Jesse stepped out of the Chemistry classroom, feeling the weight of the surreal day bearing down on him. The interactions with Anthony had stirred something unsettling inside him, a feeling he couldn’t quite pin down. He wasn’t just navigating his old life with a new body; the very social fabric of his reality had shifted in strange, almost sinister ways. Everything felt different—the glances, the way people responded to him—and he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable sense that his very presence now commanded a different kind of attention. But it wasn’t the empowering kind; it was disorienting, invasive. And yet, some small part of him couldn’t deny the strange power he seemed to have over others like Anthony.
As he headed to his next class, gym, Jesse’s stomach twisted with dread. Gym was the one class he had been actively avoiding thinking about all day. In a class where bodies were on display, where physicality was the focus, how was he supposed to navigate the changing rooms, the activities, the awkward, intimate moments with classmates? What would happen when he had to change clothes, or worse, participate in something like dodgeball or track? His head swirled with anxiety as he walked down the bustling halls, his feet slipping uncomfortably in the loose sandals that still felt foreign to him. The tight jean shorts only added to his discomfort, a constant reminder of how drastically his life had been upended.
The gym was on the other side of the building, and as he moved through the bustling corridors, Jesse tried to mentally prepare himself for whatever was coming next. His heart pounded, and he felt a gnawing sense of vulnerability growing stronger with each step. On the way, he pulled out his phone, hoping for some clarity, something that might ground him in reality. His parents had responded to his earlier message about if they noticed anything odd, but neither seemed to notice anything was wrong. His dad’s response was brief and dismissive: No. Why? His mom’s was sharper: Yeah, you're on your phone when you should be paying attention in class!
Jesse sighed in frustration. Even his parents were blind to the insanity of the situation. No one noticed anything was off, not even them. He was trapped in this nightmare alone, with no one to confide in, no one who understood what he was going through.
The moment he entered the gym, his anxiety spiked. The vast space smelled faintly of sweat and cleaning products, and the echo of sneakers squeaking on the polished floor reverberated through the room. It was a familiar setting, but it now felt foreign, like he was stepping into hostile territory.
Steeling himself, Jesse made his way toward the boys’ locker room. His mind raced. How was he supposed to handle this? Would they notice anything was wrong? Was there some unspoken etiquette for how boys changed in front of each other in this bizarre reality? The thought made his skin crawl.
As soon as he stepped into the locker room, he was hit with a wave of perfume and the sound of casual chatter and laughter as boys gathered in groups, changing into their gym clothes and fixing their hair in front of mirrors. Jesse hesitated at the entrance, feeling like an outsider in a place he had once felt comfortable. The locker room, a space he had known so well, now felt foreign and intimidating. The boys around him weren’t like the boys he had grown up with; they moved differently, their voices softer, their gestures more fluid.
Jesse’s stomach churned as he approached his locker. His fingers trembled as he fumbled with the combination, desperately trying to blend in and avoid attracting attention. When he finally opened the locker, he found his gym uniform inside: a fitted gray school t-shirt and black athletic shorts. For a brief moment, he felt a flicker of relief. At least the clothes seemed normal, almost identical to his old uniform. But then came the realization—he would have to change in front of everyone.
Jesse’s hands shook as he pulled off his sandals and unbuttoned his jean shorts. His heart pounded in his chest, the noise of the locker room fading into the background as his focus narrowed to the task at hand. He glanced around nervously, hoping no one was watching him, but his eyes involuntarily took in the scene. Boys around him were casually stripping down, but no one was wearing boxers or briefs. They wore panties and thongs in a variety of colors. Jesse caught glimpses of pastel colors, lace trims, and bulges that were hard to ignore. All of them wore bras—lacy, colorful ones that ranged from subtle to eye-catching. A few had fuller chests, while others were flatter.
