The shivering came. 

There had to be a different explanation. I stepped towards the front of the store and began furiously rubbing at the spot. But I knew there was no way I could've accidentally gotten some paint on there. It almost looked like someone had pasted a small patch of fleshy, glove material on me. For now, it was only the back of my hand but I had the nagging apprehension it would soon spread.

I made my way out of the store and considered washing in the restroom. I knew it wouldn't do anything. I would've felt something if it were a stain or an allergic reaction. Actually, I didn't feel the light hairs I usually had on the back of my hand. I tried to tickle for them and I couldn't find anything inside the affected area. 

Not a reason to panic. Dad definitely lost a lot of body hair. My concern was becoming like that pervy former-guy in class. I wasn't anything like them though. Not that some random phenomena would care. Leaving my hand under the faucet only made it slightly-redder. Examining it with a close eye, I was sure it had gotten bigger. I dialed Candace's number. It took her a moment to pick up.

"Not a good time, bro…"

I whispered, "My hand is changing color."

She was quiet for a moment before saying something I couldn't hear, then she growled into the phone, "You gotta be joking. It's not funny."

I asked her where she was and offered to present my hand. Not that I wanted to show evidence that I was being converted. And I especially didn't want to make the next phone call to mom and dad. 

I guessed Candace went to the store with that particular boy and she didn't want me to know what she was doing. I didn't want to think about that either but she sighed and begrudgingly told me where to meet up. 

When I arrived, I noticed that the clothing store they were at only had female clerks.  Allison sat on a bench with her head down. Bad call on my part. I swallowed my thought and walked over. Candace instructed me to hold my hand up to the light. She eyeballed it and then went through a series of odd and very colorful expressions. First, the narrow-eyed, accented skeptical animation. Then, her eyes widened to their fullest and her mouth line spread. Then, came the overly-obvious smirk.

She looked at me and announced, "That's conversion." It struck hard, like an arrow in the chest, to hear someone else say it aloud. 

Then she added what I hoped she wouldn't, "That hand looks smaller…and girlier than your other hand." 

Dabbing at her eyes, Allison turned to look at me. It wasn't long before she was inspecting too, with her hands prodding me. It gave me a preview of coming attractions. Well, not really. The parts outside the converted section, the parts under her influence, looked like my normal hand, only animated. The spreading patch, however, as Candace reiterated, looked….less like my normal hand.

Leaning close, Candace whispered, "It's girlier than dad's to be sure. Kenny…you might be gender-converting too." I couldn't hide a bright, overwhelming blush. Allison held her hand to her lightly-colored cheek and whispered to Candace.

I answered swiftly, "You don't know that." I tried not to say it very loud but it felt like a scream. I kept glancing at the spot. I was sure it was bigger now and not because of Allison, that influence was gone.

Candace looked at me and asked, "So you're saying that's a…boy's hand?" She held hers up for comparison. Enough of the shape had changed that I could tell immediately that the form was pretty close to hers. But then girls can have manly hands and boys can have small, soft hands!

Still, every rationalization felt futile. I wobbled and muttered, "I guess I should call mom and dad." This was one thing even Candace couldn't argue about. I apologized to Allison but she sniffled and bowed her head, saying, "It's okay. I know how stressful this can be. And with…something else maybe on top of it…you do what you need to do."

I expected Candace to reiterate a gibe she'd tossed me once, back when there was a rash of gender-conversions and she announced, "I'll help you buy your first bra, big sis." 

No such comments this time. I let her and Allison get back to shopping around as I made my call. 

I didn't want the other end to pick up. It was dad. I was tempted to ask for mom but I just blurted out, "Dad, I'm converting." Same quiet as with Candace, this one to fill a thousand heartbeats. More whispers I couldn't hear on the other end before he answered, "Do you need us to pick you up?"

I could feel behind his words that he was also asking if I could drive, if I was still human, if I looked anything like I did just a short time ago. I told him, "It's just on my hand right now but it's…changing quite a bit." That was too vague. 

Looking at it again, the conversion was easily winning the war against the rest of the flesh on the back of my hand. It looked like one of those invading army pictures from conflicts long past, spreading constantly. 

I fielded two more careful questions before I finally admitted, "Dad…Candace said it looks like a…girly hand."

Dad sighed into the phone and I thought I heard something from mom too in the background after dad whispered a bit. He told me, "Alright. Now it's up to you. If you want, come home as soon as you like, but only if you feel well enough to drive. I can find someone to pick up your sister and her friend, unless they want to head back with you."

