Adam was on his usual walk home from work when something caught his eye---a flash of color behind a wide glass window. He paused. Inside a large, brightly lit studio, a dozen young women in lilac, pink, and white uniforms were moving in perfect sync. They spun, jumped, and shouted words of encouragement to one another, their ponytails bouncing, their sneakers squeaking lightly against the polished floor.

For just a split second, Adam wondered, What is it like to do that? To move like that, to be part of something so coordinated, so full of energy and spirit?

The thought no sooner crossed his mind than the world around him shifted.

The cool air vanished. The sounds of the street faded. Suddenly, he felt the give of a springy floor beneath his feet, the tug of something tight and unfamiliar around his body, and the swish of fabric at his sides.

He looked down.

His legs---smooth, toned, and tanned---were wrapped in a lilac and white pleated skirt. White sneakers gleamed on his feet. A soft top hugged his chest. Around him, the dozen cheerleaders were still moving---except now, he was among them.

Before he could say a word, a tall girl with a confident smile and a glossy blonde ponytail jogged over. “Aimie, is something wrong?” she asked.

Adam blinked. Aimie? His mouth went dry.

He shook his head quickly, forcing a small, nervous smile. “N-no, I’m fine,” he heard himself say, though the voice wasn’t his own---it was lighter, higher, unmistakably feminine.

The head cheerleader grinned. “Great! Let’s run it from the top!”

Music blasted from a speaker. The team broke into formation. Somehow, Adam---Aimie---moved right along with them, his body knowing exactly what to do even though his mind screamed in confusion.

They started with high kicks, arms slicing through the air in clean diagonals. The rhythm pulsed through him as the group pivoted into a side-step clap pattern, hips twisting in time to the beat. Then came the tumbling passes---cartwheels and back handsprings---each one perfectly executed as though he’d trained for years.

The chant rose: “Go! Fight! Win! Let the spirit begin!”

The voices around him blended into one, bright and powerful. He could feel the thrum of energy, the camaraderie, the sheer joy of movement. For a few dizzying moments, Adam forgot who he was.

But beneath the surface---under the smile and rhythm---his thoughts swirled. What’s happening to me? I’m not Aimie. I’m Adam. I shouldn’t be here.

Yet the more he tried to focus on that truth, the more natural it all felt.

The hour passed in a blur of motion and shouts and laughter. When the coach called, “That’s it for today!” everyone clapped and cheered, collapsing into giggles and chatter as they headed toward the locker room.

Adam followed in a daze, caught between wanting to belong and knowing he didn’t. But just before he reached the doorway, something shimmered in his vision---like sunlight reflecting off glass.

He blinked.

And just like that, he was back outside. Standing on the sidewalk.