The sight was jarring. Jesse felt a flush of embarrassment and confusion as he struggled out of his shorts, revealing the green thong he had been forced to wear all day. His face burned, and he quickly pulled on the athletic shorts, trying to shield himself from the reality of what he had just seen. The gym shorts were more comfortable than the jean shorts, but they did little to ease the anxiety gnawing at him. He hurriedly put on the gray t-shirt, his eyes darting around to make sure no one was watching him.
Thankfully, no one seemed to notice or care. The boys around him were absorbed in their own conversations, casually fixing their hair or waiting for their friends to finish changing. Jesse watched as a group of boys stood by the mirror, idly chatting while one of them adjusted the straps on his bra. They seemed completely at ease, as if this version of reality was normal to them. It was clear that in this world, boys were the ones who lingered in the locker room, waiting for each other, leaving in groups. The thought made Jesse’s skin crawl, but he couldn’t deny the subtle fascination creeping in alongside the discomfort. They clustered like girls did in his old reality, moving in packs for safety, comfort, or just companionship.
He put on his black ankle socks and white trainers, feeling a small sense of relief at the familiar comfort of sneakers compared to the sandals he’d worn earlier. The soft padding under his feet was a welcome change, and for a fleeting moment, he almost felt like himself again. Now dressed in his gym uniform, he headed for the door, ready to bolt out of the locker room to avoid further awkwardness, but then his nerves got the better of him. If he left alone, he’d be exposed, the center of attention for anyone already out on the gym floor. His heart pounded at the thought. The last thing he wanted was to attract any more attention than necessary.
Instead, he lingered by the mirrors, pretending to adjust his shirt, blending in with a small group of boys who were getting ready to leave. He forced himself to look casual, nonchalant, even though every fiber of his being wanted to disappear into the background.
“Hey, Jess!” a voice broke through his anxiety. One of the boys, a brunette with wavy hair, greeted him cheerfully.
Jesse forced a smile, doing his best to sound casual. “Hey!” he responded, injecting a fake enthusiasm into his voice. He had no idea who this boy was, but it didn’t seem to matter. The group was already engrossed in a conversation about hair products, one of them excitedly discussing a new conditioner he had been trying.
As they walked out of the locker room together, Jesse’s heart raced. He was surrounded by boys who looked delicate, poised, almost feminine in the way they carried themselves. They moved with a natural grace that felt foreign to him, their laughter light and carefree. Jesse felt like an outsider, struggling to mimic their movements, their carefree mannerisms. It was unnerving to think that he was supposed to be one of them now.
Jesse’s gaze shifted uneasily around the gym. Students were milling about, stretching, chatting in small clusters, seemingly at ease in the chaotic hum of the class. Despite the noise, Jesse felt every glance in his direction, especially from a group of girls nearby. Their subtle looks made his stomach clench, but he bit his lip and stayed close to the boys he’d walked in with, trying to disappear into the group. They stopped against a wall, continuing their conversation about hair care. One boy with wavy brown hair eventually started a long-winded story about his annoying sister, but Jesse barely registered the words. His mind was far too distracted, running through worst-case scenarios of what might happen during gym today.
The shrill blast of a whistle cut through the noise, signaling that it was time to line up. The gym teacher, an older woman Jesse had never seen before, shuffled to the front with a clipboard in hand. She looked every bit the stereotype of a burned-out PE teacher—big belly, thinning hair hidden under a wide-brimmed hat, and a bored expression that said she’d seen it all.
“Okay, line up.” she barked, and the students dutifully began shuffling into place in alphabetical order. Jesse found himself sandwiched between two girls, one of whom towered over him by nearly a foot, and another with greasy, limp hair that hung over her eyes.
The gym teacher slowly moved down the line, taking attendance and checking uniforms. “Matthew.” she called out, glancing at the tall girl next to Jesse.
Matthew, apparently amused by something, smirked and responded, “Hey, how about the Lions, huh?” It seemed like a weak attempt at small talk about a recent football game.
