. “That’s not really you, is it?” Then she gave a small, nervous laugh. “Of course it’s not. Funny joke, lady. Where’s Tom?”

  I raised my head slowly and met her eyes. The sight of her took my breath away and set my heart to pounding all over again, for completely different reasons this time. For a moment, I could almost forget exactly what was going on as I drank every inch of her in.

  Lyla was still just as gorgeous and witchy as ever—in the best way possible. She was wearing a fitted black romper with several pretty chains around her neck, some of them with feathers attached and some with moons. Her hair was a long, beautiful combination of dyed blue, purple, and green, while her make-up was just sparkly enough to be eye grabbing but not over the top.

  She was taller than I remembered, but then my eyes flicked down to the rainbow metallic platforms that she was wearing, easily boosting her by three inches. She was wearing pastel stockings that shouldn’t have gone with any of her outfits, but somehow, they seemed to complete her entire look. My old feelings for her surged up again, reignited in her living, breathing presence, and I had to take a moment to get a handle on things and remind myself that I had more pressing problems than lusting after the friend I’d never be able to actually be with.

  “It is me,” I answered, realizing that I’d let the silence go on for far too long. I really needed to stop doing that if I wanted to seem in full control of my mental faculties—although the jury was still out on if I actually was crazy or not. “Look, I know this is weird, but—”

  “What was my shower curtain in college?”

  “Wait, what?” I blinked at her, startled by her sudden and adamant question.

  “My shower curtain. What was it? It was very distinct.”

  “Well, it depends on which one you mean. Freshman year you had a unicorn that was shooting out a rainbow, but some drunk girl tore it off the hooks when she fell at a party your roommates threw. Then it was a pretty butterfly one, but when it got hot, it would turn red like blood was pouring down it.”

  College Lyla had had some interesting tastes. It was part of her charm.

  “Do I have a birthmark?”

  “No,” I replied, warming up to her little friend-test game. “But you do have a burn scar that everyone thinks is a birthmark from when your Mom accidentally burned you while you were making crepes together on Mother’s Day.”

  “Which underwear do I prefer? Thong or bikini?”

  “Trick question,” I answered quickly. “You think that most underwear is uncomfortable and swear by commando in almost every situation.”

  “Oh my God, it is you!”

  Suddenly she was running up to me and throwing her arms around my shoulders. Her body was so pleasantly soft and squishy against mine that for a moment I was too shocked to move, but then my arms wrapped around her too, and I held her tightly.

  “I don’t know how this happened to me,” I whispered into her hair, feeling so relieved and reassured by Lyla’s presence that I almost wanted to cry. She smelled like lavender and vanilla, and I remembered how she almost always burned one of those two candles back in college. “But I’m freaking out.”

  “I don’t blame you,” she said. Then she slowly pulled away to look me over. “Holy crap. You really are a woman. How is this possible?”

  “I don’t know. This can’t be real, right?”

  “I hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure I’m real and you’re right in front of me, so…”

  “Dammit.”

  She took my hand in hers, gently squeezing, and I was struck by how similar in size our hands were now. I remembered back in college I would occasionally palm her face as a joke. That wasn’t going to work anymore.

  “I’m not gonna pretend that I understand what’s going on, but all I know is that this is what it is, and since it’s happening, you’re going to need my help more than ever,” Lyla continued in her no-nonsense tone of voice. “Right now, for all intents and purposes, you’re a girl. Surprising, sure, but nothing that we can’t deal with. How about we head back to my place as planned and we figure this out together somewhere a little more private?”

  I nodded, feeling a ton of tension roll off of me. At least I wasn’t alone with the bizarre circumstances I had woken up into. I was with my best friend, and I knew that Lyla would have my back no matter what. It was a great feeling after so much panicking.

  Never letting go of my hand, she pushed the handle into my rolling luggage and then slung the strap over her shoulder. With one more reassuring nod in my direction, she pulled me out of the bathroom and back into the airport.

  As Lyla marched me through the outer JFK terminal toward the ground transportation area, I felt like every eye in the airport was lingering on me. I was sure that men and women both were staring at me, even though no one ever actually was when I turned my head to check. Was I just being paranoid? Or were people checking me out? It was impossible for them to know how uncomfortable I felt moving around in this strange new body, wasn’t it? Then again, my day had turned into a whole lot of impossible, so who knew what was in my imagination and what was real?

