Mr Bard returning to his explaining he’d been writing out on the blackboard, you feel like you are going to start hyperventilating any second. More emotions than you’ve ever dealt with in one sitting wash over you all at once and nearly screaming, your mind insisting both that you are a girl and that you cannot be a girl, you utter a short squeak when abruptly the school bell rings, announcing the end of math.
Several students around you snicker at the noise you make, whilst up in front Mr Bard tries to be heard over the steadily increasing sound of students talking as he explains the homework assignment. Not caring about that, you glance down, hoping that there is a way to undo what has happened. To your surprise, the note goes blank for a moment, then the words, ‘If you want to have a happy life as a girl, pass me to the next person. Does not matter if they are a boy, girl, man, woman or something else,’ appear across the top. Wanting to cry, your former male life slowly evaporating, you sniff, grab the note, your purse and your backpack and join everyone else leaving the classroom.
Your next class being geography, you toy with the idea of trying to force the note to give you a male-centric quiz. But, unsure how, you figure that, except for how uncomfortable your period was, that maybe being a girl might not be too bad. Entering the class of Mrs Sharp, you hastily glance about, trying to decide to whom to give the note to. Seeing someone, you take a deep breath and as you pass them, you toss the note.
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Taylor Gower stifled the yawn he felt coming over him whilst barely listening to Mrs Sharp say something. Not even paying attention, mostly because the college he was attending said he needed this type of experience if he wanted to be a teacher’s assistant, he thought about how he wanted to be a TA, but not for high school or junior high. Several students passing him, he scarcely gave them a second glance as he reached down and fished out of his backpack a notebook and a portfolio that had notes for the class he would be sitting in on.
A subtle ticking noise of something hitting the linoleum at his feet distracting him and looking down, Taylor saw that someone had dropped a folded up piece of paper. Hastily glancing about, trying to ascertain who might have dropped it, he reached down and picked it up when he couldn’t figure out who may have dropped the note. Figuring he’d leave it on Mrs Sharp’s desk, he never got the chance as the bell for class start rang and the teacher began calling out, “Settle down,” and then began taking attendance.
Several students in the back continuing their conversation, even after Mrs Sharp had asked them to quiet down as she checked to be sure everyone was present, and Taylor stood and went to back of the class to speak with them. Thinking about the piece of paper, he kept it out where the students could see it. But, as the last students quieted down, and Mrs Sharp told him, “Thank you, Mr Gower,” Taylor observed that none of the kids appeared to be interested in the bit of paper and returning to his seat, he flipped open his notebook and idly began listening to Mrs Sharp explain world geography.
Unfortunately, it was all stuff he already had notes on. Figuring it was because she must have a quiz coming up, he shifted in the seat and found himself sinking into a bored stupor. The few tests he’d sat in on where all the same, with him sitting there, pretty much doing nothing. Stifling another yawn, he idly glanced down at the piece of paper and after a moment, doing so as quietly as he could, he unfolded it. Expecting it to be some note or gushy love letter from some love-struck teenage girl, he was slightly surprised to find it was blank. Wondering why someone had folded up a blank piece of paper, he nearly jumped out of his seat when a simple print suddenly appeared, stating, ‘To, Taylor Gower. You look so bored sitting up there at the front of the class, taking notes and waiting to be useful as a TA. Here’s a little game to amuse yourself with to pass the time. Have fun, ‘cause I know I did.’ and at the bottom, it was signed, ‘A friend.’
Curious, wondering what someone was playing at and how the note had managed to make the words appear, Taylor glanced about, studying the students. Noticing that most were either taking notes or looking thoroughly bored, Taylor found himself drawing a blank how the words had formed and who might have sent him the note. Looking back down, he saw the introduction had vanished leaving the paper blank until the words, ‘Shall we begin?’ formed.
Not sure how he should take what he was seeing, let alone respond, Taylor almost folded the note up and stuffed it into his pocket. Instead, after a couple seconds, he slowly nodded, uncertain if such a gesture would be perceived. Surprising, the note went blank, the words, ‘All right,’ appeared, remained for a minute, then vanished and were replaced by what looked like a question. Looking at the paper, he re-read it a couple times asked himself, “What the hell?!” then read for a third time, ‘Question 1. If you were a girl, what would be your name?’
