Your alarm goes off on Friday morning, rousing you from a very restful slumber. You groggily reach over to turn it off and stay in bed for several minutes. At first, you aren't aware of anything except for the fact that you have class at ten o'clock, and that your shirt feels really loose for some reason.
That reason comes back to you in a flash as you get up out of bed and feel some kind of rope slap you across the back. You regain full consciousness instantly, and rush to the bathroom. The events of yesterday flood back into your mind when you see a small girl with knee-length braided hair in the mirror.
You laugh. How could you possibly have forgotten so easily? You must have really been out of it.
After breakfast, you brush your teeth and lay out your uniform. You take off your tee-shirt, which is more like a baggy teddy in your current form, and put on the bra. You slip into the stockings, blouse, skirt, and finally the vest. You pull your long braid out of the collar, and then you remove the rubber band you had used to secure it last night. You add hair ties to your To-Do list as you carefully unravel the braid.
It remains in three clumpy sections, so you need to comb it. You don't want to use your new brush, as that would probably cause your crown braid to become undone, so you have to use a standard comb. You underestimated how hard it was to use such a comb on long hair. You have to work it very carefully, also using your fingers to separate tangles. It takes a very long time, but you want it to be perfect, so you accept the need to be slow and deliberate. A non-magical hairbrush is now added to your mental list.
Finally, the hair sorted, you step into the bathroom and pose before the mirror, front and back. You look every bit as lovely as yesterday. The crown braid doesn't seem to have been disheveled by your sleep at all. You wonder if there's some kind of magic in those hairpins the stylist used that's keeping it together until they're pulled out.
At last, you throw your things in your backpack and head out for class. The time it took to comb your hair has made you nearly late, and you double-time it to the campus several blocks away. You notice several people glance in your direction as you walk briskly down the street, and for some reason you feel happy for all the attention.
In the lecture hall, however, you hope you can stay relatively unnoticed. It's a class of over a hundred students, so there's little chance of being spotted by the professor as long as you sat in the way back. Being spotted by other students, on the other hand...
"Are you in this class? I've never seen you before." A guy sitting a few seats down from you strikes up a conversation before the professor arrives. You don't recognize him, but that's hardly surprising. You usually sit toward the front.
Your mouth stays slightly open in a vapid expression as you think of a good story.
"I'm...No, I'm not. Not technically. That is--" You blush fiercely. You sounded like a complete ditz. You regroup and begin again. "Sorry, I'm not a student here. I'm doing a sit-in for visitation."
"High-school senior?"
"Yeah."
"That's cool. I did a couple like that. Just so you know, this is probably the most boring class they offer here, so don't judge too harshly."
You force a giggle. He's a nice guy, but you can tell he's infatuated by you. It's a rather disturbing thought, and it's enough to make you regret coming here at all.
Fortunately, the professor has appeared and begins taking role. This, naturally, takes a while. You almost shout out "Here" when he calls your name, but thankfully you stop yourself just in time. The guy down the row answers to the name Tom.
You discretely take notes. You don't want Tom to wonder why you're paying such rapt attention, nor why you seem to be already familiar with concepts discussed in previous sessions. The way he constantly steals glances at you makes you even more nervous about rousing suspicion.
But even if you did behave like a regular member of the class, it's not like you were going to get caught. No normal person would look at the evidence and put two-and-two together properly. The day you're absent a brand new girl appears in class, claiming to be a prospective student yet demonstrating knowledge she shouldn't possess? Surely the only possible conclusion is that you were magically changed into a girl and had the irresistible urge to come to class dressed as one!
The silliness of that idea causes you to chuckle. Students in the two rows in front of you turn their heads. Your face blushes beet red again, and you cover your mouth, making an apologetic face to those who turned to look. You glance over at Tom, who is smiling. You thank God the professor was too far away to hear you, and try extra hard to stay silent and keep your mind from drifting back to your wonderment at being a girl.