So there sat the central problem. Did I want to go home and wait this out or did I want to bide my time while my sister pondered if I was about to sprout cartoon breasts in front of her and Allison? I didn't like either of those options. I just wanted to relax and enjoy a regular Sunday. I took a few deep breaths and told dad, "I'll call back in a bit."

Clutching my phone, I walked around a ring of clothes and glanced down at my hand. It was to my fingers. The first of the lines were showing up. Lines more like Candace's than mom's. No way of denying what it was anymore. I was converting. Thinking furiously, I tried to estimate how long I had. Most people didn't notice a conversion until they were at least past the hand. Denial, typically. I had to have started soon after we arrived at the mall or just before.

I knew it was useless to try to think of something I may have done. No scientific causation between actions and conversion. Still, the fear in me wanted to make sense of it. Blame something, try to rationalize why it was happening now and not before or years from now. Especially because my hand looked so soft and small. And I couldn't even cover it up for long. If I put a glove on my hand then it would just eventually animate and become a more obvious sign of what was happening to me.

I paced and glanced back towards Candace and Allison. They were talking. I was sure Allison had been crying. I should've felt like crying too. My life as I knew it was over. At the very least, I would be gawked at by random strangers, a morbid curiosity. At the very worst, I didn't want to contemplate what might happen.

I had a shiver and a sick feeling, so I took a breath. Darn it. The nothing-really-happening was the worst. Breaking down in tears would at least be something but I'd never been a crier, not even when I was a little kid and I inevitably hurt myself all the time. Screaming was possible but the attention would make it worse, along with being tossed out of the store. All the while, the smoldering, painless burn of my hand continued.

But the point remained, I had to at least choose to do something. Hurry home and crawl into bed while my mom rubbed the covers and told me it would be alright? I felt a backlash of pride. 

Wander around and maybe have my clothes shift before falling off as I exposed...everything to the entire mall? Not a good idea. 

All that remained for me was to stick around with my sister and her friend and see how the change progressed. Saying it myself reiterated that it was a stupid idea but going home and sulking sure wouldn't help. 

A quick call back home was met by a long silence as dad inquired, "You want to stay there with your sister? Will you be alright?"

"I'll do my best and call back if there are any new problems."

When I relayed my decision to Candace, she gave me a long, skeptical look. I stuck out my tongue at her. She shrugged and said, "Alright…"

I found a place to sit towards the back of the store. It wasn't a bad store. It just wasn't my style with all the bright colors, skirts, tank tops, and bracelets everywhere. Candace and Allison took turns trying things on. I had no opinion about my sister in a belted, blue skirt. Although I could imagine dad glowering and arguing how short it was. Allison tried on longer things with swirling patterns. She sat beside me when it was Candace's turn and asked, "You sure this is okay? I don't want to be a bother."

I assured her it was fine. I almost let out a comment about it being a preview of what I'd be wearing eventually anyway. But I held back that thought. Hold it back a little longer. 

She held her traced hands in her lap and brushed back her layered hair. Without prompting, she said, "I was…in a really bad place when it happened. In my head, I mean. I felt like it was the end. That nothing mattered anymore."

I gave her a sympathetic look as she sighed to herself and continued, "But…everyone has been wonderful. Family will be family but that's life. It goes on."

I asked, leaning towards her, "Your family hasn't been supportive?"

She gave a quick smile to herself. "Supportive? At least they haven't tossed me out and regurgitated countless things from TV. But if I told them I was pregnant, it would've been better." Without thinking on it too much, I put a hand on her shoulder (got a bit of her influence) and said, "You have support. My sister thinks of you like a sibling and my family knows what it's like. I know my dad would let you stay with my sis if you need to get away."

Looking into her glossy, dusty-red eyes, I gave her a quick hug. She immediately wrapped her arms around me and clung tightly. No tears but her eyes blinked a lot as she said, "Candace is right. You're a cool…brother." Her eyes flicked down at the last word. 

Smiling for her as she released me, I checked my hand. Whatever contact influence vanished to show a hairless, girlishly-sized arm with a color tone like Allison's "anime" one. I held my arms together to compare. My own influence wasn't enough yet to really affect the other hand. An anime girl's arm beside a normal guy's arm. A hand the same in all but drawing style to Allison's right beside me. 

Candace came out and showed off a necklace while wearing sunglasses. Allison clapped but without enthusiasm. Giving a sour expression, Candace plopped down next to the two of us and admitted, "This is a sucky cheer-up attempt. Now I've got my friend and my brother down in the dumps."

