Hex the Halls

There is something so magical about a Christmas tree in a college apartment! The way the lights twinkle against the windows, promising warmth and holiday cheer to anyone passing by. The gentle pine scent that fills the air, transforming even the humblest dwelling into a cozy haven. The ornaments catching the light, each one a small treasure-a memory, a moment, a piece of who you are-adding to the festive beauty!

Kylie Wynn and Colette Rousseau stood in their living room, staring at their Christmas tree with pure, cold hatred.

The tree was objectively beautiful. Full branches thick with deep green needles reaching nearly to the ceiling, white lights wound in careful spirals, ornaments covering almost every visible inch of green. Red and gold and silver spheres caught the afternoon sun streaming through the windows, scattering prismatic flashes across the walls.

The two college girls-who until mere weeks ago had been two college boys-looked at the tree the way someone might look at a spider they couldn't kill, a tumor they couldn't remove.

"You, like, tried throwing it out again last night?" Kylie said, her now-standard uptalk utterly flat.

"Oui." Colette's breathy French accent was thick with exhaustion. "After you went to bed. I dragged it down all zree flights of stairs."

"And?"

"I zet it on fire in zee dumpster. It was back zis morning."

Kylie's small hands clenched into fists at her sides, red gel nails digging into her palms. The tree's lights twinkled cheerfully in response.

"How many now?" Colette asked, though she clearly didn't want to know the answer.

"I counted forty-three this morning."

"Merde."

They stood in silence. The tree waited in its corner, patient as always. It had nothing but time.

-=Three Weeks Earlier=-

What a delight when young people seek to brighten their homes for the holidays! The joy of finding just the right decoration, that perfect touch of Christmas magic to transform everything! How these small choices-a tree here, a wreath there-can change an entire apartment, an entire life! The season is full of such wonderful opportunities! One need only reach out and take what's offered!

Kylie walked through a neighborhood three blocks from campus, wandering aimlessly in an attempt to keep her mind off what her life had become. Sunday morning, mid-November. Two weeks since Halloween and she was still just trying to get through each day without falling apart completely.

Two weeks of going through the motions. Classes she was registered for but never chose. A cheer squad she apparently belonged to but had no memory of joining. Shared experiences that existed only in the reality that had replaced Kyle Nguyen with Kylie Wynn.

Two weeks of smiling through conversations with friends she couldn't name, about memories she didn't have. Laughing at inside jokes that meant nothing to her, nodding along when people referenced events she'd supposedly attended.

Two weeks of not knowing how to dress herself. Throwing on whatever looked clean, earning strange looks from people when she'd shown up to class in a shirt that clashed with her pants. Her hair hung in the same messy ponytail every day because she had no idea what else to do with it. The makeup covering her bedroom vanity remained untouched, mysterious and vaguely threatening. She looked nothing like the polished, put-together girl in the photos around her apartment.

Two weeks of muddling through, faking it, avoiding situations that might reveal how little she actually knew about being Kylie. Staying home because loneliness was easier than pretending. It was exhausting. Isolating.

This morning she'd pulled on an oversized sweater and jeans without thinking about whether they matched, scraped her hair back into that same ponytail, and escaped the apartment just to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

The yard sale sign caught her eye more from boredom than interest. An older woman sat in a folding chair on her front lawn, surrounded by tables of household items. Dishes and books and picture frames and seasonal decorations being cleared out.

And there, on a small table near the sidewalk: a Christmas tree.

Kylie stopped.

It was tiny. Maybe eighteen inches tall, potted in a simple terra cotta base. Real. She could see that from the needles, smell the faint pine scent even from several feet away. A handwritten sign propped against the pot: "$5"

"That's a good little tree," the woman called out, smiling. "Healthy. I've been watering it all week."

Kylie moved closer. The tree was perfectly shaped, full for its size. Cute. Something you could put on a table or a shelf.

Something normal. Something she could choose and control and make nice in an apartment that still felt like a prison despite two weeks of living there. Something festive to make the apartment feel less hostile, less foreign, less wrong.

"I'll take it," Kylie heard herself say.

The woman beamed. "Wonderful! Let me get you a box to carry it in."

Five dollars and three minutes later, Kylie was settling the small tree carefully in the passenger seat of her pink VW Beetle, the terra cotta pot wedged into the box to keep it stable. The woman waved as Kylie pulled away, already turning her attention to other shoppers browsing her tables.

A completely normal transaction. Nothing weird. Nothing magical. Nothing at all like the experience that had ended Kyle's existence on Halloween.

Just a tree.

Colette was reading when Kylie struggled through the door with her purchase, the tree balanced awkwardly in its box. She looked up from her French novel, one elegant eyebrow rising.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?"

"A Christmas tree!" Kylie set it down on the coffee table, slightly breathless from three flights of stairs. "Like, I know it's early. But I thought it would be nice?"

Colette regarded the small tree. "It is very small."

"Well yeah, but like, it's perfect for the apartment? We can put it on that table by the window." Kylie gestured vaguely in the direction of the corner. "Make the place feel more homey?"

The apartment was decorated in ways that should have felt personal but didn't. Pink throw pillows on the couch. Framed photos of Kylie and Colette with friends whose names they didn't know at parties and games and events they had no memory of attending. A "GOOD VIBES ONLY" print above the TV. Colette's elegant fashion sketches on the walls. Everything curated for girls who had appeared in the world two weeks ago, complete with histories and possessions and relationships that felt as real as stage sets.

"D'accord," Colette said, closing her book. "We can put it on ze table."

They moved the small tree to its corner, positioning it carefully. Even without ornaments or lights, it looked cheerful there. Green and alive and normal.

That's when Kylie noticed the tag. Small, cream-colored, attached to one of the branches with thin gold thread. She leaned closer, reading aloud: "'Tree of Knowledge.'"

"Zat is a strange name," Colette said, peering at it.

"Right?" Kylie laughed, but it came out nervous.

"Per'aps it is just a pretentious tree farm." Colette touched the tag lightly. "Who names a Christmas tree after ze forbidden fruit?"

"Someone trying to be clever?" Kylie wanted to pull the tag off, throw it away, but the gold thread was tied tightly and she didn't feel like finding scissors. "It's probably nothing."

"Oui." Colette stepped back. "It is a nice tree regardless."

They both looked at it for a moment, the "Tree of Knowledge" tag hanging innocently among the green needles.

"We should get decorations," Kylie said, shaking off the weird feeling. "Like, lights and ornaments? Make it actually festive?"

"Per'aps tomorrow," Colette said. "I 'ave a paper due Monday."

"Yeah, okay. Tomorrow."

But tomorrow came and they were both busy. Neither of them felt like going out. The small tree sat on its shelf, undecorated but pleasant, its name forgotten almost as soon as they'd dismissed it.

How wonderful when young women discover the joy of beauty and self-care! The pleasure of carefully-applied makeup, of knowing exactly how to present oneself! What a gift it is when knowledge comes so naturally, when skills simply appear as if you'd always possessed them! The holidays inspire such lovely transformations-inside and out! How much easier life becomes when you simply know what you need to know!

Kylie had been avoiding the vanity in her bedroom since Halloween. The surface covered with bottles and compacts and brushes and tubes that had appeared that night, materializing along with everything else in Kylie Wynn's manufactured life.

The entire collection had simply existed in the apartment when November 1st dawned. Expensive stuff in tiny bottles, a full range of products that Kylie was apparently supposed to know how to use.

She'd ignored them completely for two weeks.

But this morning-Monday, the day after bringing home the tree-Kylie found herself lingering at the vanity after her shower.

Really looking at the products for the first time. Picking up bottles, reading labels. Foundation. Concealer. Setting powder. Mascara. The words meant nothing, promised everything.

She unscrewed the cap of the foundation bottle, pumped a small amount onto the back of her hand. Stared at the beige liquid.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" she asked to no one in particular. Just a thought. Idle curiosity.

Then her brain exploded. Information flooded in like a dam breaking.

Foundation. Match your undertone not surface tone, test on your jawline not your wrist, blend down onto your neck or you'll have a mask line, apply with damp beauty blender for natural finish or brush for fuller coverage, use stippling motion don't drag or you'll get streaks, dots on forehead cheeks nose and chin then blend outward from center of face.

Concealer. Two shades lighter than foundation for under eyes, same shade as foundation for blemishes, triangle shape under eye and blend upward for lifting effect, don't use too much or it will crease, set with powder, use small brush for precision on blemishes.

Powder. Translucent for setting, pressed for touch-ups, use fluffy brush and tap off excess, bake under eyes and T-zone if you want it to last but don't overbake or you'll look cakey, set with setting spray for longest wear.

Eyeshadow. Primer first to prevent creasing, transition shade in crease with fluffy brush, blend in windshield wiper motions, darker shade on outer corner and outer third of lid, pack it on with flat brush then blend edges, highlight shade on inner corner and brow bone, blend everything together so there are no harsh lines.

Eyeliner. Pencil for soft look, liquid or gel for sharp wings, tight line the upper lash line first for definition without obvious liner, wing starts thin at inner corner gradually thicker toward outer, flick up and out at angle that follows your lower lash line, connect wing back to lash line, that's how you keep it crisp.

Mascara. Wiggle wand at root to deposit product, pull through to tips, don't pump wand in tube you'll introduce air and dry it out, two coats minimum, let first coat dry before second, curl lashes first for more lift.

Blush. Powder or cream, smile to find apples of cheeks, pop of color but keep it natural, blend upward toward temples.

Lips. Exfoliate first, lip balm for hydration, line with nude liner to prevent feathering, fill in lips with liner, lipstick or gloss over top, blot and reapply for staying power.

And so on. The information kept coming. Every technique, every product, every trick. YouTube tutorials she'd never watched, Instagram tips she'd never read, years of knowledge condensing into seconds. She grasped at the edges of the vanity, knuckles white, bracing against the flood.

And under the tide of information, she'd felt something strange. A hollowing. Brief but distinct. Like something being scooped out to make room for all this new information.

Already the sensation was fading, becoming hard to recall.

Kylie shook her head to clear it, allowing the disorientation to pass. Looked down at the array of products on the counter.

Suddenly, everything made sense. She knew exactly what each product did, exactly how to use it. The mysterious bottles and brushes had transformed into tools with obvious purposes.

She got to work.

Twenty minutes later, Kylie grabbed her bag and headed to her morning class, arriving with perfect makeup for the first time since Halloween. Her cheer teammates complimented her. The professor did a brief double-take when calling attendance.

Something felt off, but she couldn't quite decide what.

What a blessing when young women navigate the mysteries of their bodies with such natural grace! No confusion, no fear, just the simple certainty of knowing your own body. The holidays bring such completeness, such wholeness!

The door had slammed shut behind Kylie at 8:47 AM as she left for class, the sound echoing through the apartment.

Colette jerked awake in her bed, disoriented. Morning light filtered through her curtains. She'd meant to get up earlier, had set an alarm for eight, but must have hit snooze.

She sat up, stretching, and froze.

Something was wrong. Something wet and uncomfortable and-

Oh no.

Colette threw back the covers and saw the small dark stain on her satin sleep shorts. Her first period. Starting without warning, without preparation, without any of the knowledge she needed to handle it.

She walked carefully to the bathroom, thighs pressed together. Every step made her more aware of the blood, the wetness. In the mirror, she looked pale. Terrified.

Under the sink, a box of tampons. Another box of pads.

Cole had lived with two moms. He'd seen these products. Understood generally what they were for.

But Colette, standing there bleeding and cramping, had no idea which one to use. How to use them. Where they went.

She grabbed the tampon box with shaking hands. Pulled one out. Unwrapped it.

Two tubes, one inside the other. Cotton at the top. String hanging off the bottom. How did this even work?

"What do I do?" She muttered.

Knowledge slammed into her brain.

Tampons. Unwrap the plastic, hold the outer tube grip, insert at an angle toward your lower back not straight up, firm pressure, push the inner tube with your finger to release the cotton, pull out the applicator, string stays outside, change every four to six hours, never leave in more than eight or you risk toxic shock syndrome, symptoms are fever rash dizziness get to ER immediately, light flow use light absorbency, heavy flow use super, regular for medium, if it hurts coming out you sized up too much, should feel nothing when it's in right.

