CHAPTER 2: To Be A Dog, Or Not To Be A Dog (That Is Literally Your Problem Now)

The first thing Hannah becomes aware of is that she has hands again.

The second thing is that having hands again feels like the most miraculous, impossible thing that has ever happened to her.

The third thing is that she's lying naked on her living room floor at 6:47 AM on a Sunday morning, and she has absolutely no idea how she got here.

She sits up slowly, her entire body aching in ways she didn't know were possible. Every muscle feels like it's been stretched and compressed and rearranged. Her head is pounding—not a hangover headache, but something deeper, more disorienting. Like her brain is trying to process information it doesn't have the capacity to understand.

She looks down at her hands—her human hands—and flexes her fingers experimentally. They work. They're hers. She's herself again.

Except she has no memory of not being herself.

Well, that's not entirely true. She has... impressions. Sensory fragments that don't quite make sense. The overwhelming smell of her own apartment—not just the general scent, but layers upon layers of information she couldn't possibly have noticed before. The sound of her neighbor's television three doors down, clear as if it were in her own living room. The texture of her carpet against paws that she definitely, absolutely does not have and has never had.

"What the hell," Hannah whispers to the empty room.

Her voice sounds strange. Too high-pitched. Or maybe it's normal and she's just forgotten what her own voice sounds like. She's not sure anymore.

She stands up on shaky legs and immediately wraps herself in the throw blanket from her couch. Her clothes from last night are scattered across the floor—her jeans, her blouse, her bra, everything in a pile near her bedroom door like she undressed in a hurry and then... what? Had some kind of psychotic break? A stress-induced hallucination?

She remembers the party. She remembers kissing someone. She remembers coming home and feeling strange, and then—

And then nothing. Just darkness and those weird sensory impressions and a bone-deep certainty that something impossible happened.

Hannah walks to her bathroom and stares at her reflection. She looks normal. Tired, yes. Her hair is a disaster. But normal. Human. Definitely human.

"You're losing it," she tells her reflection. "You had too much tequila and you're having some kind of delayed panic attack about kissing the wrong person and your brain is inventing elaborate scenarios to cope with the stress."

Her reflection doesn't look convinced.

Her phone buzzes from somewhere in the living room—multiple buzzes, actually, like she's getting a barrage of messages all at once. Hannah wraps the blanket tighter around herself and goes to find it.

Ellen: Hannah, answer your phone

Ellen: I'm serious, this isn't funny

Ellen: If you don't respond in the next ten minutes I'm coming over

Ellen: Okay I'm coming over

Ellen: I'm in the car

Ellen: I'm five minutes away

Ellen: I have my key, I'm letting myself in

The last message was sent three minutes ago.

"Oh no," Hannah says.

She's barely managed to pull on sweatpants and a t-shirt when she hears the key turning in her front door lock. Ellen bursts in like she's expecting to find a crime scene, her eyes wild, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She's wearing pajama pants and an oversized hoodie, which means she literally rolled out of bed and drove straight here.

"Hannah!" Ellen rushes forward and grabs Hannah's shoulders, looking her up and down like she's checking for injuries. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?"

"I'm fine," Hannah says, though she's not entirely sure that's true. "Why are you—"

"Did you kiss someone last night?"

The question hits Hannah like cold water. "How did you—"

"Hannah." Ellen's voice is sharp now, urgent. "Did you kiss someone? Yes or no?"

"I... yes? Maybe? I was drunk, and there was this guy on the balcony, and I thought—"

Ellen's face goes pale. "Oh no. Oh, Hannah, no."

"What? What's wrong?" Hannah tries to pull away, but Ellen's grip tightens. "Ellen, you're scaring me."

"Sit down."

"I don't want to sit down, I want you to tell me why you're acting like I just confessed to murder—"

"Hannah. Sit. Down."

There's something in Ellen's voice that makes Hannah obey. She sinks onto her couch, the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders like armor. Ellen sits beside her, takes both of Hannah's hands in hers, and takes a deep breath.

"I need you to listen to me very carefully," Ellen says. "And I need you to not interrupt until I'm finished, okay?"

"Ellen—"

"Promise me."

Hannah nods, her throat suddenly tight.

Ellen squeezes her hands. "Do you remember anything strange happening last night? After you got home from the party?"