  I tried my
best to just focus on Lyla’s pretty back as we moved through the mild crowds, but my mind kept picking up on all the slight differences I was experiencing that were throwing it for a loop.

  For example, my balance felt… different. While I wasn’t a very clumsy person, I’d always felt like my body was guided from my chest. But now, I felt rooted to the earth, like my center of gravity had moved down to my hips.

  And oh, my hips.

  They moved differently. There was this sway to them as they tried to get around thicker thighs, and I could hear them rubbing together with every step. Again my attention was drawn to the significant lack of penis and balls down there between them, and I never understood how much the shape of my body affected exactly how I took a step.

  But it did. Boy did it. Several times my pace got all wonky as I paid too much attention to how I was walking and tried to figure things out, but Lyla would just pause and say something reassuring while I put myself back on track, face flushing red in embarrassment at the awkward circumstances.

  Somehow, we made it out of the airport to the transportation area and she waved down a taxi. We piled in and took off toward the heart of the city. I couldn’t help but notice how the driver’s eyes had lingered on my chest and ass as he stowed my carry-on in the trunk and I settled into my seat. It was a weird feeling to think that he was probably attracted to me, but I was relieved that he kept any lewd comments he was thinking to himself.

  Despite living in Upstate NY for a good chunk of my life, I had never been to NYC. I didn’t know the difference between all of the different boroughs, but I soon got the feeling that Lyla was in one of the somewhat poorer ones. I knew she worked her butt off, but I also remembered her saying a few times that her constant struggle with bills had her down.

  I hated to think about that. I was lucky that my job had left me in a pretty good position. I exaggerated just how little money I had in savings when I was freaking out about it, but honestly, if I stretched things, I could probably be out of work for half a year and still be okay. Almost okay. Lyla hadn’t been quite so lucky and seemed to live paycheck to paycheck. Of course, I had tried to give Lyla money on a few occasions without Stacey knowing, but Lyla had a wicked sense of pride and wouldn’t accept my offers of financial help except on her birthday and at Christmas.

  We didn’t say much to each other on the drive back to her place, but I was sure that that was partially because we were both locked in our own thoughts about the weird situation and partially because it would have been an awkward conversation to have in front of the cabbie with the roaming eyes. In the lull of conversation, I suddenly felt hyper-aware of Lyla’s physical presence once again. From the corner of my eye I studied the subtle rise and fall of her rounded chest, and I admired the many tasteful silver rings she wore on the slender fingers that wrapped through my own and squeezed my hand reassuringly now and again. I was amused to note that her teeth still worried at her lip while she was deep in thought, a habit I’d teased her about even back in high school.

  It felt good to be at her side again. Really good. It was almost enough to shake me from my shock at suddenly becoming a woman, but not quite.

  When the driver did finally pull up to a dingey looking block, the two of us slid out of the cab still hand in hand. Lyla thanked the driver as he pulled my bag out of the back and tipped him, and he took another long, blatant look at my chest as he reluctantly stepped back into the cab and pulled away. Then Lyla smiled at me and took the lead once again, walking me up to the tall brick apartment building behind us.

  “Home sweet home,” she said with a wry smile, opening up the barred door and gesturing for me to walk inside.

  I did, waiting for her to come in after me, and then she led me towards an older elevator that looked like it was out of a classic movie. She pulled the heavy door open and waited. I got in after just a second’s hesitation, staring nervously at the ancient cables on display, and when Lyla slid the door closed behind us I couldn’t help but think that we were going to suddenly plummet to our deaths.

  “Oh, relax,” Lyla chided. “You’re not going to die, silly.”

  Apparently, she was as good at reading me as ever, even if I was a girl now. I smiled sheepishly and shrugged as she laughed and jammed the button for her floor.

  Falling to my death in a previously functioning elevator wouldn’t have been the strangest thing that had happened to me lately, though, so I was grateful when it didn’t.

  Once we were out of the ancient device, we walked down a long, narrow hallway that smelled of way too many people cooking competing ethnic foods all at once. It was a weird mix but somehow still good. I crinkled my nose, stomach rumbling at the delicious mélange of smells. We finally arrived in front of another thick door, and Lyla fiddled with her keys for a moment, squinting in the dim light of the corridor. Then she found the correct one and turned it in the lock with the dull clank of a releasing deadbolt.

  “Ahh,” Lyla said with a grin. “Welcome to my pad! You’ll love it.”