Pads. Unwrap, peel off paper backing, press adhesive side to underwear gusset, wings wrap around to hold it in place, center it properly or you'll leak, change every three to four hours or when soaked, overnight pads are longer with more coverage, pantyliners for very light days or backup with tampon.

Cramping is prostaglandins causing uterine contractions, ibuprofen blocks prostaglandin production so take it early before pain gets bad, heating pad helps, some people get lower back pain, some get nausea, some get headaches, everyone is different.

PMS symptoms arrive one to two weeks before period, mood swings, irritability, weepiness, bloating, breast tenderness, food cravings especially chocolate and salt, fatigue, trouble sleeping, acne flareups.

The knowledge kept coming. Information about her body. Patterns she'd never experienced but somehow knew.

Her specific cycle. Twenty-seven days usually. Heavy flow first two days, moderate after that. Bad cramping day one and two, lower back pain day three. Chocolate cravings start day twenty-three. Gets emotional then too, weepy over nothing. Needs super tampons plus pad backup for first forty-eight hours. Ovulates day thirteen or fourteen. Skin breaks out around day twenty-five.

And underneath it all, a hollow feeling. That sense of something leaving. It lasted maybe three seconds, already fading.

Colette shook her head to clear it, looked down at the tampon in her hands. It no longer mystified her. It was just… a thing she needed to use.

She unwrapped it, inserted it smoothly, pulled out the applicator. No hesitation, no fumbling. Just muscle memory for something she'd never done before.

Five minutes later, Colette had changed into clean clothes and thrown the stained shorts in the wash. Took ibuprofen preemptively. Sat on her bed for a moment, processing.

That had been strange. Very strange. But she'd handled it. She knew what to do now.

She spent the morning working on her paper, grateful to have the apartment to herself, trying not to think too hard about the weird knowledge that now occupied her head.

How delightful when small surprises brighten an ordinary day! The joy of returning home to find your decorations growing more beautiful, your tree becoming more complete! As if Christmas itself is working while you're away, adding little touches here and there, making everything more festive! Each new ornament a gift, each addition a blessing!

Kylie returned that afternoon around three, dropping her backpack by the door with a tired sigh. The day had gone better than most. Some girl named Madison who thought they were "besties" had complimented her makeup. Everything was fine.

She headed for the kitchen to grab water and froze in the living room.

The tree had ornaments.

Two of them.

Kylie stared. This morning the tree had been completely bare. She'd walked past it on her way out, noticed its plain green branches, registered vaguely that they still needed to buy decorations.

Now two ornaments hung from the small tree's branches. A silver snowflake on the left side, delicate and pretty. A small gold ball on the right, simple and bright.

"Colette?" Kylie called toward the bedrooms.

Colette emerged, looking tired but put-together in jeans and a sweater. "Oui?"

"Did you buy ornaments?"

"What? Non." Colette moved closer, frowning at the tree. "I 'ave been 'ere all day working on my paper. I did not leave ze apartment."

"Well I didn't put them there either."

They both stared at the two ornaments, searching for rational explanations.

"Maybe zey came wiz ze tree?" Colette suggested. "And we simply did not notice?"

"We would have noticed."

The ornaments turned slowly in a breeze neither of them could feel, catching the afternoon light.

"It is strange," Colette admitted. "But not... impossible? We were not paying close attention when you brought it 'ome."

"Yeah." Kylie wanted to believe that nothing weird was happening. Needed to believe that. "Like, probably we just missed them?"

"Oui. Most likely."

The explanation felt thin but serviceable. They let it go, both eager to move past the oddity and return to normal.

"I was zinking of making dinner," Colette said. "Somezing simple."

"That would be amazing actually." Kylie flopped onto the couch. "Like, I'm exhausted?"

"I will make marinara. Ze Russo family recipe." Colette's voice caught slightly on the name.

What joy when young people prepare cherished family recipes! Those beloved dishes passed down through generations, each one a taste of home and tradition, bringing the warmth of the holidays into even the humblest kitchen! How wonderful when heritage and festive spirit combine!

Colette stood in the kitchen five minutes later, staring at a can of tomatoes from the pantry, absentmindedly rolling an onion around in her hands.

Nonna Russo's marinara. She'd walked into the kitchen intending to make that. Cole had made it hundreds of times, starting as a child, standing beside his grandmother while she taught him. He'd never even bothered to write the recipe down, he knew it so well.

Except now Colette didn't know it at all.

She tried to remember. Onions, garlic, tomatoes... and then what? What order? What measurements? How long did it simmer? What else went in it?

The knowledge simply wasn't there.

Weird. But she was stressed. Distracted by her period. Something. Fine. She'd find a recipe. She pulled an Italian cookbook from the shelf, flipped through until she found marinara sauce. Basic ingredients. She'd grabbed the right things at least.

"Dice 1 yellow onion."

Dice. She stared at the word. Was that different from chop? From slice? How small were the pieces supposed to be? What shape?

She picked up a knife, set the onion on the cutting board. Tried to remember if there was a technique, some way to hold the knife, position the onion.

Nothing.

She cut the onion in half, started sawing at it awkwardly. The pieces came out uneven. Huge chunks, tiny bits, nothing uniform. Her eyes watered. A piece rolled onto the floor.

"Merde."

"Mince 4 cloves garlic." The papery skin stuck stubbornly to the cloves. She mangled them trying to peel them, gave up and left skin on half. Her chopping was a disaster, slippery pieces sliding everywhere, some paste, some chunks.

She poured oil into a pan-too much-and turned the burner to high. The oil heated too quickly, started smoking. She dumped everything in. The small pieces burned immediately while the chunks barely cooked. Oil splashed onto her hand.

"Putain!" She jerked back.

"Everything okay?" Kylie called from the living room.

"Fine!" Her voice was tight.

The kitchen smelled like burning. She added the tomatoes desperately, squeezed in tomato paste without measuring, shook in herbs with no idea how much to use.

She tasted it.

Bitter. Burned. Absolutely terrible.

"Actually," Colette called out, defeated, "maybe we should order pizza instead?"

Kylie appeared in the doorway, taking in the scene. Onion pieces on the floor. Burnt garlic. Oil everywhere. Colette's hand, red.

"What happened?"

"I cannot cook." Colette gestured helplessly at the cookbook. "Cole made 'is grandmother's sauce all ze time. I 'ad ze ingredients, I zought I remembered, but-" She shook her head. "I do not even know 'ow to dice an onion. I cannot follow a recipe. Eet is all gone."

Kylie stared at the ruined sauce, then at Colette's stricken face.

"Pizza," she said quietly.

"Oui." Colette turned off the burner. "Please."

They ate their delivery pizza on the couch in silence, both unsettled but neither quite ready to discuss what had happened in the kitchen.

Kylie's eyes drifted to the tree in its corner. The two ornaments caught the overhead light, spinning slowly.

And the tree looked... taller.

She stared at it, trying to remember exactly how tall it had been this morning when she'd left for class. Eighteen inches, maybe. Small enough to sit comfortably on the shelf.

Now it looked bigger. Not dramatically, not obviously, but enough that she noticed. Maybe two feet? The branches spread wider too, fuller.

"Did the tree grow?" Kylie asked, setting down her pizza slice.

Colette looked over. Frowned. "It does look larger."

"Right? Like, it was definitely smaller this morning?"

"Per'aps we are imagining it." But Colette didn't sound convinced.

Kylie stood, moving closer to examine it. The tree sat on its table, green and healthy and definitely bigger than it had been. And those two ornaments-the silver snowflake, the small gold ball-that hadn't been there this morning at all.

Something about this morning kept nagging at her. The weird influx of knowledge when she'd wondered how makeup worked. That brief hollowing sensation, like something being scooped out.

And now Colette couldn't cook something Cole had made every week for years.

And there were ornaments on a tree that was growing.

"Tree of Knowledge," Kylie whispered.

-=Present Day=-

What a delightful tradition caroling is! The joy of voices raised in song, the warmth of community spirit spreading through the neighborhood, the magic of classic Christmas melodies echoing through the crisp evening air. How wonderful when young people pause in their busy lives to appreciate these beautiful expressions of holiday cheer, opening their windows to let the music fill their homes with festive spirit!

Kylie and Colette sat on their couch, staring at the ceiling with barely concealed irritation as voices outside the apartment launched into a painfully off-key rendition of "Jingle Bells."

"'Ow much longer will zey be out zere?" Colette asked, her voice thick with annoyance.

"Like, I don't know? Forever apparently?" Kylie pulled a pillow over her face, muffling the sound of "fa la la la la" being enthusiastically butchered by what sounded like a church youth group.

The tree stood in its corner, touching the ceiling, its branches covered with forty-three ornaments that caught the light from the carolers' candles visible through the window. Forty-three incidents in three weeks since that first Monday morning when they'd discovered what the tree did.

Forty-three pieces of Kyle and Cole, carved away and replaced with Kylie and Colette.

The carolers finally moved on to the next building, their voices fading into the distance. Kylie lowered the pillow with relief.

"We should study," Colette said without conviction. "You 'ave your exam in two days."

"Yeah." Kylie didn't move. "In a minute."

They sat in silence, both exhausted from the effort of walking on eggshells, of being terrified of their own ignorance, of trying desperately not to need to know anything new.

It hadn't started that way. After that first realization-after discovering that the tree gave knowledge and took knowledge and marked each trade with an ornament-they'd actually been relieved.

You couldn't live like they'd been living since Halloween. Couldn't survive in bodies that came with expectations and requirements neither of them had been prepared for. Without the knowledge that most girls grew up learning.

Finally, they had a solution. Finally, a way to stop fumbling through every interaction, stop pretending to know things they didn't, stop living in constant fear of being exposed as frauds.

Kylie had stood in front of the tree one morning, ponytail messy for the fourteenth day in a row, and asked it directly: "How do I style my hair?" The flood had come instantly. How to curl, how to straighten, how to braid, how to use the various tools and products that had appeared in her bathroom. Her hands now moved as if she'd been doing her hair since childhood, creating the kind of casual waves that took skill to make look artless.

The cost had been Kyle's knowledge of video games. Not just one game but all of them. The mechanics, the strategies, the hundreds of hours across dozens of titles. Gone.

"That's fine," she'd told Colette afterward, examining her perfectly styled waves. "I wasn't going to play video games as Kylie. My Xbox disappeared on Halloween anyway."

Colette had needed to understand fashion. Needed to know why certain outfits in her closet coordinated, why some combinations worked and others didn't, how to dress for different occasions without looking ridiculous. Needed it badly enough that she'd asked the tree without hesitation. Her brain ignited with information. Color theory, seasonal trends, which accessories complemented which silhouettes, the unspoken rules of put-together presentation.

The cost? Cole's ability to play guitar. The muscle memory in his fingers, the understanding of chords and progressions, the hundreds of hours he'd spent learning songs. Gone.

"It is a fair trade," Colette had said, suddenly seeing the contents of her walk-in closet as if for the first time. "I need zis more zan I need zat."

They'd needed to know how to walk in heels without stumbling. How to shave their legs without cutting themselves. Their own passwords and PINs for phones, laptops, bank accounts, the dozen logins that made modern life function. The names and faces of their classmates and friends, people who knew them, who expected recognition.

Each time, the tree had provided.

Each time, the tree had taken.

Each time, they'd been grateful.

Those trades had felt like gifts. They needed to survive in these bodies, in these lives. Losing the ability to cook or fix cars or play the guitar or shoot a basketball or ride a bike was inconvenient, but there were workarounds. There were restaurants and mechanics. But they couldn't survive without knowing how to present as girls, how to function in the social world they'd been thrust into.

The things they were gaining seemed essential. The things they were losing seemed survivable.

The tree was helping them adapt. Making their new lives bearable.

That's what they'd told themselves, anyway.

