We Are Together Again - Part 1-33 (Patreon)

Part 1

Mark, a thirty-five-year-old former advertising manager, stood in the doorway, looking into the small kitchen he thought he’d never see again. It was exactly the same as it had been a month ago, the last time he was here—just before he and Monica had broken up. The shelves with old but neatly arranged porcelain, a yellowed calendar with kittens on the wall, and the smell of coffee with a faint hint of lemon all filled the air.

Monica was nervously washing dishes, scrubbing plates with such vigor it seemed she wanted to erase the world itself from their surfaces.

— You’re still here? — she snapped irritably, finishing the last plate and leaning against the sink. Turning her head towards the doorway, she added with even more irritation, — God, I’m so sick of this nonsense, Emma! Instead of running around the house and annoying everyone with your “Mark,” you should focus on your schoolwork or clean yourself up!

Mark shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. His new, fragile body felt completely clumsy; his hair kept falling into his eyes, and his voice betrayed him every time he spoke. He wasn’t used to Monica yelling like this—she was usually soft-spoken and composed, even during disagreements. But now, everything was different.

— Monica, please, you have to believe me. This isn’t a joke! — he exclaimed, raising his thin hands in a defensive gesture. — I’m not Emma, I’m Mark! I don’t know how I ended up here, but it’s me, do you understand?

— Stop it, Emma! — she interrupted, slamming her hand down on the counter. Her eyes narrowed, full of exhaustion and anger. — I don’t know why you suddenly decided to pretend to be my ex, but this is beyond ridiculous. Are you trying to get punished? Or maybe you’re looking for a way to drive me insane?

Mark clenched his teeth, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. In Emma’s body, emotions surged with twice the intensity, and he felt like he was about to cry. Damn, this body was too sensitive!

He glanced again at his hands—thin, almost twig-like, and completely alien. He’d never been particularly muscular, but these hands felt fragile, as though they might snap under the slightest pressure. Sticky strands of hair, still messy from when he’d woken up hours ago, fell haphazardly over his face. Mark tried to push them away, but his fingers only made things worse.

In the reflection of a glass cabinet door, he saw the face of a skinny teenage girl with long, disheveled hair sticking out at odd angles as if pulled by a magnet. Her pale face, smudged with remnants of poorly applied makeup—mascara or eyeshadow, messily spread over her skin—looked tired and pouted in displeasure. Her big blue eyes shimmered with tears, on the verge of spilling over.

— God, look at yourself, — Monica said irritably when she noticed "Emma" staring at her reflection. She stepped closer, grabbed the girl’s shoulder, and turned her around to face her. Her gaze, stern and commanding, bore into Emma’s eyes. — Clean yourself up and get to your homework, or I’m taking your phone away! — she continued, gripping the thin shoulder tightly enough to make Mark wince. — I can’t handle another one of your “performances.” Honestly, Emma, I don’t know what’s gotten into you today!

She released the shoulder, sighed heavily, and ran her hand through her own frazzled hair. It was clear her nerves were frayed. Mark froze, feeling a wave of powerless frustration and despair wash over him. Nobody believed him.

— But I…

— Enough! That’s it, not another word! Eat, study, or do whatever you want, but no more “Mark” in this house! We broke up over a month ago, and I don’t want his name mentioned here again! — She turned away and headed for the stove, where the kettle was beginning to boil. — Go to your room and think about your behavior! — she finished, throwing one last severe look over her shoulder.

Mark swallowed, feeling a lump form in his throat. He wanted to scream, to protest, to prove his case, but instead, he just stood silently as Monica turned and disappeared deeper into the kitchen. Her parting words hit him like a slap:

— And brush your hair! You look like… like you’ve just crawled out of some club for… who knows what!

Mark stood motionless until the sound of her footsteps faded. Then, exhaling heavily, he trudged back to Emma’s room. The door creaked as it closed, and he collapsed onto the bed, covering his face with his hands.

“I’m… crying?!” — Mark realized with horror as hot tears streamed down his cheeks. He didn’t want this. He hadn’t planned this. But his new body, young and riddled with hormones, betrayed him. His shoulders shook with suppressed sobs, and he gasped for air, trying to quell the waves of emotion. It wasn’t like the quiet tears of his adult self—in his previous body, he could allow himself a few minutes of silent disappointment. Now, everything was different: every nerve felt on edge, emotions erupted uncontrollably, and he couldn’t rein himself in.

“Damn it, is this the hormones? Or the age? Or what… God, why… why is this so unbearable?” — the thoughts raced through his mind, and then another surge of irritation hit. “Monica never understood me! She always thinks only about herself!” — an almost shouting inner voice rang out. — “She’s always bossing me around, deciding everything for everyone! And that look she gave me just now? Like I’m trash! I hate her!”

Mark took a ragged breath and sat up, staring at his trembling, skinny hands. What was happening to him? He distinctly remembered that Monica had never been this tyrannical. Yes, she could be stubborn, but things usually got resolved through conversation. Even when they broke up, it had been a mutual decision, more or less.

But now… Now his head throbbed with rage, and it seemed as if Monica really was unbearable, oppressive, and infuriating. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, feeling another wave of anger overwhelm him.

“Why does she even think she can boss me around?!” — the thought flared again. And then Mark realized these weren’t his thoughts. Or at least, not his usual way of thinking. It was something else. Something… teenage.

— Damn… — he muttered, glancing around the room that used to seem like just a cute, girly bedroom. Now, every detail irritated him: the bright pink pillows, photos of friends, scattered accessories, even the cute plush bear on the nightstand.

Mark tried to steady his breathing, closing his eyes. But even that was different now. He couldn’t just detach himself; the emotions churned. The storm inside him refused to subside, no matter how hard he tried.

“I’m not like this! I’m… an adult man; I have self-control!” — he tried to reassure himself. His eyes fell on the disheveled hair again, and the image of Monica’s scolding flashed through his mind. Her words, “Clean yourself up, or I’ll take your phone away!” made his chest tighten with frustration. “A phone?! I’m a grown man! I had rights, a car, a career! And now I’m being threatened with losing a phone like some schoolgirl!”

Mark clenched his teeth, feeling irritation course through his veins. He got up from the bed and approached the mirror on the wall. The reflection still showed the same girl—slim, a bit awkward, with dark circles under her eyes and a slightly upturned nose. It was Emma’s face, with no trace of Mark.

— This is some kind of crap, — he muttered, pressing a hand to his forehead. His voice sounded just like before, but now he wanted to cover his ears to block out the high-pitched, almost shrill tone. — I have to do something.

But deep down, he knew this wasn’t a body swap. In the few hours he had spent in Emma’s body, Mark had already come to a terrifying realization: his own body, his real life, remained untouched. He hadn’t disappeared, and he hadn’t “switched places” with Emma. In his body, it was still him, Mark. This meant that his consciousness had somehow been copied into the mind of a teenager, becoming part of her body and life. But how? Why? It couldn’t be real… and yet it felt too real to be a dream.

For a split second, he remembered his fantasies… Thoughts about becoming a woman, thoughts he had feared his whole life but that also excited him… The irony that now it was happening to him for real. But he hadn’t truly wanted this, especially not to become Monica’s daughter, the last person he wanted to face.

Now… Mark knew perfectly well that no one would believe him. Even he, if he were in Monica’s place, would consider this some form of schizophrenia or a bad joke. What’s more, from an outsider’s perspective, it looked absurd: a teenage girl shouting that she was an adult man, claiming to be her mother’s ex-lover. It was madness. At best, they’d think Emma was going through a difficult phase or that her mental health required intervention.

“Even if someone told me this,” — Mark thought bitterly, wiping his face with his sleeve, — “I’d be the first to call a psychiatrist.” He felt trapped. No one would believe him.

Part 2

The warm spring breeze ruffled Emma's long hair, which fell across her face and partly blocked her view as she tilted her head to light a cigarette. The trembling flame of the lighter finally caught the tip, and acrid smoke filled her lungs. Mark—or rather, Emma—exhaled sharply, covering her mouth with her hand to stifle a cough, almost dropping the cigarette in the process.

"God, what is this crap?!" she thought, feeling as though her lungs were on fire. The sensation was nothing like what he remembered from his "previous life." Not long ago, he could smoke a pack a day without a hint of discomfort, but this body was clearly unaccustomed to such abuse.

Emma adjusted the strap of her leopard-print top, which had slipped off her shoulder again, and exhaled irritably. Her reflection in the nearest window glared back at her. Thin, pale legs, short shorts, a top Monica had called "vulgar" the first time she wore it, and smudged makeup that looked more like a challenge than an attempt at beautification—which, in truth, it was. Mark still couldn’t get used to how he looked now. It felt like he was just playing along with this bizarre new role, but sometimes he caught himself... liking it? Especially the way this appearance annoyed Monica.

It had been months since he found himself in this body, and the world was beginning to weigh on him in a whole new way. Mark had almost resigned himself to being Emma. Almost. But "almost" was still "almost." His previous life—his job, friends—all of it had disappeared as if it had never existed. No one believed his story, and attempts to convince anyone only caused more problems. It was easier—and safer—to give in. To accept this strange reality than to keep trying to prove something no one wanted to hear and that had already made things worse. It was still unbearable, but the worst had been in the beginning when every morning started with panic at the realization that this wasn’t a dream but a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. Gradually, though... he learned. Or, more accurately, adapted. Like an actor trapped in someone else’s play, with roles assigned without his consent.

— Em, — a voice called from the side, and Mark turned abruptly. Standing on the path was Jessica, the neighbor girl and Emma's childhood best friend. A sweet girl in a pink dress who looked like some ideal of a "good girl." She held a plastic bottle of soda in her hand, and her expression was a mix of disapproval and surprise.

— You're smoking? — she said in astonishment, frowning slightly as she stepped closer, wrinkling her nose at the smell of tobacco. — Your mom’s going to find out. She’ll kill you, — Jessica added, but her tone was more worried than judgmental.

Mark sighed, taking another drag. The harsh smoke burned his throat, but he found it oddly satisfying—a reminder that he was still resisting. Even if it was in such a small, banal way, even if it was just a cigarette. It was his way of showing he was still himself, not the person everyone thought he was.

— Let her, — he muttered, flicking ash onto the ground. His voice came out as shrill and strained as it always did now, making him wince. — She doesn’t care. All she cares about is me doing what she wants.

Jessica raised her eyebrows in surprise, then cautiously sat down beside him on the steps, tucking her legs under her. Her serious gaze took Mark aback. It seemed she was trying to read her friend's thoughts but couldn’t grasp what was going on in her head.

— You know... That doesn’t sound like her, — Jessica said after a few moments of silence, staring off into the distance. — Your mom’s always been... well, strict but kind. She loves you.

Mark nearly scoffed. "Loves." Sure. A love that now meant dictating what to wear, how to talk, how to sit, where to go, and with whom. Even when he’d been a boy, he tried to meet expectations, to be a good, polite, obedient son. But even then, he hadn’t felt this crushed—this stripped of choice.

— You don’t get it, Jess, — he said, softening his tone when he realized he was about to snap at the only person even slightly on his side. — She doesn’t listen to me at all. She’s always yelling. Always telling me how to live my life.

— Well, maybe you’re making her angry? — Jessica asked cautiously, twisting the soda bottle in her hands. — You’ve been... really different lately.

The words stung. Mark gripped the cigarette tighter, feeling irritation bubbling up inside him again.

— And why are you defending her? Are you on her side too? — he snapped, turning to Jessica. His eyes shone with a mix of frustration and a childlike sense of betrayal. — Do you think I’m just acting out? That I’m doing all this for attention? You don’t have a clue what I’m going through!

Jessica stared at him in silence, her expression a mix of confusion and hurt.

— Emma... I don’t know what’s going on with you. But I’m not against you. I promise, — she said softly, lowering her gaze to her knees. — It’s just... you’ve been acting so strange. Like you’re angry at the whole world. Even at me. You’ve changed...

Mark felt a tightness in his chest, but along with it, his frustration surged. He clenched his teeth, feeling the words rise up, burning his throat:

— Because I’m not Emma! Do you get it? — he burst out, gesturing so sharply that Jessica flinched, startled. His voice trembled, not with weakness but with anger, with helplessness. — I... I’m not who you all think I am!

He fell silent mid-sentence, catching Jessica’s gaze. She was looking at him with wide eyes, full of bewilderment, but there was no judgment in them. No hint of mockery, no desire to argue. Just genuine concern.

— Em... — she began cautiously, her voice trembling. — Are you... talking about that again? — Jessica paused, staring at her hands, then, as if summoning her courage, looked up and said almost in a whisper: — You already said it was all just a joke and that you’re not... well, you’re not... you know, your mom’s ex.

Those words hit Mark harder than any accusation. He froze, unable to speak, as everything inside him seemed to flip upside down. Once again, those memories surfaced—of the first encounters with Emma’s classmates and best friend, when he’d tried to prove he wasn’t Emma but a grown man trapped in a girl’s body. Those attempts always ended in disaster—with laughter, ridicule, and sometimes even pity. No matter how hard he tried, no one took him seriously. And Jessica... When he realized it was pointless, he told her it had all been a joke. "A stupid, silly joke," he’d said back then, blushing and looking away.

Turning his head toward her, he fell silent, studying Jessica. Her soft features, her blonde hair shining gently in the spring sunlight, and that earnest gaze full of concern. It hurt to realize that he’d been angry at her—the one person who had tried, even a little, to understand him.

But then, like a bolt of lightning, it struck him. Those eyes, that warmth she radiated... Why hadn’t he noticed it before? Jessica was... perfect. The kind of girl who had always attracted him, but for some reason, he was only realizing it now.

"How could I not have seen it..." the thought flickered, and a strange pang of shame hit him. How had he not noticed it over these months? Sure, he’d been too busy figuring himself out, trying to survive in this new body, but now, staying here and looking at her, something inside him ached. She was beautiful. No, not just beautiful—she was more than that. Kind, patient, sincere... And this realization stirred something conflicting within him.

He shook his head, trying to dispel those thoughts. It was absurd. Jessica saw him only as Emma, her friend. She didn’t know who he really was. To her, he was just part of the life she’d known since childhood. Nothing more.

— Em, are you okay? — Jessica asked softly, tilting her head and watching him closely.

Mark quickly looked away, nervously gripping the cigarette between his fingers, feeling his cheeks flush crimson.

— Nothing, — he managed to say, trying to sound as calm as possible, as he sat down on the edge of the porch next to Jessica. — Just thinking.

Jessica was about to say something, but she noticed Emma’s eyes suddenly widen. A group of girls from school appeared on the horizon, laughing loudly and whispering to each other.

Part 3

"Damn," flashed through Mark's mind when he saw them—the three girls who always found a way to ruin his day. Inside, everything tightened as if an icy ball had rolled down his spine. His palms instantly grew clammy, the cigarette trembling in his fingers. His gaze automatically dropped to the ground, but it was too late to hide—Maddie, Lauren, and Scarlett's laughter already echoed across the yard, burning his ears.

— "Maybe we should leave before they start again?" — Jessica muttered quietly, turning her head toward Emma and nervously biting her lip. She knew how much Emma hated these encounters and could see her friend tense up immediately. But before Mark could respond, Maddie shouted loudly, waving in their direction:

— "Hey, look who's here! Our favorite 'Crazy Em!'" — Maddie's voice dripped with mockery, and Scarlett and Lauren instantly burst into giggles, latching onto the nickname.

"Why the hell are they here? Why now? Can't I just have a moment of peace?" Mark felt his fingers tighten around the cigarette. A wave of anger flared up inside him, but it was powerless rage. He couldn't force them to leave, couldn't drown out their taunts.

— "Hey, Crazy Em, don't pretend you can't hear us!" — Scarlett's voice rang out, closer this time.

Mark stole a glance upward, hoping he was wrong, but of course, he wasn’t. The girls were slowly approaching, their footsteps pounding in his head like a heavy drumbeat. Between every mocking remark, their laughter filled the quiet street, growing louder and closer, like a taunting melody.

Maddie, the ringleader, sauntered up to them with feline grace, her entourage huddling slightly behind her like a pack ready to pounce. Her gaze slid over Emma and landed on the cigarette in her hand. A contemptuous smirk tugged at her lips.

Mark gritted his teeth, feeling a storm of humiliation and anger boiling inside him, but he forced himself to hold it together. He raised his head and looked up at Maddie, trying to maintain a shred of dignity. A deep breath—and his face froze, becoming a mask of indifference. Showing weakness now would only give Maddie more ammunition. "No way! I had enough of this crap back when I was a boy in school." a thought flickered.

— "Heya!," Emma said, taking a drag and trying her hardest not to cough as she exhaled the smoke deliberately in Maddie’s direction. — "What brings someone as important as Miss Maddie to a place like this?" — she added with a smirk, flicking her hair back with exaggerated poise. — "Come to grace us mere mortals with your presence, or are you just here to ruin another day?"

Maddie narrowed her eyes and took a step closer, her posse staying slightly behind, exchanging encouraging glances.

— "Looks like you’ve lost your fear, Crazy Em," — she hissed, her voice dripping with sweet venom that made Emma instinctively tense. — "Don’t forget how things ended last time. Or do you need a reminder about how close you came to getting expelled for that fight?"

"God, she pisses me off!" — Mark’s fingers tightened around the cigarette. Every word she said, every tone in her voice, pressed an invisible button, amplifying the hum of irritation. The nickname "Crazy Em" sounded like a triumphant insult crafted specifically to break him. "One more word and I’ll hit her, consequences be damned," he thought, but forced himself to exhale. That wouldn’t help. It would only make things worse.

— "A reminder?" — Emma let out a short laugh, looking straight into Maddie’s eyes, where a flicker of surprise betrayed her expectations. — "I remember perfectly well how you hid behind daddy's skirt when I gave you a good smack, and then you put on an entire show for the principal, bawling so hard everyone thought I’d killed you! If it weren’t for your daddy…" Emma smirked and started taking another drag when, suddenly, the cigarette was slapped out of her hand with a sharp motion. Maddie struck her fingers with enough force to send the cigarette tumbling to the ground, leaving a thin trail of smoke in its wake.

The cigarette hit the pavement with a hiss, leaving a glowing ember on the gray concrete. Emma flinched, feeling a sharp sting in her fingers. Fury surged inside her—hot and all-consuming—the kind that always ignited during encounters with Maddie. But before it could erupt, a familiar, threadbare explanation replayed in Emma’s mind: "She’s just compensating. Poor little princess, starved for her parents' attention." That thought, something Mark had used to justify people like Maddie in the past, collided with a fresh wave of irritation. "Who cares why she acts this way? It doesn’t give her the right to be such a bitch!"

— "Are you freaking serious right now?!" — Mark barked, snapping his head up. His thin but trembling voice came out louder than he intended, startling Jessica, who flinched.

Maddie raised an eyebrow, her smirk spreading even wider. She seemed to savor every moment, relishing Emma's anger like a perfectly seasoned dish.

— "Oh, look at her—so mad!" — she said, stepping back theatrically and pressing a hand to her chest as if frightened. — "What’s the matter, Crazy Em? Are you a guy again today? Or are you president this time?" Her voice shook with laughter, and Scarlett and Lauren giggled, joining in the mockery.

Mark shot to his feet, fists clenched. He was barely in control—rage boiled inside him, ready to burst like a geyser. Another second and he might have hit Maddie square in her smug, grinning face, but a hand gently, yet firmly, grabbed his wrist. Jessica. Her eyes pleaded with him, filled with worry.

— "Emma, don’t," — she whispered, barely audible, but there was more resolve in her voice than Mark expected. She tightened her grip on his wrist, holding him back. — "You’ll only make it worse. Don’t let her win."

Mark froze, realizing that Jessica was anchoring him—not just physically but emotionally. She was right—hitting Maddie would’ve been the dumbest thing he could do. But the fury inside him still burned, and retreating felt like swallowing shards of glass.

Part 4

— "So, Emma, cat got your tongue?" — Maddie drawled mockingly, folding her arms across her chest. — "I was starting to miss your little stories! Maybe you’ll tell us another one about how you were some kind of superhero? Or wait… are you actually an alien who landed on Earth in the body of a dumb girl?" — She burst into loud laughter, leaning forward as if searching for a reaction on Emma’s face. Her friends snickered behind her, eagerly echoing her taunts.

