By the time Zach emerged from the shower–dude took a long time! What was he doing in there?--I had made my selection, and tried my best to roll them into a bundle to at least conceal the panties. He didn’t seem to notice anything amiss as I passed him on my way into the bathroom, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

As was my habit, I showered largely with my eyes closed. I mean, imagine wanting to see your own naked body. Gross. But although I tried my best to distract myself from my, uh, situation, anxiety kept creeping in from the corners of my mind. Eventually, the reprieve of showering was over and I had to return to the real world.

I pulled on the outfit I’d brought into the bathroom with me, and considered looking in the mirror to check how weird I looked. But then I, uh, didn’t do that? I mean, imagine wanting to see yourself in the mirror. Also, at this point I was pretty much just committed. Wouldn’t be productive to remind myself that this looked terrible when I didn’t exactly have a choice about it.

According to people online, makeup would probably make me look less terrible. But also I had no idea how to do that, and no friends I was really willing to ask for help, and whenever I tried by myself it turned out god-awful. Some people might say “Hey, uh, aren’t most people initially bad at most things?” Such people clearly aren’t former quote-unquote “gifted” kids.

So I sighed, tried to adjust my clothes as best I could–the shirt was a little wrinkled, my own fault for procrastinating on folding laundry–and made my way out into the room, cursing my past self for choosing such short shorts. But at least I’d shaved my legs a few days ago.

Zach glanced up as I emerged. Was he looking at me weird? I felt my heart rate increase. Fuck. He thought it was weird, didn’t he? Why did I think any of this was a good idea? Why did I even try to have friends? I should’ve just stayed home and read gendery things online.

He vaguely waved in my direction. “Hey, dude! Uh…” Oh fuck oh fuck here it comes “Do you have, like, a jacket or anything? I feel like you might get cold in those at night,” he said, gesturing to my shorts. “Also, nice legs.”

I felt my face heat up and abruptly looked down, only to be greeted by the sight of my own legs. So I looked off to the side instead. The hotel room contained a lovely painting of, uh… abstract shapes? Wasn’t really sure what they were going for with that one, to be honest.

A few seconds later, I had (mostly) recovered from that psychic damage and tried to play the whole thing off. “So, uh, do we have any plans for the rest of the day? Hopefully nothing too tiring, after that drive. It’s weird how long drives make you tired even when you aren’t the one driving, huh?”

Zach sighed. “Yeah, dude. I was texting Maria and it sounds like at most she might go to the hot tub and then to the restaurant later. At least we might see her in bikini, right?” He waggled his eyebrows. “I mean, who doesn’t love a tall chick in a bikini?”

“Short chicks in bikinis?” I hazarded. God, I wish I could pull off a bikini. Not like that, you perverts. I wish I could wear a bikini and have it look good, is what I mean.

Zach laughed. “Yeah, probably. Huh, I wonder if Jenna might wear a bikini too. Fingers crossed.”

“Man, why do dudes love bikinis so much?” I wondered out loud.

“You tell me, dude,” Zach said. Ah. Right. He considered me a dude still. Cool cool cool. Fuck, I needed to come out to people sooner rather later, if only so I didn’t feel like I was about to be driven insane. You ever have friends, like, accidentally gaslight you about your gender? Honestly, not a fan. Wouldn’t recommend it. 0/10.

“You wanna come out to the pool, dude?” Zach asked. “Or is some accidental sun exposure too much for your delicate skin?”

I briefly considered the horrifying prospect of being topless in front of Zach–even though he’d probably think nothing of it–only to realize I hadn’t brought any swimsuit at all. “Can’t, dude. I forgot to bring a swimsuit.”

“Seriously?” he said. “How do you go on vacation and forget a swimsuit? Well, I’d offer to lend you one, but I just have the one pair of trunks and they’d be way too big for you anyway. Maybe you could just go in some boxers or something?”

I rapidly shook my head. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why are you so weird about other people seeing you not wearing much clothes?” he asked. “I remember you always used to, like, squat in the corner in gym and finish changing after everyone else left. You got, like, an embarrassing birthmark or something? A conjoined twin? One of those tumors with teeth?”

“What? No. Also, pretty sure tumors can’t grow teeth. That sounds fucking horrifying.”

“No, it’s a thing, I swear! I was reading about it.” He typed something into his phone and, a moment later, thrust the screen at my face. 

“Well, that’s an image I could have gone without seeing,” I said. “If you’ll excuse me I have to go vomit real quick.”

Zach laughed. “You sound like my sister.” He suddenly looked serious. “I think she might have an eating disorder, actually? I would talk to her about it but she basically hates me.”

“Eh, she’s a teenager,” I said. “They hate everyone, especially close relatives. I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“I blame my mom, honestly,” he said. “I feel like she’s way harder on her than on me. Always bugs her about her posture or weight or whatever. It’s kinda fucked.”

“Yeah, that sucks but I’m not that surprised,” I said. “Uh, good thing sexism is dead, right? Something something girlboss.”

“Damn, does that mean I’m malewife?” Zach asked.

“Hmm, no, pretty sure that’s me,” I said.

He laughed. “Yeah, actually, that checks out. I mean, you do your laundry. That’s like 50% of the way to being a wife, right?”

“Dude, yikes,” I said. “Equal division of household labor is the future. What do you think this is, the 50s?”

“Well, it’ll be the 2050s in a few decades. Maybe we can bring back, like, weird jello dishes and racist Disney shorts.”

“Heh. Well, enjoy your retro-futuristic dystopia, dude. I hope your housewife bot doesn’t malfunction and electrocute you.”

Zach chuckled for a bit before standing up. “I think I’m gonna go look around the hotel. Maybe I’ll find a fun ice machine or something. Why do they still have those, anyway? Have they not heard of fridges?”

“It’s probably cheaper than putting a fridge in every room,” I said. “Unless that fridge is a minibar. Have you seen the prices on those things, dude? You’d be way better off just, like, postmates-ing stuff from the nearest liquor store to your room.”

“New startup idea,” Zach said. “Uhhh, Uber but for liquor.”

“Dude, you can’t just make startups by calling them Uber but for blank.”

“Who’s gonna stop me?” he asked. “The venture capitalists love it. Anyway, have fun with this whole room to yourself. I have a blacklight and I will be using it when I come back.”

“Ew!” I said. “Besides, have you seen hotel rooms? The whole thing would probably glow. God, people are gross. Don’t touch the sheets. And maybe use gloves on the tv remote.”

“Okay, just for that, I’m gonna do this,” Zach said. I watched in horror as he picked up the room’s television remote and gingerly… licked it.

“What the fuuuuck!” I cried out. “Ew ew ew!” 

“Maria’s right,” Zach said. “You are such a girl.” He dropped the remote on the floor between the two beds and headed for the door, grabbing his keycard on the way.

Before exiting, he glanced back to see me bending over to get the remote. I mean, who just throws shit on the floor? Besides me with dirty clothes, I mean. “Nice panties,” he said, then was out the door.

I promptly died.