That's what they'd kept telling themselves right up until the tree started demanding more in return.

Colette's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and her elegant face tightened slightly. "My parents. Video call."

"You should take it," Kylie said.

"Oui." Colette stood, heading toward her bedroom for privacy. "I will be quick."

Kylie watched her go, then pulled out her own phone, scrolling through Instagram without really seeing it. Posts from Jessica, from Maddie, from Haylee. Everyone decorating for Christmas, posting aesthetic photos, living their lives.

From Colette's room, she could hear the muffled sound of French. Rapid, fluent, completely natural-sounding French that Colette had only learned two and a half weeks ago.

What a blessing it is when the holiday season brings families together across the miles! Video calls filled with Christmas plans, excited voices discussing festive preparations, the joy of maintaining beloved traditions even when separated by distance! How wonderful when technology lets us share the warmth of the season with those we love most!

Two and a half weeks prior, Colette had stared at her phone as it rang, her parents' contact photo lighting up the screen. A call from France. Where they lived, where they'd always lived, where Colette had apparently grown up before coming to America for college.

Except Cole Russo had grown up in New Jersey. Cole's parents lived in Morristown. Cole had never been to France except for one summer study abroad program sophomore year of high school, and he'd barely managed conversational French even then.

But Colette was from France. Her phone was full of photos she didn't remember taking: Paris, Lyon, countryside villages, a childhood she'd never lived. And her parents called every week, expecting their daughter to answer in their language.

For two weeks, Colette had been letting the calls go to voicemail. Texting auto-translated excuses about classes, papers, adjusting to the semester. Her parents had been understanding but their concern was growing. This morning's text from her mother had been gentle but firm: "Ma chérie, we worry when we don't hear your voice. Please call today."

Colette couldn't avoid it any longer.

She accepted the call. Her parents' faces appeared on screen. An elegant woman with auburn hair touched with gray, a distinguished man with warm eyes. They looked like they could be her parents. The same facial structure, the same coloring. Reality had been thorough.

"Colette!" Her mother's face lit up with relief and joy. "Enfin! Nous étions tellement inquiets!"

The words flowed fast, her mother continuing in rapid French. Colette caught maybe one word in five: inquiets was worried, she thought, and comment meant how, but the rest blurred together into incomprehensible sound.

Her father joined in, also speaking French, both of them looking at her expectantly, waiting for her response.

Colette's throat tightened with panic. She couldn't understand them. These were supposed to be her parents-Colette's parents-and she couldn't communicate with them at all.

"I-" she started in English, then stopped. That would raise immediate alarms. Why would their French daughter suddenly speak only English? Why couldn't she understand her own parents?

Her mother's expression shifted to concern. "Colette? Qu'est-ce qui se passe? Tu vas bien?"

Something was happening. Was she okay? That's what her mother was asking, probably. Something was very wrong and they could see it on her face.

Colette's eyes darted to the tree in the living room, visible through her bedroom doorway. It had helped before. Quick, easy solutions when she needed them desperately.

It could help now. Was worth the price. She just needed-

Understanding detonated in her skull

French language poured into her brain. Grammar, vocabulary, pronunciation, conjugations, idioms, slang, formal and informal registers, regional variations, cultural context, conversational rhythms. Not just academic knowledge but fluency. The kind that came from growing up with a language, from thinking in it. Her neural pathways rewired themselves, creating connections that should have taken years to form.

When it finished-maybe six seconds, longer than any previous-Colette blinked and refocused on the screen.

"Pardon, Maman," she said, and the French flowed from her lips as naturally as English ever had. "Je suis désolée. J'étais distraite. Qu'est-ce que tu disais?"

Sorry, she was distracted. What were they saying?

The conversation flowed easily after that. Twenty minutes of catching up, hearing about family news, sharing stories about college life. Colette spoke French without thinking, without translating, as effortless as breathing. Her parents relaxed, reassured that their daughter was fine, just busy with school.

When she hung up, Colette sat on her bed for a moment, processing.

It had worked. She could speak French. Could understand it perfectly. Could switch between French and English without conscious effort.

But something was different.

She waited for the sensation of loss to hit, the price that was to be paid for her newfound linguistic expertise.

Nothing. She felt fine. If anything had been taken, she couldn't identify what it was.

Colette stood, smoothing her jeans, and headed back to the living room to tell Kylie that the call had gone well, that she could speak French now, that maybe this trade hadn't been so bad after all.

She opened her bedroom door and stopped.

Kylie sat on the couch, her small frame tense, staring at nothing. She looked up when Colette entered, and her blue eyes were confused and unsettled.

"Something's wrong," Kylie said, her perky voice uncertain. "Like, I lost something? I was just sitting here and I felt it go. This huge... emptiness? But I don't know what it was?"

Colette opened her mouth to respond, but the words that formed in her mind were French.

Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé?

She had to consciously translate to English. "What 'appened?"

Wait.

Colette stopped, focused on her thoughts. Tried to think in English.

The thoughts came in French first. Automatic, natural, her default internal language. She could translate to English-could speak it fluently, could think in it if she concentrated-but French was her natural state now. The language her brain defaulted to, the one that felt most comfortable, most like home.

English had become her second language. French was first.

"What did you lose?" Colette asked, the words coming out in English but forming first as Qu'est-ce que tu as perdu? in her mind.

"I don't know?" Kylie's voice was uncertain. "I just felt something go. Like, something huge? Wait, why are you talking different? Slower, or something?"

Colette froze. "Different 'ow?"

"Your rhythm is off. You're pausing weird between words?" Kylie sat up straighter, confusion shifting to alarm. "What did you do?"

"French," Colette said quietly. "I needed to speak wiz my parents."

"And I lost something so you could have that." Kylie's eyes widened as the pattern clicked into place. "The tree doesn't just take from the person who needs something. It takes from whoever has-"

She stopped mid-sentence.

Language. The trade was language.

"Wait." Kylie's face went pale. She opened her mouth, tried to form Vietnamese words she'd known her whole life.

Nothing. She tried again, reaching for anything. Basic greetings, common phrases, the endearments Kyle had used with his grandmother.

Empty. Completely empty.

"Vietnamese." Kylie's voice cracked. "Kyle spoke Vietnamese? Like, not super fluently but conversationally? He talked to his grandmother every week and she didn't speak much English so he had to use Vietnamese?"

"Oh no-"

"And now it's just gone." Kylie wiped at her eyes where tears were starting to form.

Colette sank onto the couch beside her, horror settling in her chest.

"I did not feel anyzing being taken from me," she said slowly. "I zought perhaps zere was no-'ow do you say-no cost? No price to pay. But it took from you instead."

"You needed French so it took my Vietnamese." Kylie laughed, bitter and broken. "The tree doesn't care who pays."

They sat in silence, processing this new information.

"I asked for it," Colette said quietly, guilt thick in her voice. "Ze French. I zought-I zought it would take somezing from me, like before. Somezing I did not need."

"We can't control what it takes," Kylie said, the realization settling cold in her stomach. "Or who it takes from."

"Every time one of us needs somezing-"

"The other one is at risk." Kylie's voice shook. "What if you need something else tomorrow? What if it takes something from me that I can't lose? What if I need something and it takes from you?"

Neither of them was safe. They could lose pieces of themselves without even being the one to need something, without even knowing a trade was happening until the absence revealed itself.

"We 'ave to get rid of it," Colette said, her voice firm with sudden decision. "Tonight."

"Yes." Kylie was already standing. "It has to go."

They soon discovered it wasn't so easy.

They dragged the tree down three flights of stairs in the middle of the night, left it by the dumpster. It was back on the table the next morning.

They loaded it into Kylie's car, drove it to the lake, and smiled as it sank to the bottom. It returned the next day, ornaments intact.

Finally, at two in the morning, they fed it into the campus woodchipper, listening with delight as the machine made horrible sounds. Grinding, crunching, shrieking as it tore through wood and needles and ornaments, reducing everything to pulp and dust.

They drove home grimly satisfied.

Kylie woke the next morning to Christmas music playing softly through the apartment.

"No," she whispered.

The tree stood in its corner. Three feet tall now-bigger than before they'd destroyed it. Full branches covered with fresh green needles. All ornaments restored and hanging from the branches.

And decorated. White lights wound through its branches, glowing. Red beads draped around it. A tree skirt spread beneath it, red velvet with white trim.

"I'll Be Home for Christmas" played from nowhere, drifting through the apartment like a promise and a threat.

"Non," Colette whispered from her bedroom doorway. "Non, non, non-eet cannot be!"

"We destroyed it," Kylie said, her voice very small. "Like, completely?"

"It does not matter." Colette stared at the tree with despair. "It will always come back. We cannot get rid of it. We cannot destroy it. We cannot escape it."

The tree's lights twinkled cheerfully.

-=Present Day=-

Colette ended the video call with her parents, switching back to English with the small mental effort that was now required. Her internal monologue continued in French for a moment-Ils semblent inquiets, mais je les ai rassurés-before she consciously translated: They seemed worried, but I reassured them.

She emerged from her bedroom to find Kylie still on the couch, scrolling through Instagram with the kind of focused attention she rarely gave to her textbooks anymore. That had been another trade. Kylie had been staring at her Instagram feed with obvious confusion and had wondered what the appeal was, why girls spent so much time on a dumb selfie app. The tree had shown her.

And had taken Cole's love of slasher films in return. Violence, suspense, horror. All of it now made her skin crawl. Colette found that she could only tolerate gentle romantic comedies, the softer the better. The kind where the biggest conflict was a misunderstanding that would be resolved with a heartfelt conversation in the rain.

She found herself watching them late at night, alone in her room, swooning at the grand gestures: the airport chase, the passionate declaration, the rain-soaked kiss. Her heart would race at the meet-cutes, at the moment when two people's eyes met across a crowded room and everything else faded away.

What she didn't notice was that she always saw them from the woman's perspective now. The male lead's charm, his confidence, the way he looked at the heroine, these were what made her heart flutter.

It wasn't until a week later, lying in bed with her hand between her legs, replaying a scene from that evening's movie-imagining herself as the woman being pulled into a passionate kiss, being swept off her feet by strong arms and a confident smile-that the realization struck her: she was attracted to men now.

The thought should have been shocking. Should have made her question everything. But her body's response was undeniable, and it felt so natural, so right, that she simply accepted it and let the fantasy continue.

It became a nightly ritual over the following week. Colette would lie in bed, phone in hand, queueing up romantic movies, each one feeding the growing ache for connection, for passion, for someone to sweep her off her feet the way heroes did in these stories. She'd replay her favorite scenes, imagining herself in the heroine's place, her body responding to the fantasy until she had to set the phone aside and lose herself in the sensation. The practical, analytical part of Cole that would have recognized this obsession for what it was had been carved away. All that remained was longing.

The incessant pinging of phone notifications brought Colette back to the present. Kylie sat on the couch, completely absorbed in Instagram, scrolling and double-tapping and occasionally taking selfies to add to her carefully curated drafts folder. The girl who two weeks ago hadn't understood social media now couldn't stop checking it, couldn't resist the dopamine hit of likes and comments, spent more time thinking about her next post than about her upcoming exam.

"You should study," Colette said gently. "Your exam is soon."

"I know." Kylie didn't look up from her phone. "I will? I just need a break first. Like, the material is really difficult?"

Colette said nothing, but she remembered.

She remembered the first week after Halloween, when Kylie had actually started attending classes as Kylie Wynn. The Sports Marketing courses had seemed to come easily. Too easily. Kylie had complained about it constantly, usually while studying on this same couch.

"It's such a blowoff major," she'd said, her perky uptalk making even complaints sound cheerful. "Like, I know I'm supposed to be grateful I can handle the work but it's so boring? Everything is so obvious! I miss actually being challenged, like my Econ classes where I had to really think?"

But that was before she'd needed to know how to do a back handspring.

How exciting it is when dedicated athletes return to their sport after recovering from injury! The joy of performing at winter games, the thrill of holiday tournaments, the satisfaction of being part of a team during this special time of year! Such dedication to both sport and teammates shows the very best of Christmas spirit: commitment, perseverance, and community!