Mark felt his fists clench even tighter, his breathing becoming heavier. He was ready to explode, but Jessica stood firm beside him, her grip on his wrist keeping him from snapping.

— "Go to hell," — he hissed through clenched teeth, sharply pulling his hand free from Jessica’s grasp, but still taking a step back.

— "What was that you just mumbled?" — Maddie raised her eyebrows, her scornful gaze sweeping over him. — "Listen, Crazy Em, I can put you in your place and then go straight to the principal. My dad’s a school sponsor, you know. He can pressure your mom, and you’ll end up out of school with a pile of problems!" — She took a step forward, deliberately invading Emma’s personal space.

Before Mark could respond, something shifted. Maddie’s taunts suddenly ceased, and her gaze moved past him, over his shoulder. He turned and saw Monica walking down the street.

Her sharp figure in a tailored gray blazer was as poised as ever. She carried a grocery bag, her eyes focused straight ahead. But as soon as she noticed the group of girls, her pace slowed, and she stopped. Monica’s gaze darted from Mark to Maddie, lingering on Emma’s tense posture and tightly clenched fists. Her expression darkened immediately.

— "What’s going on here?" — Monica’s voice was cold and firm but not loud. She stepped closer, casting a quick glance at the other girls. — "Emma, I’m talking to you."

Catching Monica’s gaze, Mark felt everything inside him collapse. "Monica! Damn it, I forgot she was coming home early today. This is a disaster!" raced through his mind, instantly showing on his face. He knew any attempt to explain himself would only make things worse. Over the past few months, he had grown used to no one listening to his side of the story—especially Monica, who only saw him as a rebellious teenager incapable of self-control.

Maddie immediately put on an innocent face, straightening her shoulders.

— "We were just talking, Mrs. Livingston," — she began, her tone that of a perfect victim. — "I wanted to apologize for the last time, you remember, when Emma and I had that argument? But she started teasing me again…"

Monica’s sharp eyes lingered on her for a moment before turning to Mark. He stood there, his face taut with tension, fists clenched—more a sign of bad intentions than innocence in Monica’s eyes. "God, I’m so sick of this! Is this some kind of joke? How can she be so blind? Maddie’s lying right to her face, and I’m the one who gets blamed again!" The thought shot through Mark’s mind as he opened his mouth to retort, but Monica cut him off, raising her hand to silence him.

— "Emma, how many times have I told you to behave yourself?" — her voice was sharp, laced with disappointment. — "You’ve already been called to the principal’s office, and you were supposed to apologize to Maddie. Or did I miss something? Why is this still happening?"

— "Because she…" — Mark began, but his voice faltered. He knew too well that any attempt to defend himself would only reinforce Maddie’s version of events. He saw the triumphant glint in her eyes, the expectation of another dramatic scene, and it infuriated him even more.

— "Because she what?" — Monica interrupted, her brows furrowed. — "Because you decided to pick another fight? I’m tired of your behavior, Emma. You’re always stirring up trouble, and then everyone else has to clean up the mess. You act like some rough man instead of a proper young lady! "

"Maybe because I am a man, Monica! Because I’m Mark, damn it!" — the thought flared up in his head, but instead, he shouted:

— "She’s lying! Why do you believe her and not even try to understand me? It’s obvious she’s making it all up!" — His voice trembled with a mix of hurt and rage, but it sounded more like the helpless cry of a teenager than the frustration of an adult.

Monica’s frown deepened as she slowly scanned her daughter from head to toe. Her eyes stopped on the smoldering cigarette on the ground, and her expression turned even grimmer.

— "You… smoke?" — Monica’s voice dropped a tone, as if she were trying to contain her anger. She slowly closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. The moment felt stretched, like a cheap slow-motion scene in a bad movie.

— "Breathe," — she commanded curtly, pointing to her own face.

Mark’s heart sank. His knees felt weak, and his palms grew slick with sweat. Behind him, he heard the barely suppressed giggles of the girls. He cast a quick glance at them but immediately met Monica’s stern, demanding gaze. A moment ago, he had felt at least a bit like Mark—a confident man ready to stand his ground. But Monica’s piercing look and sharp tone stripped away the illusion, leaving him feeling like the flustered girl she believed him to be.

— "I’m waiting. Breathe, Emma."

Unbelieving that he was being treated like a child, he clenched his teeth and took a short breath. The exhale was faint, but Monica caught the scent immediately. Her face hardened further, and his cheeks burned with humiliation and fear.

Monica grabbed Emma’s arm firmly and started pulling her toward the house. Her expression remained cold and focused, but the corners of her eyes betrayed disappointment. Mark gritted his teeth and followed her, his cheeks blazing with shame. He cast a fleeting glance back at Maddie. She raised her eyebrows, feigning innocence, and said with a sweet tone:

— "Mrs. Livingston, I really was trying to make peace with Emma. I hope one day she stops being so angry."

Monica shot Maddie a brief look but said nothing.

"Choke on it, you bitch," — Mark thought angrily, but said nothing aloud. He barely managed to contain himself as Monica dragged him away, Maddie’s mocking gaze burning into his back.

Part 5

The entryway greeted them with dampness and the dim glow of a single working bulb. Mark looked up and suddenly remembered the first time he had crossed the threshold of this building. Back then, he had come holding a bouquet, feeling shy but happy, while Monica laughed, breathlessly recounting stories about her neighbors. This entryway had smelled of something warm, something homely. That memory, so sweet and comforting, flared brightly in his mind, filling his heart with an unexpected warmth. But it vanished as soon as they stepped into the apartment, where a loud crash startled Mark, yanking him back into reality.

Monica shut the door behind her abruptly, let go of Emma’s hand, and silently headed toward the kitchen. Mark froze in the hallway, nervously watching her rigid back. Monica’s expression was stern, but the silence was worse than anything else. She didn’t yell, didn’t launch into a lecture. She simply took off her jacket, hung it neatly over the back of a chair, and finally turned to him.

— Sit down, — she said curtly, pointing to the chair by the table.

Mark crossed his arms over his chest, deciding that at least here, he wouldn’t give in. But Monica kept staring at him in such a way that he couldn’t help but feel like a child about to be scolded for stealing a cookie.

— Emma, I said sit down, — her voice grew colder, and Mark, unable to withstand the pressure, reluctantly obeyed. His chest churned with resentment and anger, but he held it in, not saying a word.

Monica sat down across from him, leaning her elbows on the table and clasping her fingers together. Her eyes studied the face of her "daughter" as she spoke, emphasizing every phrase with sharp clarity.

— I don’t understand what you’re trying to prove, — she began, her voice sharp but not loud, which only made it more terrifying. — You get into fights at school, skip classes, and try to act like you’re an adult who can do whatever they want. But you’re not an adult, Emma.

“Not an adult?!” Mark felt crushed at that moment. It was as if his entire experience, his past, his life, had been erased with a single stroke. Sitting before him was a woman who had once built her life around him. Who had accepted his help, his money, his time, only to leave when it was more convenient to live without him. And now she had the audacity to tell him how to behave, as if he were a worthless child.

— What’s with that strange smile? — Monica asked sharply, her eyes narrowing.

Mark suddenly realized his face was betraying far more than he intended. His lips had twisted into a bitter smirk, too obvious to go unnoticed.

— It’s just funny how things turned out, — he replied quietly, lowering his gaze.

— Turned out? — Monica snapped, her tone demanding. — Look at me, — she said sharply.

Mark lifted his eyes, but the usual teenage defiance she expected wasn’t there. Instead, she saw something else — a heavy mix of exhaustion and irritation. It felt unnatural for her “daughter,” and Monica’s frown deepened.

— Are you trying to say something with that look of yours? — her voice grew prickly.

— I’ve already told you everything a hundred times, — Mark snapped, unable to hold back. — But you don’t believe me.

Monica’s eyes narrowed, her face turning cautious.

— Told me? About what? That those girls are provoking you? Or something else?

Mark squinted, feeling his anger flare up.

— No, not about them! About myself! I… — he blurted out, his voice trembling with tension. — I’m not Emma!

Monica stared at him, her expression both confused and stern.

— Are we back to this again? — she said coldly, though doubt flickered in her voice. — You’re starting with this nonsense again? Do you really think I’ll believe it?

Mark leapt from the chair, his thin hands trembling.

— It’s not nonsense! I’m a man! And I’m Mark! — he shouted, his voice breaking. His fists clenched, small but taut with emotion. — I know you liked it when I kissed you on the back of your neck because you said it reminded you of your youth. Or how you got turned on when I grabbed your hair.

Monica clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes widening.

— You… — she exhaled, her voice trembling.

— I know how once you asked me to turn off the music because it distracted you when you were on top and… — He stopped abruptly, seeing her eyes glisten with tears.

Monica stared at "Emma" with a piercing gaze. Her look was strict, but then her eyes widened, and her breath hitched. That expression… That mix of stubbornness, irritation, and despair. She had seen it before.

— Stop, — she said sharply, raising her hand. — Say it again. Say… that you’re Mark.

Mark exhaled heavily, feeling as though the weight of the world was pressing on his shoulders.

— I’m Mark, Monica. I’m your ex.

She stared at him for several seconds, then let out a nervous, deliberate laugh. The sound grew louder, spiraling into something strange, almost hysterical. Finally, Monica clutched her head and exhaled deeply, as if trying to pull herself together.

— My God, what a bastard… — she whispered, her voice hoarse. — I should have known this was because of him, — she said, suddenly spinning toward Mark. — You talked to him, didn’t you?

Monica abruptly turned away, her breathing quickened. She paced the kitchen, grabbing cups and opening cabinets as if trying to distract herself from the conversation.

— What does he want, huh? — she asked without looking at Mark. — He had no right to do this!

She slammed a cabinet door so hard that Mark flinched. Turning to him, she ran a hand down her face, as if trying to erase her thoughts, but her gaze hardened.

— I know what he’s trying to do, — she said, staring at Emma. — He’s trying to turn you against me. You don’t even realize he’s using you to hurt me.

Mark frowned, his voice desperate:

— It’s not him. I… It’s really me, Monica.

— You don’t even understand what he’s doing, — she shook her head, her voice trembling. — You’re a child, and he’s using that to strike me where it hurts most.

She grabbed his frail shoulders and began shaking him so hard that his body flopped like a rag doll.

— You don’t understand what he’s doing! — she screamed, gripping "Emma’s" shoulders so tightly that Mark winced in pain. — He’s using you, Emma! And you’re too stupid and small to see his manipulations, turning my life into hell.

— You’re hurting me, — Mark croaked, tears threatening to spill.

Monica released him so abruptly that he stumbled. Her expression grew distant, as if she no longer saw “Emma” in front of her.

— Go to your room, — she said quietly, but her tone carried a chilling menace. — I need to think.

— Monica, I really… — he started, but she cut him off, sharply pointing to the door.

— And don’t you dare call me by my name again! — she snapped, clenching her fists. — I’m not your friend, Emma. I’m your mother.

Her eyes burned with fury, and Mark felt something inside him collapse. He opened his mouth to say something else, but her cold glare silenced him.

— You want to play at being an adult? Fine. You’ll do the dishes, take out the trash, cook, clean, do laundry, and tidy up wherever I say. And if I hear this circus again, — her voice turned icy, — I’ll take away your phone, your computer, and you won’t leave the apartment. School, chores, and not a single distraction.

A chill ran down Mark’s spine at her words. Without a word, he turned and walked to his room, feeling her searing gaze on his back. Slowly closing the door behind him, he sat on the bed, staring blankly ahead.

— This is complete fucking bullshit... — he whispered to himself, rubbing his neck. His gaze fell on the textbooks, and something tightened inside him. — So this is my life now, huh?

"I’m still me. Still a man? Or… a girl who…" flashed through his mind as he lowered his gaze to his hands. They were trembling, so thin they looked like they could break with the slightest effort.

Monica’s recent words flashed through his mind again — "do the dishes, take out the trash, cook, clean" — and he closed his eyes as if trying to retreat into his old life.

— It’s temporary. — He tried to take a deep breath, but even his own words sounded like a lie. — I’ll figure a way out.

But these hands, this body reminded him that “temporary” had already lasted far too long.

Part 6

The bus wheels clattered in rhythm with his thoughts. Mark sat by the window, looking at the green fields they were passing. His feet, stuffed into uncomfortable shoes, nervously tapped against the floor. He nervously tugged at the short skirt, his fingers brushing the fabric of the tights, part of the school uniform, which rubbed uncomfortably against his legs. The white blouse, the hairpins. His school uniform irritated him to the core.

"How did I even end up here?" — flashed in his mind. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the skirt. This trip, mandatory for all students, was part of the curriculum, but for him, it was yet another reminder of how far he had drifted from his old life.

Over the past few months, Mark had tried everything to get back. He called his old number, hoping to hear something that would clarify the situation. The phone was answered by him — the real Mark, confident, calm, unchanged. The man spoke like Mark, with the same tone, and refused to take his words seriously.

"What's up, Emma?" — he had said then. — "You really shouldn't be calling me. This is weird." Mark tried to prove something. He reminded him of details of their life: their shared apartment, how they spent weekends. But "Mark" laughed. "Emma, this isn't funny anymore," — he had snapped during one of the calls. "Your mom called me, screamed like I robbed her. Are you really walking around telling everyone you’re me? Seriously? Do you even realize you’re making trouble for me? If you have problems, go talk to a therapist. I don’t have time for this!"

That was the last time Mark spoke to the person who was now him. After failed conversations with "Mark" and relatives, he turned to the internet. Hours of searching led him to forums on reincarnation, astral travel, and magic. He even found a blogger who claimed to have regained his past life through an ancient ritual.

Late one evening, after waiting for Monica to fall asleep, Mark drew a circle on the floor with chalk, lit candles, and began whispering words he found online. He felt like an idiot, but in his desperation, he was willing to try anything. When the ritual didn’t work, he threw the candle to the floor and broke down crying.

For a moment, he thought it was divine punishment. He had never been particularly religious, but one night, unable to sleep because of his tears, he knelt and began to pray. "God, if You exist, please give me my life back," — he whispered into the emptiness, feeling the cold floor beneath his knees.

Mark prayed every evening for a week, but instead of miracles, things only got worse. Monica became more demanding, and the mocking at school only increased.

— " Hey, Crazy, what are you zoning out for?" a mocking voice rang out.

Mark felt something snap inside. Suddenly, a memory flashed before his eyes: he, still himself, sitting in a bar with colleagues. Someone had said to him then: "What’s wrong with you?"

Laughter, jokes, a light atmosphere. And now... He was here, in the body of a girl, sitting at the back of a school bus.

— "Ignore her," — whispered Jessica, sitting next to him, but Maddy came closer, circling the row of seats, while her friends snickered, as if anticipating a show.

— "Crazy Em, I’m talking to you!" — Maddy didn't stop.

Mark suddenly turned around, his gaze filled with anger and pain.

— "Got a hearing problem, Crazy Em?" — Maddy smirked, sitting down opposite him.

— "What do you want?" — he asked sharply, trying to keep what was left of his composure.

Maddy pretended to be offended.

— "How rude. But I’m actually here on business," — she shook her head theatrically. — "I need you to do something."

Mark frowned.

— "What? Are you completely out of your mind?"

— "You don’t get it, Emma," — Maddy interrupted him, her voice turning cold. — "This isn’t a request. I’ve got a pile of math homework, and I know you’re pretty good at it. So, it’s yours now."

— "What?" — Mark barely managed to stop himself from laughing. — "Seriously?"

— "Very seriously," — Maddy moved closer, her gaze becoming threatening.

— "I’m not doing anything for you," — he hissed through his teeth, trying not to attract unnecessary attention, especially from the teachers riding with the group. But his girl’s voice, high and slightly trembling with emotion, sounded far less threatening than he wanted it to.

Maddy smirked and crossed her arms.

— "Oh, how brave," — she stretched the words out lazily, dripping with mockery. — "Alright then, I’ll just show everyone your video. How many followers do I have now? Oh, over two thousand, I think. That’s the one where you had your little meltdown by the lockers, screaming about how you’re a man?"

Mark froze, feeling Maddy’s words hit his chest like fists.

— "You... you can’t," — he mumbled, but the tremble in his voice made his protest sound pathetic.

Maddy raised an eyebrow, her smile widening.

— "Why can’t I?" — she purred, with a sickeningly sweet innocence. — "I even titled the video: 'Crazy Em tells how she was a man! Best comedy of the year!' So, do you want everyone to see it, or will you change your mind and be a good girl?"

Mark felt his face flush. It was humiliating beyond belief. He remembered that day in the hallway: how he lost control, how he screamed, trying to prove that he was Mark, not Emma. At that moment, he gave in to his new teenage emotions and couldn’t hold them back, wanting to tell the truth, but from the outside, it must have looked like madness.

— "You’re lying," — he said, barely holding back the tremor in his voice.

Maddy instantly pulled out her phone and unlocked the screen. She tapped a few buttons and turned the screen toward Mark.

— "Lying?" — she said, grinning like a cat that cornered a mouse.

On the screen was the video. A blurry shot of the school hallway, Mark’s voice — or rather, Emma’s — shrill and screaming: "I’m telling you, I’m a guy! My name’s Mark!" His thin face flashed in the frame, twisted with rage, and his big eyes shining with tears.

Mark froze. This was even worse than he had imagined. His fists shook, but he couldn’t look away from the screen.

— "I have it in drafts. But, you know, all I need is one button to make it public," — Maddy said calmly, putting the phone away. — "Now think again. You going to do my test, or are you going to be an internet star?"

Part 7

A sharp voice cut through the tension:

— "Maddy, did it ever occur to you that you’ve already hit rock bottom?"

Maddy froze, her posture stiffening at the familiar raspy tone. Dan strolled over to them, the guy every teacher feared as much as the students. He looked as he always did — in a worn leather jacket, squinting, and twirling a cigarette between his fingers. His crooked smirk cast a shadow over the group, and suddenly the bus seemed to go quiet.

— "Buzz off!" — Maddy snapped, but her voice trembled.

— "No, I won’t," — Dan said, fixing her with a sharp gaze. Then, turning to Emma, he added: — "Tell me, Emma, is she just dumb as a rock and doesn’t understand words, or should I spell it out for her? You wouldn’t mind my help, would you?"

Mark hesitated. He wasn’t used to being defended, especially in such a bold way.

— "I don’t need your help," — he replied, his voice trembling slightly.

Dan gave Emma a faint smirk, then abruptly snatched the phone out of Maddy’s hands.

— "Hey! Give it back!" — she shrieked, lunging to grab the device, but Dan easily held it above his head.

— "Listen, princess, you know what happens to people who piss me off, right?" — he said calmly. — "Why tempt fate?"

Maddy froze, unsure how to respond.

— "Here’s the deal. I’m deleting this video. And if you record anything about Emma again, or even lay a finger on her, you’ll be the next internet star," — his voice was icy.

He deleted the video and handed the phone back while Mark watched the scene unfold in utter confusion. On one hand, Mark felt a strange sense of gratitude. But his male pride, still intact despite his current body, made it hard to accept this. Dan reminded him of all the bullies who had tormented him in the past.

Maddy shot to her feet, her face flushed with rage, but she said nothing. Throwing a searing glare at Dan, she turned on her heel and stormed back to her group of friends, her chin defiantly raised.

— "You know what, Emma?" — Dan said, sitting down so they were face-to-face, — "you might be small and a bit of a weirdo, but there’s something about you. Even Maddy’s pissed about it."

Mark let out a dry chuckle, fiddling with his skirt and turning toward the window, his cheeks heating up for no clear reason.

— "Sometimes I think your head’s older than half the folks hanging around here." The comment made Mark flinch, as if Dan knew the truth, but... no, that was impossible.

— "Do you always flinch like that when someone gives you a compliment?" — Dan asked lazily, tilting his head. His sharp, slightly amused gaze seemed to study Mark’s every movement, as though searching for weakness or... something else.

Mark shifted uncomfortably, instinctively adjusting his skirt, as though it could shield him from Dan’s scrutiny. Inside, he boiled with a mix of irritation, embarrassment, and faint anger.