Allison waved her hands with a colorful blur and assured Candace she was fine. I displayed my hand for Candace, who eyed it and offered, "At least you're not avant-garde..."

It was the wholesale term for everyone who had the worst sort of artistic conversions, the kind where they were lucky if they had a symmetrical body and a face at the end. Those typically only happened at the beginning of all this but they still happened from time to time. She was right though. It could be much worse. But that still wasn't much of a pick-me-up. Allison clenched her white bands of teeth in her slight jaw and showed a smile, with the offer, "Maybe we could try another store? My parents would totally freak if I came home wearing some of this stuff anyway."

Candace kicked at the floor but nodded, putting forth a few examples. Most of them were places with a men's section. I appreciated that. I knew Candace could've spent all her time in this particular store, just trying things on. 

Then, her eyes widened and she noted one in particular, a new store. I was fine with it and Allison was curious to see it. It was a short walk. First, Candace told me, she wanted to try on something else. As she walked over to the changing room, I noticed she took out her phone and was calling. Suspicious but I'd ask her later. 

The new store Candace decided on was the sort I'd never spent much time in. It was winding and smelled of lilac with tons of colors. The so-called "gender-neutral" department was well…clearly intended for the swoop-haired movie billboard sort of men all over their advertising. I stared at one a moment before finding a place to sit. As with every day before in my life, the ad image did nothing for me. That was comforting, even though gender-conversion didn't always go together with orientation-conversion (although they tended to go together more often than not). Actually, it got worse if I thought about it, so I stopped there. 

After stretching out on the seat, I rechecked myself. A smidge past the elbow. If only our mall had an Animated Lifestyle store. But those only showed up at the big malls and in richer neighborhoods, not that conversion cherry-picked those with more money. It especially irked me that they had people to talk to without an appointment if you were going through a conversion. And they had all sorts of informational materials. We'd gone to a few when mom would do art showings and dad was negotiating some publishing contract. Candace loved them.

But none here. I leaned my head back until Candace and Allison found where I was camped out. I fussed with some shirts within reach with a half-smile. They went on. 

I took out my phone. It had an old, free copy of Tetris but it only gave me a one minute demo. I played a few times with my 'boy' hand and then with the new one. There was a difference but it seemed surprisingly subtle for the difference between my arms. That was something that had been studied too. In the majority of conversion cases, the mind-body connection wasn't strained.

Sure, my sister looked into the mirror a lot for a few weeks and felt her face but she didn’t have depression or severe anxiety. Mom actually felt good about her reflection and became, as we accused her, a little narcissistic with the mirror. Dad did get moody but mom definitely helped him through it. However, none of them changed their sex.

Among those who no longer felt like their face matched their self-image, it was found they had similar issues before but that lessened afterward. Conversion helped psychological issues. That was a bit of a bombshell study at the time when almost all the talk was how to stop and undo what was happening.

So, what did that say about me? How was the change helping me by, at the very least, giving me a girly arm? I let out a long breath. I knew myself. I honestly did not want to be a girl. Not in the least. I was fine with being myself, Kenny Brown. So why did I feel such nervousness?

I clenched my lips and pondered. What if I didn't even know that I wanted to be a girl, somewhere deep down in my subconscious or something? I had no idea what to think about that. Watching the art creep along my arm was more comprehensible than figuring that everything I thought I knew about myself was wrong.

I covered my face and took a breath. I tried to focus on what I could tell for sure. I was afraid of this. Big surprise. Who wouldn't be afraid of a complete transformation? And then my friends at school and school itself. Becoming converted was big, shocking news when it was first going around. Like having an exchange student from some other planet. Some people would stare bitterly and others would smile. But the attention, especially after it got a bit of a 'hipness' boost from celebrities, was constant. As it happened to more and more people and you saw groups of animated people hanging out together in clubs and families in converted support groups, it just became a part of life.

But gender conversions, those were still news. The pervy guys got outed as hiding their real feelings. The flamboyantly obvious ones were met with knowing nods. Everyone converted, for better or for worse, had the deepest parts of themselves exposed for all the world to see. For Candace, that wasn't a big deal. She just became more herself. Obvious.

For mom, she wanted to feel younger, feel different, and more colorful. She often admitted to crazy experiments with her hair during her art school years. Dad admitted he didn't like being seen as such a macho guy. 

And those who didn't like it, maybe like one article I read once suggested, perhaps they just hadn't come to terms with the kind of people they really were.

Either way, I would know soon enough.