Kylie pushed through the athletic center doors, her cheer bag slung over her shoulder, her stomach churning with dread.

Practice was over. She'd survived it. Barely.

She walked toward the parking lot on legs that felt shaky, though not from physical exertion. Her body felt fine. Better than fine. Energized, powerful, capable of feats that should have been impossible.

It was her mind that felt wrong.

She'd been avoiding cheer practice since Halloween. The first week she'd claimed she was sick: recovering from a party, stomach bug, vague excuses. The second week she'd said she'd twisted her ankle, needed time to heal. Coach Bennett had been sympathetic at first.

But after two weeks of seeing Kylie walk around campus without any limp, the coach's patience had worn thin. Yesterday's text had been blunt: "Practice Monday 3pm. Need to see you there. Time to talk about your commitment to this team."

The implication was clear. Show up or face consequences.

So Kylie had gone to cheer practice. Only problem was, she didn't know how to cheer.

The knowledge deluge had come the moment Coach Bennett asked her to demonstrate a standing back handspring, the skill she'd supposedly been doing since she was twelve years old. Kylie had stared at the mat, at her small athletic body, and felt panic crystallize into desperate need.

"Oh God, everyone is staring at me and I have no idea what I'm doing."

The knowledge had poured in. Tumbling skills, stunting techniques, jump forms, motion placements, routine choreography, competition rules, safety protocols. And with it had come muscle memory, her body suddenly knowing exactly how to move, how to execute skills she'd never practiced.

She'd performed flawlessly. Had been thrown in the air and caught, had tumbled across the mat, had stuck every landing. Coach Bennett had looked satisfied. Her teammates had welcomed her back enthusiastically.

Everything on the outside had been perfect.

But the hollowing sensation had been worse than ever before. Not brief, not localized. This had felt like something massive being excavated from her skull, leaving vast empty spaces behind. Eight full seconds of fundamental removal, of core pieces of Kyle being carved away.

During practice, focusing on the routines, everything had felt fine.

But now, walking to her car, a fog was creeping in.

Kylie unlocked the pink Beetle and slid into the driver's seat, tossing her cheer bag into the passenger side. Started the engine. Pulled out of the parking lot.

The radio was on. Some news station, talking about something political. Congressional hearings, maybe? Policy discussions? The words flowed over her without sticking, without meaning. She tried to follow what they were saying but the concepts kept slipping away, too complex to hold onto, too abstract to grasp.

She turned it off, frustrated.

Drove toward the apartment in silence, trying to shake the weird foggy feeling in her head.

A stoplight turned red. Kylie braked, waiting. Her eyes drifted to the storefront on the corner, some boutique with Christmas decorations in the window. Pretty lights, sparkly ornaments arranged in an elaborate display. Silver and gold and crystal, catching the late afternoon sun.

So pretty. The way the light refracted through the crystal ornaments, creating little rainbow prisms on the window glass. The gold ones had this warm glow, and the silver ones were cool and elegant, and together they created this beautiful contrast-

A horn honked behind her.

Kylie jumped, looked up. The light was green. Had been green. How long had she been sitting there staring at Christmas decorations?

She hit the gas, face burning with embarrassment. But that was weird, right? Getting so distracted by something shiny that she completely missed the light changing, like a-

Like what?

She tried to complete the thought but it drifted away.

The apartment was only a few more blocks. Kylie drove carefully, hyperaware now of every moment her attention wanted to wander. The Christmas lights on houses. The decorated trees visible through windows. The inflatable Santa in someone's yard.

Everything sparkly and bright and distracting.

She parked in her spot, grabbed her bags, trudged up the three flights of stairs. Unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside.

The tree stood in its corner, four feet tall now, twenty-seven ornaments covering its branches. The lights twinkled in greeting.

Colette was in her room. Kylie could hear French pop music playing softly through the door. Doing homework, probably.

Kylie dropped her cheer bag by the door and headed for her bedroom. She had studying to do. Business Communications exam next week, and she needed to review.

She grabbed her textbook from her desk, settled onto her bed, opened to the chapter they'd covered in last week's lecture. Chapter 7: Persuasive Communication Strategies.

Kylie read the first paragraph. Then read it again. Then a third time.

The words made sense individually. She could understand each sentence in isolation. But the meaning wouldn't stick together, wouldn't coalesce into larger concepts. The framework the chapter was building felt like it was constructed of clouds. She could see the shapes but couldn't grasp them, couldn't hold them in her mind long enough to understand how the pieces connected.

She turned the page. Read about rhetorical appeals. Logos, pathos, ethos. Simple concepts. Basic stuff she was sure she'd learned in high school.

Except she couldn't remember learning them in high school. Couldn't remember what logos meant, or was it logic? Was pathos emotion? Or was that ethos? They kept sliding around in her head, refusing to stay put, refusing to make sense.

Kylie set down the textbook and stared at it.

This should be easy. This was easy, wasn't it? Kyle had found this kind of material straightforward, had been able to read a textbook chapter once and retain the key concepts.

Kyle had been smart. Sharp, analytical, good at understanding complex concepts quickly. Good at seeing patterns, making connections, thinking abstractly.

But now Kylie sat on her bed, staring at a basic college textbook, unable to follow arguments that should have been simple. Unable to maintain focus for more than a few minutes before her attention drifted to something shiny or pretty or easy. Unable to think through complex ideas because her brain felt foggy and slow.

The tree had scooped out her intelligence and replaced it with the ability to do a back handspring.

"No," Kylie whispered, picking up the textbook again. "No, no, no-"

She tried to read. Tried to focus. Tried to force her brain to work the way Kyle's had worked.

The words swam on the page. The concepts slipped away like water through her fingers. Her eyes drifted to her phone, to the Christmas lights visible through her window, to literally anything that wasn't this frustrating textbook.

She couldn't do it. Couldn't think through it. Couldn't understand material that should have been accessible.

A knock at her door. Colette stood in the doorway, elegant and concerned.

"'Ow was practice?"

Kylie looked up at her, and something broke. The textbook slid from her lap onto the floor. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

"I'm, like, dumb?" The words came out broken, perky uptalk making even her own devastation sound cheerful. "I'm actually dumb now?"

Colette's face went pale. "What?"

"The tree. It gave me like, everything I need to be a good cheerleader? But it took-" Kylie gestured helplessly at the textbook on the floor, at her own head. "I can't even read a textbook? I can't focus and I can't understand things and I get distracted by Christmas lights and I'm just-I'm some dumb blonde airhead!"

She dissolved into tears, curling in on herself on the bed.

Colette crossed the room quickly, sitting beside her, pulling her into a hug that Kylie collapsed into gratefully.

"You are not dumb," Colette said firmly, her voice thick with empathy.

"I can't understand my homework," Kylie sobbed into Colette's shoulder. "Like, I used to complain about how easy Sports Marketing was? And now it's actually hard because I'm too stupid to understand it anymore!"

Colette said nothing, just held her tighter.

-=Present Day=-

How wonderful when friends support each other through the busy final weeks before Christmas break! Studying together despite the distractions of twinkling lights and festive decorations, helping one another succeed so everyone can enjoy the holidays with peace of mind!

Kylie gathered her textbooks and laptop, shoving them into her bag. "I'm going to meet Jessica at the library to study."

Colette looked up from her fashion magazine, concern flickering across her elegant features. "Will zat 'elp? You said ze material was difficult-"

"Yeah, but like, being around her helps me focus?" Kylie pulled on her jacket. "When I'm with Jessica I can actually concentrate? It's weird but it works."

It was true. Something about Jessica's presence-her calm studiousness, her organized notes, her ability to work steadily through material-created an environment where Kylie's scattered attention could settle. She still wasn't as smart as Kyle had been, still struggled with concepts that should have been simple, but near Jessica the fog in her head thinned slightly.

"Your exam is tomorrow morning?" Colette asked.

"Yeah. That's why I need to like, lock in and study tonight." Kylie shouldered her bag. "We can leave for my parents' house right after I'm done with the exam."

Colette's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and her expression shifted to something wary.

"Emma," she said. "She wants me to meet 'er for dinner."

"That's nice?"

"She 'as been trying to set me up wiz Tony ever since 'Alloween." Colette's accent thickened with frustration. "Every time we 'ang out, 'e just 'appens to show up."

"Maybe it's not about that this time?"

Colette read the text again. "She says she is done wiz 'er exams and wants to celebrate at zat Italian place near campus."

"See? Just dinner."

"Per'aps." But Colette didn't sound convinced. She should say no. Should tell Emma she was busy, that she didn't want another awkward encounter.

But Cole had never been good at saying no.

Kylie checked the time. "I gotta go. Like, Jessica's waiting. Good luck with Emma?"

"Bonne chance wiz your studying."

Kylie headed for the door, already pulling out her phone to check Instagram one more time. Colette watched her go, then looked down at Emma's text.

Just dinner. Just the two of them.

She typed back: ok what time?

What joy when friendships deepen during the holiday season! When young women discover they have so much wisdom to share, so much advice to give! How wonderful when confidence comes so naturally, when you simply know the right thing to say! The season inspires such generous spirits, such helpful hearts! And what better gift than helping a friend find love?

The library was quiet, exam week turning it into a sanctuary of desperate studying. Kylie found Jessica at their usual table on the third floor, surrounded by color-coded notes and highlighted textbooks.

"Hey!" Jessica looked up with a warm smile. "I saved you a seat."

"Thanks!" Kylie dropped into the chair across from her, pulling out her Sports Marketing materials. "How's your studying going?"

"Good, I think. My Econ final is tomorrow morning." Jessica gestured at her notes, complex graphs and equations that made Kylie's head hurt just looking at them. "Game theory is kicking my ass, but I think I'm getting it."

Game theory. Kyle had loved game theory. Had wanted to study it extensively, had found the mathematical frameworks elegant and fascinating.

Kylie looked at Jessica's notes and understood nothing.

"That's cool," she said, a trace of regret in her voice. "Like, I'm sure you'll do great?"

She opened her own textbook-consumer behavior, market segmentation, basic stuff-and tried to focus. The material was dense, harder than it should have been, but with Jessica across from her working steadily, Kylie found she could push through it. Could read a paragraph and actually retain some of it. Could make flashcards and actually remember what was on them.

They studied in comfortable silence for over an hour.

Around ten, Jessica set down her highlighter and leaned back with a sigh.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, lowering her voice.

"Yeah, of course?"

Jessica hesitated. "There's this party tonight. At Sigma Chi." She laughed self-consciously. "I'm obviously not going-I have this exam tomorrow and I need to study-but there's this guy from my Econ class, David, who asked if I'd be there. And I kind of wish I was the type of person who could just... go to parties and not hate it. Know what to say to people."

She looked at Kylie with something like envy. "You're so good at that. Everyone likes you. You always seem to know how to act around people, what to say. I don't know how you do it."

Kylie's stomach tightened. Jessica thought SHE was good at social situations?

She remembered that first conversation-Halloween night, on the porch at Sigma Chi. Jessica had found Kyle there, overwhelmed by the chaos and noise. Had been so kind, so patient. Had taken this scared little cheerleader under her wing without hesitation.

And now here was Jessica, asking Kylie for the same kind of help. Looking to her for guidance on how to navigate social situations. The reversal was dizzying.

"Like, I'm fine in class," Jessica continued. "I can talk about the reading or whatever. But at parties? I'd just stand there awkwardly while everyone else has fun. I don't know how to be the kind of girl who's comfortable in those situations. The confident, popular kind of girl." She shook her head. "Sorry, this is stupid. I should just focus on studying."

"No, it's not stupid," Kylie heard herself say.

"You'd know what to do though. If it were you, you'd go to the party and talk to the guy and it would be easy. That's what I mean-you just know how to navigate that stuff."

The words landed like weights. Everyone thinks she knows. Everyone expects her to understand. Jessica is asking her for advice on something she's been desperately faking for three weeks.

"I mean, I guess..." Kylie tried to think of what to say. "Parties are just like, you know, being friendly?"