— "I’m not flinching," — he said as calmly as he could, though his voice betrayed him with a slight tremor. His eyes, a little evasive, briefly landed on Dan, who sat there relaxed, like a king on his throne. The worn leather jacket, slightly tousled hair, and cocky squint made his confidence infuriatingly palpable. — "I’m always on edge around guys like you," — Mark retorted, crossing his arms to mask his unease.

Dan’s lips curled into a grin. He leaned forward slightly, just enough to get closer but not cross any boundaries.

— "That’s why you’re strange," — he said with a quiet chuckle. His voice was low, almost gravelly, but there was no malice in it.

Mark frowned, a strange chill running down his spine.

— "What?"

— "Look, I’m a year older, but even I don’t always have the courage to say what I’m thinking. But you? You say it, you fight, you push back. Whatever’s on your mind, you let it out. That’s awesome, and I like it."

Dan’s words struck an odd chord, so plain and unexpectedly sincere that Mark didn’t know how to respond.

"Like?" — The word echoed in his head. His throat went dry, and he struggled to find his voice.

— "Like?" — he repeated, feeling a tightness in his chest as if his heart had skipped a beat.

Dan nodded briefly, his gaze, usually brash, softening for a moment.

— "Not in love, don’t worry," — he said lazily, leaning back.

The words came out casually, but to Mark, they seemed to hang in the air, weighing him down. He looked away, unable to meet Dan’s eyes. "Not in love" — those words were supposed to reassure him, but instead, they made things worse. His cheeks burned with betrayal, and his whole body felt uncomfortably warm.

Mark quickly turned toward the window, but Dan’s reflection lingered in his peripheral vision. His palms grew sweaty, and his hands nervously clenched at his skirt.

"Shit. What the hell’s going on with me? It’s just this body reacting. Stupid teenage hormones kicking in. Makes sense... it’s just the body, that’s all..." — he tried to rationalize, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood. He quickly let go, licking the cut, and snuck another glance at Dan. The boy was casually looking down the bus aisle, but something about him suggested he was fully aware of the effect of his words.

"How dare he?!" — Mark fumed inwardly. — "It’s like he knows more about me than I do."

Jessica returned then, her presence a welcome distraction. Seeing her, Dan stood slowly, offering an unexpectedly gentlemanly gesture as he gave up his seat. Jessica smiled awkwardly, casting a quick glance at Mark, as if checking if he was okay.

— "She’s stronger than she looks," — Dan remarked, as though confirming his earlier statement, then moved off to another row.

— "Stronger than she looks," — Mark muttered under his breath, feeling his ears burn with embarrassment, and then scoffed, mocking himself.

"Stronger than she looks," — he mimicked internally, annoyance bubbling to the surface. — "What does he even know about me? I’m a man, dammit. Of course I’m strong!" he mentally berated himself. But something about Dan’s words clung to him, as if Dan hadn’t been speaking to "Emma" but to someone equal.

Old memories surged forth, unbidden. He recalled how, back when he was still a boy, others had dismissed him, mocked him behind his back. And now… now someone had noticed his determination.

— "Hey, what are you mumbling about?" — Jessica teased, trying to lighten the mood, though concern lingered in her eyes.

— "Nothing," — Mark snapped, though his voice lacked the conviction he wanted.

Jessica studied him for a moment but didn’t press further.

Mark, meanwhile, was still replaying Dan’s words in his head. And not just the words. Dan’s gaze, his tone, his mannerisms — they had stirred a storm of emotions, from irritation to confusion.

"How dare he say that? Likes it, huh... I used to hate guys like him," — Mark thought bitterly. Yet, somewhere deep down, another feeling surfaced: "He didn’t see Emma. He saw me."

That thought hit hard, leaving Mark momentarily stunned. It felt like the world paused, like someone had pressed a giant pause button on his life. But it didn’t last. He shook his head, his long hair brushing his face, a tickling reminder of what he had become. He exhaled sharply and pushed his hair behind his ears.

"Stronger than I look? What nonsense," — Mark muttered. But no matter how much he tried to dismiss the words, they kept echoing in his mind, carving themselves deeper into his thoughts.

Part 8

Monica stood by the window, lazily watering one of her many plants. Outside, the sky was overcast, and a light drizzle fogged up the glass, behind which stretched a dull view of the neighboring houses. The plants were her solace, the one thing she could do with complete focus, almost meditatively.

— “…and he was like, ‘I’m just in awe of you,’ and I was like, ‘Oh, please, you just want to get me into bed!’” — The voice of Monica’s best friend, Lilia, echoed through her wireless earbud. She burst into laughter, but Monica barely listened. Her gaze drifted to Emma’s bedroom door, and that gnawing sense of unease, now almost a constant companion, washed over her again. She recalled how, not long ago, when Emma wasn’t home, she had gone into her room, justifying it to herself as a "cleanliness check."

The room was surprisingly spotless, which felt odd because Emma had never kept things tidy, not even when explicitly told to clean up. But now, Emma had done everything Monica had asked after their last argument, and the sterile neatness of the room unsettled her. Everything looked unnaturally perfect, even the items on the desk were arranged with meticulous precision. It felt unnatural, as though her daughter were trying to overcompensate for her struggles through orderliness.

Monica had been about to leave when her eyes caught the slightly ajar desk drawer, which stood out against the backdrop of perfection, better suited to some perfectionist than a typical schoolgirl. She carefully opened the drawer and immediately noticed a small journal with a battered cover.

"She keeps a journal?" Monica thought, feeling a tug-of-war between respecting her daughter’s privacy and a mother’s worry. But curiosity won out.

When Monica opened the journal, she didn’t expect much. She felt guilty but couldn’t stop herself. "Just a quick look," she rationalized, flipping through the pages. The entries were strange. They didn’t describe a typical teenager’s life; instead, they read more like the recollections of an adult:

"Monica was different when we first met. I adored her, loved her for being real. She could laugh and joke, even when things were tough. We broke up, yeah, but I kept only warm memories. But now, I’m scared of her... yeah, damn it, scared, and it’s killing me. She sees Emma in me" (the name was written as if the author felt disdain for it). "But I’m not Emma. I’m Mark. And honestly, I don’t even know what happened to the real Emma or where she is. It makes me feel ashamed. Maybe the real Emma is still in here? Maybe she’s gone? God, poor girl, if she really is still in here. Or… am I the poor… girl???" (“girl” was written with such force that the ink had soaked through the page.)

Monica snapped the journal shut, her heart pounding.

"This is ridiculous. Nonsense. Why am I even reading this? It’s just some bizarre attempt by a teenager to mask her insecurities. Maybe Emma’s been reading weird forums? Fantasizing? Or is this her way of coping with her issues?”

Monica sighed heavily, tearing her gaze away from the door and looking back out the window.

— Are you even listening to me? — Lilia’s voice chirped in her ear, as lively and annoyingly vibrant as ever.

— Yes, of course, I’m listening, — Monica replied automatically, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater.

— Sure you are, — Lilia drawled. — So, tell me, how’s your “mini-me”? Still driving you crazy?

— Emma... — Monica trailed off, unsure what to say.

— Oh, come on, spill. You know I adore your kid. She’s such a sweetheart, even if she’s got a bit of a temper. But, honestly, she’s been acting kinda weird lately. I noticed it the last time we hung out. Especially that moment when she came home from school and we… — Lilia lowered her voice, her laugh suddenly sounding awkward. — You know, when we were passionately making out in the kitchen… God, Mon, I felt like I was 15 again, caught doing something inappropriate by my dad.

Monica tensed, remembering that moment. Lilia, standing by the stove, had first brushed her lips lightly against hers, then pulled her closer, the kiss growing intense, as though they were alone in the house. Then Monica had heard a dull thud — Emma’s backpack had dropped to the floor. Emma stood in the doorway, her eyes wide. There was something in her gaze that pierced Monica to the core: pain and betrayal.

— She usually just cracks some joke when she catches us, — Lilia said thoughtfully. — Like, “Do I need to start kissing people to get into the kitchen now?” That’s her thing — turning everything into sarcasm. But that time…

At that moment, Emma had stood frozen for several seconds, staring at them. When Monica had let out a playful snort, saying, “Oh, come on, you always knew we were more than just friends. Why the face?” Emma opened her mouth, as if about to say something, her eyes growing even wider, and then she suddenly raised her hand, pointing back and forth between Lilia and Monica.

"You knew? Are you serious?" — Her voice quivered with anger, not fear. — "Did Mark know? Or was that your little secret? Why bother saying you love someone if it’s just meaningless words?"

"Emma, I said watch your mouth!" — Monica’s voice came out firm, though slightly unsteady.

"My mouth?" — Emma’s tone turned cutting, her eyes aflame. — "Right, Mommy! And maybe you should be more careful about what your mouth’s been doing!"

“Emma! How dare you speak like that?! One more word and—” Monica’s voice faltered as Emma waved her hand dismissively.

“And what?! What will you do, Mom?” The word “Mom” came out so harsh and scornful that Monica hesitated for a moment. Throwing a fleeting, condemning look at them, Emma stormed off to her room, slamming the door so hard that the reverberation hung in the air.

— That was weird, sweetie, — Lilia’s voice sounded back in her usual lighthearted tone through the earbud. — And what does your ex, Mark, have to do with any of this? — Lilia drawled, her voice deliberately casual but tinged with curiosity.

Monica frowned, still staring at Emma’s closed door.

— I don’t know... — she replied slowly, searching for the right words. — But Emma… she...

The lines from the journal came back to her mind. "I’m Mark." The thought made her shudder. Her ex’s name, whispered from the past, now rooted itself firmly in the present, sounding strange, almost eerie, on Emma’s lips.

— She’s just a teenager, — Lilia laughed. — You’re overthinking it.

— You haven’t seen how she’s been acting, Lilia. — Monica absentmindedly traced her finger across the glass, watching the raindrops. — She got into a fight with Maddie. They made her apologize. She was smoking in the park. I dragged her home, and she didn’t say a word. Not one word, not even to explain herself.

— See? Classic puberty. — Lilia stretched the word out with exaggerated irony.

— No. — Monica shook her head. — This isn’t puberty. It’s something else.

— Do you really think so? — Lilia’s voice dropped, a note of genuine concern creeping in.

Monica remembered the journal’s words. "I’m Mark." That short phrase carried too much weight to ignore.

— Yes, — she finally answered. — I’m afraid something’s wrong with her. And I don’t know how to help.

Part 9

The museum was quiet, despite the presence of schoolchildren. Spacious halls with high ceilings and cold marble floors gave the impression of a temple dedicated to art. A soft murmur of voices echoed under the arches, but the teachers kept a strict watch, ensuring the noise remained within acceptable limits. In the group Emma was assigned to, the atmosphere was mixed: some teenagers were eagerly studying the exhibits, while others openly showed their boredom.

Mark, standing slightly apart, was absently scanning the hall, trying not to draw attention. The students drifted between exhibits, whispering or exchanging jokes. His gaze briefly flicked over the group and, for a moment, locked eyes with Dan. The boy, noticing Emma looking at him, gave a faint smile and winked. Mark quickly averted his gaze, feeling heat rush to his cheeks.

“No. This is just… wrong,” Mark barely restrained his irritation. “I’m not some girl, for God’s sake, I’m a man. I’m thirty-five years old. This is ridiculous. I can’t… I can’t react like this,” he thought angrily, berating himself. But his body didn’t seem to listen. His heart raced, and his breathing hitched like a teenager experiencing awkward feelings for the first time.

— He’s cool, isn’t he? — Jessica giggled softly, nudging him lightly with her elbow.

— Who? — Mark replied sharply, trying to sound indifferent.

Jessica rolled her eyes, her voice turning softer but retaining a teasing edge:

— Oh, come on, you think I don’t notice? — She chuckled knowingly and leaned in a little closer. — I saw him wink at you. And now you’re all red. Just admit it, you like Dan.

“Red? No, that’s impossible. I’m not a girl; I’m Mark! I’ve always liked women—their softness, their smiles, their… But Dan? He’s just a guy in this weird situation. A man can’t make me feel…” His thoughts stumbled, and he unconsciously crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive posture.

Mark stole a quick glance at Dan, who was now leaning casually against a display case, chatting with classmates. His confident posture, slightly messy hair, that easy smile… Mark felt his breathing quicken again. He wanted to look away but couldn’t.

“Why? Why am I looking? Why… is my heart beating so fast? This is wrong… I’m not like this. I’ve never been attracted to men. Never!” His fingers twitched as he gripped the edge of the display stand without realizing it.

— Emma, are you trying to hypnotize him? — Jessica snapped her fingers playfully in front of his face, pulling Mark out of his tense daze. His heart was still pounding, his thoughts racing, but he pulled himself together and acted as if everything was fine.

— Stop it. I was just… thinking, — he waved her off, avoiding eye contact with Jessica.

But she smirked slyly and continued with relish:

— Oh sure, just thinking about how good he looks, right? — she teased, clearly enjoying the moment.

— Cut it out, Jess, — he snapped, the growing awkwardness almost unbearable.

Jessica, pretending not to hear, went on:

— Oh, admit it, Em, Dan is seriously cool! Remember how he handled Maddie? Nobody at school dares to stand up to her, but he… he just walked in and shut her down. He doesn’t care who her father is. He’s not afraid of anyone. I got chills watching him. — She sighed dreamily. — And you’ve started acting differently too. Everyone’s noticed. You’re standing up for yourself, speaking your mind. Like you and he are two rebels cut from the same cloth. Just imagine: you and Dan, the rulers of the school!

Jessica clapped her hands gleefully, as if the "perfect picture" was already unfolding in her mind. But Mark felt his face flush even more.

— Stop it! — he said sharply, turning away and pretending to study the nearest exhibit with exaggerated interest. — This is… nonsense.

— Really? — Jessica tilted her head, watching his discomfort with a knowing smile. — But you’re blushing! Oh, Emma, I’m sure he likes you too. Did you see the way he looked at you? Do you think he winked at you for no reason?

Mark tensed, a whirlwind of irritation and some unfamiliar, unsettling feeling churning inside him. He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to think about it, but Jessica’s words pierced through his defenses like arrows.

— Just… stop talking, okay? — he muttered, his voice trembling slightly.

— Whatever you say, Miss “I’m Not Blushing,” — Jessica replied, still giggling.

But inside, everything was different. Her words struck a nerve, and it infuriated him. He tried to distract himself, scanning the hall, when something unusual caught his eye. A strange mirror. Large, with an ornate, intricately carved frame, it seemed both majestic and eerie. The frame, covered in elaborate designs, almost looked alive, while the dim surface of the mirror appeared to conceal more than it revealed. Mark felt an odd pull, as if the mirror was calling out to him.

Above it hung a plaque that read: “The Mirror of Truth. Look into it and see your essence.”

He slowly stepped closer, unaware that Jessica’s voice had faded into background noise. His heart was pounding so loudly it felt like everyone around could hear it.

— What’s got your attention? — Jessica noticed his interest and followed, watching her friend with slight concern. — It’s just a mirror, Emma.

Part 10

But to Mark, her voice was like distant noise. His gaze remained fixed on his reflection. At first, he saw himself as he’d grown used to in recent months: a teenage girl in a school uniform, messy hair, and a slightly embarrassed expression. But then the smooth surface of the mirror began to ripple faintly, like water disturbed by a thrown stone.

The school uniform faded away, as if dissolving into the air, replaced by another outfit—achingly familiar, like a photograph from the past. Her shoulders were now swallowed by his old hoodie, the one in which he had felt invincible. The jeans, which had once fit perfectly, now hung awkwardly, as if they belonged to someone else. Sneakers with worn-out soles, the ones he had worn for years, looked almost absurd on her small feet. The dark-rimmed glasses—his glasses—barely stayed on her slender nose. On this fragile frame, everything looked wrong, as if someone had taken his former life and made a mockery of it.

— What the… — he whispered, unable to look away.

As he stared, a strange pressure gripped his chest. There was something else in the reflection, faint and blurry, like a shadow overlaying her figure. The more he focused, the clearer it became: a tall man with familiar features—the real Mark. His ghostly figure was dressed in Emma’s school uniform. The blouse clung awkwardly to his broad shoulders, the buttons straining to hold, while the skirt, far too short for his height, revealed long legs in nylon stockings.

— What… what is this? — Mark murmured, his voice barely audible as it faltered. His gaze darted between the two images, unable to decide where to settle. The girl in his old clothes looked pitiful, awkward, like a parody of who he used to be, while the man in the skirt and school uniform was grotesque and unsettling.

He could almost feel the two figures vying for his attention. The fragile girl in the oversized clothes grew clearer when he focused on her, only to fade again, giving way to the man in the ridiculous school uniform if he looked at him instead. His breath came in short gasps, his heart tightening with every beat.

— You’re both not me, — he whispered, looking from one to the other. — Not me!

The man smirked mockingly:

— Of course I’m not you. You’ve already given up. You’re weak, pathetic, and cowardly.

The girl abruptly stepped forward, blocking the man from view.

— And her, just look at her. Do you think I deserved this? — her voice, thin and fragile, struck like a hammer.

Mark clenched his fists, his legs trembling.

— Stop it… Just shut up! — his voice broke, echoing through the hall.

— Emma?! — Jessica called out sharply. She grabbed his arm and tugged, pulling him away from the mirror. — What the hell are you shouting about?

Mark turned to look at Jessica, her face full of concern. His heart was still pounding, his ears ringing. He blinked a few times, trying to regain control, and glanced back at the mirror. The two figures were gone. Only Emma remained—a thin, frightened girl, her eyes red from strain and embarrassment. Her reflection looked frail and unreal. “That’s you,” the thought flashed through his mind, but he quickly turned away.

— What’s wrong with you? You’re pale and shaking all over, — Jessica asked, worried.

— Nothing… I’m fine… — he licked his dry lips, feeling a knot tighten inside him.

— You look like you’ve seen a ghost. — Jessica started to say more, but the voice of the museum attendant, who had somehow approached them unnoticed, interrupted her.

— Ladies, I must remind you that loud outbursts are not permitted in the museum. If you need a break, I can show you the visitor’s area.

Mark froze. His heart was still racing, but the word “ladies” struck him like a blow.

— Sorry, she just… got overwhelmed, — Jessica quickly intervened, shooting Mark a warning look. — We’ll go take a break.

The attendant nodded and started to turn away, but Mark suddenly stepped forward and grabbed his wrist with surprising strength.

— Wait! That mirror… — he began, his voice trembling with emotion. — What do you know about it?

The attendant stopped abruptly, staring at the frail girl who, despite her appearance, exuded an inexplicable determination.

— Emma! Are you crazy? — Jessica hissed, trying to pull him back.

— I… I just need to understand! — Mark exclaimed, ignoring her attempts. His eyes darted between the mirror and the attendant.

The man frowned, carefully freeing his arm.

— Young lady, it’s just an old mirror, — the attendant said sternly, straightening and smoothing his sleeve. — Nothing mystical about it.

— Then why… — Mark swallowed hard, his voice shaking but gaining a note of firmness. — Why does it show… things like that?

The attendant frowned, but before he could respond, a sharp voice interrupted from behind:

— Emma Livingston, — the voice of Miss Harper rang out, and Mark felt his stomach twist. — What have you done this time?

Mark slowly turned. The teacher was striding toward them, her steps brisk, with a group of students trailing behind her. Maddie’s laughter echoed like dull thuds, sharp and mocking.

Part 11

— She probably got scared of her own reflection! — Maddie shouted.

The words hit Mark harder than he expected.

— Maddie, shut up! — he snapped, his voice breaking but coming out loud and clear.

The crowd gasped. Even Miss Harper fell silent for a moment. But her face quickly filled with rage.

— Emma, this is too much! — She stepped forward and grabbed his arm. — You’re coming with me right now!

Mark followed Miss Harper automatically, but his thoughts and emotions swirled too wildly for him to focus. He felt the stares of the other school kids from their group as Miss Harper pulled him away from the mirror. The looks pierced into his back—Maddie and her clique’s mocking gazes, others’ surprised expressions. But one stood out, making something inside him flip. Dan’s gaze. He wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t pitying. His eyes were sharp, scrutinizing, as if he were solving a puzzle.

