Ch.7 part.3Ch.7 part.3Ch.7 part.3
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After a few more tests, Nurse Joyce went back to her desk, where she started writing diligently amongst a streamlined stack of neatly organized books and folders.
"So what's the verdict?" I asked.
"Sprained ankle, from what I can tell," the nurse smiled, as if such news was a wonderful thing to hear. Well, okay, in light of the fact it could have been much worse, I guess it was good news, but still, that smile should have felt creepy, and yet it just made me feel better.
"I'm no podiatrist," she said, her eyes now on her paperwork. "But it should be fine within a day or two."
"Ah, I guess that's a relief," I smiled weakly.
I lowered my head and said with a snide grin, "Wouldn't want to be unable to show off my underwear in a jumping straddle."
This got no reaction, so I asked what was on my mind.
"So what are all those papers for?"
"Oh, just a little mystery I've been working on," she said happily. "Apparently some school records have been tampered with."
Ch.7 part.2Part. 2Ch.7 part.2
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It's amazing what you learn in life, and it's not always pleasant. I used to think that girls had it easy. I used to think they would be treated like princesses their entire lives, that boys would fall over themselves to please them, that things like cheerleading was waving pompoms around and acting cutesy. I used to think that.
It's been months now since I was a boy and in that time I've learned that not only are girls treated far more squarely by OTHER GIRLS, but that what I saw of girls back when I had a penis was largely a show, and not one dedicated to males but done more for the respect and contentment of female peers. Or blatant chest competition.
Well now I'm female and in the past few months I've seen my morning face in the mirror and I can tell you it isn't a pretty site; not until I've had a shower, applied facial cream to get rid of blemishes, tweaked, plucked, and preened various hair follicles, applied a modest amount of makeup, and then, if I've eaten b
Ch.7 part.1Ch.7 part.1Ch.7 part.1
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She wrote in the lamplight of an almost empty ally way. Had there been anything else with eyes or ears nearby, they might have discerned the sound of a pen excitedly inscribing notes in the margins of a green book.
What made the alleyway almost empty was the curious sight of a clothes rack parked next to the lounging girl and the dresses that adorned it. They were beautiful, but if anybody with eyes could see, something about them didn't seem right. They were full gowns, mostly, made of elegant fabrics, brightly colored, and if conscious of themselves, should have no reason to complain, but there was a mood about them. They hung a certain way, the sparse wind moved stray folds about in a manner that suggested, if the gowns were worn, a slight slump in posture.
They looked sad, and possibly scared.
The girl writing in her spell-book didn't seem to mind, however, and kept to her notes, her thoughts amongst other things, no