I wake up to a bone-shattering headache. There’s pain behind my eyes, pulsing against my skull and straining up from the cramped muscles in my neck. I feel nauseous and shattered.

What the fuck happened?

I turn in my bed and open my eyes. The ceiling is further away than it should be. The window should be above my head, not to my left, it should be smaller, too.

And then I realise that the bed I’m lying in is neither a bed nor mine. It’s an old leather couch and the blanket over me is thin and made of fleece.

Where the fuck am I?

Not at home, obviously.

How did I get here?

I don’t remember much of yesterday, must’ve had more than just one drink too many.

Claire.

Alex.

The nausea.

A friendly hand on my arm.

A flash of green hair.

Everything so blurry. A single haze of impressions and out-of-focus pictures.

I rub at my eyes with my left hand and turn onto my side.

The room is fairly large, contains a kitchen, a working space, a small table with chairs around it, and a TV. The couch is meant for TV-watching.

The building must be old. The glass in the windows is thinner than it should be, the wood isn’t properly lacquered.

There’s a metal-grid stairway leading up to a sort of gallery with a set of doors. Whoever I’m here with is probably up there. Maybe still asleep?

God, what if it’s a boy? What if last night-

The door opens and a girl steps out. She still looks tired and only realises I’m staring at her when she’s already halfway down the stairs.

She looks a bit older than me. Her hair is neon green and short, messily spiking away from her head. She’s wearing grey joggers and a loose, black top, her feet are bare.

She nods at me.

“So you’re alive,” she says and I have absolutely no clue what to make of that.

“Remember anything that happened last night?” she asks now as she stops by the kitchen and fishes out a cup from the cupboard.

“Coffee?”

I nod and sit up. I’m still wearing the silver top and the cargo pants. My hair is hanging messily against my cheek and I put it back and begin combing it with my fingers.

“I remember going to the club with my friend,” I say then.

She takes out a second cup and turns on the coffee machine. “Go on.”

“I’d already drunk a fair bit before and then I went dancing… And then I went to the bar and drank more. I went to the loo and when I came back my boyfriend was there and we had a fight…”

I don’t want to explain to her what we fought over. It’s none of her business and I don’t see how it’s relevant.

“He left and I went back and drank more because I was trying to get in a good mood and then… I think I wanted to dance, but-”

The memories are too fuzzy. I don’t know.

The girl leans onto the counter, hands in her pockets.

“And then?”

I shrug, my thoughts numb. “Don’t know.” I look up at her, expectantly.

“I think you wanted to go to the toilet again,” she says with a light shrug. “You looked pretty out of it and when a guy took you by the arm you just followed. So my friends and I stepped in. They also carried you here.”

“Wow.”

The flash of green. That must’ve been her.

Both my arms around strong shoulders. Her friends.

I don’t remember being brought here, though. And I barely remember the incident.

“I must’ve been pretty drunk. Thanks for saving me, I guess.”

She gives me a pitying look.

“You weren’t,” she says then, flatly. “Just drunk, I mean,” she adds at the sight my confused look.

“What do you mean?”

“Was it your first time drinking, ever?”

I shake my head silently, still confused.

“Did you have enough that it would’ve normally made you black out?”

Well, not in my old body. Especially not over such a long period. But it was my first time drinking as Selena, so what do I know?

I shrug. “Probably not?” But it must’ve been enough, because what other possibilities are there?
“Maybe I was just having a bad day?”

She snorts and places the next cup in the machine. “Yeah, wouldn’t that be lovely?”

I frown at her. “What are you getting at?”

She drops the grin and looks at me seriously, considering me for a moment.

Then she says, “Have you ever heard of knockout drops?” and my stomach twists.

Of course, I’ve heard of them, I just never thought-

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You’re not a man anymore!

Idiot!

It makes so much sense. I was gone, came back, Claire must’ve not been paying enough attention, and then…

“But why-” I begin and break off because I know the question is stupid.

The girl shrugs again and sighs.

“People are assholes. Not just men, but in this case most likely a man.”

“So it was the guy who tried taking me with him.”

She takes the second cup out.

“Maybe, maybe not. A lot of predators are opportunists. I took a picture of him, just in case, though.” She turns. “Want milk or sugar in your coffee?”

I shake my head. “No thanks.”

It’s off-putting how easily she swaps between topics. Like this is normal to her. Maybe it is.

“Don’t look so surprised. You should know all this. How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Wow. Tell me you’re a sheltered rich kid without telling me you’re a sheltered rich kid.”

I frown at her as she places the cup on a coaster before me.

“My family’s not rich,” I say, fully aware that I’ve grown up very sheltered. Because of both my parents and my social anxiety.

“You say that,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Girls like you shouldn’t go out without enough friends to protect them. You know, safety in masses.”

She puts down her cup too and lets herself drop into the armchair close to me.

“Sounds like you don’t consider yourself a girl like me,” I say irritatedly.