The teacher rolled her eyes, already over it. “Oh, so you want to run the half-mile, huh?”
Matthew snorted. “Nah, I’m good.”
Jesse swallowed hard, his nerves spiking as the teacher’s gaze shifted toward him. She paused, looking above his head as if searching for someone taller, before glancing down at him. “Jessica’s absent today? Oh, there you are. Almost didn’t see you.” she joked, her grin widening as she scribbled something on her clipboard.
Jesse forced a laugh, painfully aware of how awkward he felt. “How’s our star cheerleader doing this morning?” she asked, with an exaggerated wink.
“Good.” Jesse mumbled, trying to keep up the fake smile. The attention made his skin crawl, especially since this new version of himself was apparently the star of something he hadn’t even been part of in his old life.
“Patrick.” the gym teacher muttered next, her voice now in a flat, bored tone as she checked off the greasy-haired girl next to Jesse before moving on down the line.
Once attendance was finished, the teacher clapped her hands together. “Alright! We’re running the 800 today. One, two, one, two.” she counted off the rows, assigning students into groups.
Jesse’s heart sank. He was in the first group. He wasn’t great at running on a normal day, and the idea of running an 800-meter sprint now, after everything else, felt like an added layer of punishment. The teacher blew her whistle, and the first group, including Jesse, took off.
He tried to keep a decent pace, sticking with most of the boys around him. The athletic kids, the jocks and track stars, quickly shot ahead, their strides long and effortless. Meanwhile, Jesse found himself in the middle, along with some of the less athletic kids, struggling to keep up but refusing to fall to the back. By the time he finished, he was gasping for breath, his legs burning. He collapsed onto the gym floor, joining a few other students in a sweaty heap while the rest of the runners trickled in.
When everyone had finished the run, the gym teacher gathered them around. Her whistle echoed through the gym, pulling everyone’s attention. “Alright, handball time. Four teams: Seth, Jake, Matt, Lindsey, you’re the captains. Pick your teams.”
Jesse watched as the captains stepped forward, trying to shake off the lingering ache from the 800-meter run. Two of the captains were tall, athletic girls who exuded confidence. One had buzzed blonde hair and muscles rippling under her uniform. The other, slightly taller, had dark skin and an imposing presence. The third captain was shorter, but Jesse noticed a faint shadow of facial hair along her upper lip, giving her an edge of maturity. The boy captain, Lindsey, looked like he should be athletic—his brown hair was tied in a ponytail, and he had a fit frame—but compared to the muscular girls beside him, he seemed fragile, almost out of place as the lone male team leader.
The team selection process began, a ritual Jesse had endured more times than he cared to remember. As usual, the athletic and popular kids were called first. Jesse stood awkwardly, his stomach twisting as each name that wasn’t his was called out. The captains barely glanced his way, their focus on the strongest players.
When Jake finally called his name, Jesse was fourth to be picked. Not the last, but still late enough that the sting of being overlooked sat heavy in his chest. He tried to shrug it off as he joined the team, walking to the court alongside his new teammates. Jake, who had short red hair and a cocky grin, immediately started assigning roles. “Jason, you’re goalie.” she called, not bothering to check if anyone had objections.
Jesse tried to blend into the background as Jake and Nate, another athletic girl with short hair, took charge of the game plan. “Nate and I got this.” Jake said confidently. Then she turned to Patrick, the greasy-haired girl who had been picked last. “And Patrick, try not to drop the ball, alright?”
Nate leaned in, whispering with a smirk, “Like she has experience with balls.” Both girls laughed softly, the sound sharp and cruel.
Jesse cringed at the comment. It was the kind of thing that reminded him how brutal social dynamics could be, even in this twisted reality. Patrick, however, didn’t react. She simply shuffled to her position, her face expressionless. As the game started, Jake and Nate dominated the ball, passing it back and forth between themselves. Occasionally, they tossed it to Michael, a lean girl who didn’t look particularly athletic but moved with a certain strength and confidence that made her a reliable teammate.
