Denebola

This is a two-chapter update! (wow!) Probably you should read the chapter before this if you haven't already.

Oh my god. I hate this so fucking much.

My hand’s shadow moved back and forth in the yellow light of my desk lamp as I traced my pencil across the narrow lines of my history reading, straining my eyes to make out the words and straining my brain to parse them. Next to me, my computer sat idle, some instrumental music playing for background noise. It was getting near the end of the playlist. I’d have to restart it soon. Probably should just set it to loop at this point.

I cracked my knuckles and tried to refocus. I scanned over the rest of the page. Four more paragraphs. I just had to keep reading and before I knew it I’d be finished. Three more paragraphs. Two more, and… one more. A momentary pause to highlight a couple of quotes that seemed like they might be important, and then, finally, with a kind of exhausted glee, I flipped over to the next page. Page eight, a scrawled number in the top corner told me it was. Out of… twenty-one.

“Oh my goood, I haaate this.”

I sank back into my chair, drumming my pencil on my knee for a bit before reaching for my phone. No new notifications from Brie or anyone else. Though I would’ve already seen it if there were.

I bit my lip. From downstairs I could faintly make out the sounds of my parents talking or watching TV. Nothing from Gabe’s room across the hall. His friends had left a few hours ago, and probably he was just doing homework or something now. Like I should be doing.

With a sigh, I set my phone down and stared at the packet that lay open on my desk with a sense of quiet defeat. I’d tried to work on it on and off throughout the day, but as evidenced by the fact that I was still sitting here, not even halfway through, I hadn’t been as productive as I would’ve hoped. I’d already eaten and showered and napped and everything else I could think to do that wasn’t this. Now it was half past nine, just nine hours until I’d be waking up tomorrow, and the only thing I had left to do was… get myself to read thirteen more pages of this fucking microscopic text.

Y’know, I actually can’t remember if this is even graded, I thought miserably to myself. I was pretty sure we’d be talking about it in class tomorrow, as a discussion thing. But I couldn’t remember for the life of me if it was graded. It was very possible it wasn’t. I should’ve checked that before spending all day stressing out about it.

“But I prolly still oughta do it though, shouldn’t I,” I groaned. I really wasn’t in the mood to get called on to say something and then have to BS my way through an answer because I hadn’t read it. I’d had it happen before, and I did not need that kind of thing in my life right now.

Plus it was also like… I didn’t want to have this thing which was Emily’s responsibility and then just let it fall by the wayside. It… made me feel weird, or something.

I looked up at the dark screen of my laptop, cracking a faint smile as my eyes met my reflection’s. Y’know, if I were me right now, I’d honestly prolly just take the L and call it a night here. So you should actually be like, grateful, Emily. I’m being so responsible right now.

Page eight. Only… fourteen more to go. And the last one was mostly endnotes anyway, so it didn’t even really count. Thirteen pages.

I cracked my knuckles and rolled myself closer to my desk. Thirteen more pages. That was doable.

Just need to focus…

“Fuck, why am I even doing this?” I said. I paused my music and swept my hands back through my hair. This was actually so fucking weird, wasn’t it? My entire life had been totally rewritten or something, and I’d decided that the best course of actions was to sit here and work on my history homework? What person does that? Why was I… ughhh.

I felt like I was doing everything wrong. I still had no idea why this had happened at all, and I was still completely lost as to how to fix it. This wasn’t even my life. Why was I just resigning myself to being stuck like this?

I knew I’d said I’d try to keep things together for Emily. Which… I did think was something I should do. Because this wasn’t my life, right? And I had no right to just go around and screw things up. So I should try to act normal, do things like normal. That made sense, right?

It was just… if I were—

Guh, fuck me.

If I were going to be a little more honest with myself… there was a part of me that was maybe a little curious, to see what my life would’ve been like if I were a girl. It was just one of those things you thought about from time to time, except it was hard to imagine it well because it affected so much. Like, obviously there was your body and stuff. But also… how you talked, how you presented yourself, and how people saw you, and stuff like that. How you fit into society.

Of course I was curious; who wouldn’t be, in this situation? That was normal. So I’d learned more about her. I’d seen her stuff, heard how everyone talked to her. And everything I’d seen and heard made me more and more convinced that I had to keep things the same for her. Because her life was so vibrant, so much… more going on than mine. And I couldn’t mess that up for her.

I slumped down onto my desk, burying my face in my arms. “Why am I thinking about this,” I groaned. “I don’t want to think about this.”

I swear to God, I’m really, really not jealous of her. I was perfectly happy with my own life or anything. It was just, Emily… she just seemed so…

Tilting my head to the side, I glanced towards my open closet, lined with clothes. There was so much stuff there. Or maybe it wasn’t that much more than I had in my closet, but there was just so much more variety than I had. Emily picked those all? She actually wore them all?

I knew guys who put a lot of effort into their appearances and stuff. Lucas had a bunch of clothes, and Gabe and I always made fun of how much time he spent doing his hair or like, browsing shoe stores online. Or even Ryan—as doofy as he’d looked freshman year going to school in his polo and khakis, he’d at least been going for something intentional. He definitely had a pretty strong sense of style now.

