"Hey, Chuck?"

It was round five of the obligatory sleepover late night musings.

They had already covered what type of sandwich they would bring to a deserted island, and the current political state of America, and how weird it would be if there were two alien teenagers out there somewhere in the universe having the exact same conversation as they were and wondering if they existed.

"Yeah, buddy?"

He was glad Ellie had finally realized that he and his friend were not, in fact, dating. And it had taken her, what? Five years?

Still, it was nice.

"You ever feel like..."

Chelsea's voice trailed off.

"Never mind, it's stupid."

What? Blasphemy!

"Chel, this is sleepover talk. Nothing is stupid. What were you going to say?"

There was silence for a few moments.

"You...ever feel like you're in the wrong body?"

Chuck blinked. Confusion filled him.

"What do you mean?"

Silence again.

"Chel?"

"I-it's just..."

Chuck waited, his thoughts whirling.

"I don't like my body. It feels wrong. When I look in the mirror..."

His friend's voice trailed off again.

The next few words came as a whisper.

"I-I don't want to be a girl, Chuck."

Chuck didn't know what to say.

"Chuck? Say something? Please?"

The words were desperate. He could almost hear the tears fighting to escape.

"I don't care!"

The words burst out with more force than intended, and he rushed to explain.

"I-I mean, I do care. But I don't care if you want to be a boy or a girl. You're my friend, and I'll support you."

The words weren't strong enough for the conviction inside him.

"You're my friend."

He repeats the words firmly, hoping Chelsea would be able to hear what he wouldn't put into words.

There were a few more moments of silence, then-

"You don't...think I'm crazy, do you?"

The question was so absurd Chuck had to resist the urge to laugh.

"The only reason I could ever think you're crazy is your choice of sandwich on a deserted island with no hope of rescue."

"Woah, woah, hey, we never there was no hope of rescue!"

"Yes, we so did! The rules are that you find yourself on a deserted island with the contents of a shipping container as your only source of food. That kinda implies there's no hope of rescue."

"Yeah, but then you have to take into account the likelihood of your food going bad! That changes everything, dude!"

"Which is why I chose a beaut butter and jelly sandwich! Peanut butter doesn't expire for years, and it has protean!"

And so the conversation continued.

It was an hour or so later, when Chuck's eyelids were starting to get heavy, that his friend spoke again.

"Hey, Chuck?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you think of the name Morgan?"

"I think it's cool."

Silence again.

"Chuck?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Can you...call me Morgan from now on?"

"Sure thing."

"Thanks. Goodnight, Chuck."

"G'night, Morgan."

Chuck fell asleep not long after that, rehearsing in his mind his life's story, and replacing the name Chelsea with Morgan.