Noelle
There’s a brief moment as I wake up when everything still feels like a dream. This quiet phase of limbo, when you’re still half asleep as your body awakes naturally instead of being brutally jolted into an upright position by the alarm clock. During that period, when my bed is warm and my body still heavy with sleep, I’m certain that it was just a dream. And I’m not even sad about it, really, because it was such a nice dream that I’m sure it’ll help me through the day at least.
Then I turn onto my side and feel my chest shift, and it begins to dawn on me.
A stupid, blissful smile spreads across my lips, and I nuzzle further into the sheets, wrapping my left arm around my stomach.
I am Chloe now, it occurs to me. I am beautiful now, my thoughts go on. I have friends. People like me. My life is bound for greatness.
Today is Monday, and I’ve got to get up.
With determination, I swing my legs out of the bed and sit up. My head goes briefly woozy, but not for long. My old body would’ve just toppled forward with the motion and face-planted, but not this one, it seems. It only makes sense, I suppose. Chloe told me that she worked out and went for runs regularly.
Today, I’m allowing myself a break from that, but I’ll have to pick up that habit myself soon. Chloe might have been perfect up until now, but now it’s my turn to uphold that status. But then, it’s all I’ve ever wanted to be, so where’s the problem?
The cosmically ironic answer to that question becomes apparent to me only minutes later, when I step into the large bathroom for a shower. I haven’t ever seen Chloe naked.
Which should be obvious, given our past relationship, or lack thereof, but the implication hadn’t ever occurred to me.
My stomach twists uncomfortably. I know it should feel normal. I’m supposed to be able to live in this body after all, and going to the loo yesterday worked fine, but this feels different. Like looking at myself in the mirror while naked is a breach of trust. This is a perfect, pristine body, my brain summarises finally, and I can’t allow myself to sully it with my impure thoughts or actions.
Not that I think there’s anything sexual about living in this body. I wanted this body because I want to live in it, because I want to be a woman, not because I want to do… things with it.
So I firmly close my eyes as I undress, only struggling briefly with the bra I just kept on overnight. Then I’m in the shower, and perfectly hot water rushes down my skin. I do open my eyes then, because I know how slippery showers can be, but I keep them pointed at the walls, even when I apply soap. I chose not to wash my hair today, Chloe already did that on Saturday, and she told me that she either does it separate from showering, in the sink, or she bends over forward, so her hair is hanging before applying all the shampoos and conditioners.
The outfit I choose for today is pretty conservative. Dark blue, stiff jeans and a red knit jumper, along with barely any jewellery and no makeup aside from mascara. I’m really lucky that Chloe has pretty perfect skin and a great facial structure to boot. She told me she only really uses makeup when she’s stayed up too late or looks sick. Or for really fancy occasions, where she’ll do mostly eye makeup.
She did give me a brief run-through, and I wrote all of it down, and she also gave me a few YouTube tutorials, but for now, I’m steering clear of that. I’ll have to practice my eyeliner first.
I do struggle a little with the slightly larger but still small-ish hoops I put on my ears, but I do manage, and anyway, I’m still really early. I suppose that’s an upside to Chloe’s body, it does not appear to need a lot of sleep, and her rhythm is programmed to wake up almost on her own at five in the morning, because of course she would, she’s just that kind of person.
The house is entirely deserted, silent as I make my way down the stairs, my bag already packed and slung over my shoulder. Chloe also gave me a tour of the kitchen, and I know now where to find which things. I spend ten minutes cutting up fruits, which is something I would never do usually, and compile a kind of fruit-bowl muesli she used to make for us back in the day. She told me she still likes to eat it for breakfast occasionally.
I eat it while reading over ‘my’ homework. It’s surprisingly easy, but I suppose the added pressure of having to perform as one of the class’s resident smart kid makes it easier. Not that Chloe puts up her hand all the time anymore. But talking to her, and even just watching her, I got the creeping suspicion that that wasn’t because she didn’t know the answer. Chloe always knows the answer. She probably just doesn’t want to seem obnoxious about it, which makes sense, considering her past.
The image of her red face flashes past my mind, when she told me just how good her grades were.
Then, once it’s time, I put on her coat and shoes, and lock the door behind me.
The cold outside is sharp in a glass-like, fragile way. Like a thin sheet of ice. But the sun is shining, and as soon as I leave the shadow of the house, I actually feel kind of warm.
A small smile graces my lips. It’s like the world itself knows what happened, and is welcoming me to this beautiful new life.