"But that's what I mean. You make it sound so easy. I don't even know where to start."

Kylie looked at Jessica's expectant face. What would it be like to actually know? To not be faking constantly? To understand how popularity worked, how to read social situations, how to make people like you without trying?

The shift came suddenly.

Facts cascaded through her mind. How to read social dynamics, how to make people comfortable around you, how to be effortlessly magnetic, how to navigate parties and hierarchies and the complex unspoken rules of popularity. The confidence that came with knowing. The ease that made everything social feel natural instead of terrifying.

Kylie held her breath, knowing what came next. The hollowing. Eight seconds of something massive being scooped away, carved out and replaced. When she blinked back to awareness, Jessica was still looking at her expectantly.

And the answer was right there. Obvious. Easy.

"Okay so here's the thing," Kylie heard herself say, her voice confident now, certain. "Like, you're overthinking it? Parties are just about being present and open. You don't have to be someone you're not, you just have to be interested in other people. David? If he asked if you're going, he's definitely interested. You just need to make it easy for him to talk to you. Stay near him, make eye contact, ask him about something. Super casual."

The advice flowed naturally, drawing on instincts that felt like they'd always been there.

Jessica's face lit up. "Really? That's it?"

"That's it! You're already cool, you just need to like, let people see it? Not tonight, obviously. I'm just saying, like, for future reference."

"Yeah, no, you're right. I definitely shouldn't go tonight." Jessica smiled. "But that actually makes me feel better about it. Like maybe I could handle it if I did go sometime."

"Totally!" Kylie glanced at her phone. "I'm gonna grab coffee. Want anything?"

"I'm good, thanks. I'll keep working."

Kylie headed downstairs to the library café. The line was long, the exam-week rush. By the time she got her coffee and made it back upstairs, fifteen minutes had passed.

She walked back to their table and stopped.

Jessi was there, but she wasn't studying. She was scrolling through her phone, her posture relaxed, one foot bouncing under the table with restless energy. Her hair looked different-or no, it was the same, but something about the way she held herself was changed. More animated. Less focused.

Wait. Jessi?

Kylie blinked. Her name was Jessica. Or was it? No, it was definitely Jessi. That's what everyone called her. That had always been her name.

"There you are!" Jessi said, looking up with a bright smile. "That took forever. Listen, I've been thinking-we should totally ditch this and go to that party."

Kylie stared at her. "What? We have exams tomorrow?"

"So? We've been studying for like two hours. I know the material well enough. And that Econ hottie David is going to be there." Jessi was already closing her textbook, packing up her highlighters. "Come on, it'll be so much more fun than sitting here stressing."

"But you just said-" Kylie tried to remember. "Didn't you say you weren't going?"

Jessi laughed. "What? No! I've been dying to go all week! That's why I brought it up!" She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Come on, Kylie. When's the last time we actually went out and had fun?"

Something was wrong. Jessica wouldn't do this. Jessica was responsible, studious, would never blow off exam prep for a party. But this wasn't Jessica? Why did she keep wanting to call her that? Jessi had never gone by her full name. Everyone called her Jessi.

Except... that wasn't right. Was it?

"Are you coming?" Jessi asked.

Kylie knew she should say no. Should point out the exam, the responsibility, the fact that this was a terrible idea. But those words wouldn't form.

Kyle would have said no. Would have insisted on studying, would have prioritized the exam, would have recognized this as self-destructive and refused to go along with it.

But whatever part of Kyle had understood consequences, had cared about responsibility, had set boundaries between what he wanted and what was good for him, that was gone. Carved away and replaced with knowledge of social dynamics. And with it, the desperate need to be liked, to fit in, to go with the flow.

The idea of saying no to Jessi, of staying here studying when there was a party happening, felt impossible.

"Totally." Kylie heard herself say, then gestured at their casual study clothes of jeans and hoodies. "We can't wear this though."

"Oh! You can lend me something from your closet, right? You have so many cute party dresses."

"Yeah, totally! My apartment is like, five minutes away."

They walked across campus together, Jessi talking about the party, about David, about how they were definitely going to have an amazing time. Kylie found herself agreeing, excited now instead of anxious. The exam tomorrow morning suddenly felt distant, unimportant.

They climbed the three flights to Kylie's apartment. Inside, the tree stood in its corner-massive now, covered with ornaments that caught the light. Two new ones had appeared, glittering among the others.

Kylie barely noticed. She was already heading to her closet.

"Okay so I have a bunch of stuff you can try," Kylie said, pulling out dresses and tops. "What vibe are you going for?"

"Something fun! I want David to notice me."

"Say no more." Kylie handed her a tight black dress. "Try this. It's like, super cute and shows just enough."

While Jessi changed in the bathroom, Kylie pulled out her own outfit, a short green sequined minidress that seemed exactly right. She changed quickly, touched up her makeup, pulled a couple strands of her blonde hair loose from her ponytail to frame her face.

As she applied lipstick in the mirror, a thought surfaced, distant and strange: Kyle had wanted to be Jessica's "Econ guy." Had spent six weeks building courage to talk to her about game theory and market dynamics. Had put on a cheerleader costume to get into a party just for the chance to impress her with his intellect.

And now Kylie was putting on a tight dress to go to a frat party in the middle of finals. To help Jessica-no, Jessi-meet some Econ guy named David. At the same frat house whose Halloween party had set everything in motion.

One small desperate choice on Halloween night, and it had led to all of this.

The thought slipped away as quickly as it had come. Kylie turned from the mirror, focused on the night ahead.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice was telling her that this was wrong, that they had exams tomorrow, that this wasn't who they were.

But Kylie couldn't hear it anymore.

She grabbed her keys and phone. "Let's go!"

Nothing warms the heart quite like dinner with dear friends during the Christmas season! The joy of reconnecting over good food and wine, of strengthening bonds through honest conversation! How wonderful when friends look out for each other, helping to arrange introductions, encouraging romance! Such generosity of spirit! And how lovely when young women learn to speak their minds freely, to express their opinions without hesitation! The holidays bring out such authentic communication, such truthful hearts!

The Italian restaurant was nice. White tablecloths, candlelight, the kind of place that was slightly too expensive for college students but manageable for special occasions.

Emma was already seated when Colette arrived, waving enthusiastically from a table near the back.

"Colette! You look amazing!"

Colette had changed into a soft sage green sweater with a boat neckline tucked into a chocolate brown suede mini skirt, paired with opaque tights, gold hoops, and tan leather heeled boots. Ever since the tree had given her knowledge of fashion and women's clothing, she couldn't wear anything unstylish without feeling physically uncomfortable, like an itch beneath her skin.

"Merci. You as well."

They ordered drinks, settled into conversation about finals, about winter break plans. Emma seemed genuinely happy to see her, and soon was talking about Matt. How sweet he'd been during her stressful exam week, the flowers he'd surprised her with, how he'd stayed up late helping her study even though he had his own finals.

"And zen what did 'e say?" Colette found herself leaning forward, hanging on every word.

"He said he was just happy to spend time with me, even if we were both exhausted and stressed." Emma smiled. "It was really sweet."

"Zat is so romantic!" Colette heard herself gush, her voice bright with genuine enthusiasm. "Like something from a movie!"

Emma laughed. "I guess? I mean, it was just flowers and moral support."

"But zat is what matters, non? Ze small gestures. Ze thoughtfulness." Colette placed a hand over her heart, her eyes sparkling. "Tell me more. 'Ow did 'e ask you out ze first time? Was it romantic?"

If he'd still been able to, Cole would have found the situation ironic. This was Emma Laurent. His crush. The woman whose philosophical brilliance had captivated him. And now Colette was squealing over Matt's romantic gestures like they were discussing a rom-com plot.

But Colette couldn't help it. She wanted to hear every detail. The meet-cute, the first date, the moment Emma knew she liked him.

"Okay, but when did you know 'e was special?" Colette pressed.

Emma blinked, slightly overwhelmed by the enthusiasm. "I don't know, it kind of happened gradually-"

"But you must 'ave 'ad a moment! When you realized you wanted to be wiz 'im?"

Before Emma could answer, her phone buzzed. She glanced at it with barely concealed excitement. "Oh! Matt and Tony are nearby. They want to stop by and say hi. That's okay, right?"

Colette's stomach dropped. "Emma-"

"It'll just be for a minute! They're literally around the corner."

"You promised zis was just us," Colette said, trying to keep her voice level.

"I know, but they're already on their way and it would be rude to tell them not to come now." Emma's smile was bright, pleading. "Just say hi, be friendly. It's not a big deal."

It was a big deal. Emma had lied to get her here. But Colette couldn't bring herself to make a scene, to tell her off, to simply stand up and leave like she wanted to.

Before she could respond, Matt appeared at their table with Tony in tow. Matt leaned down to kiss Emma's cheek, while Tony stood awkwardly, hands in his pockets.

"Hey Colette," Tony said, his voice friendly but tentative. "Good to see you."

"'Ello." Colette's accent was clipped, her posture stiff. The romantic conversation with Emma evaporated immediately, replaced with uncomfortable reality.

"Sit, sit!" Emma gestured at the empty chairs with forced enthusiasm.

What could Colette do? Making a scene would be worse than enduring an uncomfortable dinner. She nodded tightly, and the guys sat down.

Emma ordered for the table. Appetizers to share, suggesting the seafood pasta for Colette. "You'll love it, it's their specialty!"

Colette opened her mouth to say she'd rather order for herself, but the words stuck. She nodded instead, letting Emma decide.

Cole had always been like this. Unable to assert himself, unable to say no, always going along with what others wanted. In fact, that was what had gotten him into trouble on Halloween. He let himself go along with Kyle's crazy plan, and now look at what he'd become.

"So Emma mentioned you're studying fashion merchandising?" Tony said. "That's really cool. Do you want to design your own line someday?"

"Per'aps," Colette said shortly.

"That's awesome. I'd love to see your work sometime."

Emma jumped in before Colette could respond. "You two should go to that new exhibit at the art museum! You know, the contemporary fashion one? It would be perfect for you, Colette. And Tony loves art museums, don't you?"

"Yeah, I mean, I think they're interesting-"

"You should totally go together this weekend!" Emma's voice was bright, insistent.

Colette felt her jaw tighten. "I do not zink-"

"Oh come on, it would be fun! You need to get out more, you've been so isolated lately." Emma turned to Tony. "She barely leaves her apartment except for class. I'm worried about her."

"I am sitting right 'ere," Colette said quietly.

"I know! I'm just saying, it would be good for you. And Tony's such a great guy, you'd have fun together." Emma turned back to Tony. "What do you think? Saturday afternoon?"

"I mean, if Colette wants to-" Tony looked at her uncertainly.

Say no. Just say no. Tell them you're not interested, that you don't want to go, that you need them to stop pushing.

"I... am not sure zat I..." Colette's voice trailed off weakly.

Emma beamed. "That's basically a yes. Okay, so Saturday at two?"

"Emma-" Colette tried again. But she was trapped by her inability to simply refuse. By her inability to stand up for herself, to assert what she wanted, to do anything except passively accept what others decided for her.

She hated this. Hated being pushed around. Hated that Cole had always been like this and she was still like this, still unable to say no even when she desperately wanted to.

"So it's settled!" Emma raised her wine glass. "To new friendships!"

Matt raised his glass. Tony raised his, looking uncertainly at Colette.

And Colette-pushed to the edge, trapped by her own inability to assert herself, desperately wishing she knew how to say "no" to people-felt something snap.

Knowledge poured in: how to say no without apologizing, how to set firm boundaries, how to speak her mind without softening it, how to demand respect. The certainty of knowing exactly what she wanted and refusing to settle.

And with it, the hollowing, something fundamental being carved away, leaving vast empty spaces behind.

When Colette blinked back to awareness, Emma was still smiling at her expectantly, wine glass raised.

For the first time in her life-in Cole's life-the words didn't stick in her throat. The careful filter that had always held her back, the voice that whispered to be polite, to go along, to keep the peace, was simply gone. And in its place was clarity. Certainty. The freedom to finally voice her opinions.