Weirded out by such a question, he twiddled his pencil in his hand a moment before laying the paper flat on his notebook and pressing the point of the pencil to the paper. Pausing, he thought of all the female names he knew of and after a moment, he wrote, ‘If I were a girl, my name would be Kylin Brooke Hawley, but everyone has called Brooke since I was about six.’
Both his words and the question vanishing, Taylor found it odd. Unaware that the name on his student id, his portfolio, notebook and driver’s licence had changed, he watched as the note began forming the next question. Reading, ‘Question 2. If you were a girl, would you like pink?’
“Every girl likes pink, right?” he asked himself and putting the pencil to paper, he almost wrote that, but stopped. Holding his pencil to the paper, he thought about it a minute, wondering about such a claim and going over what he’d learning in the couple sociology, psychology and biology classes he’d taken, Brooke saw the fallacy in such a statement. Starting to right, he explained, ‘Pink is okay. If I were a girl, I’d neither like it, nor hate it.’
Again, his words and the question vanished the moment he finished writing and reading the next question, ‘Question 3. If you were a girl, what would your favourite colour(s) be?’ he thought about it for a moment. After a bit, Brooke wrote, ‘I would like all sorts of colours. But my favourites would be white, pastel purple, teal, black, cornflower blue, pastel green and mid and light cerise,’ as he decided to mix both some his favourites with some he thought where often associated with femininity.
The words vanishing, which he was starting to get used to it, Brooke watched as, ‘Question 4. If you were a girl, would your handwriting be neat,’ unaware that his portfolio had changed to a mid-cerise shade and his notebook’s front cover switched to a teal.
“Not every girl has neat handwriting,” Brooke decided after a moment and writing that down, he quickly added, ‘But if mine where on a spectrum, it would somewhere between neat and an illegible scrawl, with a slightly leaning towards the neat end of the spectrum.’ Watching the words vanished, he was taken aback when the words, ‘Thank you for you honesty,’ appeared, disappeared almost as quickly as they appeared, then, ‘Question 5. If you were a girl, how old would you be, what would you height be, without shoes, and what would your weight be, without clothes? Please, don’t lie,’ formed.
Unsure how to answer the question, he almost wrote down his actual age, twenty three, but stopping, he reasoned, “This is a what if sort of questionnaire. And it isn’t asking for my actual age, but what my age would be if I were a girl,” and thinking it seemed reasonable, he wrote, ‘If it were a girl, my current age would be thirteen, as I just celebrated my birthday on the first day of spring last month, and I would be on the short, petite side of things because of a hormone imbalance. Besides affecting one other area, this imbalance means I’ll always be smaller than everyone else. Currently, if I were a girl, my height would be four foot two inches, with a max height of four foot ten when I finish growing. If I were a girl, my weight would be fifty nine pounds, with a max weight of ninety two point six pounds when I finish growing, spiking only if I were to get pregnant later in life, but dropping back down to the ninety two weight range after childbirth,’ thought about what he wrote, then added, ‘If I were a girl, I would only get pregnant once, sometime after college, around my mid-to-late twenties. I’d carry my daughter low and the birth would be easy and natural. However, the father would not stick around, leaving a month or two after hearing the news.’
His words wiped from the paper the instant he removed his pencil, Brooke read, ‘Thank you for including such detail,’ before that to disappeared and the words, ‘Question 6. If you were a girl, would you like ballet and/or gymnastics?’ formed.
Still unaware that he had transformed to match details on the way he’d answered the last question, he shifted in his seat, which suddenly was bigger, barely gave his now baggy and ridiculously over-sized clothes a second thought, and mulled over how best to answer such a question. After a moment, Brooke wrote, ‘Ballet and gymnastics are okay. If I were a girl, I guess I would have tried ballet when I was seven, but left after a year when I grew bored of it. Again, if I were a girl, I guess I would have given gymnastics a shot when I was ten, but quit after about eight months when I came down wrong on the parallel bars. So, if I were a thirteen year old girl, having tried them, I would be content to watch ballet, but really don’t give gymnastics much thought, even though I have been told I have the perfect body type for either.’
