Matthew Bird is a personal trainer who lives in a spacious two-bedroom apartment in the upper region of St. Richard with a corgi, whose name is Spud, and a bird—no, not a bird, that's too much. Okay, no bird. He's looking for a partner. Romantic or sexual? Doesn't matter. He just wants something new—someone new. Let's see where it goes.

Also, he's not originally from St. Richard. He's Philleannan, of course, because Haley and I don't know how to be anything else, but his parents raised him in some irrelevant, small town, and he moved out as soon as he was done with school, because St. Richard is the place to be if you wanna be rich and successful. Is it? Well, yeah, if you're from a shit town in the middle of nowhere, St. Richard is a dream come true. So he's worked his way up, and now he's upper middle class; not too poor to be undesirable, but not too rich to be recognizable. And he's fit (obviously) and he wears his hair in a bun because that's hot (supposedly).

Thus, Matthew Bird is born.

Haley and I spend about an hour discussing strategies for starting a conversation with Penelope before we finally decide on something. Then we go back to Haley's house so we can shape the boy into the man we need and select an outfit for him. But the moment Haley throws open the doors of their closet, they say, "This isn't gonna work."

"Why not?" I ask.

"Matthew is bigger than me."

"You have plenty of oversized clothes."

"Does he look like the type of guy who would wear oversized clothes? I mean, sure, he probably wears a hoodie when he's at home and feeling lazy, but he's a personal trainer. He's got muscle. We need clothes that accentuate his body, and my not-oversized clothes are too small." Haley shuts the closet. "We need to go shopping."

So the next morning, we go shopping.

Walking beside a stranger who's ten years older than me who's actually my friend in disguise is not something I thought I'd ever be doing, but here we are. Just two dudes, going shopping in a mall in St. Richard. Nothing weird about it.

"This is weird," I say.

"Yeah," says Matthew-Haley.

He's wearing one of his oversized hoodies now. It's loose even on him, and I get what he means: it hides all the definition in his arms, and the V shape of his waist and shoulders. If we're going to use all that muscle to seduce Penelope, we need to show it off.

"What about this?" I ask, pointing at a store with sporty clothes.

"That's . . . too low-end."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess you're right."

"The more expensive stores are further that way," he says, gesturing forward, toward a part of the mall I've never been to—never needed to go to. "I think Matthew probably spends as much money on clothes as he can. He's vain."

"And he came here to get rich."

"Exactly."

"People are going to stare at me when I go there, though," I say.

"So? It's not like you're not allowed. Besides, you're not alone. You're with me."

"I'm with Matthew Bird."

"Exactly."

"For how long can you be someone else, anyway?"

He shrugs. "I've never done it longer than a few hours, so I don't know if there's a limit. Maybe there isn't. It would probably just feel weird to live your life as someone else for an extended period of time."

"Yeah, I think I'd probably get tired of being a bear, too."

"Gotta make friends with other bears."

"I don't think they would appreciate me just waltzing into their territory."

"What? Who wouldn't want to be friends with a waltzing bear? That's really impressive." He chuckles, his voice deep and throaty, so unlike Haley's normal chuckle that it actually startles me. I'm sure Matthew Bird would be a lovely dude if he actually existed, but man, this is so fucking weird. I don't even know why this bothers me more than Haley looking like me.

"Can you imagine?" he says. "A bear—you—dancing?"

"I imagine it looks stupid."

"Do you even know what you look like as a bear?"

"Uh, like a bear?"

"Yeah, but have you ever seen yourself in a mirror or a picture?"

"How am I supposed to take a picture? I don't have opposable thumbs."

"Your mom did."

"Yeah, well . . ." I push my glasses up. "I've seen my reflection in the water, so I know that I look like a bear. A brown bear. I don't think there's more to it than that. All brown bears are some shade of brown, and big, and hairy."

"Nah, man. If you showed me a picture of you and twenty other bears, I'd know exactly which one is you. Just like you could show me twenty black shepherds, and I'd know exactly which one is Missy."

"I'm not saying they're all unique, but if you tell someone who's never seen Missile before that he's a black shepherd, they instantly know what he looks like."

"Okay, you have a point."

"But you can take a picture if you want to. Anyway, we should go find some clothes, because talking to you while you look like someone else is kinda freaking me out."

I think that's the problem. It's not the face. It's the fact that we're walking here, among hundreds of people, and I'm the only one who knows the person I'm talking to is not real.

"Oh," he says. "Yeah, fair enough. Let's go."

We find a store with clothes that match Matthew's style, and we pick out a few different outfits so he's not wearing the same thing in every picture. The fact that Haley can just do that without worrying about what it costs still amazes me, but I try not to think too much about how unfair it is. Whining about it isn't going to make it better. Chances are, Haley will just offer to buy me something, and I don't really need any new clothes. I have enough.

But when he steps out of the changing room, he asks, "Do you want anything?"

And that's a very different question.

Do I want it?

I can't help but think about what Margie said the other day . . . that I don't look like the upper-class kids yet. Yet. What is her point, exactly? Am I not allowed to have nice clothes? Does she think I'll change if I let Haley buy them for me?

And why does she care?

Sure, I don't need new clothes, but I don't like the ones I have. They're old and cheap, prone to damage. Some of them are even too small, the sleeves too short, the fabric too tight. Of course I want new stuff. Of course I want more expensive stuff. And if Haley can buy several outfits for a person who isn't even real, he can buy things for me.

"Yes, actually," I say. "I do."

