“It’s twenty-five to.”The clack of boots on the corridor floor announced Mia’s arrival before she swept in. Long jacket, short skirt, high boots laced all the way up the front. All pale blue. Grace wished she could look like that. Though it must have taken five minutes just to put those boots on.“Hi,” Mia smiled round, till her gaze ended on Mohammad. “How did I guess?”“Guess?” asked Grace.“He said quarter to nine, to me. I’m early.”“Oh.”“I said half past to quarter to, I expect,” claimed Mohammad. Mia was taller than him in those boots; almost as tall as that American collection of sticks she seemed to like. Though he himself would still be stronger, of course.“I’ve got the text...” Mia challenged with a smirk, patting her jacket pocket.“Well I meant to say that at least. Anyway I got his name: Claude Simon.”“Okay, what’s the next step?” Mia shifted her eyes to Grace.“Well we could google him, to find out more?” Grace had automatically moved towards Mia. “Like, if he’s on Facebook. He realized it probably wasn't yet even 6:30 in the morning. Rachel andKaren probably wouldn't be up for a couple more hours. If he could getback into the house and find something, anything that might be seen asproof of his involuntary feminization and brainwashing. He walked doubletime in the direction of the house. Along the way he shook his head,sometimes violently, thinking about what had happened to him.When he got there, he entered quietly and was relieved to see that neitherRachel nor Karen were up yet. He tiptoed into his room and turned on thelights. His first instinct was to take pictures of the room as if to say,"See! This is the room they made me live in." But he soon realized thatthis would prove nothing.Dismayed, he came out into the living room and looked around. He saw acouple of Karen's textbooks on the table. They had their pink handcraftedbook covers over the bindings. Travis picked up one she had labeled as"Art History 203" and he opened the book to the.
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