A touch check told me that my hair now fell against the middle of my back. A moment before, I didn't feel like it was any longer. I had no idea how it had crept down without me noticing. I glared at the glowing female spirit books. Most of them just borrowed from old fantasy mythology anyway.

I made my way between the aisles and to the back where almost no one ventured. It was quiet. I crouched on the floor, sat down, and leaned against a shelf. With the high shelves and all the turns, no one would easily see me. I noticed I was in the mysteries and crime section with fiction behind me and non-fiction in front.

Crime was definitely something that survived in not-quite-idyllic reality. It had changed a few ways. All sorts of crimes against animated persons spiked for a while. Some were hate crimes, which especially got a lot of press. Others just seemed to be the normal sort of crimes that would've happened anyway. Although plenty speculated about the colorful attraction of the converted to criminals and suggested that animated people should "tone down their colors or not be so provocative" about them. Mom often chucked several, brutal things at the TV in frustration. Still, she warned Candace not to wear short skirts.  

And then there were crimes committed by animated people. It wasn't a high percentage but you wouldn't know that from reports. Every single one of them got mentioned, especially that one creepy, pale-toned serial killer who looked like he stepped out of a horror graphic novel with the curve of his mouth line. There were probably several books about him on the shelf in front of me. They were making a movie about him too.

They caught him easily because, not surprisingly, having a face like something out of a horror graphic novel does cast suspicion on you. And then there were the animated traces left behind. Bits of converted skin look like they’re scraped off a piece of art and make matching easy. If you have a distinctive color and style then you're just asking for it as a criminal. It has become harder for police sketch artists though and easier for police line-ups.

Fingerprints changed the most. Which reminded me, I'd probably have to take new fingerprinting for my driver's license (and fill out a lot of paperwork). Animated fingerprints can vary wildly. Some styles show up too bright but essentially the same. Some don't have fingers or have no marks on their fingers. Then there's the ones with strange finger proportions which don't even fit the scanners. Of course, in places where it matters about verifying identity, I'd imagine a seven foot, black-lined man with an oversized torso, spindly arms, and a green afro (who I saw in the line at the DMV, trying to find paperwork for a visa) would be hard to mix up with anyone else. Granted, I once saw a girl at a park who, from the back, had the same style and hair color as my sister but it was clear when she turned around that she wasn't Candace. 

Turning around to look at some of the books, I realized my hair felt even longer and was getting caught. Something which annoyed mom endlessly about her hair when she had it down. I pulled it out and kept finding more and more of it. Colorful, flowing, animated pink hair. It draped over my shoulder and landed on my lap. I stared at it and swallowed. My hair had to be long enough to just about touch the floor from where I was sitting.

I bolted to my feet and turned to check. So much hair everywhere. I puffed it out of my face and batted it aside. I really hoped this was as long as it was going to get. The texture was fully-animated and the color was that simple, shocking-pink tone. The shading underneath looked like a dark tint of pink. Anime style but not quite like mom's. Hers was more blended. Mine had a sharp distinction between the tones. Not too much to go on just from that. I figured that I also probably had a slight halo-effect even under the indoor lights. That happened in the sun for some animated people, a shine ring around the top of their heads.

I figured it was time to check where Candace was, since she had the only way of knowing how I looked now. I made my way around the curve of the aisle. It was such a blind curve that I bumped into a normal store clerk with a big brown box. He promptly apologized and then paused, staring at me. I heard a sound like a slurring of 'miss' and 'sir'. He tucked his lips in and simply repeated, "Sorry. You okay?"

I nodded to him quickly and he hurried off with his parcel. I took a little bit of pride that I'd not gotten an automatic "miss" out of him. But still, that meant I had to be pretty far along. Touching my face gave no help. And trying to peer, crossed-eyed, at my nose only confirmed it still existed and wasn't reduced to a pen stroke. It didn't look as big though but then I typically ignored my nose. 

Feeling all around, my clothes weren't any looser. Actually, my hips rose a little more. My waist felt different as well. Touching my arms and shoulders was inconclusive, especially with long sleeves. But they certainly didn't feel any bigger. Then, I carefully shifted my hands to my chest. Flat, for now. 

My shoes were closer to sweaty moon boots with all I had inside to keep them from dropping off my feet but I was able to awkwardly walk through the turns of the shelves. 

Of course, Candace wasn't up near the magazines anymore but Allison was. She flipped through a few gossip magazines but looked up when I approached. Her expression told me a lot. She bunched up her mouth line and concentrated on my face before looking over my body.