Jesse jogged along, trying to find an opening, but every time the ball came near him, his nerves got the better of him. Twice, the ball was passed in his direction, but both times it bounced awkwardly off his hands, slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t shake the growing realization that his body was weaker than it used to be—his old athleticism gone, replaced with something that felt foreign and frustrating.
Patrick, much like Jesse, was often ignored by their teammates. But during one play, she found herself wide open on the opposite end of the court. Michael, seeing the opportunity, passed the ball to her, but Patrick fumbled, the ball slipping out of her hands and bouncing out of bounds.
“Patrick!” Jake called out, her voice full of mock frustration. “Hey, Mr. Fischer, can we trade players?” she yelled toward the sidelines, drawing a few laughs from her teammates.
Patrick, for the first time, snapped back. “Hey, you don’t make fun of Jessica!” she growled, her eyes narrowing as she glared at Jesse. The sudden outburst caught him off guard, making him flinch.
Nate, not missing a beat, snickered and added, “Jessica gets a pass ’cause he’s a cheerleader.” The teasing had a sharp edge to it, but the others seemed to accept it as part of the game, laughing along.
Jesse felt his face flush with a mix of embarrassment and confusion. He pitied Patrick for being the target of their jokes, but at the same time, the reality of this new world sank in deeper. The cruelty of social dynamics hadn’t changed—it had just shifted. Now, the girls held the power, wielding it with the same harshness that boys used to, and he was spared only because of his appearance and the strange new status he held as a cheerleader. It was a bitter realization, one that left him feeling both relieved and disgusted.
Eventually, Jesse managed to catch a pass, though the throw was half-hearted, more of a test than anything else. He heard Nate’s sarcastic “See, Patrick!” as the ball finally landed in his hands, but it didn’t feel like a victory. His team won their first game, but the win felt empty, the camaraderie false. Jesse went through the motions, playing the next few rounds without much thought, his mind elsewhere.
After what felt like an eternity, Mr. Fischer finally blew the whistle, signaling the end of class. Relief washed over Jesse, though it did little to quell the exhaustion and unease weighing on him. The students dispersed, heading back to the locker rooms, their laughter and chatter mixing with the sound of squeaking sneakers on the gym floor. Jesse lingered for a moment, trying to avoid the rush, before making his way inside.
The moment he entered the locker room, the familiar sense of discomfort returned, settling in his chest like a rock. He peeled off his gym uniform, the fabric damp and sticky against his skin. His movements were quick, deliberate—he wanted to be out of there before any of the other boys could start another round of awkward conversation, or worse, before anyone noticed the oddity of his silence and nervousness.
He grabbed his deodorant, reapplying it with the speed of someone in a hurry to escape. The air was thick with the smell of body sprays and sweat, and Jesse felt like he could barely breathe. His eyes flickered to the mirror, catching his reflection for a brief second before he looked away, uncomfortable with the sight of himself in this new body. The gym clothes, while not exactly flattering, had at least offered a sense of anonymity. The loose shorts and simple t-shirt were a far cry from the jean shorts and tight top he had to wear outside of gym. He almost wished he could stay in the uniform for the rest of the day.
But he couldn’t. As much as he hated it, walking out in gym clothes would only make him look strange, like he didn’t know how to navigate this world any more than he already felt he didn’t. With a sigh, Jesse slipped back into his regular outfit—the denim shorts that now felt even tighter and more uncomfortable after the physical activity, and the tank top that seemed to cling too much to his frame.
The bell rang, shrill and piercing, jolting him out of his thoughts. It was time for the next class, and though he should have felt some sense of relief, all Jesse could think about was how much of the day was still ahead of him. Shouldering his bag, he hurried out the door, blending into the stream of students rushing through the hallway. The day wasn’t even close to over.