“What’s he staring at? Does he think I’m weird? Why do I even care what he thinks? I don’t! Just let him stop drilling me with those eyes—it’s so damn annoying!” — But no matter how much Mark tried to push the thought away, the sensation of Dan’s gaze lingered. Even after Dan was out of sight, it felt as if he was still being watched.

— Livingston, are you listening to me? — Miss Harper’s voice cut through, stopping in front of a door. Mark blinked quickly, snapping back to reality.

— Yes, — he muttered, trying to mask the tension bubbling inside him.

— Then explain why you can’t just behave normally, — Miss Harper said sternly, tilting her head slightly.

“Normally. What do they even want from me? I already agreed to play the good girl after they made me apologize to Maddie. Me!” — His thoughts raced, and he couldn’t stop replaying every humiliating moment from his new life. — “An adult man forced to say sorry to that brat who thinks she’s above everyone else. I didn’t even hit her—I just shoved her! And then there’s this damn uniform every day. Skirts, bows, like it’s all one big joke. And at home, Monica’s constantly nagging: ‘Emma, do the dishes,’ ‘Emma, vacuum the floor.’ Like I’m her maid. I used to earn enough to hire people like her, and now… it’s humiliating.”

— Emma? — Miss Harper repeated, her irritation growing as Emma seemed to drift off.

Mark raised his eyes to Miss Harper, forcing himself to sound calm.

— Sorry, Miss Harper. I was just thinking, — he said evenly, though inside he was boiling.

Miss Harper squinted at him, clearly not buying his excuse. She knew Emma’s reputation as “difficult to handle,” and her irritation only deepened.

— It’s amazing how you manage to get good grades with this attitude, — she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm and disbelief.

— Because I’m smart, — Mark shot back, lifting his head to meet her gaze, not realizing that his smile had turned almost defiant. But Miss Harper didn’t appreciate the tone.

“Well, what’s the matter, Harper? Surprised?” — Mark thought, his mind flashing back to his past. — “Yeah, Miss Harper, I’ve already graduated college and once ran a department at a company.”

— One more “smart” move like that, and you won’t have any chance left to prove it, — Miss Harper said coldly, her tone low and warning.

"Oh... damn, I forgot again... This is the last thing I need right now. If the real Emma comes back, I definitely don’t want to ruin this girl’s life. But if I end up stuck like this, then..." The thought cut off, the terrifying truth beyond it too much to face. Yet the reflection gave a clear answer, though for Mark, it felt disturbingly strange and deeply unsettling.

— I’ll try, — Mark said quietly, his voice almost indifferent, though that was far from the truth.

Miss Harper gave him a long, measuring look but said nothing more. With a sharp gesture, she indicated he should return to the group.

"What am I trying for? To be the good girl? That still sounds ridiculous, especially when I’m already… giving it everything I’ve got." He shot a nervous glance at the skirt, a persistent symbol of what he’d lost. He felt foolish. "Trying? For what? For her? For myself? This is just someone’s cruel, stupid joke..."

Mark walked with his eyes on the floor, but his thoughts kept returning to the mirror. “I saw myself. Not this girl, but my real self. It showed me something. This wasn’t just my imagination. It means… it means there’s a chance.” He clenched his fists, feeling how this realization pushed despair aside. Hope, faint and fragile like a flickering light in the darkness, began to stir somewhere inside him. But with it came fear—what if this was just a trap? An illusion meant to make him cling to false dreams?

“No. I saw it. It was real,” he thought, shaking his head as if to cast off the doubts. His steps quickened, his heartbeat grew louder, and a strange sense of determination began to take root within him. “If there’s even the slightest chance to fix this, I have to find out. I have to understand what that mirror is and why it showed me this.”

He abruptly raised his head, realizing he’d already reached the group. His gaze immediately landed on Maddie. This time, though, she stood silent, a mocking smirk tugging at the corners of her lips as if she was already planning her next jab. But when her eyes met Dan’s, standing a little off to the side, her expression shifted, tensed, and then completely disappeared.

"Serves you right, bitch," Mark thought with a mental grin, a strange wave of satisfaction washing over him. He allowed himself a brief, genuine smile, barely suppressing a small chuckle.

— Emma, what are you so happy about? — Jessica whispered, leaning in closer. Her voice was full of curiosity, and a sly spark lit up in her eyes, as if she had picked up on something unusual in her friend’s behavior.

Mark exhaled, meeting her gaze. He still wore a brief, almost imperceptible smile—warm but enigmatic, as if everything happening was now part of a plan known only to him.

— It’s fine, Jess, — he replied calmly, his voice unexpectedly firm. — Everything’s going to be fine.

Part 12

— …and so, we see that the angle of the trajectory depends not only on the initial velocity but also on air resistance, — the voice of the physics teacher, Miss O’Brien, sounded slightly monotonous, as if she herself was bored.

Mark sat at his desk, pretending to take notes, though his thoughts were far removed from the discussion of mechanics. He absentmindedly twirled his pen between his fingers, his eyes fixed on the board, but eventually, his gaze drifted to the window. Outside, soft snow was falling, swirling into spirals in the wind. Almost half a year had passed since he found himself in this body. Back in the fall, he could never have imagined that this life would feel even remotely normal. Back then, he had desperately tried to break free, to prove to everyone who he truly was. Now... now he just lived.

That didn’t mean he’d accepted it. Rather, he simply moved forward, remaining himself in every gesture, every word, despite how others saw him and despite the new sensations of this body—those moments when involuntary embarrassment overwhelmed him, like at the museum, or when emotions flared too intensely to control.

— Emma? — Miss O’Brien’s voice was soft but firm as she tilted her head slightly to catch his attention. — Perhaps you’d like to share your solution to the task, since the window seems more interesting to you than the board?

Mark froze at the sound of the name. He had gotten too lost in his thoughts and now acutely felt the weight of dozens of eyes on him. A soft ripple of laughter passed through the class. Swallowing hard, he forced away his thoughts of snow and of how long he had been in this body. He glanced at the equation on the board and quickly lifted his head.

— Of course, Miss O’Brien, — Mark responded briskly, straightening his posture. — Air resistance reduces the speed of an object, which makes the trajectory less steep.

The teacher nodded with satisfaction, clearly expecting no less from Emma, though she added:

— Your answer is correct, but you get distracted too often. Step up to the board and show us how this connects to the task we’re solving.

Mark took a deep breath, straightened his back, and walked to the board. The room fell silent, broken only by the scrape of a chair as someone shifted to sit more comfortably. "Great, now they’ll all be staring at me," he thought irritably, approaching the board.

He picked up the chalk and quickly sketched a diagram, explaining:

— Here, the launch angle is smaller, so the trajectory is flatter. And air resistance affects the maximum height…

His voice sounded confident, and Miss O’Brien nodded in approval, but Mark could feel the stares intensify. What annoyed him most was Ben’s expression—he sat with his cheek resting on his hand, watching so intently it was as if he were absorbing every word. Steve, sitting closer, tried not to look too directly, but his eyes betrayed him. And the other boys glanced at him in a way that made Mark feel like he wasn’t at the board discussing physics, but on stage performing something far more entertaining. The attention was grating on his nerves.

Someone snickered from the back row. Mark turned to see Lauren smirking. She whispered something to her desk mate, and the two stifled giggles. The girls in the class had started resenting him after the museum trip, especially because Emma was now receiving more attention from the boys. It was a different kind of hostility, one Mark wasn’t used to dealing with.

— Very good, Emma, — Miss O’Brien said coolly, folding her arms. — But you need to focus more during class and less on the view outside. Perhaps you’d like to share what was so important that it distracted you?

Mark felt the tension in the room rise. Everyone was watching him even more intently. For a moment, he debated whether to joke or remain silent, but he knew immediately: staying quiet would mean losing. He looked at the teacher and replied with a touch of audacity:

— I was thinking about the snowfall, Miss O’Brien, — he said with a faint smile, glancing briefly out the window. — About how it relates to air resistance. I was trying to tie it to the task.

He deliberately added a hint of cheekiness to his tone. The girls giggled, and a few of the boys, including Ben and Steve, stared at him with newfound admiration for his confidence.

Miss O’Brien squinted slightly, as if weighing whether to press further. In the end, she just waved her hand dismissively.

— Fine, Emma, take your seat. Let’s focus on the tasks instead of the scenery, all right?

— Of course, Miss O’Brien, — Mark replied, his tone carrying a faint trace of sarcasm.

As he walked back to his desk, he avoided making eye contact with anyone. His shoulders tensed slightly when he heard Lauren’s muffled laugh.

— Snowfall and air resistance, — she muttered to her friend in a nasal voice, mockingly imitating Emma, just loud enough for Mark to hear. — So smart.

Mark shot her a look filled with cold irony.

— I can explain it again if you’d like, Lauren, — he said, raising an eyebrow.

Lauren’s face flushed red, but she chose to remain silent. Everyone knew better than to mess with Emma. Her sharp tongue and even sharper wit made her a formidable opponent. Mark sat down at his desk and let out an exaggerated sigh, making it clear to everyone that he couldn’t care less.

"From the moment I graduated high school, I never once dreamed of coming back. And here I am again, solving these problems. Physics, math... all this routine. I used to think they mattered, that they could lead to something important in life," ran through his mind as he glanced around the room.

Steve met his gaze and quickly smiled nervously, as if apologizing for staring. Ben, on the other hand, buried his face in his textbook, his ears turning red with embarrassment. In the back, Jack pretended to look out the window but occasionally sneaked glances, thinking he wouldn’t be noticed. The girls reacted differently: Lauren continued whispering to her friend, her expression tinged with irritation, while Sophie leaned back, hands behind her head, acting as though she didn’t care at all.

"Well, everything seems fine. Nothing unusual... Oh… Am I really getting used to this? Not long ago, all of this drove me crazy. Damn, it’s weird," he thought, letting out a deep sigh. Then, with an unexpected ease, he tilted his head and flicked his hair back in one smooth motion. The strands fell gracefully over his shoulders, accentuating every curve of his face.

The movement almost made Ben drop his pen, while Steve stared at him, seemingly spellbound, before quickly turning away, burying his face in his textbook. Mark couldn’t help but smirk, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

"Really? You think I don’t notice? Ridiculous… Was I like this too? Probably not. Although… maybe… Samantha. Everyone in our class was crazy about her. Funny. I was convinced Sam didn’t even know I existed, while I thought she was a goddess. I looked at her the same way Steve and Ben are looking at me now, and… Wait, what?!"

Mark blinked several times, trying to shake off the heat creeping up his cheeks.

"No, no, no, that’s ridiculous. It can’t be. This must be some kind of misunderstanding! Yeah, they’re just a little… uh… weird, that’s all. Me and Sam?! Pfft, ridiculous! She was perfect. And me… I’m just Emma. But…"

His eyes slowly rose, catching Ben stealing another glance at him, unable to resist. Steve kept his head down, his lips curling into a nervous, guilty smile. In the back, Jack quickly averted his gaze.

"Shit, is this really happening? Jessica wasn’t joking?! I can’t even wrap my head around the idea that I might actually be… No, I am that Samantha here. The one you can’t forget, even if you try."

The realization made his head spin. Mark took a deep breath, trying not to betray his shock. Just then, the bell rang, jolting him slightly. He flinched, almost like a blow had landed, and instinctively reached for his backpack as his thoughts continued to swirl.

Part 13

Mark grabbed his backpack and quickly left the classroom, feeling like everything inside him was boiling. The stares—he saw them all now, but not in the way he’d gotten used to over the past six months. Even the guys just standing in the hallway, guys he’d never spoken to in his life, were looking at him the same way. He saw it. Saw and understood that those glances, which just during the last break had seemed like reactions to his "weird behavior" because of his antics at the start, weren’t mocking or wary, as he’d always thought. No. They were the same stares, but now he could clearly see genuine interest in them, and in some, even admiration and slight confusion.

"Oh, shit, shit, shit, no, I’m imagining it, I’m just imagining it!" He felt heat rush to his cheeks, as if the whole hallway had turned to stare at him at once. Blindly turning the corner, Mark nearly fell over when he tripped on someone’s backpack sitting against the wall. He stumbled forward, feeling the long strands of his hair fall over his face. "Fucking hair," Mark automatically pushed it back, snapping his head up, and locked eyes with some guy sitting on the floor.

The guy was sitting on the ground in dirty gray sneakers, holding a worn-out notebook and wearing a T-shirt with some game logo on it. His face turned pale, and his eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets.

— I-I-I… you… uh… — he stammered, trembling as if the surprise of a lifetime had just hit him.

"He’s looking at me like I’m not a person but an alien from his favorite comic book," the thought flashed through Mark’s mind, and he felt his embarrassment flood back even harder.

— Uh… Uh, I’m sorry! I mean… you’re just so… uh… — the guy stammered, desperately trying to lift his eyes. A second later, Mark noticed in horror that a stream of blood had started running from the guy’s nose.

— Oh, shit… You’re bleeding! — Mark exhaled automatically, taking a step back. It came out a bit sharp and harsh.

— I-it’s fine! — the guy squeaked, hurriedly covering his face with his notebook and jumping to his feet. But his movements were so sharp and clumsy that he knocked his backpack over with a loud thud.

Mark closed his eyes, counting to three so he wouldn’t blurt out something stupid in response. Then he took a deep breath, turned around, and walked off without saying another word, feeling the nerd’s eyes still on his back.

— Hey! S-sorry, I didn’t mean… — came a voice from behind him, but Mark had already turned another corner, gritting his teeth from the awkwardness.

Busting into the girls' bathroom, Mark immediately felt a wave of relief: silence, no curious stares. Only the faint sound of dripping water from a leaky faucet filled the air. "God, what a disaster!" He leaned back against the cold tiled wall and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his cheeks still burning. — "Nosebleed… seriously?! What am I, some anime harem girl? What the hell is wrong with everyone today?!" Mark gritted his teeth, furiously brushing his hair out of his face.

Opening his eyes, he walked up to the mirror, gripped the edge of the sink, and stared at his reflection. Everything was the same as yesterday, as last week, as for all these months. There was practically nothing on his face except for a moisturizing cream with a light glow that made his skin look fresh. His eyebrows looked natural, just lightly brushed. The only hint of makeup—a clear lip gloss that faintly reflected the light.

"And why the hell are they all staring at me so weirdly today?" Mark frowned, examining his reflection closely. "I look the same as always. Nothing special. Unless… my hair’s tangled again. And the gloss—it’s not even noticeable, right?" Mark absentmindedly ran his hands through his hair, trying to smooth the unruly strands, but they immediately flew back in every direction. "Maybe it’s the hair? It’s too long, too… girly. I should’ve just tied it back this morning," he thought irritably, feeling his usual confidence slip away again.

Turning to the side, he gave his reflection a once-over and muttered under his breath: — "Yeah, you’re definitely attracting attention in all the wrong ways." He yanked at his skirt, hissing quietly with an annoyed look on his face: — "Damn ass, you piss me off."

The door suddenly flew open, and Jessica stormed in.

— Ah-ha, there you are! — she exhaled, clearly having sprinted halfway down the hallway. — I saw you—you were like a rocket, like the devil himself was chasing you.

Her eyes immediately landed on Emma, who was standing sideways in front of the mirror, angrily tugging at her skirt and glaring at her reflection. Jessica stopped, tilted her head to the side, and narrowed her eyes.

— Wait, are you seriously checking out your ass right now? — her voice was filled with genuine surprise, mixed with a hint of teasing. — Wow, Em, what’s wrong with you? Your figure’s fine, more than fine, and you know it.

— I wasn’t checking anything, — Mark snapped, straightening up sharply and shooting his friend an irritated look. — Everything just pisses me off.

Jessica, casually hopping up onto the sink next to him, looked at him intently.

— What do you mean? — Jessica smiled, crossing her arms and watching Emma with curiosity, like she was waiting for more.

Mark sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair again to push it out of his face, then looked back at the mirror.

— Everyone’s staring at me weird, Jess. I mean, sure, they always stared, yeah. But I always thought it was just because they whispered behind my back about my… well, my antics, you know, when I said… Anyway, it doesn’t matter now! — he glanced at Jessica, who was already smiling. — What matters is that they’re all staring, Jess. All of them. Guys, girls, even the teachers sometimes, and that nerd in the hallway… He had a nosebleed, for God’s sake! What the hell is that?! And the girls… they look at me like they want me to fall through the floor.

Jessica listened to his tirade with an ever-widening smirk. She wasn’t even trying to hide her amusement.

— Oh-ho, has our Emma finally noticed? — Jessica practically beamed, her voice full of excitement. She threw up her hands and smiled like this was the best day of her life. — I’ve told you a hundred times! Back at the museum, when Dan smoothed things over with Maddie—that’s when everything changed. Some kind of magic started swirling around you.

— What magic? — Mark grumbled irritably, feeling himself start to shake.

— Oh, сome on, don’t play dumb! — Jessica crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him reproachfully. — Everyone noticed that since the start of the school year, you’ve been kind of different. At first, people just thought you got weirder, especially after you started telling everyone, well, all that stuff about being a guy, hah, and then started snapping and mouthing off. But when Dan started talking to you, everything changed. He saw something in you — you told me that yourself, remember? When we went back to your stupid mirror again?

Mark wrinkled his little nose and looked away, not wanting Jessica to bring up those failed attempts to fix everything when he went back to that mirror several times, and Jess kept tagging along because she was worried and didn’t want him traveling that far alone.

— Anyway, what I’m saying is no one but Dan saw it, not even me... but after that, everyone realized that you’re actually, I don’t know, kind of cool. Your confidence, sharp tongue, brains, and looks — it’s something incredible! All those stunts of yours that used to make you seem weird now just make people think you’re a rebel with attitude. The boys are crazy about you, and the girls... — she rolled her eyes. — Of course, they’re jealous. Who’d have doubted that?

Mark felt his stomach tighten. "Crazy about me? Jealous? Stop it, just stop! You’re only making it worse!" He wanted to argue back, but the words got stuck in his throat.

— Oh, come on! — Jessica continued, oblivious to his stunned look. — You’re practically the queen of the school now. And here you are acting like it doesn’t concern you.

— What do you mean, q-q-queen? — Mark’s voice cracked on a high note, which was so unlike him. His knees almost buckled, and he grabbed the sink for support. His gaze darted between his reflection and Jessica’s smug expression. — AYou... you’re serious right now? Queen? That’s just ridiculous!

But Jessica, completely missing his shocked state, was glowing like a Christmas tree. She jumped up and hugged him so tightly she nearly knocked him over.

— Oh, Em, you have no idea how happy I am! You finally get it! I just adore you, my modest queen! The coolest and most amazing, even if you can’t see it yourself!

He stood stiffly in Jessica’s embrace, his arms hanging at his sides, feeling his legs grow weak. Everything inside him twisted into a tight knot, and a sour taste of nausea crept up his throat. "Queen? You’re all joking, right?!" the thought raged in his head. Suddenly, Monica’s face floated before his eyes, always smiling sweetly as she said: "Well, you’re a real man, my king, and I’m your queen. You’re supposed to take care of me, so…" He still remembered how much that cheap manipulation had pissed him off. And now? Now he… was a queen?

Part 14

— Jessica, let go... — Mark breathed out, barely audible, feeling like he couldn’t break free from her embrace, as though his entire body had gone limp. Jessica finally pulled away.

— Em, what’s with you? — Jessica pouted, looking at him like he’d just ruined her whole day. — I’m just proud of you. All those guys at school…

— I don’t give a damn about them, okay? — he blurted out, turning to the mirror. — I don’t care. I’m not… — He stopped short, the words unfinished. ‘I’m not Emma,’ he wanted to say, but bit his tongue just in time. His eyes fixed on the reflection of a girl with frightened eyes. ‘But maybe… maybe this is for the best, right, Emma? Your life’s kind of coming together now, after I nearly ruined everything with my nonsense about not being you... What an idiot... You’ll come back someday... won’t you?’