  The door swung open and I stepped inside of a one-bedroom apartment that was so Lyla that it was almost funny.

  The walls were painted lilac with black accent crown molding. Almost every flat surface was covered with either creative projects, crystals, or figurines from the various nerdy things she enjoyed. I could see her small kitchen from where I was, and everything was color-coordinated to her walls and cabinets. I couldn’t see her bedroom or bathroom, but I was willing to bet that they had similar décor.

  And of course, a certifiably bizarre shower curtain.

  “This way,” Lyla said as I gawked at everything, seizing my hand once more and pulling me towards the closed door opposite of where we stood. Sure enough, she marched me right into her bedroom and sat me down on her bed.

  The bed was a spacious queen with black, silky sheets and a rumpled galaxy comforter on top of it. Her clothes, including stray bras and underwear, were thrown everywhere, and more nerdy figurines adorned her shelves.

  “So,” she said, sitting across from me. “You’re a woman now.”

  “I’m a woman now,” I repeated.

  “And you have no idea how this happened?”

  I nodded, feeling slightly less like I was going to spontaneously combust from the weirdness of it all than I had earlier in the day.

  “How do you feel about it… I guess?”

  “Strange,” I answered honestly. “Scared. A whole lot of confused.” I paused for the first time since it happened to really think about what was going on with me. “Um. But not especially bad? I mean… it’s not like it hurts. It’s just sort of weird. Really weird. And embarrassing.”

  “Well, that’s good then, I suppose.” She nodded and seemed to think to herself for a moment, chewing her lip again. “I have no idea how this could have happened, but I’ve got a few days free to do some pretty heavy research online. Maybe this happened to someone else, too, and we can figure out what’s going on.” She looked me over from head to toe and the corners of her lips went up ever so slightly.

  “What is it?” I asked, feeling a bit self-conscious under the sudden scrutiny.

  “It’s just… your outfit. It’s uh… very not you.”

  “It’s not?” I asked, looking down. I had to admit that I hadn’t given much thought to what I was wearing beyond the fact that it was very much not what I had boarded the plane with. How could any female clothes be me? I was a dude. Feminine clothes were “not me” by definition.

  “No, it’s like really not.” Lyla snickered a little and it helped to break the mood a bit. “Do you have anything else?”

  “I think everything in my suitcase changed.”

  “Really? Let me see!”

  I got up off the bed and grabbed the pack that I’d dropped by the door. Hauling it to her, I opened it again to reveal a jumbled bunch of lady’s clothes. Lyla pulled out piece after piece, chucking them to her floor to join the rest of her mess.

  It didn’t take
her long to empty the entire suitcase, frowning and muttering to herself the whole time. In the end, she only had about three clothing items that met with her approval, not counting socks and underwear.

  “I don’t think that’s enough clothes for this trip,” I said, thoroughly amused by her running commentary.

  “Definitely not. But whoever magicked your wardrobe into girl clothes didn’t know you at all.” Her eyes scanned me up and down, and I felt like I was suddenly wearing way less than I actually was. “And you won’t really fit in most of my clothes. You’re a bit more, uh, curvaceous than I am.”

  “Am I?” I asked, feeling my cheeks color.

  “Yeah, Tom. You make a really hot girl.” She grimaced, and the color in my cheeks darkened as I wondered if thinking of me as attractive was really that awful. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s really weird to call you Tom.”

  I laughed at that. The comment was much nicer than what I had been fearing for a split second.

  “I know what you mean,” I replied. “It’s weird for me to think of myself as Tom too when I look like this. I don’t feel like a Tom at the moment.”

  “Well, then we shouldn’t call you that. You’re a temporarily new you, so it makes sense that you would need a new name.”

  “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

  “Of course, it does, that’s why I said it.” We shared a laugh at that, and it felt just like old times. “What about… Sasha?”

  I shook my head. “Eh, that makes me think of some sort of Russian spy who’s way hotter than me.”

  “I don’t know, you’re pretty damn hot.”

  “Really?”

  She raised her eyebrow, and I stopped fishing for compliments, even if each time she said something flattering about me my heart picked up speed a little. “Ummmm, Miranda?”

  I thought about it before shaking my head again. “That doesn’t seem quite right either.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” We sat there for a long moment before she snapped her fingers, her face lighting up with excitement. “Oh man! I remember when we were younger, we used to talk about what we’d be called if we were born in opposite bodies. Do you remember that?”