Before I could ask her what she saw, I noticed a quick flash from behind. Candace with the phone camera from over by discounted teen fiction. I raked at my hair to keep it out of my eyes and asked, "So…?"

Allison held concern in her expression. She fidgeted with her hands. Candace had to say for her, "You have a very girly face. But it's not animated yet." I knew that much. Candace passed me the phone. She'd caught me from behind with my head turned almost in profile.

My first thought should've been that I looked like someone photo-shopped a cartoon wig onto my otherwise normal face. Only it wasn't my normal face. The boyish shape I was used to had softened. My lips looked slighter, a sign they would soon shift to animated proportions. My nose didn't look different. But it was clear, especially with the hair, that my face looked feminine. So soft. Not even a hint of tomboy edge to dull the sentiment. It was a girly face.

But that wasn't what my first thought was. My first thought was how Candace had caught the shape of my body through the muddied lens of what I was wearing. It wasn't Candace's shape which showed lean shoulders and a slight dip to her hips. Nor was it Parker's curvy outline with wide hips. It looked closest to Allison's shape. 

I had a slow, inward arch diving deepest at the waist which contrasted against my wide hips. But I wasn't curvy. At least not yet. I just looked like a teen girl in a drape of clothing. I sat on a small pile of magazines near Allison and passed the phone back to Candace. It was inevitable with everything so far but a whole other matter to see.

The strangest aspect was I didn't feel all that different. Sure my waist did feel a little more compact and my hips more spread out. My clothes definitely felt bigger and it was harder to see over some shelves. As well, I didn't expect such a change in my face but now that I had seen it I could point out more and more evidence of differences. The passage of changes without my noticing worried me. 

Doctors had found that those undergoing animation were tough to track as test subjects. Mostly because of random onset and the difficulty of comparing one case to another. Eventually, they just decided to hire a couple thousand people and watch them all the time in a controlled setting. Only a few percent showed signs of conversion but they could cycle through and retain those who did change.  

While they still hadn't found a specific moment when the change began, they did notice that those with the most radical style changes often didn't panic or freak. It tended to be those who only changed a little and who could still see their original faces that would have the most negative feelings and concerns throughout. They even reported tingling or slight burning in their skin. But even these few seemed to relax towards the end. Most speculated there was an analgesic effect with whatever was causing the change, to mollify the stress to the human body both mentally and biologically. Some even found themselves sleepier during the bulk of their conversion (those who didn't change while they were asleep). Some of those New Age works latched onto that as well.

For me, well, I wasn't freaking out. I did feel a little anxious but it was more like lightly batting at the air. If I had to describe it, it felt at that moment like I'd left something I'd wanted to bring with me at home by accident. There was nothing I could do about it at the moment and I felt irked that it happened but also a bit helpless to make something happen to fix it. And I felt darn sweaty with those socks stuffed in my shoes. 

Candace lingered and asked me the big question, "You alright, bro?"

Allison echoed, "You don't feel sick, do you?"

Physically, I felt fine. I didn't like that I had to be overly-conscious of my hair getting in my face or snagging on something. I could've bought something to contain my hair but I honestly didn't want to spend more money on things I didn't even know if I'd need depending on how the rest of the change went. Mostly, I felt like going home and at the same time I knew it wouldn't be any better there. What I wanted was a time machine capable of moving events a few more hours so I wouldn't have to plod through the uncertainty. I muttered as much to Candace, who nodded.

I rechecked my chest just to be sure nothing had popped up without my knowing in the last few minutes. The same as before. Allison leaned close. Some customers lingered and watched us. Probably because we were blocking the more popular magazines rather than the fact I looked like a half-girly, bright-pink-wigged weirdo between two anime girls.

We regrouped just outside the bookstore on a quiet bench without many shoppers passing by. Allison went back to buy one of the magazines she had her eye on and Candace went back to browse a bit in turn. When Candace was gone, Allison tried to make absolutely certain I was alright. Wanting to change the subject from me, I carefully asked how her conversion went and whether she felt alright during it. She was quiet long enough for me to raise what would soon be a pen-strike eyebrow. 

"Not at first. I was so very calm that my parents freaked out with all sorts of accusations and yelling. So, I tried to be sad. I pretended to be scared so they wouldn't be worried. It wasn't till it was all done and they'd taken me to useless doctors who recommended all sorts of vague vitamins that I actually started to feel worried. About like…what I would do every day for the rest of my life. How my family would see me. How my friends would see me. Then, I called Candace and really…you have an awesome sister because she helped a lot." She smiled faintly and squeezed her book bag till it became drawn in her influence.