“I don’t,” she replies flatly. “But I’m not stupid. I only go out with friends, especially for harder stuff.”

I take the cup and hold it close to my lips. The steam is hot, I’ll have to wait a while before I can drink.

“I’m Selena, by the way,” I say because I don’t know what to say to that.

The girl nods but doesn’t say anything.

“Aren’t you going to tell me yours?”

She’s so odd. Like, completely different from anybody I’ve met before, it seems.

She sighs and leans back in the armchair, looks at the ceiling. “What are names but words other people chose to describe us?”

I shrug. “You can always just choose a new name,” I reply and for just a moment, there’s a smile on her lips. Small but genuine. Like my answer surprised her.

“Right,” she says then. “Shay. And don’t you dare use female pronouns on me.”

“Why?” I ask dumbly.

They takes a sip of coffee, then puts the cup back down. When they speak, their tone isn’t as gruff as before. “I don’t like being confined to a single gender. It kinda ties in with the name thing,” they explain.

It feels weird, the prospect of using neutral pronouns on them. I’ve never quite come into contact with gender-fluid people before, though I’ve heard of them of course. The same goes for queer people generally and I have to remind myself that I’m one of them now.

Do they know? Can they tell? Should I tell them?

Probably, right? After they told me so openly that they’re gender fluid…

I look at them, unbothered by the momentary silence, occasionally sipping their coffee, looking out of the window.

“I’m trans,” I blurt then.

Shay looks up, startled at first, then an amused smile creeps onto their lips.

“Are you, now?”

I halt. Of course they react in a way I didn’t expect.

After a moment’s hesitation, I nod. “Yes.”

They pause and look at me intently. “So you haven’t transitioned yet?”

Now I’m the one grinning, just a little. So they couldn’t tell. Small victories.

“No, I’m-” and I stop grinning because how the fuck do you explain magic? I gesture at myself. “I’m the way I’m supposed to be, now. The comet changed me.”

They give an impressed nod. “That explains a lot, though.”

I don’t say anything and wait for them to go on.

“You need to be more careful, now that you’re out of the closet. You’re lucky you pass perfectly, but even when everybody sees you the way you’re supposed to be seen… The world’s a strange place, you know.”

I can’t help myself. “You’re strange,” I blurt before I can think better of it.

For a moment I’m worried they might get mad, but they just smile. “Yeah, I am. Being strange makes me feel more at home in this strange world.” They shrug. “Being strange openly is my way of telling the world to go shove it.”

They pause and look at their watch.

“You might want to call your friend and tell them you’re okay.”

Right. “Oh fuck! I completely forgot!”

I scrabble at the pocket on the side of my knee, fish out my phone and turn it on.

Twenty missed calls.

All from Claire.

Just as I’m about to call her back, the call icon appears at the top left corner. Hurriedly, I swipe down and press the green button.

“Oh my God! Finally! Do you have ANY idea how worried I’ve been?” Claire almost yells into my ear.

“Sorry,” I say sheepishly. “I think somebody put knockout drops in my drink, don’t remember much past going back to dance.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line.

“Oh shit. I’m so sorry that happened. Are you alright?”

“Physically? Mostly. Still figuring out the mental part.”

“Oh God,” she whispers. “It shouldn’t’ve gone like that. Really. It was meant to be nice. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault, I should’ve paid more attention to your drink.”

She’s not wrong. But what’s there to do about it now?

“I’ll live. Just pay better attention next time, if there’s going to be a next time.”

Maybe we could take a larger crowd next time. Mika, Emma, maybe Alex as well.

“Yeah, of course. I’m so sorry. You take your time recovering, I won’t force anything on you.” She pauses. “By the way, how did you get home safely, all on your own?”

“I didn’t,” I reply. “It’s a longer story, but I’m safe. A group of people saved me from-” I halt, unable to bring the word past my lips. It’s such a surreal feeling that I of all people would ever have to worry about this. Surreal and frightening. “Some guy wanted to take me somewhere and they stopped him. I stayed at one of their places overnight and just woke up.”

“Say thank you from me.” Pause. “Do you want me to pick you up and drive you home?”

“Shouldn’t you still have alcohol in your system?”

“I’m a little hungover but-”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take the bus.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Thanks for the offer, though.”

“Alright, you get back home and into bed. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah don’t worry. See you on Monday, probably.”

“See you.”

I press the red button and put my phone away, then I pick up my coffee. It’s drinkable now and I take a big swallow.

“Do you want to stay for breakfast?” Shay asks after a moment.

“I have self-made bread if you wanna try.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You bake?”

She gets up. “Yup. Wait until you’ve tasted my hash brownies. They’re famous in certain circles.”

She heads for the kitchen counter, opens a box with a lid that has small holes in it and shows it to me.

It looks a bit like the bread Mum buys occasionally at the bakery. Golden brown with all sorts of grains on the outside.

“So?”

I nod. “Yeah, sure.”