Memories suddenly coming to him of his accident in gymnastics and how repetitive and boring ballet classes had been the instant he lifted his pencil off the paper, Brooke watched the words fade and thought, “What the hell?! It’s only a joke quiz. Why would I suddenly remember doing exactly what I just wrote?”
Unable to figure out why his memories where shifting, as it was also other memories of his childhood that were blurring, fading and being replaced, Brooke watched as, ‘Question 7. If you were a girl, would you wear a dress, a skirt or either?’ formed. Suddenly leery about the note, he paused with his pencil halfway to the paper and glanced about. Mrs Sharp was still going over her review, but had now moved to the chalkboard in front of the class and was adding terms to be used on the upcoming test, whilst the students were either taking notes, whispering to each other or dozing slightly. Noticing that nobody was really paying any attention to him, Brooke glanced down at himself, was unable to tell if anything was different and looked at the note.
After a couple more minutes of deliberation, he lowered his pencil to the paper, but didn’t write. Curious as to what was happening, wanting to know if he’d changed besides some of his memories, Brooke struggled a moment to think if he’d been different in any way besides being a thirteen year old with a slight hormone irregularity that meant he was about the height and weight normal for someone eight to nine years old. Drawing a blank, he balked at the idea of answering any more questions, but swallowed hard when the question on the query vanished and the warning, ‘Don’t stop now or else’ formed, disappeared and were replaced by question seven.
Sacred, Brooke thought about it for a moment, then wrote the explanation, ‘I don’t wear skirts. Dresses are okay, but only when my mother says I have to wear one. I usually prefer jeans, leggings, bib-overalls, jumpsuits and, in the summer, boy’s cargo shorts.’
The next question forming, Brooke thought he might be in over his head. Recalling how he hadn’t actually worn a dress since his aunt Patty’s funeral when he was eight, he found himself disturbed by this as he read, ‘Question 8. If you were a girl, what type of pants are you wearing right now?’ and, without hesitating, he wrote, ‘If I were a girl, I’d be wearing a pair of jeans right now. They have three buttons in the front instead the normal button and zipper, and have a zipper down on the outside of the pants leg that unzips a couple inches. When zipped, they pull the cuff nice and securely around my ankles.’
Immediately after he’d finished, and the words started to vanish, Brooke felt his pants shift and looking down, he watched the zipper on his blue jeans being replaced by two more buttons, two zippers form on the cuff of his pants leg and the cut of his pants shift to something a girl would wear. Curious about this, wondering why they felt so comfortable and why he felt like he owned several more pairs that were similar, he puzzled over this as, ‘Question 9. If you were a girl, what type of shirt would you be wearing,’ appeared.
Without giving it a thought, knowing what would likely happened afterward, Brooke answered, ‘If I were a girl, I would be wearing a shirt with a white bodice and black, three-quarter length sleeves.’ And watching as his short-sleeve shirt was replaced by the baseball shirt he described, Brooke thought about how each thing he wrote apparently happened to him, then tried to remember the previous questions and how he’d answered. Drawing a blank, he looked at the note and read, ‘Question 10. If you were a girl, what type of underwear would you wear? And what type are you wearing right now?’ which he thought was rather invasive.
Not liking having been asked such a question, Brooke felt himself blushing. Quickly writing, ‘If I were a girl I would wear briefs, boy shorts and bikini briefs, mostly because my mom still insists on buying my clothes, though she does listen to my on a couple points. Most of my underwear is pastel coloured, but a number also have flower prints, Hello Kitty and My Little Pony designs. The boy shorts are all solid colours with polka dots. If I were a girl, I would currently be wearing a pair of white briefs that sit low in front and on my hips, cover my bum nicely, have a light blue waist band and a Hello Kitty print on them.’
