1
SHIFT HAPPENS
RAYA
I do not havethe energy or mental fortitude I need to deal with ill-mannered, entitled old men today. If he interrupts me one more time… well, I won’t do much because I need this job, but I will do my best to send bad karma after him, that’s for sure. I plaster something that hopefully resembles a polite smile on my face and unclench my jaw.
“As I was explaining, Mr. Bartholomew, Henry has all of the data points prepared and will send them over to you as soon as he is back in the office.” I do my best to explain patiently—again—why I’m giving this presentation at the last minute instead of Henry, my coworker who has been collaborating with this client for the last six months. Mr. Bartholomew, however, doesn’t think highly of these circumstances, and based on the increasing scowl on his face, he’s determined to remain unhappy.
“For now,” I continue, “these are the statistics I was provided?—”
“I don’t have time for this incompetence,” he says, pounding a hand on the table in emphasis. I wish I were surprised that none of the other men in the room interveneon my behalf, and it doesn’t escape my notice that I’m the only woman present. “I demand to speak with your supervisor.”
At this final insult, my patience snaps, and I can feel it happening. My skin tingles for a split second before it starts to reshape.
Oh no, no, no. Not now, not now!
I whip my body around, giving my back to the room as long, white whiskers sprout on my cheeks and my nose shrinks. The pain is fleeting, thankfully, though the circumstances could certainly be better. Wondering what animal it is this time, I hesitantly reach up to my face, fluttering my fingers over my cheekbones and meeting soft, short fur surrounding a flat, twitching nose.
Rabbit. Awesome.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself not to let the frustrated tears fall. Not where any of the men in this room can see. As subtly as I can, I run a hand up and over my hair, sighing in relief when I find no floppy rabbit ears to go with the nose and whiskers already adorning my face.
Belatedly, I realize multiple voices have risen around the room, including the increasingly loud voice of Mr. Bartholomew demanding my attention.
Taking a deep breath, I straighten my shoulders, tip my chin up, and slowly turn back to the conference room, balling my hands into fists at my sides. I latch my eyes onto the wall above the heads of those in attendance for this disaster of a presentation, and attempt to close my ears to the stifled gasps that ricochet around the room.
Mr. Bartholomew, unsurprisingly, has not even one polite bone in his body and therefore no problem shattering the haunting silence. “What is this?” he bellows. “In all my days, never have I been met with such ineptitude. An out of control shifter, acting like an animal on top of everything else that hasgone wrong in this meeting? Absolutely not. I will not stand for it?—”
The door to the conference room flies open and my boss strides in. All it takes is one look at me for his lips to pinch, flattening into a thin line as he turns to the outraged clients.
“I apologize for my employee’s behavior,” my boss begins, and I have to hold in my squeak of protest at his assessment of the situation. “Please, let me see what I can do,” he says, gesturing for Mr. Bartholomew to take his seat again.
As everyone settles back into their chairs, he turns to the front of the room where I’m still frozen, the clicker clenched in my fist. “Raya. You’re dismissed.”
Just like that, I no longer exist to any of them. Not even Mr. Bartholomew graces me with so much as a sneer as I rush from the room. Eager to be away from the excess of toxic energy, I slip into the bathroom down the hall, lock the door behind me, then slowly walk over to the sink, avoiding my reflection in the mirror.
My knuckles turn white as I clench the sides of the sink in front of me, holding my breath to prevent a scream of frustration. I squeeze my eyes closed, then take a quick breath and brace myself to look in the mirror.
There it is. White whiskers, as I suspected, on either side of where my nose should be. Instead of a human nose though, the flattened, triangular shape of a rabbit nose covered in silvery white fur twitches at me. I gently run my fingers over the part of my face that has shifted. I look ridiculous.
At least it’s soft.
If I had the nose to do so, I would have snorted. Sometimes I hate that my brain always provides a positive. Sometimes I don’t want to see the silver lining, but that’s not how my mind works.
Shaking my head, I turn away from the mirror and stretch my arms wide, rolling my shoulders to loosen the tension thatcrept into my neck and back throughout that meeting. There’s not much else to be done; in my experience, once I shift, it’s simply a waiting game. Whatever part of me took on animal features could go back to normal in thirty seconds, or it could take thirty minutes. Luckily, it never lasts much longer than that.
Not yet, at least.
As I force the meeting from my mind, I lean back against the closed door, propping one foot up on it as I wait, and trying not to let my thoughts spiral. I rush back to the mirror when I feel tingling again, just as the lightning flash of pain crosses my face and the fur recedes, my normal features returning to me. I blow out a breath, puffing my cheeks out and scrunching up my very normal, human-looking nose to test its durability.
I waste no time as I leave the bathroom, dashing through the hallway back to my cubicle and flinging myself into my chair. I promptly bury my face in my hands, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes until I see spots behind my eyelids.
That. Was. Awful.
I can finally admit to myself how truly terrible the entire experience was now that I have a little space from the incident—and don’t have fur sprouting from my face. I’m gearing up for an internal pep talk work when a curly-haired redhead appears in the opening of my cubicle, knocking twice on the faux-doorframe.
“Hey Raya, boss wants to see you,” she says with a slight cringe, which I return. We both know this won’t be good.
