The detention slip said three to five. The new transfer had taken the desk by the window, and you'd taken yours by the door, and neither of you had spoken in forty minutes. The wall clock buzzed. Outside, the October sun hit the glass at a low angle and turned the empty desks gold. You went to push your hair behind your ear and felt strands you hadn't grown there. They kept going. Past your jaw. Past your shoulder. You stopped when your hand reached your elbow.
Your shirt collar tightened around a throat that had narrowed. The cuffs of your sleeves were past your knuckles now — not because you'd shrunk, exactly. Something had moved. Your hips had set wider against the chair. The seat felt different. You looked down and saw your tie loose against a chest that wasn't there before.
The transfer hadn't moved. Her chin rested on her hand. She was watching. She'd been watching for a while now, and she didn't look surprised. You pulled the collar away from your throat. The skin underneath was warmer than it should have been.
You tried to stand. Your shoes pinched. Your knees pressed together without you asking them to. The skirt brushed your thigh in a way thighs had never told you about. You sat back down. The desk dug into your stomach lower than it used to. Air came in shorter.
Across the room she finally spoke. "You should let your hair down." You weren't sure why your hand obeyed before your head did. The clock buzzed. Outside, the gold went redder. You caught your reflection in the dark window and didn't recognize the face that blushed back at you.
***
Her chair scraped. She crossed the room one slow desk at a time. By the time she stopped in front of you the sun had dropped under the sill and the room had gone copper. She didn't say anything at first. She tilted your chin up with one finger and looked at the new face like she was checking her work.
Her thumb brushed your bottom lip. Your mouth opened before it occurred to you that it should close. Her pinky grazed the knot of your tie. Your collar button slipped free and you felt hotter. She pressed you back against the desk. The wood was cool through your skirt. Her hand slid under the loose tie and found the next button, and the next. The shirt fell open.
Her mouth was on your throat. The new throat. You arched into it without deciding to. Her hand found your breast. You moaned without knowing what sound you were making. Her teeth were on your neck and her hand was at your skirt, and it was too much and not enough.
You felt the cold edge of the desk against the small of your back. Her fingers slid under the waistband. The thought arrived in your head fully formed, and it wasn't yours, and then it was: this was the body it should have been. Always. The other you was somewhere small and getting smaller.
Her fingers moved lower and she kissed you and you kissed back, and you didn't know if you knew how, but you wanted her, you wanted her, you wanted her. Her hand brushed and stayed and pressed, and you gasped, but it wasn't the same gasp as before. The new throat made a different sound. The old you watched from somewhere small. Then from nowhere. You came around her hand and said her name first, even though you didn't know it yet. Outside, the last copper had gone blue. The clock buzzed. Your reflection in the dark window watched.