Getting on the bus is a strange feeling. I expected that I would feel self-conscious about it, that I would think everybody is looking at me when in reality nobody would give a damn. But then I walk down the corridor with rows of teenagers and adults to either side, and I meet so many pairs of eyes as I walk to a free seat further to the back. It’s like all of them know something’s wrong with me.
But there’s nothing. Even inconspicuously looking at myself through the selfie camera on my phone doesn’t reveal anything out of the ordinary.
I open the messenger app on her phone, my thumbs still not quite used to the dimensions of the screen, and tap the chat titled ‘Noelle’.
I’m on the bus, now, I type.
Everybody looked at me when I walked past-
I delete the message. It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s not like that’s anything she can help me with, now. She’ll wait for me in the classroom, and if I fucked up something really major, she’s probably gonna tell me then. But if I didn’t notice anything different in the mirror, it can’t be that bad, can it?
Did I apply her perfume too thickly? I barely put on any.
With a slight shake of my head, I get out my headphones and plug them into my ears, putting on music at a much lower volume than I would usually, in my old body. I don’t want to damage her ears by blasting music too loudly.
Chloe’s taste in music is mostly tame. There are two playlists she seems to listen to a lot, one with sad and dramatic music, and one with happy, poppy beats. Obviously, I listen to the happy stuff as I drive to school.
She’s already there when I arrive, my cheeks rosy as I enter the room, all too aware of the stares that have been trailing me since the moment I set foot on school grounds. She gives me a little smile when I enter, but doesn’t otherwise acknowledge my presence.
I already know where I have to sit. With how aware I was of Chloe’s presence every day for the last years, it would be hard not to. Vivienne Mason is already there, sitting next to my seat, waving at me excitedly.
Chloe warned me that ‘Vivi is a very high-energy-person’, but I already knew as much, of course. Vivienne Mason is one of the It-Girls in our year, the people that dictate the general atmosphere and etiquette among students. Luckily, she, as well as Chloe and the others, never really had an interest in stirring drama, and instead fostered a healthy, friendly community. She might not be Chloe, but she doesn’t really lack behind her in anything. She’s smart, she’s kind, and worst of all, she’s incredibly beautiful.
Even now, when I’m wearing Chloe’s body, the sight of her makes my heart stutter with discomfort. Because what if she notices? What is she going to do if she knows that there’s something off about ‘her friend’?
I know she’s a nice person, that’s a fact that’s been very hard to miss over the past years. There’s no way she’s the type to just drop me because of a few imperfections in Chloe’s otherwise perfect facade.
So I force myself to wave back at her, walk over with a studied spring in my step, and sit down next to her.
“How was your weekend?” Vivienne asks, even as I’m still in the motion of sitting down. “Have a good time reading that book?”
Chloe already briefed me that she told Vivienne she was taking the weekend to read some book. She even gave me a brief summary of the plot and a few details she liked in case I would have to talk about it. I suppose that’s to be expected with Chloe, she’s just the kinda person that’s always more than perfectly prepared.
So I nod. “Yeah! It's such a nice vibe to just sit by the window, drink tea, and read.”
Vivienne makes big eyes. “I imagine! We totally have to go on a reading date again soon.”
“Absolutely!” I agree, smiling broadly, even though I feel a little stiff with it. Both our schedules are pretty full, but even so, Vivienne might still make time for something like that. It’ll be up to me, then, to come up with good excuses.
She pauses. Then, with a grin, “Did you already start learning your lines, Rosalyn?” She has this air about her. It’s in the expressiveness of her face, in the melody of her speech, and the liveliness of her eyes. She’s a high-energy person, alright, but not in an obnoxious way.
It’s strange, thinking about it, because I’m pretty sure that the way she behaves — being in such a good mood this early in the morning — would be annoying in other people. But for her, it just makes sense, in a way.
I shake my head. Once again, Chloe predicted that this might come up. “I already told you, I’m gonna play what the others in the cast are going to let me play. I’m not gonna force my way into the lead role.”
Vivienne rolls her eyes. “How could they ever not want you as Rosalyn? The role was literally written for you.” But she says it with a slight smile, and to my own surprise, it warms my heart. I seriously did not expect that today.
“Well,” I say pointedly, satisfied with the grin that tugs at my lips, “I’m not gonna make that decision for them, though I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
Vivienne grins, then, and just the way she looks at me — with her head tilted slightly, the too-bright, cold light of the ceiling lamps glittering in her eyes — makes her seem so human. All of a sudden, it feels like I’m not just here in Chloe’s body, acting like I’m her friend, but like I’m actually her friend. Like I know her, like we have years of shared moments, laughter, and stories to look back at.
It’s a weird feeling, but I realise that this exact feeling of connection and friendship is something I missed almost as much as the comfort of the right body.
***