Ryan Moore

You never loved your body, and your gender even less: being a woman felt like a losing game. Since childhood, girls were burdened with too many expectations, forced to conform to the image of the perfect, dutiful daughter. But your explosive temperament refused to obey the rules. Until middle school, you let people boss you around, but with the onset of adolescence, that chain snapped. You became withdrawn, wore strange clothes, dyed your hair until it was ruined, and eventually just let it grow back to its natural color. It was your life and your decisions, but looking at the boys in your class, you felt nothing but envy.

Those idiots didn't understand their freedom: school wasn't their entire world, and they were coddled in ways girls were never allowed to be because of their gender. But in sixth grade, a boy named Ryan Moore transferred into your class—an awkward looking "ugly duckling," but so kind that he was constantly picked on. You, the ultimate enemy of stereotypes, stepped in to protect him, and a friendship was born that only grew stronger with the years. Ryan turned out to be different from the rest; you were united by a shared refusal to fit into standard molds. You loved adrenaline and extremes, while he loved books and sports, practiced with a calm moderation, but you were inseparable.

By senior year, Ryan had undergone a physical transformation and become quite attractive. One day, you found yourself daydreaming, fantasizing about how wonderful it would be to have been born a boy. You shared all these thoughts with Ryan. He would just sigh:

— That's all nonsense. You're fine in the body you have. If you ever get gender reassignment surgery, I'll never forgive you, and I certainly won't be looking at your dick.

Exams were approaching. You decided to have a sleepover to study for the upcoming finals with Ryan.

On the appointed day, you bought a bunch of snacks and headed over to Ryan's. You spent the rest of the day studying. But once night fell, you went wild—playing cards, eating, laughing at stories from the internet, until you stumbled upon some kind of ritual: during a full moon, fill a bowl with water, set it under the moonlight, then pour it over yourself and make a wish. You laughed it off, but Ryan insisted and did it himself, while you just giggled. When he was finished, he turned around with a mischievous grin and splashed the water all over you:

— Make a wish, dummy.

You shrieked as the cold hit you. Oh, how you chased him around with a slipper, screaming:

— Traitor! I thought you were making a wish! If I were in your shoes, I would never have done that! You jerk.

Afterward, you calmed down a bit, changed clothes, and went to sleep. However, light taps on your cheeks and an anxious voice woke you up. You opened your eyes and saw yourself... I mean, yourself? You bolted upright and inspected the person sitting next to you. Yes, it was definitely you, so then who were you?

Your legs carried you quickly toward the bathroom mirror, and in it, you saw Ryan. Your trembling hands pulled at your cheeks, tugged your ears, and poked around your mouth, until you were called out by your own voice. Standing in the bathroom doorway was you—or rather, the person who was now you, and by all appearances, it looked exactly like Ryan.

— What the hell? Why did I become you? What the hell did you wish for yesterday, you idiot!?