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— André, are you okay? What are you thinking about? — said Angela, a very large and plump woman, who despite all that had a very sweet face and, at the moment, was also her mentor in client service at the auto shop's front desk.
André flinched slightly, pressing herself deeper into the blue leather couch in the staff break room, and immediately lowered her gaze, just now realizing how feminine she looked while sitting. One leg crossed over the other, thighs almost completely exposed beneath the short dress, as if on purpose, and her nipples clearly showing through the yellow fabric. She had put on that dress to spite everyone, but it had the exact opposite effect, and now people expected—no, demanded—her to always look like this.
André felt a wave of anger boil up inside. 'Why the hell am I sitting like this again?' — she howled inwardly and jerked her knees together, shifting her posture, but it only made things worse. Sitting with a straight back and closed legs had become almost instinctual. That damn virus didn’t just change her body—it rewired her brain, implanted reflexes, movements, even this bizarre need to sit "like a woman," to speak with certain tones, to blush when looking at herself in the mirror.
— Did something happen, sweetie? — Angela sat down beside her, and seeing how embarrassed André looked, she thought the girl might break down crying any second, like some high schooler before prom. So she decided, as the official "senior" here and definitely more experienced in women's matters, to take care of her.
— ¡Sí! Pasó... este vestido, esta pose... me hacen sentir como... ¡una chica! (Yes! It happened... this dress, this pose... they make me feel like... a damn chick!) — burst out of André, but she instantly caught herself when she saw Angela’s surprised look. She blinked, clearly not understanding what she'd just heard. Of course she didn’t understand Spanish. Of course she wasn’t supposed to. But the tone gave everything away—desperation, self-disgust… and pain.
— Um... I... sorry... — André mumbled in English now, with that damn Spanish accent she hated more than anything. It had replaced her native English, and now she had to strain just to form words in English. And it wasn’t easy, even after five months of English courses following her transformation—from a 43-year-old white man into this Latina-looking girl who was now officially 21. Still, it was all very difficult. And just as amusing—especially for those who had witnessed the transformation firsthand and had known André back when she was still Anders...