So we find stores with clothes that match my style, and Haley-Matthew lets me pick out whatever I like, then hands the clerk his card without sparing a glance at the total. I don't stray far from the usual: pullovers and plaid shirts; jeans and jackets; earthy tones. I'm just happy the fabrics they're made of seem more vibrant, more durable. I'm already thinking of which clothes I'll get rid of when I get back home to make room in my closet for the new ones. No more holes. No more loose threads that I have to tuck into the seams so they don't fall apart.

When we dump our bags in the trunk of the Destrier, Haley gets behind the wheel looking like Haley again, and I say, "Well, that was a success."

"I'd say so," they agree, starting the car. "Where should we take the pictures?"

"At least one of them has to be in a gym."

"Right."

"And maybe in a park? If he's walking his dog."

"Should there be pictures of the dog?"

"What, are you gonna buy a corgi?"

"No," they laugh. "It doesn't have to be our dog. We'll just ask someone with a corgi if we can take a picture of it."

"What if we can't find a corgi?"

"Oh, well, Spud can be a different breed."

Thankfully, we find a very cute corgi in a dog park that belongs to a woman who's very willing to let us take pictures. When she asks what it's for, we tell her Matthew is just a big fan of dogs. She's equally willing to believe that lie, so that's all sorted. Then we spend the rest of the day going around St. Richard looking for locations to take pictures. By the time we're done, it's nearly time for dinner, so Haley suggests finding someplace in town to eat. Why not?

Over dinner, we create Matthew's account, uploading pictures, filling in all the necessary information, following a few accounts we think he might be interested in following, like the official account of the gym we took pictures in. And then we wait, because it would be rather strange if the first thing he does is message a random woman.

Haley puts their phone down and says, "We are frighteningly good at this."

"Well, you are a shapeshifter."

"What's your excuse?"

"I watch a lot of movies."

They laugh and pick up their silverware to take a bite of their food. When we sat down earlier, they squinted at the menu for all but five seconds before ordering some type of oven dish with a bunch of foreign-sounding ingredients. I asked if they even knew what it was, and they shrugged, so I ordered something I'd never heard of, either.

It's pretty good.

"It'd better be her," Haley says, reaching for their napkin—excuse me, serviette. "Penelope, I mean. I'm gonna be so mad if we did all this for nothing."

"Oh, well, we can always reuse Matthew."

"True."

"But it's gotta be her. I've got a good feeling about this."

Haley shrugs. "Who am I to question a bear's intuition?"

I flash them a smile.

"Speaking of," they say after a moment.

"Hm?"

"Your intuition. I talked to Davy last week, and I need your advice."

"Oh. Alright."

They take a sip from their drink, put the glass back down, and clear their throat. "So . . . as you know, Davy told me he likes me. Understandably, he was kind of hoping I like him back, but I don't know if I do."

I raise a brow.

"I told him I need some time to figure it out," they say, ignoring my look. "So now we're in this weird stage where we're technically still friends with benefits, but Davy wants to be more, and I said we could continue having sex as long as he's okay with it, but . . . I don't know if I'm okay with it. It feels like I'm using him."

"Why would you even continue having sex?"

"Because he wants to."

"Is he a masochist?"

They throw up a hand. "That's what I said!"

"Okay, well, I think you know what I'm gonna say."

They let out a sigh. "Yeah . . . I'll tell him."

I wonder if I should ask why they're unsure about their feelings, but I decide against it. If they told Davy they need time to figure it out, they'll probably tell me the same. So I bring the conversation back to snakes, shapeshifters, and bears, and we talk until the food is gone.

☽〇☾

By the end of the weekend, Matthew Bird has amassed quite the following. I shouldn't be surprised; people love hot men with cute dogs. Haley and I are both logged into the account on our phones so we can keep track of the notifications, and I smile every time I see Haley's responses pop up. I take back what I said about him the first time we met: he is good at lying, at pretending to be someone else.

When I wake up Monday morning, it feels a bit like having to go back to boring real-life shit after reading a really good book, but at the same time, for the first time in my life, I actually feel excited to go to school. What a difference it makes, when people no longer act like an asshole to you. Well, most of them.

"Do you think we can move into phase three yet?" I whisper to Haley at lunch, glancing at the table on my left. Daniel meets my gaze, but his face doesn't change when he realizes I'm looking at him. I wonder what he's thinking. Probably "fuck that guy."

"Not yet," Haley murmurs. "Soon."

"Hey, Gus."

I turn around, not sure who spoke—Maddie? Nichola? Ameerah? They all sound kind of similar. Vivienne is the only one whose voice is a bit deeper. "Hm?"

"Is that new?" Nichola asks. She points at the green-and-black striped pullover Haley bought for me two days ago, and suddenly everyone's looking at it.

"Oh," I say. "Yeah. It is."

She smiles. "It looks nice."

I can't help but wonder if she says it because it doesn't look like I've been wearing it for fifteen years or because there's a little tag woven into the sleeve, showing everyone where I got it. It's not a big, well-known brand—it's just a brand—but that's enough.

"Did . . ." says Max, glancing at Haley. "Uh."

"Did I buy it?" Haley says.

Max doesn't respond, but that's obviously what he was going to ask.

"I did."

"He offered," I say.

"As if I wouldn't have bought it if you'd asked," Haley says, giving me a look. "That's just what friends do."

Nobody disputes that fact, and so we move on. Conversations about basketball practice start up, homework and upcoming tests are discussed, Vivienne and Ameerah make their daily trip to the bathroom to fix their makeup. Everything goes back to normal. My new normal.

☽〇☾