Satisfied with the answer, Brooke lifted the pencil away from the paper and gasped as he felt his underwear change from the briefs he was wearing to panties he’d only described seconds ago. Watching as the next question formed, he shifted in his seat as he felt his penis and testicles tuck between his legs. Curious as to why this had happened, Brooke tried to sort it out as he read, ‘Question 11. If you were a girl, what type of shoes would you wear and what type are you wearing at this moment?”
Completely unaware that the reason he couldn’t feel his penis and testicles tucked between his legs, believing that they must resting comfortably and unpinched, was because they had started to shrink and pull down between his legs. As his genitals pressed subtly and softly into the area between his legs, the lips major and minor of his vulva formed and his testicles pulled up into his body, Brooke wrote, ‘If I were a girl, I would wear tennis shoes. I have a cute pair of flats that go with the dresses mom expects me to wear on nice occasions, a couple pairs of boots and some sandals. Currently I am wearing a pair of canvas high-tops that the top portion is tucked up into my pants legs,” and reading what he wrote, whilst inside his body the female reproduction organs formed and his testicles settled on the end of the fallopian tubes and became ovaries, Brooke quickly added, “If I were a girl, I would be wearing a pair a white ankle socks that have a pink toe and heel section. All my socks look like this. With the dresses, I wear a cute pair of tights, depending on the dress. Because of my height and weight, I’ll never be able to wear nylons, only tights, which will be another reason to dislike wearing dresses.”
Satisfied by this answer, thinking it answered something the note missed, Brooke shifted as his vulva finished forming. The last traces of his penis and scrotum vanishing as the vagina and urethra opening formed and the tip of his former penis became a tiny, pea-sized clitoris that was nestled under his neo-clitoris hood, he was still unaware that he had lost his male genitals whilst he read, ‘Thank you for that extra bit of information,’ which was then replaced by, ‘Question 12. If you were a girl, what size are your breasts, are they done growing, what type of bra are you wearing and what type of bras do you normally wear?’
Something about this question bothered Brooke, yet he was at a loss to explain what. After a bit, he found that it bothered him not only because he knew instantly how to answer it, but also talking about such a subject left him feeling uncomfortable, even though he knew it was natural. Putting pencil to paper, he wrote, ‘As a girl, I started developing my breasts just shortly after my twelfth birthday. Currently, I have a double A cup and wear a bra that is all one piece. The one I have on is pastel purple and has padding around the cups, making my bust appear one cup bigger. These types of bras my mom keeps buying, even though I’ve asked her not to and have explained I feel uncomfortable and that it is drawing attention to my breasts. All my bras are currently the same design, all one piece, but of varying colour. As I get older, I’ll eventually switch to bras that have a front clasp, then a back clasp, then, when I am about seventeen or so, finally settle on wearing nipple coverings and natural bras. This is an important decision for me, as my breasts, when done growing, will be too big for an A cup, but too small for a B cup.’
Again, he shifted in his seat as something circled his upper torso, went up over his shoulders and his chest began to push outward into an AA cup, made to appear a cup size bigger because of the padding in the bra. Brooke’s mind-set shifting so that she began thinking of herself in pronouns appropriate for a girl, she leaned back and wondering, “How is this possible,” and looking down at her chest, wishing her mother would stop buying her bras with padding, Brooke asked herself, “Will this all go away if I finish the questionnaire?” troubled by what she was seeing had happened to her and how natural it all seemed. Sighing, she glanced down at the note and read the next question forming.
‘Question 13. If you were a girl, have you started menstruating, are you doing so now and would you use pads, tampons or a menstrual cup?’
Brooke, re-reading this a couple times, trying to wrap her mind around what she’d been asked, thought that this was getting too personal. Unsure if she should answer, she thought back on the warning the note had given her and mused about what would happen if she refused to comply. After a bit, she put pencil to paper and deciding she didn’t want to find out, “Especially considering what the note already has done,” she thought, was confused since she couldn’t figure out what it had done, if anything, and began writing.
