Ethan walked to the drop-off zone, thinking about his first day of school. He saw the woman from that morning standing by her SUV, waving at him. He was pretty sure that this had to be Olivia's mom.

"Hi," Ethan said as he got closer, trying to act normal.

"Hi, sweetheart," she replied, opening the car door for him. "How was your first day?"

"Uh, it was okay," Ethan said, keeping his answer short.

She smiled gently but didn't ask any more questions. "Glad to hear it."

The ride home was quiet except for the soft music playing on the radio. The woman hummed softly to the tune as Ethan stared out the window, watching houses and trees blur by.

As soon as the car stopped, Ethan got out quickly. "Thanks," he said over his shoulder as he headed inside.

Once in the house, Ethan went straight to the bathroom. He had needed to go since the third period but couldn't bring himself to use the girls' bathroom. Dropping his bag outside the door, he rushed in and locked it behind him.

He avoided looking in the mirror as he unbuttoned his pants and pulled them and the panties down. The whole thing felt weird and uncomfortable, and he tried not to think about his new body as he finished.

When he was done, he washed his hands, grabbed his bag, and went back to the room he'd woken up in. He flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as a million questions swirled in his mind. How did he end up here? Why was this happening? None of it made sense.

After a while, Ethan sat up and walked over to the mirror on the wall. He stared at the girl in the reflection. Her face was soft, with neatly plucked eyebrows and delicate features. If he looked closely, he could see little hints of himself—his eyes, the shape of his mouth—but it was hard to look past all the new feminine features to recognize himself.

Beginning to feel frustrated and hopeless, he started to look around the room, hoping to uncover something that might give him a better idea of who Olivia really was. He began with the desk in the corner, opening each drawer carefully. Inside, he found rows of neatly arranged pens, pristine notebooks, and stacks of unopened sticky notes. It was all so organized it felt staged, like no one had ever actually used it. There wasn't a single scrap of paper with doodles or a half-used eraser—nothing personal.

Next, Ethan moved to the closet. Sliding the door open revealed a line of clothes that looked like they belonged in a store display. Dresses and skirts hung perfectly spaced apart, their fabrics smooth and untouched. On the floor, rows of shoes were arranged with precision—everything from shiny high heels to clean, white sneakers. He ran his hand over a few of the items, noticing that they smelled faintly of new fabric, like they'd never been worn.

The room felt more and more like a setup the longer he searched. There were no photographs taped to the walls, no knick-knacks cluttering the surfaces, no personal mementos. It was like a hotel room or a set in a TV show—completely devoid of any personality or history. Even the closet lacked the kind of quirks you'd expect to find, like an old jacket stuffed in the back or childhood toys stored on the top.

Ethan frowned as he returned to the bed, staring at the room with growing unease. It didn't make sense. Was Olivia even a real person? Was this some kind of elaborate hoax? How could this even be happening? Maybe those people in New York had set this whole thing up. He remembered the poster he'd seen: "Looking for a Fresh Start?... This is your chance to try something new and be part of a unique, life-changing journey." Life-changing was certainly an understatement, but how could anyone pull something like this off? And if this was all fake, who was this woman pretending to be his mom? What did she even get out of it? The questions only made his head hurt more.

His gaze shifted to the nightstand beside the bed. If there was anything truly personal in this room, it had to be in there. Ethan slid across the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, as he opened the drawer. Inside, he found a pink neatly folded sleeping mask, a handful of hair ties, and, most intriguing of all, a small diary.

His heart raced as he picked up the diary. It was small and smooth, with nothing but "Diary" on the cover. This had to have answers. Holding his breath, he opened it to the first page.