— Are you… spinning up some drama again? — Jessica sighed theatrically, waving her hand, and her smile lit up her face again. — My God, Em, you’re just the same, but I’m used to it, of course. Though sometimes it’s like living in a soap opera with you: Who am I? Why am I here? Why am I so beautiful? Oh my God, oh no, no… — Jessica continued in a fake sob, then suddenly beamed and added: — I’m just waiting for you to smile at me and say, “Yeah, Jess, you’re right, I’m a star!”

Mark stared at her while Jessica giggled, nudging him with her elbow.

— Is it really that hard? Come on, smile for once!

Mark barely moved the corners of his mouth, forcing something that resembled a smile, though inside, everything felt scraped raw.

— Fine, let them stare if they’ve got nothing better to do. It’s all... — ‘temporary’ he wanted to say, but Jessica immediately snorted, folding her arms across her chest and suddenly, almost quoting Mark’s own “philosophical” ramblings that he sometimes shared with her:

— It’s all just a stage of self-discovery! — she declared, holding up a finger as if making an important announcement, staring seriously at Emma’s widening eyes, before bursting into loud laughter. — What, you thought I wasn’t listening to all your weird little speeches? Classic you, Em! You forget who you’re talking to.

Mark sighed lazily, remembering those evenings when he’d tried to explain to Jessica why “people always find the strength to adapt to anything.” Back then, it had sounded profound, but now he wanted to slap himself for such pompous nonsense.

‘Alright... I’ll figure it out... someday. Everything will go back to the way it was…’ flashed through his mind, but the thought didn’t sound as solid as before. Hope felt more like a ghost every day, while this new reality kept pressing in on him from all sides.

— Let’s go, Miss Philosopher, — Jessica struck a mock pose, then grabbed his sleeve and tugged him toward the door. — Or you’ll get all broody again and waste the whole break on your deep thoughts.

Mark gave a crooked smirk, shaking his head as he slowly followed her to the door.

The hallway was noisy. Crowds of students rushed back and forth, laughter, loud conversations, the clatter of footsteps — the usual chaos of a school break. But after Mark had taken just a few steps, he suddenly noticed a familiar figure near the lockers. Dan. His heart gave a traitorous jolt again, even though he thought he’d learned to control it.

— Oh, look, here comes your knight in shining armor, — Jessica immediately perked up, nudging Emma with her elbow as she noticed how her pace slowed.

— Oh, shut up, — Mark muttered, feeling his cheeks betray him as they flushed red. Damn. Maybe that’s enough for today?

Dan turned and noticed them. That rough face, the one that intimidated everyone here, suddenly softened with a barely noticeable smile when he locked eyes with Emma.

— Emma! — Dan waved and started walking toward them.

— Looks like someone’s popular, — Jessica whispered with a sly grin, watching the reactions of those around them.

Mark shrank inwardly, trying to look away. But no matter where he looked, it was all the same. Or rather, he saw everything differently now. A few girls shot envious glances at Dan and then turned their eyes to Emma. ‘They look at me like I just stole a million bucks from them.’

Part 15

— You done with the homework? — Dan asked as he approached them.

— Yeah, — Mark muttered, staring off somewhere. He still couldn’t figure out why he agreed to help Dan with algebra. Probably just to get him off his back, so those thoughts of gratitude for helping with Maddie would stop eating at him. He tried not to dwell on it. He just decided to help, that’s all. He’d always liked math anyway.

— Thanks, by the way, — Dan wouldn’t let it go, and his voice sounded so... warm. — Without you, I would’ve totally failed that test.

— Don’t mention it, — Mark snapped, quickly brushing a strand of hair from his face. He caught a few more glances. “Stupid situation.” Behind him, Jessica was nearly choking with laughter as she watched Emma and Dan.

— Alright, I’ll get going, — Mark said quickly, trying to end the conversation, but Dan suddenly leaned slightly toward him:

— Emma... You free after school today? Maybe we could hang out?

Mark froze. A thousand thoughts raced through his head, but not one of them was fit for an answer.

— What? I… uh… — he stammered, feeling the ground shift beneath him.

— Yep, she’s free, — Jessica chimed in immediately, grinning like the devil himself.

“Jessica, for fuck’s sake!” Mark shot a death glare at Jessica — his eyes narrowed, pure rage flashing in them like he was ready to incinerate her on the spot. If looks could talk, his would’ve growled, “You just decided to bury me alive, didn’t you?!”

— See you then, — Dan nodded with a light smile and turned toward the exit.

Mark watched him leave, feeling the blood rush to his face. Killing Jessica right here, right now wasn’t an option, but God, how he wanted to.

— Jessica, you… you’re a devil! — he hissed once Dan disappeared around the corner. — Do you even realize what you just did?!

— Oh, come on, — Jessica waved it off, still grinning wickedly. — I just sped up the inevitable! Besides, you’re the one who told me: “Life begins outside your comfort zone.” So here you go, step out!

— Stop quoting me! That’s not what I meant when I... — Mark stopped because Jessica was already walking ahead, giggling to herself and muttering something about romantic scenes.

— Just imagine it: wind in your hair, Dan in his jacket, and you... Mmm, classic! — she suddenly stopped, turning her head sharply toward Emma like she’d just said something genius. — You do know he has a motorcycle, right? A real Harley! I heard it’s a family heirloom.

— I know, — Mark grumbled, looking away. Of course he knew. He’d heard that roaring monster more than once. Dan always left school on his Harley, stirring awe among the guys and wild excitement among the girls. And every single time, it drove Mark insane. Ever since he was a kid, he couldn’t stand them. The noise, the exhaust, the tough-guy posing — all of it made him sick. — I hate motorcycles.

— Seriously? — Jessica smirked, raising an eyebrow. — Don’t you ever want to ride with him? Press up against his back, wind in your face, and all that…

Mark nearly choked on air, stopping dead in his tracks.

— WHAT?! — He turned to her with a look of pure horror, as if she’d just suggested he jump out of a plane without a parachute. — Are you out of your mind?

Jessica burst out laughing, theatrically covering her mouth with her hand.

— My God, Em, you’re so predictable! — she giggled as Mark’s face visibly reddened. — Just imagine: he’s all rugged and cool in his jacket, you’re holding onto him, the bike’s roaring… God, I’m jealous!

— You’re insane, — Mark muttered, feeling his cheeks burn hotter.

— And you’re totally normal, — Jessica teased, still laughing. — You’re just scared. Scared you won’t be able to resist and you’ll fall for him completely, — she winked.

— Shut up! — Mark quickened his pace toward the classroom, his face now entirely red as he desperately tried to ignore her laughter behind him and the curious glances of others. “Calm down. You’ll just tell Dan ‘no,’ and that’s it. It’s not hard… probably,” he reassured himself, pushing open the classroom door. On the way, he noticed a few girls whispering to each other, which only pissed him off more.

Jessica looked like she had something else to add, but at that moment, the bell rang for class, saving him from any more of her teasing.

“Scared you’ll fall for him?” — the phrase echoed in his head. — “God, that’s so freaking irritating...”

Part 16

A few months ago…

Opening the door to the now all-too-familiar building entrance, Mark let out a heavy sigh as he stepped onto the creaking stairs. Another pointless trip to that stupid mirror in that stupid museum. His insides churned with anger and frustration. "Why doesn’t it show anything? Why only my… or rather, her reflection? Am I doing something wrong? Or… am I just losing my mind?" Mark clenched his fists, his breath quickening.

Once again, he’d made the trip, spent the last of his lunch money—money he’d practically stolen from his own meals—only to get… nothing. Just his own reflection. Emma.

He reached the third floor, where the peeling paint on the walls was now a permanent feature, and glanced at the neighbor’s door. Loud arguments often echoed from there, but today, it was quiet. The memory crept into his mind again. He was sitting on the cold stairs, clutching a doll named Belle tightly in his hands. That name was one he and Grandma had come up with together. Belle was the only toy left after the move. Grandma was gone now, but the doll seemed to hold onto all the warmth and care Emma had felt from her as a little girl.

That day, Mom was arguing with the neighbor from that very apartment. The shouting made Emma curl into a ball, but she sat there. She didn’t want to let Mom down, even as fear and determination waged war inside her. Her fingers were numb, and the doll’s plastic felt icy, but she didn’t move. She tried not to cry, though tears threatened to spill. "I just drew some flowers… They’re so cute! Why is he so mad?" the thought ran through her mind then.

A strange sadness flickered through Mark. He felt a sharp pang of guilt, as if he had been the one drawing those silly flowers. "It looked good… Why didn’t he like it?" That feeling rose uncomfortably, vividly real. "What the hell?! It’s all because of that mirror! I didn’t do it, but damn it, it feels like I did..."

A flyer stuck in the doorway caught his eye. Mark yanked it out almost automatically and tossed it aside without a second thought. "More spam," he muttered, jamming the key into the lock. Ever since he’d seen those two people in the mirror, these strange memories of Emma had started surfacing. He didn’t know what triggered them, but they were always vivid, always deeply emotional. It felt like he was living her joys, fears, and resentments himself.

As soon as Mark stepped inside, he heard laughter coming from the kitchen. His gaze fell on a pair of men’s shoes near the door. He froze, momentarily unable to process what he was seeing. "What the hell? Who could that be?" Irritation bubbled in his chest. Men’s laughter and shoes at the door? Had she brought a guy here? Did she forget him that quickly? The smell of fried meat hit his nose, and his stomach twisted painfully. A whole day without food, because he’d saved his lunch money for yet another pointless trip. "Fantastic. Just great," he muttered under his breath, shrugging off his jacket and struggling to suppress the urge to slam the door so hard everyone would know he was home.

— You’re just in time! — came Monica’s cheerful voice as she peeked out from the kitchen with a wide smile. Mark was halfway through taking off his shoes. "Damn it. She could’ve at least pretended not to notice." He looked up and saw Monica’s eyes, full of that playful warmth he remembered so well, the kind that often came when she’d laugh at his jokes without a care. It only annoyed him more.

— Dinner’s just about done, come in and say hi! — She waved him over, gesturing at a man in a striped shirt who appeared behind her, holding a glass of wine. Mark froze, realizing exactly where this was heading.

— Monica, you said your daughter was sweet, but she’s absolutely gorgeous, — the man said, turning to the kitchen’s hostess before his eyes landed on Emma. His gaze lingered just a second too long for comfort.

Mark stiffened, a wave of unease rippling down his spine. "What the hell is this?" he thought, struggling to pinpoint what exactly was making him so uneasy.

— Oh, where are my manners, — the man stepped closer, extending a hand with a confident smile. — James Reed. Pleasure to meet you, Emma.

Mark looked at his outstretched hand, noting the expensive watch on his wrist and his perfectly groomed nails, as if he’d just left a salon. His eyes flicked to the immaculately ironed shirt with rolled-up sleeves that revealed toned arms—arms that clearly hadn’t been built working construction. "Of course. A real hero. Straight out of an ad made for people like Monica."

— Mm-hmm, — Mark muttered without offering his hand. He brushed past James as if he wasn’t even there, heading straight for his room.

— Emma, what kind of manners are those? — Monica called after him, her tone reproachful but tinged with faint irritation. James just chuckled.

— It’s fine. I was a teenager once too. Though… it’s been a while, — he said, winking at Monica. She flinched slightly at the sound of Mark’s door slamming loudly, but quickly forced a strained smile, redirecting her attention to James.

Part 17

Mark threw his backpack onto the bed with such force that it almost knocked over a stack of notebooks on the desk nearby. He flopped onto the mattress irritably, but it unexpectedly sagged and crashed to one side. The already wobbly bed leg finally gave way. Laughter echoed from behind the door—Monica was joking about teenagers again, trying to excuse her daughter’s behavior and keep her date entertained. "Maybe I really should just leave? Why the hell am I even putting up with this?"

Mark sat on the edge of the crooked bed, glaring at the warped mattress. He clenched his fists, feeling the anger bubbling up inside him.

"She’s already found someone for herself… and me?!" Gritting his teeth, Mark caught his reflection in the small round mirror on the desk by his computer. The delicate, soft face of Emma stared back at him, with gentle eyes and slightly plump lips. He studied himself for a few seconds, noticing a small pimple that had popped up unnoticed before. Then, suddenly, he squeezed his eyes shut and turned away sharply.

— Perfect. Just perfect. Now I’m noticing pimples like… — he sighed and rubbed his face, hoping it would help him calm down.

The anger grew stronger: at the reflection, at how familiar it had become to him. "God, I’m a grown man! How did I end up running around chasing magical mirrors, hoping one of them would bring me back?" Mark ran his fingers through his hair absentmindedly, trying to steady himself. The strands slipped lightly through his fingers, and he noticed how they seemed oddly static-charged. "Damn, I really should wash it. Otherwise, it’ll just get all frizzy again… frizzy?" He let out a loud groan and jumped up from the bed, horrified by his own thought.

"God, I’m already thinking like some girl! Frizzy! Frizzy, for crying out loud! Next thing you know, I’ll be sitting on the bed brushing my hair and dreaming about boys!" He glanced at his hands, half-expecting to see a pink hairbrush there. "No. That’s it. Enough! I need to stop this… obsessive behavior or whatever it’s called! I’m a man. I… Breathe in, breathe out, like we did in those stupid therapy meditations."

His thoughts and attempts to calm himself were interrupted by the smell of food—fried meat. It wafted through the air, teasing him, making his stomach twist painfully. "Damn it, they’re probably already stuffing their faces while I’m losing my mind here." He licked his lips and swallowed the flood of saliva that came unexpectedly, hating himself for it. "God, I’m starving… but going out there?"

The thought of seeing that polished guy sent another wave of anger through him. "I’ll just grab a piece of meat and come back. No talking. Just don’t look at that asshole she likes." He had nearly convinced himself when Monica’s loud, almost shrill laughter burst from the kitchen, followed by her words through the giggles:

— James, you’re just the best!

"The best? Best at what? Giving himself a manicure?!" Mark thought with scorn, feeling his resolve to leave his room vanish. This was the last thing he wanted to see right now: Monica looking pleased, that guy smirking, wine glasses on the table. "Fine. I’ll eat later. Or maybe not at all. Guess I’ll just crash hungry."

Mark glanced at his bed. The mattress was hanging crookedly, ready to fall, while the leg, which had been creaking ominously for weeks, now lay on the floor, utterly useless. "I should fix this… No way I can sleep on it like this," he grumbled to himself. The irritation still churned in his chest, fueled by hunger.

— Fine, — he sighed, starting to lift the mattress. — No one’s going to do this but me.

A traitorous thought crept in: What if I just asked Mr. Perfect over there? Let him prove how ‘the best’ he is. It instantly sparked another surge of anger.

— Screw him, as if he’s some kind of superhero, — Mark hissed, pushing the bed frame aside. — Monica would love that: "See, Emma, how thoughtful he is!" Ugh, makes me sick.

He crouched down and picked up the bed’s broken leg, examining it closely. The attachment point was worn, the wood splintered, and one of the screws had stripped entirely. "Hopefully there’s something around here I can use to fix this." Leaning in to check how the leg might be reattached, he noticed a small tear on the underside of the mattress.

— Great. Even the mattress is falling apart, — Mark squinted, pressing his finger into the rip, and sensed something dense inside. "What the hell?"

He reached in and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. It was tightly folded, and his first thought was that it must be some sort of factory tag for the mattress. But as he began to unfold it, he felt a strange tension settle over him.

Part 18

Straightening the crumpled paper, a drawing appeared before his eyes. His brows knitted together as he examined the strange figure. It was a jester, sketched in pencil, wearing a hat with long flaps tipped with bells and a wide collar. Despite the simplicity of the lines, the face was unsettling. The smile stretched just a little too far, beyond what human lips could manage, and the deep, hollow eye sockets gave the figure a sinister edge.

— Damn… — Mark exhaled, staring at the drawing. A faint chill rose within him. The sketch wasn’t just strange—it was unnerving.

Suddenly, a wave of memories crashed over him.

He was sitting at a wooden desk, the same one he had been using for homework these past months, in this very room. A sketchbook lay open before him, and a pencil glided confidently across the page. Every line formed with precision, yet with urgency, as if his hands already knew what to draw. A faint tension grew inside him. "I have to draw it and show Mom. Why doesn’t she believe me?!"

He traced the pencil over the same spots repeatedly, deepening the details, as though afraid they’d disappear if he didn’t anchor them to the paper.

"That’s him, I’m sure! That’s who I saw! And that smile! Silly and scary—though he didn’t seem scary to me then. Or… didn’t he? Damn, I remembered how he looked—why am I forgetting now? This is important! So important!" The thought raced through his mind as his heartbeat quickened, and his fingers gripped the pencil so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

When the final line was in place, he leaned back, studying the result. The jester stared back at him from the paper—sinister, enigmatic. The gaze made his skin crawl. "I have to show Mom!"

— Mom! — he called out, though his voice sounded almost hesitant.

There was no answer, just muffled noise from another room. His mother was busy. Her irritated voice rang out suddenly:

— Emma, help set the table! The guests are almost here! — Her tone was sharp, as if she’d been interrupted from something important.

Emma froze, still staring at the drawing. "Not now. I can’t show it now," she thought. A wave of protest welled up inside her, but Emma already knew it wasn’t the right time. Guests were coming, and she’d spent too much time on the drawing, completely forgetting about everything else. But what mattered most was that she had finished it. And Mark… he’d be here too. Her heart skipped slightly at the thought of him.

She looked at the drawing again. The jester’s eyes—empty, shadowy voids instead of pupils—seemed to mock her, and that eerie grin… She had never drawn anything scarier in her life. "Mark would back me up that I’m not lying. He saw it too! Though back then he… Ugh, damn, but if someone else sees this… Mom’s definitely going to get mad."

She felt the drawing was important, too important to throw away or leave out in the open. "I’ll just hide it. For now. I’ll show it to Mom later. I have to."

Emma quickly scanned the room. There was no time—the clatter of pots and footsteps from the kitchen grew louder, and her mother’s voice sounded again:

— Emma! I’m serious!

Bolting into action, Emma crawled under the bed, fumbling around in the dark. "It’s here somewhere… There! Got it!"

There was a small tear in the fabric under the bed—barely noticeable. She’d known about it for a long time, ever since she used to play hide-and-seek and hid under there. "It’ll be safe here."

Her hands trembled slightly as she folded the paper and tucked it inside. Once hidden, she carefully smoothed out the fabric, as if trying to erase any trace of her impulsive decision. She glanced at the mattress one last time and exhaled. That was it.

— Coming, Mom! — she shouted, standing up and trying to sound cheerful, though her voice wavered slightly.

Mark exhaled sharply, scanning the room. Everything was as it had been: the broken bed nearby, textbooks, and the desk where the small mirror still stood. His feet felt the firm wooden floor, and in his hands, he held the unfolded sheet with the drawing. Yet his heart pounded wildly in his chest, as if he had just escaped a nightmare.

— Did I make this? — he muttered, then quickly amended: — I mean, she did… but what does it all mean?

He tried to calm his breathing and think logically. "Hell no… what are these dumb questions? It’s just… just a drawing. Nothing more. The memories are side effects of this… whatever mirror stuff. They’re just memories, that’s all. Or… or maybe not?"

His thoughts raced, and his chest tightened. The questions kept piling up. He looked at the drawing again.

"And yet… Why did I… Why did she draw it? And why was she going to show it to Mom? What does it all mean? What does it mean that Mark saw it? I didn’t… I know I didn’t see this. There’s no way I’d forget something like this!" Mark looked at the drawing again, but the more he stared at it, the more he realized he was seeing it for the first time in his life.

The jester was staring straight at him, its mocking grin growing more vivid, and for a moment, it almost seemed as though the picture had come to life.

Part 19

Sighing, Mark was about to fold up the drawing and return to fixing the bed when he suddenly heard a strange laugh. Sharp, ringing, almost childish, yet oddly deep at the same time. He flinched and instinctively glanced at the door.

"Monica?" flashed through his mind, but he immediately realized it wasn’t her. The laugh was different—not adult, yet not entirely childlike either, distorted somehow, too piercing. And most importantly, it didn’t come from beyond the door. The sound seemed to emanate from right there in the room, wrapping around him like something invisible yet undeniably present. The sensation made him tense up instantly.