‘I haven’t stared menstruating. A couple days ago I had my first vaginal discharge, which mother explained how it was normal and what it meant. Currently, I am using a natural panty liner. When I have my first period, I’ll start using pads at first. When I am about fifteen, I’ll try tampons, find them uncomfortable and go back to pads. When I am about seventeen or eighteen, I’ll discover menstrual cups and never use anything else afterward. Also, my flow will always be light,’ and finishing, she held the pencil in place a moment longer before deciding it was as accurate as she was willing and going to get and lifting the writing tool off the paper, she watched her words and the question disappear.
At once she felt something forming in the crotch portion of her underwear. Feeling it pressing against her vulva, she gasped when it suddenly dawned on her that she no longer had a penis and testicles. Glancing quickly about, making sure no one was looking at her, Brooke slipped her hand underneath her folder and pressed it first into the front of her pants, then into the area between her legs. Finding nothing out front, then feeling her hand pressing her panty liner into her vulva, she shuddered and quickly withdrew her hand. Terrified, she began breathing heavily, thinking, “Good shit. I’m a girl,” which her memories and her mind asserted and assured her that this was always so.
Terrified, alarmed and upset by this, Brooke eventually looked down at the note. Unsure if she hated it and, if she did, why, she watched as the words, ‘Question 14. As a girl, is your hymen intact? Are you still a virgin?’
“That’s totally personal and rude to ask,” Brooke thought angrily and placing her pencil to the paper, she wrote, ‘Of course I’m still a virgin. I’m only thirteen. And as for my hymen, it is not intact because of an accident I had involving the parallel bars. Oh, and by the way, a broke hymen has nothing to do with being a virgin. The hymen can break for a number of reasons besides sexual intercourse. The doctor I see told me this after my gymnastics accident.’
Her feelings getting the best of her, Brooke began to breathe heavily through her nose as she gazed at the note. Thinking how ignorant such a question could be, she read the next question, ‘Question 15. As a girl, do you pee sitting down?’ as it formed.
Again, she found herself being confronted with a question she thought was rather personal, rather stupid and totally obvious. Trying to keep her feelings in check, she wrote, ‘Of course I pee sitting down. I’m a girl. I certainly don’t have a penis. And if I wanted to pee standing, I would either have to use something placed over my vulva and connected to a hose or I would need to stand straddling a toilet. And even then, I still would need to squat down,’ as her answer.
More memories forming of her life growing up as Brooke coming to her, she struggled to remember the boy she used to be before starting the questionnaire, but eventually gave up. Wanting to cry, ashamed by what had been taken from her, upset by what she was now perceiving to be reality, starting to feel overwhelmed, Brooke looked down at the note. Watching the next question form, she read, ‘Last deeply personal request. Question 16. As a girl, have you started to shave areas of your body? And if you have, would you continue doing so?’
Something that she wrote earlier coming to her, Brooke shut her eyes as she recalled more memories, with some concerning a previous questions, but most having to do with her doctor visits. Writing down, ‘Do you remember when I said I had a hormone imbalance?’ she waited to see what would happen.
A minute slip by and at first she was worried that it wasn’t possible to ask the note questions. But then under question, the words, ‘Yes. Why?” appeared. Placing pencil to paper, Brooke began writing, ‘Besides affecting my height and weight, my hormone problem also effects my body hair. After seeing a doctor a number of times, it has been revealed that the only hair I shall ever grow is what’s on top of my head and my very thin eyebrows. I shan’t ever have any hair on my armpits, legs, arms or face, nor any on my privates.’
The questions and answers vanishing, Brooke found herself calming a little. Still feeling kind of upset, though not sure why, she wondered if there was a way to take a break from the questionnaire. Looking up at the clock, wondering how long she’d been answering the questions, she was surprised to see that only five minutes had passed. Asking herself, “How is it possible that I’ve answered I don’t how many damn questions and did who knows what to myself, but almost no time has passed?” and looking back at the note, she read the next inquiry, which was, ‘Question 17. As a girl, are you interested in boys, girls, both, or other? If you answer other, could you please provide examples?’
“I thought it said no more personal questions?” Brooke thought and very nearly gasped out loud when the question disappeared and the words, ‘It was guaranteed that question 16 was the last of the deeply personal questions,’ formed, then disappeared and question 17 reappeared.