But I’d just never been able to muster that much energy to care about it for myself. I’d accepted that I was one of those guys who didn’t do that kind of thing. Like Adrian, or Gabe. Or my dad, for that matter. And I’d moved on.

I did put in the effort to dress up nicer than usual once in a while. For the odd formal event here and there, or other stuff like me and Brie deciding to go out somewhere semi-fancy. Or like, for homecoming. I’d done that. I’d rented a tux and got all dressed up, put a bunch of effort into making sure I looked good, posed for the photos with Brie and my friends. And I’d… I’d felt pretty good then, or I thought I had. Like in a ‘yeah, I know usually I look generic as all hell, but look at me now, I can clean up nice enough too’ sort of way. There were some nice photos that came out of it.

But that was a special occasion sort of thing. Definitely not something I’d ever bother to do on a regular basis.

Emily, though… she had all these clothes in her closet, all the frickin hair and skin products in the bathroom. And then there were her texts with everyone, all her plans and things she wanted to do. So many ways she expressed herself, and so well too. She was cool, and confident, and cute, and…

She was so comfortable with herself. She put so much effort into herself. So much fucking work. She cared about herself so much.

Is it…

Is it that good?

Slowly, I pushed myself up out of my desk, got to my feet, and walked up to the closet. There was so much stuff here. I didn’t even know where to start.

Something came to mind. A well-worn band t-shirt, high-waisted black skinny jeans, and a denim jacket. I pulled them out and set them on my bed.

I looked over the ensemble. This was it, right? More or less what Emily had been wearing in that one video in the changing room from her date with Brie. I pictured what she’d looked like there.

What… would this look like on me now?

Without letting myself give it a second thought, I quickly slipped off the t-shirt and pajama shorts I was in now and clumsily switched them out for the other shirt and the jeans. Then the jacket, sleeves rolled up. And that should be…

I stood still in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. Something wasn’t quite right. I still just looked like me. Or like… obviously I looked like her. But not the her I’d seen in all those photos.

I tried to remember what she’d been doing, in that video. I had to fix my posture—one hand on my hip, lean to the side a little, carry myself differently. And tuck in my shirt, I’d forgotten that. Push my hair back on one side. My face… what was that expression she’d had?

Like that?

I looked at myself again.

“Oh.” I kinda…

I turned, examining what I looked like from different angles. It—it was a good outfit. It… looked nice. Seeing myself like this, I could almost imagine…

I kinda look like her, don’t I?

“…kay, next one?” The words fell out of my mouth without me even thinking. Emily had said that. In the video.

I laughed nervously and dropped the pose. There was a weird feeling in my heart. Something… heavy. But warm. I couldn’t exactly put a name to it.

Okay, there. I—I should stop. I need to get back to work.

But I…

“Well, I’ll be here if you need me for anything. Or just shout and I’ll probably be around.”

I really should get back to work.

“Come on, Ryan, where’s your sense of adventure? Mm, well, if Bridesmaids isn’t doing it for you, how about… Legally Blonde?”

Why am I—

“Gabe, go get ready already so we can leave early and I can prove to Mom I’m a responsible sister, alright?”

I… almost sorta sound like her, don’t I. That way the words rolled off the tongue. It sounded so natural, coming from her. Saying it like that. If I stretched my imagination a little, I could almost convince myself…

“…hey, Brie. What was… what was it that made you like me? What was it about me…”

I could almost imagine that it actually maybe could’ve been her, who’d said those things. Instead of—

—me.

My eyes shot upwards, and suddenly I saw myself again. I froze, a wave of clawing shame washing through me. The sound of my heartbeat filled my ears. Why was I doing this? This wasn’t my body. These weren’t my clothes. I wasn’t—

I shouldn’t be doing this. Why am I doing this? What am I doing?

This—fuck, this was so fucking weird. I was a boy trying on a girl’s clothes that I’d never even met. I can’t do this. What the hell is wrong with me? Why—

I had to stop. I just had to stop and get back to my work and not think about this again. This, this was so fucking weird. So fucking creepy. I—

I just—

“…fuck it.”

I stood up, hesitantly approaching my closet once more. My eyes went to a pair of leggings. Never worn those before. I pulled them out, tossing them on my bed.

A checkered flannel shirt. I’d been wearing those, but only like I was used to. Not like how she did. I pulled it out too.

Those denim short shorts I’d considered for just a moment this morning. Out.

An oversized baby blue hoodie. Thick, fuzzy white socks. A flowing floral-patterned black skirt. Out, out, out.

There was more daring stuff. Lower-cut t-shirts. Shorter skirts. A fucking crop top.

Those… were maybe more than I could handle right now.

A flared dress, painted in this deep navy blue, speckled with tiny white dots like the night sky.

I…

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck me.

Out.

I stared, wide-eyed, at the clothes I’d tossed on my bed. Another anxious laugh escaped my throat. Anyone would do this, in this situation. Emily would, if she were there stuck as me.

It was just curiosity. I just wanted to understand what it felt like. To feel that… to feel like that. To feel like her.

I wasn’t sure if I really believed that.

I picked up the leggings, holding them in my hands. Just the act of touching them felt like it had such a weight to it. This weight in my chest, that felt like it pulled me to try it on.

“Next… next one.”