"What the hell is this?" raced through his mind as his gaze darted feverishly around the room. Everything seemed the same as before: scattered textbooks, the crooked bed, the usual odds and ends. Yet, something in the air had palpably shifted. It felt thick, as if it enveloped him, bringing a strange sense of unease.

Mark’s eyes suddenly caught on the bookshelf. Among the neatly lined-up books, one stood out—a corner of its cover jutted out farther than the others.

Mark frowned. The inexplicable anxiety was growing, but he forced himself to stay calm. The laugh was gone, yet the oppressive silence that had settled over the room felt heavier than the sound itself. Rising from the bed, he moved toward the shelf. His steps were cautious, as if approaching something alive and shrouded in mystery.

The steps were slow, and as he drew closer to the shelf, it felt as though he was pushing against some invisible force pressing harder and harder against his chest. Stretching out his hand, he grabbed the protruding book. Its cover was matte, dark blue, sprinkled with stars that seemed almost real under certain angles of light. At the center of the cover was a round moon disc, faintly glowing. Inside the moon, a peculiar scene was depicted: miniature silhouettes of children in old-fashioned clothing playing against the backdrop of a night sky. Their costumes looked like something from the previous century—wide-brimmed hats, long dresses, pants with suspenders. They held colorful lanterns, lending an air of childlike innocence to the picture, yet the scene seemed unnervingly still, as though its characters were merely pretending to be alive.

Mark absentmindedly ran his fingers across the smooth surface of the cover. He had seen this book a few times before, even held it while tidying the room and arranging the books in neat rows. Back then, it had seemed utterly unremarkable—just another old children’s book, likely left behind from Emma’s school days. But now, for some reason, it held his gaze captive.

Carefully, he sat down at the desk and placed the book in front of him, as if afraid it might slip from his grasp. For a few seconds, he studied the stars on the cover, which still shimmered with every slight shift of the light. There was no title or author’s name, only this nocturnal scene with its enigmatic figures.

Mark opened the book, not bothering to pick a specific page, and his eyes fell immediately on a familiar image. It was the jester—the very same jester Emma had drawn. But in this illustration, he looked entirely different from the sketch he’d found under the bed. Here, he was depicted as a cheerful entertainer. His wide smile no longer inspired revulsion, and his eyes, simple circles, seemed friendly.

Mark felt a faint tremor in his fingertips, unable to tear his gaze away from the picture.

"It's you! You were there! I remember you!" the thought rang out loudly in his mind, bringing back the memory of his anger that day—how his cheeks burned as he stormed out of his room and into the hallway, heading toward the kitchen.

Inside, he had been boiling with fury and resentment.

"Why are they always like this to me?! Cartoons? Go watch cartoons?! And what are you going to do, huh?! I’m not a little kid anymore! I’m fifteen, and they still think I’m some little girl!"

Part 20

Emma clenched her fists, feeling the surge of protest building within her. After sitting in her room, stewing in anger over her mom's insistent request to leave her alone with Mark because they had "adult matters to discuss," she finally decided to step into the kitchen to prove she couldn’t just be ignored. As if staying in her room this long hadn’t already made it obvious she was furious?! Her steps echoed loudly in the hallway, each one demanding attention.

She took a deep breath, ready to unleash everything she’d bottled up, but as she reached the kitchen, she froze in the doorway. Mark was sitting at the table, lounging casually in his chair. His eyes were half-closed, a stupid half-smile plastered across his face, and an open bag of chips lay in front of him. The sharp smell of some strange herbal smoke was impossible to miss.

"Of course. Them again," she thought bitterly, feeling the sting of resentment flare up inside her.

Hearing her footsteps, Mark lazily turned his head and smirked.

— Oh, the little princess has graced us with her presence, — he drawled in an exaggeratedly sweet tone, one that came off more like mockery.

— I’m not little! — Emma snapped, her words tinged with the anger bubbling in her chest. — Stop calling me that! Where’s Mom?!

Mark tilted his head slightly, as if trying to decipher her question, but instead of answering, he scoffed, leaned back, and focused his gaze on her with difficulty.

— Mom? — he repeated slowly, as though the word was entirely new to him. Then, after a dramatic pause, his grin widened even more. — She’s… uh… on her royal throne. In the grand hall, where q-q-queens belong!

His voice trembled with suppressed laughter, which soon erupted into a loud, uncontrollable fit. He rocked back slightly in his chair, as if the whole situation was some inside joke only he understood.

— What? — Emma frowned, narrowing her eyes. Her irritation was mounting, fueled by her inability to make sense of what he was saying.

But Mark seemed oblivious to her confusion. He picked up a chip and held it close to his face, studying it intently.

— Ohhh, just look at this! — Mark held the chip up with two fingers, as if it were some rare artifact, and extended it toward Emma. — It’s the face of an alien! See? These are the eyes, and this… maybe it’s a tentacle, or whatever they have instead of a beard.

He rotated the chip at different angles, seemingly trying to find the most "perfect" view.

Emma crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, her irritation plain as day.

— Come on, tell me you see it too! — Mark turned his head to her, his eyes gleaming with a childlike excitement. — Or am I seeing things again?

He burst into laughter, nearly dropping the chip. Emma rolled her eyes.

— It’s just a potato chip, Mark, — she said sharply, though she struggled to suppress a smile. Her gaze then caught on a book lying on the table.

— What’s that? — she asked, leaning closer for a better look.

Mark seemed to think for a second, though he was probably just distracted by some random thought.

— Huh? Oh, that… a book. A book about… something. Maybe it’s a secret… uh… portal? — He grinned wide and then broke into laughter again.

Emma rolled her eyes but still reached for the book. She picked it up and ran her fingers across the cover, where the stars shimmered faintly under the light.

— Looks old, — she muttered, flipping to a random page.

On the first illustration, there was a fat cat with enormous eyes sitting in a puddle. The caption read: "Silly Meow forgot his umbrella." Emma couldn’t help but snicker.

— What is it? What is it? — Mark asked eagerly, craning his neck to see.

She turned the book toward him, and he immediately burst out laughing, pointing at the cat.

— That’s me when your Mom… when she told me to buy… what did she say? Something about milk! Ha!

Emma looked at him, shaking her head, but continued flipping through the pages. The illustrations were undeniably funny. There was a boy trying to catch a fish but instead snagging his own hat. A clown tangled up in his own balloons. Emma laughed louder with each page, her earlier irritation ebbing away.

Then she turned to another page and froze. It was the jester. The very same jester. His wide grin, absurdly drawn circle-eyes, and comically crooked pose triggered a sudden fit of laughter.

— Mark, look! Is this your buddy? — she exclaimed through giggles, pointing at the picture.

She placed the book on the table to avoid dropping it and bent slightly, laughing so hard tears began to well up in her eyes. Emma’s laughter was so infectious that even her own words seemed funnier as she kept laughing uncontrollably.

Part 21

And suddenly, the page with the image of the jester began to tremble ever so slightly, as if something beneath it was stirring. A moment later, a small figure, no taller than thirty centimeters, slowly rose out of the book. It was the very same jester from the picture. His red cap with little bells jingled softly, and his grin seemed even wider now.

— So, — he drawled lazily but with an oddly serious tone, stretching as though he had just woken up, — who woke me up?

Emma froze, unable to utter a single word. She instinctively turned to Mark, but he seemed oblivious, staring intently at his own hands and muttering something about “the fifth dimension.”

The jester turned to Emma, giving her a playful bow, the bells on his cap letting out a cheerful chime. Emma’s eyes were locked onto his wide, unnerving smile.

— Well, now that the formalities are out of the way, — he said, studying her with a mischievous curiosity, — you woke me up, so go ahead—state your wish.

— A wish? Is this a joke? — Emma blinked, her voice trembling as her mind struggled to make sense of what was happening. — Who… what are you?

The jester tilted his head slightly to the side, his eyes narrowing as his grin stretched even further.

— Who am I? Hm… That’s not important, girl, — he said with a lazy mockery, spinning on his heel as if reveling in his newfound freedom. — What matters is that you woke me up. And now… your wish is my command.

Emma shook her head, as if trying to convince herself this was all just some bizarre dream. She turned to Mark.

— Mark! Do you see this?! He just climbed out of the book, right here on the table! — Her voice was shaky, but she desperately tried to stay calm.

Mark slowly turned his head toward her, his eyes heavy-lidded and unfocused. He blinked lazily before following her pointing finger toward the table. Finally, his gaze landed on the jester standing there, and his face lit up with a smirk that quickly turned into loud laughter.

— Haha! Oh, Emma, you… you’ve really gone all out, huh? — he said, his words slurring slightly from laughter. — Like… what’s it called… — he waved his hand vaguely, trying to recall, — oh yeah, a hologram! Just like Princess Leia in Star Wars!

Emma stood frozen, unable to believe what she was hearing.

— A hologram?! This… this is a real jester! He climbed out of the book, I’m telling you!

But Mark had already shifted his attention. His thoughtful and serious gaze was now fixed on a towel hanging on the opposite wall.

— The towel… it’s… hey, Emma, do you see how it’s moving? There’s gotta be a portal there. — He raised a finger, pointing at it as though it were the most extraordinary discovery.

Emma groaned and rubbed her face with her hands.

— A portal?! Are you kidding me?! There’s a JESTER standing on the table who just climbed out of a book and is TALKING TO US!

Mark waved dismissively, as though swatting away a fly, and leaned back in his chair again.

— A jester… — Mark repeated slowly, shaking his head with a faint smirk. — Emma, turn off your cartoons. You’re too little for stuff like that…

— I’M NOT LITTLE! AND I DON’T WATCH CARTOONS! — she exploded, her face flushing with rage. She turned to the jester, who stood on the table with his arms crossed, watching the scene with unabashed interest.

— I like you, — he remarked, nodding approvingly. — Feisty. So? Your wish. Speak. I’m waiting. And don’t take too long—I’m starting to get bored.

Emma froze, emotions bubbling inside her like a volcano.

— Fine! — she burst out, barely keeping her anger in check. — I want to be an adult! So that no one ever… — she shot a furious glance at Mark, who was still staring at the towel, — calls me a kid again!

Mark lazily turned his head toward Emma, his eyes half-closed as a slow grin spread across his face. He leaned against the table, staring at her before his gaze drifted somewhere over her shoulder.

— Emma, being an adult sucks. Adults are boring, annoying… you have to work. Pay taxes… ew, — he drawled, squinting. — I, on the other hand, want to be… like… not an adult. Being a kid is awesome. None of that… crap.

The jester glanced between the two of them, his grin stretching unnaturally wide, almost sinister. A spark of something malevolent flickered in his eyes, as though he’d already planned everything down to the last detail.

— Done, — he said curtly, snapping his fingers. His voice was sharp and chilling, like a blade scraping against glass. For a brief moment, the room was bathed in a blinding flash of light—so brief it could have been imagined, though Emma was certain it had happened.

Emma froze, trying to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Mark, swaying slightly, raised his hand as if to ask something but then thought better of it.

The jester vanished into thin air, dissolving like smoke, leaving behind an oppressive silence.

The kitchen looked the same, but something in the air felt different—a heavy, suffocating vibration that sent a shiver down Emma’s spine. She glanced at Mark, who slowly shifted his gaze from the towel back to her. Narrowing his eyes, he muttered:

— Something… feels wrong. Or is it just me?

Part 22

— Show yourself, you damn coward! I know you did this! Bring everything back! — Mark screamed, startled even by the high pitch of his own voice, a sound he thought he’d gotten used to over the past months. His tiny fists, now all the more noticeable, pounded furiously on the image of the jester, as if trying to drag the strange creature out of the pages of the peculiar book.

— You think this is funny?! — His voice rang out sharply, cracking at the edges, which only fueled his fury. — You’re behind all this! Bring it all back, do you hear me?! Bring it back!

The book under his hands remained still, as if mocking him. The jester’s grin on the page seemed to stretch wider with every strike. It no longer looked drawn—there was something too alive, too brazen about it. The realization only enraged Mark further. He grabbed the book and shook it violently, as if trying to shake the jester out of its pages.

— Show yourself! Stop hiding, you nasty bastard! — he shouted, but his voice betrayed him again, sounding almost pleading. Mark threw the book back onto the table and exhaled sharply, struggling to steady his trembling hands.

Laughter. That same sharp, ringing laughter echoed through the room once more. This time it was closer, almost directly by his ear. Mark jumped to his feet, looking around frantically.

— Such a drama queen, — came a voice from right behind him.

He spun around. The jester was sitting on the edge of the table, legs crossed, lazily swinging one foot with a jingling bell on his shoe. His cap jingled softly in rhythm with his movements. The grin on his face was broad and toothy, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

— You! — Mark clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. — I’ll… I’ll…

— You know, I have to say, the look on your face in front of that mirror was unforgettable, — the jester interrupted with a light smirk, examining his nails as if they were the most fascinating thing in the room. Then his gaze shifted to Emma with a curious glint, as though he was only now starting to truly appreciate the results of his handiwork.

Mark froze, feeling his insides churn. The memory brought back the icy terror that had gripped him to the core when he’d seen the two of them.

— You… you did it on purpose! — he stepped closer, fists clenched again. — You made me look like an idiot! Why did you do that?!

The jester lazily crossed one leg over the other, as if entertained by this little outburst. The bells on his cap jingled softly with his movements.

— You answered your own question, — he said with a light chuckle, his gaze as nonchalant as his tone. — Because you looked like an idiot. And I must say, it was quite the spectacle—just the right mix of dramatic and pathetic. I love moments like that.

Mark swallowed hard, feeling a lump rise in his throat. He stomped his foot, his tiny fists trembling.

— Stop it! That’s enough! Change us back!

The jester tilted his head, his grin turning almost lazily mocking. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hands dangle, staring at Mark as though he’d just heard something utterly hilarious.

— Change you back? — he repeated, as if he couldn’t quite believe his ears. — Do clarify—what exactly do you mean by that, Emma?

Mark froze, his breath catching as the jester deliberately emphasized the name. Emma. It rang out with exaggerated clarity, dripping with mockery, as if to highlight everything he’d been trying so desperately to deny. His heart pounded heavily in his chest, like it was answering a challenge.

— Don’t call me that! — he burst out, his voice breaking into a high-pitched, desperate cry. — That’s not me!

The jester raised an eyebrow, as though holding back laughter. He leaned in slightly, the bells on his hat jingling softly.

Part 23

— Oh, really? — his voice was soft, almost playful, but every note dripped with sarcasm. — And what should I call you? Maybe Mark? — He feigned a thoughtful expression, then locked his gaze on the nervous, offended girl glaring at him with fury in her eyes. — Doesn’t quite fit, does it? Don’t you feel it?

Mark clenched his teeth, his hands balling into fists so tightly that his nails bit painfully into his palms.

— I am Mark! — he shouted, staring directly into the jester’s glowing, mocking eyes. — You switched our bodies! You did all of this!

The jester’s grin stretched wider as he suddenly leaned back with feigned exhaustion, spreading his arms dramatically.

— Oh, how boring. Back to this “bodies” nonsense. You know, it’s just too complicated. — He tilted his head, studying Mark with an expression as if seeing him for the first time. — Swapping souls, twisting fates… takes so much effort. And I’m lazy.

Mark stood frozen, his eyes wide, as a sticky mix of anger and fear churned inside him. He struggled to steady his breathing.

— What?!… You… you’re lying, — Mark’s voice wavered, but he clenched his teeth, trying to hold on to some shred of confidence. — You’re just trying to confuse me! Mess with my head! — He stomped his foot, emphasizing his words.

The jester spread his arms lazily, his grin stretching impossibly wide, his eyes gleaming with even more mockery.

— Confuse you? — he tilted his head slightly, as if examining Mark from a new angle. — Why should I even try? You’re handling that perfectly without me. — He glanced off to the side, his tone turning almost dismissive. — Besides, Mark, Emma… what’s the difference?

— What do you mean, what’s the difference?! Are you kidding me?! I’m a grown man, not some stupid girl! — Mark nearly shouted the last words, his voice cracking pathetically. His anger boiled in every syllable, but instead of sounding threatening, it came off… pitiful.

The jester tilted his head lazily, his gaze filled with mocking curiosity. Then his lips stretched into a wide, toothy grin.

— Oh, yes, Emma, you’re so grown-up now! — The jester suddenly straightened, clapping his hands. His grin widened, and his eyes sparkled with amusement. — Don’t mention it—you’re welcome.

Mark froze, the jester’s words echoing in his mind. That memory from the kitchen surged back, and Emma’s—no, his own—words rang out clearly in his head:

"I’m not little! Stop calling me that!"

"I want to be an adult!"

The voice was sharp, almost shrill, filled with anger. It was so vivid, so fresh, as if it had just happened. But… that had been Emma speaking, hadn’t it? Or… had it?

— No, no… that wasn’t me, — he muttered, stepping back. His eyes darted around the room, searching for something solid to anchor him to reality. — It was her! It was… her wish, not mine! You did something to our memories… She doesn’t remember anything either and thinks she’s always been me… I… I called her… him…

Doubt sank its claws deeper into Mark—or was it Emma? Standing in what should have been his room, she ground her teeth nervously, the enamel wearing down from the pressure.

— Oh, don’t worry so much, — the jester drawled lazily, rising to his full, diminutive height at the edge of the table. He tilted his head slightly, as if catching the light on his toothy grin. — Being an adult is complicated. Memories get fuzzy. Feelings change. And at some point, you might even realize… you’re not really you. — He chuckled softly, his voice dripping with mockery. — Oh, what a face, girl. You didn’t seriously think I’d actually turn you into an adult woman, did you?

Mark’s insides twisted into a knot at the jester’s words. “An adult woman?! He’s mocking me!” His mouth opened to argue, but his voice caught in his throat when he caught his reflection in the mirror.

“She… I?... Could it be?... No, that’s ridiculous… This is all nonsense… I’m not…”

The jester leaned in slightly, his bells jingling softly, as if sharing a dark secret.

— Oh, silence. That’s new, — he whispered, savoring every second. — Well, I’m not here to torment you. I’m not some villain, after all. — His grin stretched unnaturally as he tilted his head, the bells ringing lightly. — Everything in this world is temporary, anyway. And I’m not that powerful. — He winked before adding casually, as if it were an afterthought, — Even adulthood sometimes ends up right back where it belongs.

part 24

Emma... Mark frowned, staring at the jester as his heart pounded even harder.

— What do you… mean? This… it’s temporary, right? I’ll… I’ll turn back… turn back to…? — “To what?” the thought suddenly flashed through his mind as his trembling voice spilled out, but the jester only smirked, leaning back lazily.

— Turn back, don’t turn back. How boring. You’re an adult now, and adults don’t ask stupid questions, — he said lazily, and his figure began to dissolve into the air, breaking into a cascade of shimmering stars. — Anyway, you’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out.

Large, beautiful eyes framed by long lashes widened, noticing the silhouette of the creature fading away.

— Hey! — a voice rang out in the silence of the room, high and breaking with desperation. — You can’t just leave! You have to bring everything back! — Mark shouted, but the jester was already nearly gone, dissolving into the air like a drop of ink spreading through water. All that remained were faint glimmers of light, flickering like ghostly echoes. Mark stood there, breathing heavily, his eyes slowly scanning the familiar outlines of the room.

He suddenly noticed the door to the room was slightly ajar. A thin beam of soft light from the hallway spilled through the crack, unnaturally still. The air felt frozen in time, as though the entire world was holding its breath. Only when the last spark of the jester’s disappearance faded did time seem to resume. The crack in the door widened, and it swung open abruptly.

Standing in the doorway was Monica, her brows slightly furrowed, as though expecting Emma to say something first. She didn’t step inside but studied her daughter sharply, her gaze searching.

— Emma? — she called, her expression shifting to one of concern as she scanned her face. — Are you okay? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Was it because of him? — She winced, briefly glancing away. — You were banging and shouting so loud I thought you were trying to knock the wall down.

Mark opened his mouth to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. His fingers still trembled, and his heart pounded like a hammer. Monica sighed, stepping closer until she stood directly in front of him.

— And that... person heard it too, — she remarked, a grimace forming. — Certainly not the most pleasant moment, of course. Said something like, "Well, it seems teenagers these days just can’t handle their nerves.". And you know what I told him? I said, “You better watch your mouth.” He shut up after that, but… Emma, — her voice softened, — you really put on a show. What happened?