Unsure how to take what she’d been told, Brooke thought for a moment before writing, ‘I’ve only started noticing, others, in that way. And truthfully, I find myself attracted to both males and females. I’ll date either for a while, but after my daughter is born, I’ll primarily date other women until I finally find someone, another women, who clicks with me and we marry, roughly when I am in my early to mid-thirties.’
The words vanishing and silently Brooke hoped that it was the last question. To her dismay, the words, ‘Question 18. As a girl, when you finally start dating, will you be a total flirt, a tease or complete bitch?’
At a loss how to answer this, Brooke thought about it for a moment. Idly tapping the pencil tip against the edge of her notebook, she eventually decided on a way to answer the question. In handwriting that was somewhere between being neat and messy, she explained, ‘None of those. When I start dating, I’ll be open, serious and mature.’
The next request forming the moment she lifted her pencil away from the paper, Brooke breathed a sigh when it asked something she didn’t think was too invasive. Reading, ‘Question 19. As a girl, what colour is your hair and eyes?’ to which she replied easily, ‘My hair is medium to dark auburn, comes down to my shoulders and has a slight curl to the ends. My eyes are a medium grey hue.’
Once more, the note thanked her for the additional information before blanking itself, then starting to form the next inquiry. Silently telling the inanimate object, “You’re welcome,” she read, “Question 20. Do you wear jewellery, have any piercings and do you wear make-up?’
Not giving it too much thought, Brooke explained, ‘When I was younger, I would play dress-up with clothes, plastic jewellery, pretend make-up and stuff like that. After a while, about the time I stopped keeping my hair long and began wearing it at shoulder length, I lost interest. Jewellery seemed too flashy. So, I never saw any point to buying any, nor asking for piercings. It’s one of those things my mom and I openly disagree on And make-up only seemed to cover what came natural to me, a beauty that I don’t need to enhance with lipstick and eye shadow and rouge and perfume and all that nonsense.’
Satisfied with this answer, Brooke waited a moment as the writing on the note faded, then felt a bit of relief when the words, ‘Nearly done,’ appeared. Feeling like the end would come to whatever was troubling her about the note, sure it was in a way tied to the fleeting, “And rather absurd,” she thought, notion that she had been a guy before starting the questionnaire, she waited a moment before words began to appear on the paper. Reading, ‘Question 21. As a girl, how emotional are you, with one being as emotional as a rock and ten being a total basket case?’
This seemed to be an odd thing to ask and considering how best to answer it, Brooke thought about how emotional she was. Comparing herself to other girls, she felt a one through ten scale was a bit silly and didn’t amount to much. Leaning forward, musing over the best way to answer, Brooke eventually wrote, ‘I am pretty average. I’m certainly not a total basket case, not am I without emotions, like a rock. So, I’d say I’m average for a thirteen-year-old girl. Five?’
The note apparently accepting this, Brooke watched all that had been written fade and within moments, she saw, ‘Question 22. As a girl, how intelligent would you be, with one being a total airhead-bimbo and ten being the next Stephen Hawking or even Einstein? A slight that it was another one through ten scale, Brooke thought about her answer carefully. She knew that she wasn’t stupid, so anything low was out. Which left her to say she was smart.
“But the problem is, how to answer so and to properly explain how smart I actually am,” she mused for a couple seconds.
An idea coming to her, wanting to test if she could put something besides what the note expected, she gathered her thoughts and wrote, ‘Truthfully, on a one to ten scale, I don’t know how smart I am. I know my parents worry that I have a mild case of autism and after speaking with specialty doctors, it has been decided that my intelligence is around 127. This seems accurate, especially since I am taking high school level geography, math, theatre, art, English and two foreign languages. All other classes I take are at the local junior high, at a ninth grade level. I’ve been told that this is to give me some stability and keep me around kids at least my age. On a further note, since my intelligence is around the 127 range, it should be understood that by the time I finish college, it will be around 153.’