And Colette had opinions. So many opinions. Untempered by consideration of whether they needed to be voiced, unfiltered by logic or social grace.

"No," Colette whispered, tentatively at first.

Emma's smile faltered. "What?"

"No. I am not going to ze museum wiz Tony. I am not interested."

The table went silent.

"Colette, I'm just trying to-"

"You lied to get me 'ere tonight. You told me zis was just us. You arranged for zem to show up."

Emma's face flushed. "I didn't lie, I just-"

"And zis pasta-" Colette looked down at her plate with critical eyes. "is barely edible. Ze sauce is too thick, ze pasta is overcooked. Mediocre, at best!"

Tony shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I'm sorry-"

"You seem like a nice person," Colette said, her tone matter-of-fact. "But you are boring."

Tony's face reddened. He looked down at his plate, silent.

Emma's eyes widened. "Colette! That was incredibly rude!"

"It was 'onest."

"I think I'm going to go to the bathroom," Tony finally managed, before standing and hurrying away.

"Honest?" Emma's voice rose. "You're being cruel! Tony's been nothing but polite, and you just-"

"You lied to manipulate me eento coming 'ere!" Colette's accent thickened as anger flooded through her, French bleeding into every syllable.

"I was trying to help you!" Emma's hands were shaking. "You've been impossible since Halloween. You barely leave your apartment, you don't talk to anyone, you're pushing everyone away-"

"Maybe I do not want ze kind of 'elp zat eenvolves being ambushed!"

"Just stop! You're being mean and judgmental and-"

"And what? 'Onest? Direct? Sorry zat I 'ave opeenions!"

"There's having opinions and there's being an asshole!" Emma's voice cracked. "I'm your friend, Colette. I care about you. And you're sitting here insulting everything-"

"Per'aps your taste is not as good as you zink it is."

Emma recoiled. "Wow. Okay."

Matt cleared his throat. "Maybe we should all just-"

Colette stood abruptly, her chair scraping. "Maybe I should not be friends wiz people who are controlleeing liars!"

"Colette!"

"Enjoy your mediocre dinner wiz your mediocre boreeng boyfriend, Emma."

She grabbed her purse and stormed away, her heels clicking sharply on the restaurant floor. Behind her, she could hear Emma sputtering, trying to find a response, but she didn't look back.

Didn't feel regret. Didn't feel the shame Cole would have felt.

Just felt-righteous. Powerful. Like she'd finally stood up for herself.

She pushed through the restaurant door into the December cold.

The night air hit her face, sharp and clarifying. She fumbled in her purse for her phone, her hands shaking from the rush of emotion still flooding through her. Anger and adrenaline and something almost like exhilaration.

Her purse slipped from her trembling hands and hit the sidewalk, contents spilling everywhere.

"Merde!" She crouched down, trying to gather her things in the dim light from the restaurant windows.

"Here, let me help."

A voice, warm and rich. Someone crouched beside her in the shadows.

They both reached for her phone at the same time. Their hands touched.

Colette looked up.

He was illuminated by the streetlight now. Tall, strikingly handsome, with dark eyes glinting in the light. Strong features, confident posture. He smiled, and something in her chest fluttered.

Wait...

"Tony?" The name came out before she could stop it. The man in front of her bore a clear resemblance to the college student she'd just been sitting with at dinner.

He paused, tilting his head slightly. "No, my name is Antonio. Have we met?"

Colette stared at him. The shape of his face was similar-she was sure of it-but everything else was different. His features were sharper, more defined. His posture was assured rather than tentative. Even his clothes looked different, better fitted, more expensive.

Had they met?

No. She would've remembered meeting someone like this. But then why did he remind her of… wait, who was she thinking about again?

Before she could place it, the memory of Tony left her mind completely.

"I... I am sorry," she said. "I was mistaken."

Antonio handed her the phone, then helped gather the rest. Lipstick, keys, a small sketchbook that had fallen open to show her design drawings.

"You dropped half your life," he observed, handing her the sketchbook. His tone was wry, almost amused.

"I was upset," Colette said defensively, taking it from him.

"Clearly." He rose smoothly, offering his hand to help her up. "Bad evening?"

She took his hand. His grip was warm, his clothes expensive, everything about him polished. "Eet was… disappointing."

He glanced back at the restaurant as he helped her stand. "Ah. Yes, I've eaten there. The ambiance tries to compensate for mediocre food."

"Exactly! Zank you!" She felt a rush of vindication. "Ze pasta was overcooked, ze wine selection was-"

"Pedestrian?"

"Yes! Finally someone who understands." She paused, taking a deep breath, then added, "But to be 'onest, it was not only ze food zat was disappointing."

"Oh?" He was still holding her hand, though she was already standing.

"Ze company. We 'ad an argument."

"Then perhaps you need to keep better company."

"Oh, and you zink you are better company, I suppose?" Colette said, one eyebrow raised.

"Well, I haven't bored you yet." His eyes were bright with amusement. "And we've been talking for what, two minutes? That's longer than your dinner companion managed, I'd wager."

She opened her mouth to argue, then paused. He wasn't wrong.

He glanced down at the sketchbook still in her hands. "So you carry around that little book to doodle in?"

Colette stiffened. "I study fashion merchandising. Zese are designs, not doodles."

"Right, right. Fashion." He nodded seriously, but his eyes were dancing. "So... doodles of dresses."

"Zey are not-" She stopped, catching the hint of a smile playing at his lips. He was doing this on purpose. Testing her. Seeing if she'd rise to the bait.

"You are teasing me," she said.

"Is it working?"

Despite herself, she felt the corner of her mouth twitch. "Per'aps."

"Good. That means you're interesting."

She should be annoyed. Should find it irritating. But instead she felt-charmed. Like this was a game they were both playing, like he was testing her and enjoying what he found.

"You are terrible," she said, but couldn't keep the smile from her voice.

Colette felt her heart race. He was exactly-

Cole would have questioned this. Would have stepped back, analyzed the coincidence, wondered how someone so perfectly suited to her standards had appeared at exactly the right moment, right outside the restaurant. Would have been suspicious of the timing, the fit, the way every word out of Antonio's mouth seemed calibrated to intrigue her.

But that careful, logical part of Cole-the part that thought before feeling, that questioned before accepting-had been carved away at the dinner table. The price paid for finally being able to speak her mind.

And without it, there was only feeling. The certainty that this was fate. That this moment mattered. That he was exactly what she'd been waiting for without knowing it.

"You are cold," Antonio observed. "And I'm keeping you standing on the sidewalk. Can I walk you home?"

She should say no. Should maintain boundaries, assert herself, walk away.

But she couldn't walk away.

"Zat would be... acceptable," she said, trying to sound casual even as her heart raced.

They walked together through the December night, and Colette found herself actually enjoying a conversation for the first time in weeks. This new version of her had strong opinions about things, and she wasn't shy about expressing them.

She mentioned the pretentious coffee shop near campus that charged five dollars for mediocre espresso. He agreed it was overpriced but suggested the ritual of it had value. She argued that bad coffee wasn't improved by aesthetic.

She criticized the way American students dressed. No attention to fit, no understanding of proportion, everything oversized and shapeless. He countered that comfort had its own merit. She insisted that one could be both comfortable and put-together, it simply required effort most people weren't willing to make.

She brought up a film everyone in her class was raving about, some mindless action thing with no substance. He admitted he'd enjoyed it. She couldn't understand how anyone with taste could sit through two hours of explosions and quips. He teased that perhaps she took everything a bit too seriously. She insisted that having standards wasn't the same as being serious.

Every disagreement felt like a test. Every response seemed perfectly calibrated. Not to agree with her, but to engage with her. To match her intensity without being intimidated by it.

"You're very opinionated," he observed as they walked.

"Is zat a problem?"

"Not at all. I find it refreshing." He smiled. "Though I suspect you don't suffer fools gladly."

"I 'ave wasted too much time suffering zem already."

"Then we have something in common."

They reached her building too quickly. Colette stopped at the entrance, not wanting the conversation to end.

"I would very much like to see you again," Antonio said. "If you'd be interested."

Interested? She was consumed. Overwhelmed. Unable to think about anything except him, except this feeling, except the absolute certainty that this was important.

"Come inside," she heard herself say. "Wiz me."

Antonio raised an eyebrow, that same teasing smile. "That's quite an invitation."

"I 'ave never been more sure of anyzing." She grabbed his hand. "Please."

"Well then." He let himself be pulled toward the door. "I'd be a fool to argue with that."

She led him into the apartment, her heart racing, her thoughts full of romantic conviction. This was fate, this was the meet-cute made real, this was the beginning of the grand love story she'd been yearning for.

The apartment door opened. The tree stood in its corner, massive and glittering with ornaments. Two new ones had appeared among the others.

Colette barely noticed. All her attention was on Antonio.

She pushed the door closed and kissed him, passionate and certain and completely unlike the careful, measured person Cole had been.

He was everything. The romantic lead. Her soulmate. Destiny made real.

Antonio responded immediately, his hands sliding to her waist, pulling her closer.

"You are perfect," she said. "You are mine. Come to my room."

She took his hand and led him to her bedroom, her body moving with knowledge it shouldn't have but did, her heart full of romantic conviction that had been building inside her and now had nothing to hold it back.

Cole's careful, rational mind-his ability to think logically, to analyze feelings, to keep emotions in check-was simply gone. Replaced with pure romantic obsession, the absolute certainty that she'd found her person in a man she'd met an hour ago, tempestuous passionate feeling untethered from any logic.

She'd gotten exactly what she asked for: the ability to say no, to have standards, to not be pushed around.

And the tree had given her Antonio, grown in a lab to meet every single one of those standards. Sophisticated, charming, confident, perfect.

So perfect that her romantic heart, freed from Cole's rationality, could do nothing but fall completely, irrevocably, obsessively in love.

How lovely when everything falls perfectly into place! The right person at exactly the right moment, saying exactly the right things, meeting every impossible standard! What beautiful serendipity on this December evening! Such confidence, such certainty, such perfect romantic conviction! How wonderful when young people know exactly what they want-and get it!

At a frat party across campus, Kylie was about to get exactly what she wanted, too.

The Sigma Chi house was packed, music pounding through the walls, the kind of bass that you felt in your chest. Bodies everywhere-dancing, drinking, shouting over the noise.

Kylie and Jessi pushed through the crowd, and immediately people turned to look. Guys, mostly. Eyes tracking them as they moved through the press of bodies.

"Drinks first!" Jessi shouted over the music, and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Kylie alone.

Someone handed her a red Solo cup filled with something sweet and strong. She took a sip, made a face, took another sip. Started swaying to the music.

The attention felt good. Really good. Guys kept looking at her. At her outfit, at her body, at the way she moved. She found herself noticing them back. The way they smiled, the confidence in how they approached, the interest in their eyes.

When had she started enjoying the attention of guys? It didn't matter. She liked being noticed.

She danced for a while, bodies pressed close in the crowd. Kylie let herself get lost in it, the music, the heat, the eyes on her.

"Kylie!" A voice behind her. She turned.

David from Jessi's Econ class. Tall, athletic, cute smile. The one she had mentioned wanting to impress.

A flutter of something-hesitation? guilt?-but it passed quickly.

"Hey!" Kylie felt herself light up, leaning in close so he could hear her. "I didn't know you'd be here?"

"Yeah, I live here actually." He gestured vaguely at the house. "You look amazing."

The compliment sent warmth through her chest. He was looking at her. Wanted her attention. Wanted her.

"Thanks!"

They talked-or shouted, really, over the music. He got her another drink. Asked about her major, her classes, made jokes that weren't that funny but made her laugh anyway because he was cute and he was paying attention to her and it felt so good to be wanted.

Jessi hadn't come back from wherever she went. Kylie didn't care. She was exactly where she wanted to be.

"You want to dance?" David asked.

"Totally!"

The dancing was less about the music and more about bodies pressed close, his hands on her waist, the heat of the crowd around them. Kylie let herself get lost in it, the attention, the desire, the way he looked at her.