She glanced at the table, where the book lay abandoned, and then back into her daughter’s eyes.

Mark stared back at her, unsure how to respond. How could he explain everything that had just happened? He didn’t understand it himself. Monica, not waiting for an answer, continued, her tone warmer now:

— Listen, if it’s about him, who cares? Sure, he’s rich and all, but… — she sighed, shrugging thoughtfully. — That doesn’t mean I’m going to tolerate his comments about you.

Her words pierced Mark’s heart like an arrow. He looked up at Monica, his wide eyes filled with uncertainty, his lips slightly parted as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. A strange warmth spread through him, both frightening and oddly comforting.

Monica was watching him intently now, her brow furrowed as if trying to decipher what had changed.

— My God… — she whispered. — I didn’t even notice… you’ve grown up so much these past few months. Just a little while ago, you were still a kid, and now… — her voice softened further as she gently touched Emma’s shoulder.

The warm gesture startled Mark. He froze, trying to keep his emotions in check, but it was too much. His eyes began to fill with tears, and he shook his head, trying to hide them, though it was impossible to conceal anything from Monica’s attentive gaze.

— It’s okay, — she whispered softly, pulling him into a gentle hug. — You know I’m always here for you.

The embrace was so warm and unexpected that Mark couldn’t help but melt into it. The jester’s mocking voice still echoed faintly in his mind, but near Monica, it felt distant, almost unreal.

The silence was broken by the sound of a rumbling stomach. Monica pulled back, smiling as she lightly patted Emma’s shoulder.

— Haven’t eaten all day again, have you? — she said, her tone free of reproach. — I made enough food to feed an army. Come on, let’s have dinner.

Mark, still dazed, nodded slowly. For the first time in a long while, he felt something resembling comfort and support in this house.

Part 25

The classroom drowned in a semi-drowsy silence, broken only by the faint scratching of pens on notebooks and a barely audible whisper from the far corner. Literature. The last class of the day. The board was covered in intricate lines of analysis for some poem, and Miss Hendricks paced steadily with her pointer, explaining the nuances. Yet Mark, sitting at the same second-row desk, hardly noticed any of it. His concentrated gaze was fixed on the board, but his thoughts were far from poetry—or even the boys sneaking glances at him from neighboring desks.

‘Should I say no? Tell him I’ve got tons of stuff to do? That’s normal, right? Damn, why am I even hesitating?’ He absentmindedly bit the tip of his pen, trying to suppress the rising anxiety. Time was running out, but his mind was still a mess of doubts. Dan’s invitation to hang out after school stuck in his thoughts like an annoying splinter. Dan. That damn Dan. Why did Jessica make the decision for him so easily? And why hadn’t he just told her to shove it?

“What does he even want? God, I don’t even want to think about this, but…” He took a deep breath, feeling his hands clench into fists.

“It’s obvious what he wants, and it’s obvious where this could go. Damn it, calm down… Okay, okay, let’s think this through again.” The problem was that his body didn’t seem to share his hesitation. Ever since Dan had spoken to him by the lockers, a strange, irritating warmth had settled in his chest, and Mark couldn’t shake it off. That infuriated him most of all, though he kept it hidden.

“Well, Emma would’ve gone with him, right? It’s her body, and she’s a girl, and he… he’s the cool guy everyone likes. I can’t ignore that anymore, not like before. I know she’d definitely go, especially after he helped me—ugh, I mean, her—that time… But I’m not Emma. So why should I go? I’m still a guy, for God’s sake, and this… this is all wrong! Stop doubting yourself! Damn it, I’ve already decided this a hundred times. Why do I keep questioning it? What the hell is wrong with me?”

His gaze swept across the classroom. Nobody was looking at him directly, but sometimes Mark felt something intangible in the silence, as if everyone could hear his inner monologue and knew about this shameful situation—especially his doubts, which he already hated himself for. But everything seemed fine. The boy at the next desk, Ben, stole a glance in his direction but quickly looked away when their eyes met, pretending to search for something in his textbook.

"Damn, them as well…" Mark thought with a heavy sigh, irritation bubbling up inside him. Every time one of the boys looked at him for too long, he wanted to scream at them to stop. Those looks—admiring, awkward, evaluative—were unbearable and simultaneously reminded him that Emma was now him, whether he liked it or not. And the worst part was that this was all his own doing, the result of wanting to stay true to himself no matter what, which had somehow spiraled into… this strange popularity.

“Shit,” Mark muttered under his breath as the pen slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor and rolling under the neighboring desk. He was about to dive after it, momentarily forgetting his thoughts and frustration, when he noticed someone else had beaten him to it.

The hand reaching toward the floor belonged to Jack, the boy at the next desk. Jack deftly retrieved the pen and, straightening up, handed it back to Mark with a small, nervous smile.

—Here, take it, — Jack said softly, trying to sound confident but betrayed by the flush on his cheeks and the slight awkwardness in his smile.

Mark froze for a fraction of a second as he took the pen, his eyes searching Jack’s expression. He looked… embarrassed? A thought flashed in Mark’s mind: “Shit, him too? But he’s with Lauren!” He muttered a quick “Thanks” and immediately looked away, a strange irritation prickling at him over the whole situation.

An awkward moment hung in the air before Jack quickly turned back to his textbook, pretending to be completely engrossed in it. Behind Mark, a faint whisper broke out, followed by a muffled chuckle and more hushed murmurs, clearly discussing the brief interaction. Lauren, catching on, turned her head, her gaze settling on Jack and then on Mark. Her expression grew cold, with a faint trace of annoyance.

Part 26

Mark sighed, placing the pen on his desk, feeling the tension in the room rise. The whispers behind him and Lauren’s icy stare, which he could feel burning into his back, gnawed at him. He tried to ignore it, but one thought slipped into his mind: “Why has everything gotten so weird?” It felt like the world had flipped even more than it had when he first realized that the attention he was receiving wasn’t what it seemed just yesterday.

Things had already been strange before, but at least they had some boundaries—some kind of clarity, if it could be called that. The Jester hadn’t shown up again, despite Mark’s attempts to summon him. He always carried that book with him, hoping the strange figure would reappear and say, “Just kidding, haha, it’s over,” and he could go back to being himself. But nothing happened. Instead, the Jester’s mocking parting words haunted him, growing sharper with time: “You’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out.” Mark kept trying to decipher what he meant. That eerie smile kept flashing in his mind, and Emma’s memories increasingly felt like his own, creeping in bit by bit.

“What does it mean, ‘adulthood returns where it belongs’?” he had thought one day, pacing his room after school, staring intently at that book. “If all this is temporary, when does it end? And how will I know if I did something right or wrong? Damn it, who even is he to decide who I am or what I should do?”

At some point, he resolved to stop thinking about it. Dwelling on the Jester’s cryptic words seemed pointless. Maybe he was right: the answers had to come from within.

Months later, just the day before today, he held the book again, but with a different mindset. He reflected on how the Jester hadn’t given him clear instructions or guidance, and his words now seemed different, pushing Mark to think about himself. About how he had lived before and now, how he responded to people, how… he clung to the past, refusing to accept his new reality.

“Maybe… maybe he’s never coming back. And I… I’m still holding on to who I was before, even though… Everyone sees Emma in me, and even when I act like myself, they chalk it up to teenage angst. And these memories… Maybe he wasn’t even real, and I made all this up?” Looking at himself—his now-familiar body, the girlish clothes that had already become routine—he thought then, feeling a despair tinged with… resignation?: “No. I know who I was, even if now… I just keep thinking I’ll go back to my old life, to my old body. But what if that never happens? Or worse, what if it only happens when I accept who I am now?”

That thought had tormented him for days. He felt his insides twist, the battle between his past and present reality tearing him apart.

“Adulthood returns where it belongs,” he had repeated in his mind. What did it all mean? Accept Emma’s life and become her? “No way, that can’t be it. I’m not her—I know that. How can I become her? That’s absurd… right? I’m so sick of these doubts. I wish he’d never appeared in the first place. He’s just messing with me. This is some twisted test from a strange being. His joke. I’m still me, even if everything on the outside has changed. And if this ‘adulthood’ returns and all this is ‘temporary,’ then is it possible Emma will come back, and I’ll be myself again? What’s his game, and… is there even a game?”

The sharp ringing of the bell shattered the silence, signaling the end of the class. Mark flinched, as though waking from a long, exhausting dream. Miss Hendricks carelessly stacked the notebooks on her desk, and the students began packing up, the sound of zippers and chatter filling the air. He glanced at the clock—it was time to leave. Now, he had to figure out what to do about Dan.

Part 27

Mark packed his notebooks and textbooks into his backpack, trying not to lift his head. It felt as if everyone around him was expecting something, though it was probably just his imagination. The stares, the whispers—all of it blended into a strange mix of everything he wanted to leave behind as soon as possible: the classroom, the school, and the entire surrounding world.

He quickly headed for the door, sparing only a brief glance at Miss Hendricks on his way out. However, he’d barely made it a few steps down the hallway when a familiar voice called out behind him:

— Hey, Emma! — Jessica, wearing her usual wide grin, was quickly catching up. — In a hurry to see your sweetheart?

Mark sighed and slowed his pace, feeling irritation rise in his chest. She could at least tone it down a little; he was already at his limit after this stupid day.

— Jess, seriously, — Emma snapped, giving her a brief glance. — Can you just skip the jokes, for once?

Jessica only snorted, shrugging. Her casual attitude made Mark even angrier.

— Oh, come on! — she said cheerfully, matching his pace effortlessly. — You know I’m kidding. But admit it, you’re nervous, right? — Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she leaned closer, peering into his face. — What’s on your mind?

— Thinking about how to avoid running into you before classes tomorrow, — Emma muttered, tugging her backpack higher onto her shoulder. Mark tried to appear calm, but a trace of irritation in his voice didn’t escape Jessica.

— You’re so adorable when you’re trying to act tough, — she replied, laughing. — Just pure charm, really.

Mark gritted his teeth but stayed silent.

— Don’t worry, it’s normal, — Jessica continued as if she hadn’t noticed his mood. — Everyone gets shy before a date. Especially a first one.

Her voice was so light and carefree that for a second, he faltered. But then he stopped abruptly, turning to her with such sharpness that she raised an eyebrow in surprise.

— It’s not a date, — Emma blurted out, staring straight into her eyes. Her voice came out too loud, too tense. She quickly lowered her tone, adding irritably, — And it’s not happening, anyway.

Jessica raised her eyebrows and smirked, as though finding the situation amusing.

— Okay, okay, whatever you say, — she said, but the sly glint in her eyes remained.

Mark pretended not to notice her smirk and strode quickly toward the exit. The schoolyard was already filling with students whose classes had ended. The hum of voices, occasional laughter, and the creak of bike wheels blended into a noisy but familiar backdrop.

“Damn it, no way am I going,” he told himself as he approached the gates. Inside, he was churning with irritation and confusion. The thought of meeting Dan seemed both absurd and terrifying, and the closer he got, the tighter the knot in his chest grew. He tried to convince himself it didn’t matter, that he would just show up, say a few words, and leave. But his thoughts felt like a tangled mess.

As he stepped out of the school grounds, his eyes immediately landed on a familiar figure. Dan, as expected, was standing a bit away from the main crowd—relaxed, with his usual confident smile. But he wasn’t alone.

Next to him was Casey. Mark knew her—she was part of Dan’s group, one of those who always hung around him. Normally, Mark didn’t care about her; her cool demeanor and sarcastic attitude didn’t bother him, just felt like part of their clique. But now, for some reason, she caught his attention. Her short dark hair glinted in the sunlight, and her aloof gaze swept over the crowd of students as she said something to Dan. She held a small pack of candy in her hand, and just as Mark noticed her, she offered one to Dan, laughing at something he’d said.

Dan accepted the candy with a light smile, popped it into his mouth, and responded with something that made Casey laugh again. Her laughter was soft, almost like a purr, but annoyingly effortless.

Mark froze, feeling an involuntary tightness in his chest. The scene seemed innocent, even mundane to an outsider, but to him, it felt like a personal blow. She was standing too close. Her hand brushed his shoulder, supposedly to flick away an invisible speck of dust.

“So that’s how it is,” Mark thought, feeling irritation bubbling up inside.

For a moment, he considered just turning around and heading home, especially if things were going to be this “interesting.” But at that moment, Casey turned and noticed him. Her gaze—calm yet appraising, with a slight smile that seemed to say, “Go on, run along, little coward” hit him like a slap.

Mark felt his face flush. He couldn’t explain why her look got to him so much. “What, did you change your mind?” her silent voice seemed to mock him. For several moments, Mark stood frozen, staring at them. A strange mix of irritation and a sting of resentment bubbled inside. “Change my mind about what? I never wanted to! And why should I care? Let he stand there with Casey… But why did he invite me if she’s already here? What’s the deal with that?!” The thought stung, making his heart pound faster.

Part 28

Dan finally turned his head toward Emma. His gaze softened slightly, and the corners of his lips curved into his familiar confident smile. He leaned briefly toward Casey, whispering something to her. She shrugged indifferently, gave Mark one last glance, and stepped aside, pulling her phone from her pocket.

– Emma! – Dan waved, as if inviting her to come over.

Mark clenched his teeth. Part of him wanted to just turn around and leave, to avoid dealing with this ridiculous situation. But another part… something strange, irritated, almost rebellious, pushed him to step forward. As if to prove something—not to Dan, not to Casey, not even to himself. Just… something. He took a step, then another, keeping his expression as neutral as possible.

— Hey, – came Emma’s voice, as she tried to sound calm, though the dark edge in her tone was unmistakable to everyone.

– Glad you came, – Dan said, pushing off the railing and moving a bit closer. – Casey just stopped by for a minute. She’s just a friend, if that’s what you’re thinking.

Mark hesitated at Dan’s words. Those two simple ones—“just a friend”—ignited a spark of irritation inside him. As if he’d even been thinking about it… Or had he? None of this was supposed to bother him. It shouldn’t. And yet, it did. Him. Her. Emma. Something inside him seemed to demand he butt in, to make a cutting remark, to say something… but what? He couldn’t explain it, but a bitter feeling rose in his throat.

– Oh, just a friend, – Emma shot back, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. Her voice carried a sharpness louder than Mark had intended. – Well, if that’s the case, I hope you’re not planning to keep me waiting for another friendly candy.

Dan laughed, clearly surprised by her reaction. His laugh was soft but carried a slight mocking tone, as if he was playing off the contrast between her words and how she looked. It only deepened the irritation.

– Relax, Emma. Casey knows when to leave, – he said, gesturing toward his friend, who was scrolling through her phone a bit farther away, not paying them any attention. – You’re not jealous, are you?

Mark felt as though he’d been slapped. Blood rushed to his face as a mix of anger, frustration, and something he couldn’t fully understand boiled in his chest.

– Jealous? – Emma scoffed, stepping closer to Dan and tilting her head as if studying him. – Do you seriously think I would… be jealous? Of who? You? – She smirked, but it sounded more like a defensive wall than genuine amusement.

Dan didn’t back down. His confident smile widened slightly.

– That’s why I like you, – Dan said, tilting his head slightly, his gaze growing even more self-assured.

Mark froze at those words. Like you. The phrase sounded already so casual, yet it lodged in his mind like a thorn. He tried to maintain his composure, but his face was already burning.

– Like me? – Emma repeated with a crooked smile. – Don’t flatter yourself, Dan. You’re just entertaining yourself.

– Maybe, – Dan shrugged, his gaze unwavering. – Or maybe you just don’t want to admit you enjoy it.

Mark sighed, feeling a tighter knot in his chest. This was wrong. All of it. Yet something inside, some part of him, demanded he stay, demanded he keep this strange, meaningless conversation going, even though it made no sense, even though his rational mind screamed at him to leave.

– Me? – Emma scoffed, trying to ignore the strange warmth spreading within her. – You think too highly of yourself, Dan, – she muttered, turning away. Her voice, though sarcastic, betrayed notes of inner conflict.

– Maybe, – Dan replied calmly, his smile lingering. – But you still came.

Those words struck a nerve again. "I only came to say ‘no’ and go home. That’s it! Why am I still here?" She exhaled sharply, glaring at Dan with defiance, and snapped:

– Maybe I just didn’t want you thinking I was avoiding you because I liked you.

Dan laughed, a genuine, hearty laugh that infuriated Mark even more. It was both light and annoyingly self-assured, as if Dan had figured everything out before Mark even understood his own words.

– Emma, you’re so funny when you try to argue.

– I’m not arguing! – Emma snapped, her voice rising too much.

Dan seemed to enjoy her reaction. He stepped closer, closing the space between them.

– Alright, you’re right, – he said, looking at her with a hint of challenge. – Maybe I’m overestimating myself. But let’s find out. Come on.

– Where? – Emma asked suspiciously, feeling a rising unease.

– It’s a surprise, – Dan said, his eyes glinting as if testing her.

Mark gritted his teeth, feeling an odd tension. He didn’t have to go. He could just walk away. Just laugh it off and say he had other things to do. That would be the end of it. That would be the right thing to do. But his feet felt glued to the ground, and instead of declining, his voice seemed ready to say something entirely different.

– Just as long as it doesn’t involve candy, – Emma muttered, trying to mask the tremble in her voice.

Dan’s smile widened, his gaze softening briefly as if he’d understood something Mark himself couldn’t admit.

– I promise, you won’t regret it.

Part 29

Dan extended his hand as if inviting him, and for a moment, Mark’s body, almost instinctively, twitched slightly, as if about to respond to the gesture. He felt his fingers twitch slightly, but at the last moment, he jerked them back sharply, scoffing. Inside, everything burned with mixed emotions: defiance, irritation, a strange warmth, and a sense of being under some unseen scrutiny. Mark froze, staring at the outstretched hand.

— Are you serious? — muttered Emma, crossing her arms over her chest. Her voice was full of sarcasm, but her eyes betrayed an internal struggle. Mark felt like he was being torn apart inside. "This is getting worse and worse by the minute! Damn, I need to stop this!"

Still keeping his arms folded across his chest, Mark stepped back, struggling to hide how his fingers were trembling slightly. He took a deep breath, trying to regain at least a semblance of control. In Dan's eyes, there was a flicker of approval — as if he had been expecting this reaction all along. His smile widened slightly, and his gaze softened, almost intrigued.

— I didn’t expect anything else, — Dan finally said, lowering his hand. His voice was calm, but there was a provocative edge to it, as if daring her to continue. — That’s exactly why I like you, Emma.

Mark tightened his arms around his chest, trying to hide his embarrassment. His face remained stern, but inside, it was a completely different story. Every word Dan uttered with that effortless confidence stirred something in Mark that he didn’t want to acknowledge. And that was the most irritating part.

— Enough with this "like" nonsense already! — Emma finally burst out louder than she intended. — What, have you run out of words?

Dan laughed, though it didn’t sound mocking. There was a genuine sincerity in his laughter, as if her words truly amused him. His eyes narrowed slightly, he tilted his head to the side, and he took a step closer. He was now so close that Emma involuntarily flinched.

— Well… Shall we get going? — he said calmly, but there it was again, that familiar challenge in his tone that Mark was already tired of.

He turned and started walking, not waiting for a response, confident Emma would follow. Casey, who had been standing a little farther away, lazily shifted her gaze to them and, noticing Emma lingering, raised an eyebrow slightly, as if saying, "What are you waiting for?"

Mark remained rooted to the spot, wrestling with himself. His legs felt glued to the ground, but some part of him still wanted to take a step forward. "He’s doing this on purpose! He knows it pisses me off! And why am I even thinking about going with him? This is complete nonsense! I’ve got stuff to do… But… what stuff? Go home to… my mom? Then sit in my room and overthink everything that jester said? Like I even know what he’s up to… Damn… Fine, it’s probably better than whatever this is… What does he even want? A surprise? God, how cliché… Damn it! Am I really about to go with some guy to God-knows-where?!"

He rolled his eyes, making it clear how annoyed he was, and finally moved forward. Casey noticed his movement, smirked, but said nothing, simply following along.