Again, satisfied with her answer, Brooke sat back and waited to see what would happen. To her surprise, memories came back to her of the specialty doctors she had spoken to and how there was talks of further tests, especially to prove whether she might be mildly autistic, which everyone, her parents, teachers and doctors, all agreed was a high probability. In awe that her answer had been accepted, Brooke smiled and read the next bit of words, ‘Question 23. As a girl, are you interested in sports?’ that appeared.
Sports had never been her thing, even before she had begun the questionnaire. Of that, Brooke was positive. Deciding that she wanted to hang onto something from before the beginning of answering these questions, she carefully wrote out, ‘Except for bowling, the Junior High swim team and dabbling in skateboarding, none of which I actually consider sports, I’ve never really had a high interest in sports. I’ve experimented, like taking ballet or gymnastics, and fooled around, like hitting rocks with the Hello Kitty baseball bat my dad got me one year or tossing a football back and forth with my dad. But, beyond that, I’ve never real any deep interest, as stuff like hockey, baseball, basketball, golf and football, the rules never made much sense.’
The moment Brooke finished the sentence, things got weird. Memories and bits of knowledge began crowding her mind and finding it hard to focus, she dropped her pencil and squeezed her eyes shut. After a couple seconds, she felt someone gently poking her on the arm and opening her eyes, she looked over at the next desk and the girl sitting in it. Seeing that the girl had her pencil, Brooke listened as the girl said, “Here, you dropped this,” and thanking her, Brooke took the pencil as she tried to sort out when she’d taken a seat in the back of the class, as she was certain she had been sitting in front of the class.
Confused, mostly because her mind insisted she was sitting where she sat every day in Mrs Sharp’s geography class and also because she couldn’t think why she would be sitting in front of the class, Brooke took a deep breath and looked down at the note. A new question, ‘Question 24. As a girl, what fictional character(s) did you like as a child and who, both fictional and nonfictional, do you idolise now?’ had appeared and re-reading it a couple times, Brooke found herself stumped.
Off the top of her head, she couldn’t think of anything that a girl would be interested in, except Hello Kitty. Chalking this up to possibly having something to do with who she’d been before filling out the questionnaire, Brooke racked her brains for a couple minutes before writing, ‘I guess when I was younger I liked Hello Kitty, My Little Pony, Rainbow Brite, Angelina Ballerina, original Looney Tunes, Transformers, Garfield, The Real Ghostbusters, the Dungeons and Dragons cartoon, Pokemon, Digimon, 1980’s Strawberry Shortcake, Rocky and Bullwinkle and the original Muppets, before they went Disney. Now, I still like all that, but my tastes have widened to various books, horror, sci-fi, fantasy and mystery primarily, music, I primarily listen to rock, metal, oldies, operas, show tunes, symphonic and country gold, along with fixing bikes and helping my dad work on autos.’
The instant she finished the sentence, Brooke found herself dreading that another question would form as her answer faded. Anxiously waiting to see what she would be asked next, she found it troubling that that the piece of paper stayed blank for a longer period of time than it normally would. Unsure about this, the thirteen year old girl took notes on what Mrs Sharp was saying, understanding and knowing it already, but figuring it couldn’t hurt to be prepared for the test coming up on Monday
Half an hour passed before finally new words began appearing and anxious to know what it would tell her, she was disappointed to find she wouldn’t be returning to the way she was before she’d begun doing the questionnaire as the word. Reading, ‘You’re a bit odd for a girl. But, than again, who exactly is normal. Among other traits, you’re rather tomboyish, a bit of an egghead, and you naturally have good looks that others strive to obtain, which you don’t have to work to. Plus, you have a body other girls would die to have. Be happy with this. You have brains and thus recognise and avoid the social trappings other girls fall for. If you want to live a happy life as a girl, you’ll fold me up, Brooke, and pass it onto someone else. If you don’t, there shall be consequences.’ The thirteen-year-old girl was at a loss to explain why she was being told something so obvious.
Alarmed by the warning at the end, wanting to cry that she was Brooke, for better or worse, she stared at the note a bit longer. The final words having faded some time ago, she eventually sighed and folded up the note. Glancing about, wondered to whom she should pass it to.