When he leaned down to kiss her, she didn't hesitate.

There was only the moment. The kiss. The feeling of being wanted.

"You want to go somewhere quieter?" David asked against her ear.

She knew what he was asking. Knew this was Jessi's crush. But he was here with Kylie. Looking at Kylie. Wanting Kylie.

The guilt flickered and died.

"Yeah," she heard herself say.

He took her hand, led her through the crowd, up the stairs to the second floor. A hallway lined with doors, most of them closed, some with socks hanging on the handles.

He opened one, pulled her inside. A typical college guy's room, unmade bed, posters on the walls, clothes scattered on the floor.

The door closed behind them. He kissed her again, harder this time, his hands sliding down her back, over her hips, pulling her against him.

Kylie felt heat spread through her body. This was happening. She was doing this.

David pulled back slightly, breathing hard. "You're so fucking hot."

And suddenly, Kylie knew what to do.

She sank to her knees in front of him, her hands moving to his belt. Unbuckle. Unzip. She started slowly, her hand wrapping around him, watching his face. He groaned and she felt satisfaction bloom in her chest. She was doing this right.

The knowledge was just there, like muscle memory she'd never built.

When had she learned this?

The thought flickered and vanished.

When she took him in her mouth, the knowledge guided her. How to move her tongue, how much pressure, what rhythm. She knew to hollow her cheeks, to take him deeper, to look up at him.

His taste was strange, his scent overwhelming this close, the feeling of him in her mouth foreign and intense. But she pushed past it, focused on his reactions. The sounds he made. The way his hand tightened in her hair.

"Fuck," David breathed above her. "You're good at this."

The words sent heat through her. She was good. He wanted her.

She took him deeper, her throat relaxing in a way she somehow knew how to do. David's hips started to move and she matched his rhythm, her hand and mouth working together.

"I'm gonna-" David managed.

She didn't pull away. Took everything, swallowed, the taste new and unpleasant but she kept going until he was gasping.

When she finally stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, David was staring at her.

"Holy shit. That was... you're fucking amazing."

Amazing. The word glowed in her chest.

"Thanks," she said, already smoothing down her skirt. "I should find my friend?"

She left him still catching his breath.

Back downstairs, Kylie got another drink. Danced with strangers for a while, laughing, letting the music and alcohol blur everything together.

Then she saw them.

David and Jessi, pressed against a wall near the stairs. Making out. His hands on her waist, her arms around his neck.

Kylie stopped, drink halfway to her lips.

Jessi pulled back from David, laughing at something he said. Looked completely happy. Like nothing was wrong. Like she didn't know. Or didn't care.

Maybe she didn't know. Maybe in this world of hookups and parties, it didn't matter. You hooked up with someone, they hooked up with someone else, everyone moved on.

Kylie turned away, finished her drink in one long swallow.

The night blurred. Another guy, older, rougher. "You're really pretty," he said against her ear. When he suggested going upstairs, she went.

A different room. On her knees again, working him with her mouth. Her jaw aching, her knees hurting against the hard floor, the awkward angle of her neck. The physical reality of it cutting through the alcohol haze.

Then another guy in a cramped closet, her knees pressed against storage boxes, hands and mouth working on autopilot in a space so small she could barely move, the smell of cleaning supplies mixing with his cologne.

Later-much later, after more drinks she couldn't remember accepting-she found herself in a bedroom with two guys. Roommates, they said. Both interested, both looking at her expectantly.

Some distant part of her knew this was too much. Knew she should leave.

But they were smiling at her. Wanted her.

"If you're cool with it," one of them said.

She was cool with it. Or, at least, she couldn't find the words to say she wasn't.

She knelt between them, her mouth moving from one to the other. She found she knew when to switch, how to use her hands on one while her mouth was on the other. But she felt disconnected from it all. Like watching someone else.

"Damn you can sure suck a cock," one of them said.

"Fucking incredible," the other agreed.

When they were both finished, she stood on unsteady legs. Wiped her mouth while they high-fived each other.

She left without saying anything, found a bathroom down the hall. Locked the door.

Stared at herself in the mirror under harsh fluorescent light. Mascara smudged down her cheeks. Lipstick gone. Hair tangled. Eyes glassy from alcohol.

Five guys. Five. The number settled in her chest like lead.

This was who she was now. The girl who couldn't say no. The girl who needed to be wanted so badly she'd do anything. The girl who'd stolen her friend's crush and then gone looking for more.

The parts of her that would have wanted something different, that would have valued self-respect over validation, that would have been capable of saying no, those parts were gone. What remained craved approval like oxygen, physically couldn't refuse attention even when some distant part of her knew she should.

She looked at her reflection-this pretty blonde stranger with smudged makeup and empty eyes-and felt nothing. Not shame. Not regret. Just a hollow ache for more attention, more validation, more proof that someone wanted her.

How thrilling when romance blooms during the magical Christmas season! The heat of skin against skin, the breathless urgency of desire fulfilled, the pure animal joy of bodies joining in ecstatic union! What wonderful abandon when the spirit of giving extends to two people giving themselves completely to carnal pleasure!

Colette's bedroom was dark except for the soft glow from the streetlight outside.

She was on top of Antonio, riding him, her hands braced on his chest. Her hips rolled in a rhythm that felt instinctive, natural, like her body had always known how to do this.

"God," Antonio groaned beneath her, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "You feel so good."

She leaned down to kiss him, swallowing his moans, her breasts pressed against his chest. His hands slid up her back, pulling her closer, and she moved faster, chasing the building pleasure.

This was what all those romantic movies had promised. The connection, the intensity, the feeling of being completely consumed by someone.

Antonio's hands tightened on her hips, guiding her movements, and she let him. Trusted him. Wanted him to take control.

"Colette," he breathed against her neck. "I'm close-"

"Me too," she gasped. And she was. The pleasure building inside her, her body responding to his. When she came, it crashed over her like a wave, her body clenching around him. She cried out, not caring if the neighbors heard, lost in the sensation.

Antonio followed seconds later, pulling her down hard onto him, his own cry muffled against her shoulder.

They collapsed together, breathless and tangled. Her head on his chest, his arms around her, their hearts racing in sync.

This was it. This was love. Not just sex. Love. The kind that swept you off your feet, that made you forget everything else, that felt destined.

"You're incredible," Antonio murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair.

She felt tears prick her eyes. This was everything. He was everything.

They made love three more times through the night, exploring each other, unable to keep their hands off each other. Each time felt like confirmation of what she already knew: he was perfect. They were perfect together.

As the sky outside began to lighten with approaching dawn, they lay tangled together, Colette's head on his chest.

"Zis is amazing," she said softly, tracing patterns on his skin. "You are amazing. I cannot believe we found each ozzer."

"Yeah," Antonio said, his voice sleepy. "It's been a really good night."

"Not just good. Perfect." She lifted her head to look at him. "Like fate, non? Like we were meant to meet."

His smile thinned. "Sure."

"I want you to stay. I am leaving today for Christmas wiz Kylie but we can 'ave breakfast togezzer? Spend ze morning?" She kissed his chest. "We 'ave so much to talk about. So much to learn about each ozzer."

"Yeah, maybe," he said, his body tensing slightly beneath her.

"And zen we should talk about what zis means for us." She propped herself up on her elbow, absolute conviction in her voice. "Because zis is not just casual, Antonio. I can feel it. Zis is somezing real. Somezing important."

Antonio shifted uncomfortably. "We just met-"

"I zink I am falling in love wiz you," she said, the words spilling out with desperate sincerity.

His expression flickered-surprise, then something close to panic. "That's... wow. Colette. That's a lot."

"But it is true! I 'ave never felt zis way before." She touched his face, urgent. "You are everyzing I 'ave been waiting for. You understand me. Zis is what people search zeir whole lives for and we found it on our first night!"

"Listen, I should probably-" He tried to pull back, but she pressed closer, kissing him.

"Stay," she whispered against his mouth. "Please. Just a little longer."

The kiss deepened. Her hand slid down his chest, lower. She felt him respond despite his hesitation.

"Colette-"

"I need you," she breathed, moving on top of him. "Again. Please."

Antonio's resistance melted as she guided him inside her. His hands found her hips and he groaned.

She moved slowly this time, savoring it, her romantic heart swelling with the certainty that this meant something, that sex this good had to mean love. His hands tightened on her and she leaned down to kiss him, passionate and possessive.

When they finished, she collapsed against his chest, satisfied and glowing.

"Now you 'ave to stay for breakfast," she murmured, already half-asleep. "You cannot leave after zat."

Antonio said nothing, just stared at the ceiling as her breathing evened out.

Colette drifted into contentment, certain she'd found her soulmate.

How exciting when young people embrace the festive social whirl of the holiday season! Christmas parties and celebration, new connections formed beneath twinkling lights, the thrill of letting loose and discovering what brings joy during this magical time of year!

Dawn was breaking when Kylie finally stumbled out of the Sigma Chi house. The sky was that pale gray-pink of early morning.

She hadn't seen Jessi in hours. She walked back to the apartment alone, her heels clicking on the empty sidewalk. Her short dress kept riding up with each step. The taste of strange men still in her mouth.

She was exhausted. Her makeup was smudged, her carefully chosen outfit rumpled and disheveled. She couldn't quite remember everyone she'd been with, all the faces blurring together.

The campus was empty, silent. Just her footsteps echoing off the buildings.

She felt hollow. Used. The validation that had felt so good in the moment had evaporated, leaving only emptiness.

But she pushed the thought away. She'd had fun. Everyone had wanted her. That meant something.

Didn't it?

She climbed the three flights of stairs to the apartment, fumbling with her keys. Stumbled past the Christmas tree in the corner, headed to her room. An hour or two of sleep before her exam.

Colette stepped out into the hallway in an ivory silk peignoir and matching robe, elegant even fresh from bed. She'd been heading to the kitchen to make coffee, still glowing from the night.

She stopped when she saw Kylie.

They stared at each other.

Colette's eyes traveled down Kylie's disheveled appearance. The smudged makeup, the wrinkled dress, the walk-of-shame energy radiating off her.

One elegant eyebrow raised. Judgment, clear and sharp. A silent accusation.

Kylie felt it land. Felt the shame bloom in her chest even through the exhaustion. She started to look away-

Then Colette's bedroom door opened.

Antonio emerged, half-dressed, pulling his shirt on, shoes in hand. He froze when he saw both of them standing there.

"Hey," he said awkwardly, squeezing past them in the narrow hallway. "I've got to run. Early... thing. I'll text you."

He didn't wait for a response. Didn't look at Colette. Just headed for the door, his footsteps quick in the stairwell.

Kylie's guilty expression evaporated, and it was her turn to raise an eyebrow in an exaggerated arc.

Colette stood frozen, watching where he'd disappeared. Her expression flickered. Confusion, then understanding, then embarrassment. All followed by a desperate attempt to maintain composure: Everything's fine. He has a meeting. That's all.

Kylie's eyebrow climbed higher. Her look said everything: Sure he does.

For a moment, they just stood there in silence. Best friends separated by everything they couldn't say.

Colette lifted her chin, defensive, and walked toward the kitchen as if nothing was wrong.

Kylie stood in the hallway for another moment, then went to her own room.

She dropped her purse on the floor, kicked off her heels. Went to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

She stood under the hot water for a long time, trying to wash away the night. The taste. The feeling of hands on her, mouths on hers, the parade of faces she couldn't quite remember.

The memory of what she'd become.

The water ran and ran, but she still felt dirty.

Finally, she got out, dried off, pulled on an oversized t-shirt. Collapsed onto her bed, still damp, and fell into exhausted sleep.

What a blessing sleep is during this busy holiday season, how it restores and refreshes! How wonderful when young people awaken to December mornings full of promise, ready to embrace both their responsibilities and the adventures that await! Each day brings new experiences, new knowledge, new understanding!

Kylie slept for two hours, then dragged herself out of bed for her final.