I'd heard about the vitamin thing before. Some random tale that a case of conversion had actually been reversed due to diet. Like so many pseudo-scientific things before, it was thoroughly-disproved but still readily-believed as an item of last resort. An effort to say that something had been done. A placebo for stressed relatives.

I smiled cryptically at Candace when she returned. She gave me a suspicious look then a curious look before asking, "What now?"

I had a couple of ideas in mind. First, begrudgingly, I knew what I was wearing already looked ridiculous and might not be able to stay on for long. I had a rough plan though. Right next door to what remained of the mall gaming arcade was one of the stores on Candace's list of places she liked to go. The games would hopefully be enough of a time sink. Allison noted the dance games she'd seen there once. Honestly, those ancient things were just about the only interesting machines they had left.

It wasn't a long walk. I didn't get as many second looks this time. It was mostly the kids who watched me. Allison offered to play a couple games with me before she went to look at clothes but Candace and Allison wound up playing against each other because I didn't feel comfortable dancing with my new hair whipping around. Allison showed far more skill than I expected from her reserved nature. The arcade used to be at a larger lot on the other side of the mall. This one was far more cramped aside from the featured dance games. There were a few percussion games and countless one-trick-pony light-gun games. One wall had an entire row of old racing games of which only about half worked and many screens were burned and discolored at the edges. Only the dance and music games seemed like they were getting any upkeep. The skee-ball games didn't look half bad but the ticket dispensers were taped over. 

The laser tag area looked like it was in perpetual reconstruction. There was an air hockey table towards the back and a much nicer pool table even further back which looked like it had been donated. I remembered the old location used to have a lot more fighting games from at least the last five years. The newest in this arcade was a blocky, polygon fighter with a spinny camera. The old ones were at least among the classics and there were a few 80s and early 90s shooters. Enough to cycle through to pass the time. I owed Candace a quick game of air hockey before she went back to looking at clothes.

Allison panted and clapped for us as we started our game. The puck was weathered but serviceable. Candace made a show of stretching and cracking her neck with a fluid animation. Then she shot the puck across the table to ding into the sidewall and ricochet vigorously like a pinball. It snuck into her own goal as she stayed outstretched and flailing. I smiled and she snorted. 

Her strategy was, as it always was, speed and flailing. I guarded but her shots sometimes knocked the mallet out of my hand. We were about even for most of the game. She did a little martial-artsy move and then used her free hand as a quick distraction. I won by a few and half of my points were faults on her part. Candace spun her mallet and gave a quick little salute before dragging Allison off to the clothing store. I slid mine like a hovercraft till the air turned off. 

The arcade was pretty quiet, especially with Candace gone. I strolled and struggled to keep my hair under control. I knew the quiet games would be more for me. I played a top-down aircraft shooter I'd never tried before but it was like 1941. It only nibbled at my change since it was generous with free lives. I couldn't tell you how long I played but I eventually stopped when one particular "boss" kept wiping me out. 

From there, I looked around and considered what to try next. I noticed someone sitting in the empty area which would've been reserved for redeeming tickets. Her hair was stark-white with the same kind of shading tint mine had now. It looked feathery with a blue ribbon holding it up in a high ponytail. She looked small, even smaller than me (although still not as small as mom). 

She wore what looked like runner's clothes influenced in her style, a pale-blue, hooded drawstring jacket with a matching pair of nylon pants. She had a book out in front of her and was reading intently. She glanced up a moment, noticing me. Her eyes were brilliant lavender with a core of royal purple. She leaned back and scratched at her neck before asking, "Is there anything I can help you with?"

I spoke to tell her that I was fine but the sound of my words was closer to how Allison spoke than how I wanted my words to sound. I continued with an assurance that I was fine. This time, my voice sounded oddly closer to how I usually spoke. Adding a few more words, I found I sounded more like some female newscaster I remembered from TV. With that, I stopped talking and just smiled at her.

She gave me a slight smile in return and asked, "How long have you been changing?" 

I asked for the time in a voice similar to an actress who did a lot of singing. I was surprised how much time had passed since we arrived at the mall. She bent under the counter and came up with what looked like a bar stool. She set it in front of me and I used it. 

She nodded when I told her about how long and remarked, "You are still cooking but getting there. I assume you were a bit taller when you started the day."

Her voice was steady and had the tone of someone more mature. It had an even depth that didn't flitter about like Candace's words or step softly about the sounds like Allison's words. Her voice was more like my mother's. 

I confirmed her assumption and resisted saying more, folding my arms slightly. She watched me and noted, "I saw it as a blessing when it happened to me, like I had been touched by something beyond myself. You see, I am older than I look…"