— The princess decided to join us after all, — Dan called over his shoulder when he saw Emma begin to follow.

Mark gritted his teeth, barely restraining himself from snapping back. That "princess" stung like a deliberate jab, pressing all the wrong buttons. He quickened his pace to catch up with Dan, trying to maintain some distance and appear calm, though inside, he was boiling.

— Don’t call me that, — Emma muttered, staring straight ahead.

Dan glanced back slightly, his smirk widening, but he didn’t say another word. Instead, he casually pushed open a gate leading to the path behind the school. Mark walked slightly behind, forcing himself to ignore Dan’s smug demeanor. Casey, trailing them, kept her distance, scrolling through something on her phone without interfering.

— Where exactly are we going? — Emma asked sharply, barely holding back her irritation at the whole situation. Her voice was taut, like a string about to snap.

Dan shrugged, his stride still relaxed.

— You agreed to come, so trust me, — he replied so calmly that it infuriated Mark even more.

They were now on the edge of an old football field, overgrown with grass and long abandoned. The rusty goalposts loomed in the distance, their nets torn, and the bleachers surrounding the field were cracked and covered in graffiti. It was quiet, too quiet for a normal day and a spot so close to the school. No shouting kids, no bikes, no other people — just the three of them: Dan, Casey, and Emma.

At some point, Mark slowed his steps, gradually realizing the reality of his situation and feeling a rising sense of fear. His heart began to race, and his palms seemed frozen in place. He looked around, hoping to see someone, anyone, but the place was deserted. A slight breeze stirred fallen leaves, and the oppressive silence felt too heavy, too tense.

Part 30

"Damn, what am I even doing here?" flashed through his mind. The situation was suddenly starting to feel far more suspicious. Here he was, in an abandoned place, with the guy everyone in school was afraid of and his cold-blooded friend, whose piercing gaze he could feel on his back. And he wasn’t a man, wasn’t Mark — who likely wouldn’t have been here at all — but a schoolgirl, a teenager, whose body felt weak and defenseless. The thought sent a chill through his chest.

Dan stopped and turned to Emma, his eyes gleaming with playful challenge.

— So, here we are, — he said, spreading his arms as if to showcase the desolation. — What do you think, Emma? Like it?

Mark scanned the empty field, feeling a growing sense of unease building inside him. His gaze darted between the rusty goalposts and the bleachers, where the shadows of tree branches danced. The place felt too deserted, too alien, yet he stood tall, trying to appear calm and not betray how tightly he was clutching the straps of his backpack.

— Oh, sure. Perfect setting for the next horror movie, — she retorted, trying to lace her voice with sarcasm. — Do you bring all the girls here?

Emma smirked, her voice dripping with irony. Showing fear wasn’t an option — in situations like this, sarcasm and irony were her best armor. But what came next shut down every thought and worry she had, because Dan, completely unfazed, casually shrugged, looked directly at her, and his smile softened.

— No one, — Dan replied suddenly, his voice calm and confident. His tone was so steady and serious that Emma froze for a moment. — I haven’t brought anyone here. You’re the first.

Mark froze, feeling a sharp pang in his chest, his breath catching slightly. This wasn’t just discomfort — it was a strange, dull sensation he couldn’t explain. His throat went dry, and he quickly averted his wide eyes, hoping it would help him shake off the sudden wave of unfamiliar emotions. But instead of finding relief, his gaze landed on Casey.

She stood a little further away, leaning against the metal frame of an abandoned bleacher, watching him intently, seemingly unaware of the conversation. Her gaze was piercing, calm, yet strangely perceptive, as if she knew more than she should. Casey slowly raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a faint smirk. In her hands, she lazily toyed with a chain, as though nothing unusual was happening.

Mark felt irritation and embarrassment mixing again in his chest. He quickly turned his attention back to Dan, but Dan was already watching him, head tilted slightly and wearing a soft smile. It was too much. Too close, too much, too… strange.

— Uh… right, sure, — Emma muttered, swallowing the lump in her throat, a slight nervousness slipping into her tone. — The first, huh? How… touching. — She tried to bring the sarcasm back into her voice to cover up the strange tension growing inside her. — Maybe they’ll even give me a medal for this. I mean, come on… we are at a stadium!

To Mark’s surprise, a sudden burst of laughter escaped his lips, loud enough to echo across the empty stadium. For a second, he stood there, stunned at himself. The unexpected outburst seemed to catch both Dan and Casey off guard. They exchanged glances, and even Casey, usually so cold and distant, smirked and shook her head.

— Got it, yeah, the stadium! — Emma said, her tone suddenly more relaxed as she gave Dan a playful smack on the shoulder, like an old friend might. The gesture came out sharp, even a bit rough, but it carried a strange mix of nervous energy and Mark’s usual way of handling tension. "Damn it, what am I doing?" flashed through his mind, a wave of embarrassment hitting him as he considered changing the subject. He expected Dan to react sharply or mockingly, taking the chance to tease Emma about the gesture. But instead, Dan laughed — loud, genuine, and somehow, it lightened the mood.

— Emma, you really know how to cheer people up, — Dan said, barely suppressing his laughter as he leaned back against a nearby post. His face was flushed, and his laughter, so sincere and infectious, echoed across the empty field.

Mark couldn’t stop himself from smiling now. All the tension that had gripped his chest just moments ago seemed to melt away. He felt the laughter bubbling up again, filling his lungs with a lightness he hadn’t felt in ages. Even Casey, usually reserved and distant, unexpectedly smirked.

— Who would’ve thought you were this funny, — she said with a wry grin. — Usually, you’re more like a little storm of sarcasm.

Mark turned to Casey, his gaze slightly tense and questioning. He still didn’t understand what she was doing here or how she had ended up in this strange situation. "What does she even want here?" flashed through his mind, but before he could say anything, Dan spoke again.

— Casey just wanted to make sure I didn’t screw this up, — he said with a smirk, throwing a quick glance at his friend. — She thought I’d mess it all up from the start.

— Thought? I was sure of it, — Casey corrected him with mock reproach. She tucked her hair behind her ear and went back to scrolling through her phone. — But it looks like you’re managing.

Part 31

Mark glanced from one to the other, realizing in that moment that over the past few minutes, he had been acting in a way completely different from how he would have wanted. Suddenly, a wave of realization swept over him: he had been laughing, joking, letting himself relax... and in this situation, he looked like an ordinary teenage girl. His eyes widened, and his chest tightened.

— I... what? — he muttered under his breath, feeling his face grow hot.

— You okay, Emma? — Dan asked, tilting his head slightly and watching her closely.

— Yeah, — she replied, trying to regain her composure. — Just got lost in thought. Casey’s leaving already, right? — Emma tried to make her voice steady, but it still sounded far too tense.

Casey, not lifting her gaze from her phone, took a few steps toward the exit. Then she stopped, turned around, and casually tossed a small shiny key in Dan’s direction. He caught it with one hand without even looking, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

— Have fun, — she said curtly, her voice laced with mild sarcasm. — Just don’t scare her too much, Dan. See you later.

Casey turned and strolled away leisurely, leaving behind a sense of cold indifference that unsettled Mark even more. Now he was alone with Dan in the middle of an abandoned stadium, where every gust of wind seemed ominous.

"Have fun?" Mark thought desperately, feeling anxiety build inside him. "She didn’t mean...?" He watched as Casey disappeared behind the stands, leaving the two of them alone. He now stood in the middle of the desolate stadium with the one guy everyone was afraid of. The eerie silence around them was broken only by the occasional rustle of wind through the grass, making the atmosphere even more unsettling.

"What am I doing here? Why did I even come with him?" His thoughts raced wildly, every instinct screaming at him to leave. "I laughed with him, joked, like I... Damn it, I was right. This is just getting worse and worse." The memory of how he had allowed himself to relax hit him like a wave of shame. It felt like it wasn’t even him laughing, but someone else entirely. Mark couldn’t believe how quickly he had lost control.

— Why so serious? — Dan interrupted his thoughts, tilting his head slightly. There was a faint note of concern in his voice, but it only made Mark more tense. Once again, he felt Dan’s gaze studying him, digging deeper than he was comfortable with.

— Nothing, just... — Emma began, trying to keep her voice firm, but it betrayed her confusion. She gripped the strap of her backpack tightly and took a step back. — Alright, I think I should go. See you at school.

She turned to leave, but hadn’t made it more than a couple of steps before she felt someone stop her. Dan gently took her hand, halting her, but the speed with which he had closed the distance was even more unsettling. And while his touch was unexpectedly careful, almost as if he was afraid of scaring her, it somehow made things worse.

— Hey, don’t leave so quickly, — his voice was unnervingly calm, his gaze far too intense. — Do you really think I’d hurt you?

Mark froze, feeling cold sweat trickle down his back. "Hurt me? — the thought echoed in his mind, but instead of calming him, it threw him even further off balance. — Does he seriously think that? I... I’m not some scared schoolgirl!" And yet, every instinct screamed at him to run, but he couldn’t move. His legs felt rooted to the ground, his fingers gripped the strap of his backpack so tightly they turned white, and his heart pounded like a drum in his chest. "This is ridiculous," — he thought, — "I need to turn around and leave right now."

Finally, he forced himself to exhale sharply and yanked his hand free.

— Don’t touch me! — Emma snapped, stepping back. She tried to keep her voice steady, but a tremor slipped through. Mark clenched his fists, feeling his palms slick with sweat, and stared into Dan’s face as if trying to uncover hidden intentions.

For a moment, Dan looked puzzled, but he quickly replaced the expression with his familiar easy smile—the very one that made Mark’s insides boil.

— Sorry, — he said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. — I didn’t mean to scare you.

Emma watched him closely, every muscle tense, ready to react. Something about the softness in his voice only made her anxiety worse. She tightened her grip on the strap of her backpack, as if it might somehow protect her.

— It’s just, you’re acting... strange, — she finally muttered, struggling to find the right words. — Why are we even here?

Dan lowered his hands and smiled again, but this time, it seemed more genuine. He nodded slowly, as if acknowledging her words.

— Alright, — he said, shifting his gaze from Emma and scanning their surroundings. — Maybe I went a little overboard. It’s just... this place. It reminds me of how things used to be. Back when I was... different, I guess. This place, — Dan gestured toward the abandoned building, — it doesn’t mean anything to anyone else. But to me... I spent a lot of time here when... well, when I wanted to get away. From home. From school. From everyone.

Part 32

His voice sounded strange. Calm, yet carrying an underlying weight. Mark watched Dan, noticing how he avoided looking him directly in the eye, as if the words were difficult to say. And that was... unusual. Not like the confident guy who always looked at everyone with a faint smirk.

— Why were you even here? — Emma heard her own voice. It sounded calm, almost genuinely curious. She had tried to keep a sarcastic tone, but something in Dan’s expression threw her off. It looked... almost familiar.

Dan took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. His gaze wandered over the bleachers, the gates, the building, as if he was searching for something within the crumbling walls.

— It’s hard to explain. — He shrugged, his voice quieter than usual. — I guess it sounds stupid, but here... I felt free, — he finally said, his voice dropping even lower, as if he feared that speaking too loudly might shatter the place and his memories. — Free from everything: the house where no one ever waited for me, the school where everyone demanded something from me, telling me who I should be. Here, I could just... be myself. No one could tell me I was doing something wrong or expect me to be someone else.

Emma froze, unsure of what to say. Those words broke through her defenses. Something inside her responded to his confession, as if every note of his voice resonated with her own feelings. Mark didn’t even notice how his face softened, the usual sarcastic edge replaced by something more sincere.

— It’s not stupid, — Emma finally replied softly, looking into the distance. Her voice sounded unexpectedly gentle, even with a hint of care. She was surprised by how her words came out, as if it wasn’t her speaking but someone else. — Sometimes you just need... a place where you can breathe.

Dan turned to her, his gaze lingering on her face for a moment, as if searching for confirmation that her words were genuine. Then he nodded, his smile turning a bit sad but still sincere.

— You’re right. This was a place where I could breathe. — He paused for a moment, then looked down at the shiny key Casey had given him. His fingers tightened around it as his gaze shifted to the small administrative building at the edge of the field. It looked especially abandoned: the walls were peeling, and the door was covered in rust. — I want to show you something.

Mark felt the tension return, like an invisible spring tightening inside him. Just a moment ago, Dan had seemed so human, open, even vulnerable, that he hadn’t noticed how his voice had changed—too soft, almost trusting, as if forgetting who he really was. "Looks like I’ve gotten too into this schoolgirl role," Mark thought, though for some reason, the thought didn’t bring the usual annoyance. Instead, there was a quiet, dull tension that felt different than usual.

— Alright... lead the way, Mommy’s little schemer, — Emma snorted, unable to suppress a faint smirk. She crossed her arms over her chest, as if trying to hide her tension behind the gesture. Her voice sounded irritated, but there was still a hint of lightness, almost teasing. She gave Dan a slight squint, making it clear her trust was still fragile. Even as she spoke, she felt an odd sense of calm, as if she genuinely wanted to know what he wanted to show her.

Her hand unconsciously slid to the strap of her backpack, her palm feeling the familiar weight. Inside was that strange book with the jester on the cover. The image of the grinning face unexpectedly surfaced in her mind, sending an unpleasant chill down her spine. "Damn, what’s this about now?" she thought. Mark remembered how, just last night, flipping through the pages, he had come across the image of the jester again. Its smile had seemed mocking, as if it knew something he didn’t. And now, looking at Dan, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all connected.

"Why did I suddenly think of that book? And why now? It has nothing to do with this... or does it? What if that book really isn’t just a coincidence? What if all of this is part of something bigger? No, stop. That’s ridiculous..." Mark exhaled, forcing his thoughts back to reality.

Emma glanced at Dan again. His confident stride and easy movements seemed to draw her in, even as her mind still protested. "This is all so weird. Why me? Why is he so... focused on me? Or maybe I’m just overthinking?" she thought, but deep down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the book in her backpack now felt heavier than ever before.

Part 33

Emma followed Dan toward the building, feeling as if her footsteps echoed through a void. Rusty gates, peeling paint on the walls, weeds breaking through cracks in the concrete—everything around them screamed abandonment. But in this state of neglect, there was something else, something elusive that she couldn’t quite grasp. Mark caught himself tensing with every step.

Dan walked slightly ahead, his usual confidence appearing forced this time. He tried to seem casual—swinging his arms freely, not glancing back—but Emma could see the faint tension in his shoulders. Occasionally, he would throw a quick look over his shoulder, as if checking to make sure she was still there, his lips twitching into a faint smile that seemed more like a shield than an expression of sincerity.

— You didn’t bring me here to lure me into some creepy trap, did you? — Emma finally broke the silence. Her voice was calm, almost lazy, but there was still a hint of tension in it.

Dan smirked, this time genuinely.

— A trap? You really think I’m capable of something like that? — He turned to look at her, his gaze softening for a moment. — If I wanted to trap you, you’d already be caught.

Emma snorted, though his words stirred an odd, unplaceable feeling inside her. She couldn’t tell if it was irritation or... something else.

Inside, the building smelled of dust and dampness. The old corridor was dimly lit by sunlight filtering through broken windows. Emma slowed her steps, instinctively looking around. The floor was littered with shards of glass and debris, and old graffiti marks covered the walls in places. The silence was heavy, broken only by the sound of their footsteps.

Dan stopped, waiting for her by one of the doors. This time, his gaze was lowered, as if deep in thought.

— We’re almost there, — Dan said, his voice soft, tinged with uncertainty. He turned a key in the lock of the door leading to some room and hesitated for a moment, as though doubting his own decision. — This might seem strange, but I think... it matters, — he muttered, pressing down on the handle and slowly opening the door. The creak of the hinges echoed down the quiet corridor, revealing a room dimly lit by weak rays of light slipping through cracks in the ceiling.

Emma stepped into the room, a shiver running down her spine as the shadow of the door fell across her.

The room was empty except for one wall that drew her gaze immediately. Painted on it was a massive graffiti piece—a jester in a ridiculous cap with bells, grinning with a mocking smile. His eyes, though just painted, seemed alive, watching her. A crooked crown perched haphazardly on his head only added to the eerie effect.

Mark froze, staring at the graffiti. The jester looked almost identical to the one depicted on his book, but far more unsettling. And then a sound broke the silence—a faint but piercing laugh, teetering between mockery and menace. The laugh was brief but loud enough to make Mark flinch and glance around, confused about its source.

— Is this... is this some kind of joke? — Emma exhaled so softly that her own voice sounded foreign to her. Her heart was pounding so loudly she thought even Dan might hear it. — God, did you hear that?

Dan looked at her, frowning. His gaze scanned the room as if trying to understand what Emma was referring to.

— Hear what? — Dan asked, his brow furrowed as his eyes darted around the space, searching for a sound he hadn’t perceived. — The place is empty.

Emma, clutching the strap of her backpack so tightly her fingers turned white, slowly nodded toward the wall. Her breathing became shallow, as though any sudden movement might disturb the fragile balance of the room.

— That laugh... — she managed to whisper, her eyes fixed on the graffiti. — You didn’t hear it? It was sharp, like it was right here, — her voice trembled, but she forced herself to sound steady.

Dan stared at the graffiti. For a moment, his expression darkened, and his gaze sharpened like a blade. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, seeming as if he was about to say something significant but hesitating.

— I... painted this at the beginning of the school year, — he finally admitted, his voice quieter than usual. He stepped closer to the wall, looking at the graffiti with an expression Emma couldn’t decipher. — It’s strange, but I felt like I had to do it. Like it was already in my head.

Emma frowned, her eyes darting from the drawing to Dan. He didn’t look like he was joking now. His voice carried something sincere, almost reverent.

— You... painted this? — she forced herself to ask, even though the strange laugh still echoed in her mind.

Dan nodded, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment as if searching her reaction for answers to his own questions.

— Yeah, I did. I don’t know why. It felt... important. I’m no artist, but damn it, I don’t know how this came out, — he chuckled, but there was no humor in it. — I just couldn’t stop that day. I grabbed some spray cans and started. Every detail... it was like it was already in me. And here’s the weird part, — he tilted his head slightly, looking at her intently, — that day on the bus, and later, I kept feeling like it was connected to you.

Emma blinked, unable to comprehend what he meant.

— To me? — She took a step back, trying to hide her unease, feeling the weight of her backpack grow heavier. — What are you even talking about?

Dan ran a hand over the wall, his gaze fixed on the painting.

— I don’t know, — he admitted, his voice dropping to a near whisper. — It’s just... like you’re tied to this somehow. It might sound crazy, but when that bitch Maddie started bullying and blackmailing you with that video, I couldn’t just sit back and watch. I don’t even know why. It was like... like it mattered. For you, for us... — his voice trailed off as he ran a hand over his face, letting out a short, bitter laugh. — Crazy, right? Why did I even care? I didn’t even really know you back then.

Emma, feeling as if everything inside her was turning upside down, took another step back, clutching her backpack tightly with both hands. She couldn’t decide what unsettled her more—Dan’s words, his strange confession, or the conviction in his voice about a connection that couldn’t exist. What... What does it all mean?

— Alright, I... maybe I should go, — she murmured, her chest tightening with anxiety. She turned to leave but stopped when Dan softly called her name.

— Emma.

His voice was quiet, almost tender, and somehow, it stopped her. She glanced back over her shoulder, trying to appear composed, though her expression betrayed her tension.

— What?

Dan didn’t answer immediately, his gaze sweeping over her face as if searching for the right words.

— You feel it too, don’t you? That something’s off. Not just with me. With you too, — he spoke slowly, his voice unusually serious. — I don’t know what it means, but... I think it’s important. Really important, somehow.

Emma felt a chill run down her spine. His words felt like an answer to questions she was too afraid to ask even herself. She stared at him, unable to say anything, as her fingers clenched the straps of her backpack. What if... What if he’s right?

“What does he know? What was that laugh? Why... Damn it, there are too many coincidences and...”

She felt her feet move on their own, stepping back toward Dan. Her throat was dry, but she forced herself to lift her head and speak.

— Dan... you know... — her voice faltered, her gaze flickering from the wall to Dan—so confident yet so vulnerable in that moment. — I... I want to tell you something, — she managed to say, though her voice broke on the last word.