The Sports Marketing exam was at noon. She stumbled into the lecture hall still feeling the effects of the night before-exhausted, hungover, her mouth still tasting faintly of mouthwash she'd used to try to cover the taste of strangers.

She sat down, stared at the test paper when it was placed in front of her. She stared at the words. Knew she should understand them better than she did. Had studied this. Or tried to. But her mind was foggy, the concepts just out of reach.

She wrote something. Bullshitted her way through essay questions, guessed on multiple choice. The material that should have been easy felt impossibly complex, like trying to think through cotton.

When time was called, she'd answered everything. Barely. Probably got enough right to pass. D-plus, maybe. C-minus if she was lucky. Good enough to keep her cheer scholarship. Good enough to stay in school.

That was all that mattered.

What joy fills the heart when driving toward family reunions! The open road ahead, loved ones waiting with open arms-parents who've watched you grow up, who know you better than anyone! The anticipation of homecoming during the most magical season! How wonderful to return to childhood homes, to the warmth of family traditions, to parents who've been there for every milestone, every memory! What could be more beautiful than Christmas with the family who made you who you are?

Kylie's pink Beetle hummed along the highway, GPS guiding them toward an address she'd only seen written down. Three hours to a town she'd never heard of, to meet people she'd never met.

They'd gotten a late start. Colette hadn't been able to decide which outfits she wanted to pack, and Kylie was in no rush to get to a childhood home she'd never seen before. They'd departed late enough that her parents' Christmas party would be in full swing by the time they arrived, so they'd changed into their party clothes before leaving.

Colette sat in the passenger seat, phone clutched in her lap like a lifeline. They'd been driving for maybe twenty minutes when she checked her notifications for what had to be the fifteenth time.

"Anything?" Kylie asked.

"Non." Colette's thumb hovered over the screen. "Still just... delivered. Not even read."

"Maybe his phone died?"

"Per'aps." But Colette didn't sound convinced. She typed something, deleted it, typed again.

Kylie glanced over. "Are you texting him again?"

"I am just... I need to say somezing. To explain-"

"Explain what?"

"I do not know!" Colette's voice cracked. "Zat I did not mean to scare 'im? Zat I know I came on too strong? Zat I-" She stopped, stared at her phone. "I cannot stop zinking about 'im, Kylie. It is making me crazy."

"You like, really like this guy, huh?"

"I love 'im." The words came out fierce, certain. "I know 'ow zat sounds. I know we just met yesterday. But I do. I love 'im and 'e will not text me back and I do not know what to do."

Kylie didn't know what to say to that. It did sound crazy. You couldn't love someone you'd known for less than a day, could you?

But then again, she'd given head to five guys at a party last night and couldn't really explain why she'd done that either.

"Do you zink zere is somezing wrong wiz me?" Colette asked quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"Zis. All of zis." Colette gestured vaguely. "I cannot stop checking my phone. Cannot stop zinking about 'im. I am obsessing over a man I barely know. Zis is not normal, non?"

"I mean... people get crushes?"

"Zis is not a crush, Kylie. Zis is-" Colette struggled for words. "I cannot eat. I cannot sleep. I cannot zink about anyzeeng else. When I close my eyes I see 'is face and when I open zem I am checking my phone again. It is consuming me and I 'ate it but I cannot stop."

Kylie drove in silence for a moment, trying to find the right words. "You weren't like this before."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, even after Halloween. You were different, but not like this. You didn't... I don't know. You weren't this intense about stuff?"

Colette's laugh was bitter. "You are right. I was not. It was ze tree. Last night at ze restaurant, somezing... changed. Now everyzing is just feeling, wiz nossing to balance. I know I should stop texting him but I cannot make myself stop. I 'ave no choice."

The words hung in the air between them.

"That's really sad," Kylie said finally.

"Oui. It is." Colette checked her phone again. Still nothing. "What about you? You were out late last night. Was it... good?"

Kylie's hands tightened on the wheel. "I don't know if good is the right word."

"What 'appened?"

"I went to Sigma Chi and hooked up with a bunch of guys." The words came out flat, matter-of-fact. "Like, a lot of guys. I sucked five of them off. In bedrooms and bathrooms and this cramped closet. Two of them at the same time."

"Two at once?" Colette's tone was sharp, judgmental. "Mon dieu, Kylie. You are better zan zis."

"Ouch." Kylie flinched.

"I am sorry." Colette's face fell immediately. "I did not mean- Actually, I did mean it. I cannot 'elp it anymore. Zese opinions just come out."

"It's mean."

"It is what I feel! Why should I lie?" Colette caught herself, continued softer: "I used to... zink before I spoke. Now I just say what I zink and I 'ave zese opinions about everyzing and zey just come out of my mouz before I can stop zem."

"I don't like it."

"I know. I did ze same zing to Emma last night. I told 'er she was manipulative and controlling. I criticized 'er choice of restaurant, 'er taste in wine, everyzing. I can see myself doing it but I cannot stop."

"I felt the same way last night. What I did with those guys."

"Did you want to?"

"I... yeah? Like, in the moment I did. They were paying attention to me and it felt good and I wanted to." Kylie paused. "Actually, that's not right. I literally couldn't say no. Like, I knew I should probably stop but the words wouldn't come out. I just kept... going."

"Five times."

"Yeah." Kylie's voice was small. "I can't stop myself from doing stuff I know I shouldn't."

They drove in silence for a moment.

"You used to be so sure of yourself," Colette said quietly.

Kylie felt her throat tighten. "Yeah. I did." She swallowed. "Now I just... I need people to want me. Like, all the time. And I can't say no to them because if I do, what if they stop wanting me? What's that called? When you need people to like, like you to feel good about yourself?"

"I..." Colette hesitated, frowned. "I cannot remember ze English word."

"Whatever. But yeah. I need that all the time now."

"Kylie-"

"I know how that sounds. But it's true." Kylie merged into the left lane. "I bombed my exam today, by the way. I couldn't focus and the questions were too hard and I just... didn't care that much?"

"You used to care."

"I used to be smart." Kylie laughed, but it sounded hollow. "Now I'm just... this. Dumb and slutty and only good at cheer and parties and sucking dick, I guess."

"Do not say zat about yourself-"

"Why not? It's true." Kylie glanced at her. "You can see it, right? Like, you remember how I used to be and you can see how different I am now?"

"Oui. I can see it."

They drove in silence for a while. The highway stretched out ahead of them, unfamiliar landscape rolling past.

"This is really fucked up," Kylie said eventually.

"Oui."

More silence. Colette checked her phone again.

"He's not going to text you back," Kylie said gently.

"I know." Colette's voice was barely a whisper. "But I 'ave to keep trying anyway."

"Because you can't help it."

"Because I cannot 'elp it."

Kylie reached over and squeezed her hand briefly before returning it to the wheel. "For what it's worth, I don't think you're crazy."

"And I do not zink you are a slut."

"I mean, I kind of am a slut though," Kylie laughed. "Like, literally. I blew five guys last night. That's the actual definition."

"Per'aps. But it is not your fault."

"Isn't it though? Like, I'm the one who asked the tree to make me know stuff. Nobody made me do it."

"Nobody forced me eizzer." Colette stared out the window. "But we did not know what we were giving up. We zought we were getting what we needed. We did not understand ze price."

They drove in silence for a moment. The highway stretched ahead, unfamiliar landscape rolling past.

"Zere is a zought experiment," Colette said suddenly. "In philosophy. Ze Ship of Zeseus."

Kylie glanced at her. "Theseus?"

"Zat is what I said. A ship. It goes on a long voyage. Every time somezing breaks-a plank, a sail, a mast-zey replace it. By ze time ze ship returns 'ome, every single piece 'as been replaced. Not one original part remains." Colette's voice was quiet, almost clinical. "Ze question is: is it still ze same ship?"

Kylie frowned, trying to follow. "I... I don't know? Like, yes? Because it's still the ship?"

"But nossing of ze original ship remains. Every piece is new."

"But it's still..." Kylie struggled. The logic felt slippery, like trying to hold water. "I mean, it's still doing ship things. It's still a ship."

"Zat is one answer. Ozzers say no-if nossing original remains, it is a different ship entirely. Just somesing zat looks like ze original." Colette's accent grew thick, emotional. "We are ze Ship of Zeseus, non? Every time ze tree gives us somezing, eet takes away a piece. And we are still 'ere. Still Kylie and Colette. Still remember being Kyle and Cole. But 'ow many pieces can be replaced before we are just... somezing else?"

The question hung in the air between them.

Kylie wanted to answer. Wanted to think it through, to reason her way to a conclusion the way Kyle would have. But her mind didn't work that way anymore. The concepts kept slipping away, like trying to hold onto a dream after waking. She understood the words Colette was saying, but couldn't quite grasp what they meant.

"I don't know," she said finally, helplessly.

"Neizzer do I." Colette laughed, but it sounded broken. "I do not even know 'ow long I will remember zis story. Per'aps ze next time I need somezing-ze next time I am desperate enough-ze tree will take ze Ship of Zeseus from me as well. And zen I will not even 'ave ze words to describe what 'as 'appened to us."

Silence settled over them, heavy and complete.

They drove through it, two girls who used to be boys, asking questions they could no longer answer about whether they still existed at all.

"Turn right in 500 feet." The GPS voice broke the silence. Kylie's hands tightened on the wheel.

"I'm scared," she whispered.

"Of what?"

"This. Meeting them." Kylie gestured vaguely ahead. "My parents. Except they're not my parents? They're complete strangers. What if they can tell something's wrong? What if-"

Colette nodded. "What if you need somezing from ze tree."

"I'm scared, Colette. I'm really scared."

Colette didn't have any comforting words. "I am scared too," she said quietly.

"Your destination is on the right."

A large colonial-style house. Tasteful Christmas decorations. Cars lining the street, filling the driveway. Through the windows, Kylie could see movement, people, lights.

She pulled into the driveway. Put the car in park. Sat there.

"Are you ready?" Colette asked.

"No."

"Do you want to wait a moment?"

"Won't help." Kylie took a shaky breath. "Let's just do this."

They grabbed their bags and walked up the front path. Music and laughter spilled out from inside. Through the windows, Kylie could see a Christmas party in full swing-people in festive clothes, holding drinks, smiling.

As they approached, the door swung open. A woman in an elegant dress, blue eyes like Kylie's, face lighting up with joy.

"Sweetheart! You're here!" The woman pulled Kylie into a tight hug. "Everyone, Kylie's home!"

People turned. Faces she didn't know, smiling with recognition and warmth. A man who must be her father moving toward them. Relatives calling her name.

Colette's hand found hers and squeezed once, briefly.

Then the party pulled them inside.

And three hours away, in an empty apartment, the tree stood in its corner. Its lights twinkling warmly as a new ornament-delicate, beautiful, irreplaceable-joined the forty-four others adorning its branches.

Auhor's Note

Thanks for reading!

"Hex the Halls" exists because of you, the readers who commented on the original "Hex Lives of College Girls," asking the obvious question: how would Kylie and Colette actually survive in their new lives without knowing how to be the girls they'd become?

That question stuck with me. The Halloween story ended with a reality warp and all the horror that entailed, but the real nightmare would be the aftermath. How do you navigate a life filled with expectations you can't meet, knowledge you don't have, and people who assume you've always been this way? The practical problem of not knowing how to do your makeup or style your hair seems almost mundane compared to the existential terror of the transformation itself, but it's the thing that would make daily life impossible.

So I thought, what if they found a solution? What if there was a way to gain the knowledge they desperately needed? And then: what would be the cost?

The Tree of Knowledge became something more insidious than Zelda and Zara's instant Halloween magic. Where the sisters transformed them completely in one night, the tree takes them apart piece by piece, trading what they need to survive for the parts of Kyle and Cole that made them who they were.

Sometimes the scariest thing isn't the dramatic transformation but the slow realization that you're disappearing and you can't stop it. That the help you're receiving is destroying you. That you're becoming complicit in your own erasure because you need to survive.

I hope you enjoyed it, and please keep the comments coming. As this story proves, I really do draw inspiration from them!

Happy holidays!

Paige