The sensory impressions flash through Hannah's mind. The smells. The sounds. The feeling of her body being wrong. "I... I don't know. Maybe? I felt weird. Disoriented. But I thought it was just the alcohol—"

"It wasn't the alcohol." Ellen's voice is gentle but firm. "Hannah, there's something I need to tell you about our family. Something Mom should have told you years ago, but she was too scared, and then she died before she could, and I thought—I hoped—that maybe you'd be the one who got lucky. That maybe it would skip you."

"Ellen, what are you talking about?"

"We're cursed."

Hannah blinks. "We're... what?"

"Cursed. Our family. The women in our family, specifically. It's been going on for four generations, ever since our great-great-grandmother did something to piss off someone she really shouldn't have pissed off." Ellen's laugh is bitter. "I don't know all the details. Mom didn't either. But the curse is real, and it's very specific."

Hannah pulls her hands away. "Ellen, this isn't funny—"

"I'm not joking." Ellen's eyes are deadly serious. "Hannah, when a woman in our family kisses someone for the first time—really kisses them, not just a peck on the cheek—the curse activates. From that moment on, she transforms into a dog every night at sunset. She stays a dog until sunrise. Every single night, for the rest of her life."

The room tilts. Hannah grips the edge of the couch. "That's insane."

"I know."

"That's actually insane. Ellen, you need to—"

"I lived as a dog for three years, Hannah."

The words hang in the air between them.

Hannah stares at her sister. Ellen's face is calm now, resigned. Like she's been carrying this weight for so long that it's just part of her.

"What?" Hannah whispers.

"Three years. Every night, sunset to sunrise. I kissed a guy at a college party when I was nineteen—his name was Tyler, he was pre-med, I thought he was the one—and the curse activated that same night. I woke up the next morning human, but I had no idea what had happened. Just like you." Ellen's voice cracks slightly. "Mom tried to explain it to me, but I didn't believe her. Not until it happened again the next night. And the night after that. And the night after that."

Hannah's mind is racing, trying to process this, trying to find the logical explanation. "But you're not—you don't transform anymore. I've seen you at night. You're human."

"Because Braden broke the curse."

"Braden? Your boyfriend Braden?"

Ellen nods. "The curse can only be broken one way. The person you kissed—the person who activated the curse—has to kiss you again while you're in dog form. And they have to mean it. They have to genuinely love you, not just feel sorry for you or be trying to help. Real love. True love. Whatever you want to call it."

"That's..." Hannah's voice fails her. "That's impossible."

"It's not. Braden did it. It took three years, but he did it." Ellen's smile is soft now, full of a tenderness that makes Hannah's chest ache. "He stuck with me through all of it. He learned my schedule, figured out where I'd be when I transformed. He'd find me every night, take care of me, make sure I was safe. And eventually, he fell in love with me. Really, truly in love. Not with the idea of me, but with me. All of me. Even the dog parts."

Hannah stands up abruptly, pacing across the room. "This is insane. This is actually insane. Ellen, I think you need to see someone—"

"You transformed last night, didn't you?"

The question stops Hannah mid-pace.

"You don't remember it clearly," Ellen continues, "but you felt it. The pain. The disorientation. The way your body changed into something it shouldn't be able to change into. And then this morning, you woke up human again, naked on your floor, with no memory of how you got there."

Hannah's hands are shaking. "I had a panic attack. Or a hallucination. Or—"

"Hannah." Ellen stands and walks over to her, placing both hands on Hannah's shoulders. "Look at me. I know this sounds impossible. I know you don't want to believe it. But it's real. The curse is real. And if you kissed someone last night, it's already started."

The apartment door opens again, and Braden walks in carrying a tray of coffee cups and a paper bag that smells like bagels. He's wearing basketball shorts and a faded college t-shirt, his hair sticking up in about seven different directions.

"Okay, I got the emergency breakfast supplies," he announces, then stops when he sees Hannah's face. "Oh. You told her."

"I told her."

"And she's taking it well, I see." Braden sets the coffee and bagels on the kitchen counter and walks over, giving Hannah a sympathetic look. "For what it's worth, I didn't believe it either at first. I thought Ellen was pranking me. Or having a mental breakdown. Or both."

"This is insane," Hannah says again, because apparently that's the only phrase her brain can produce right now.

"Yeah, it really is." Braden opens the paper bag and pulls out a bagel. "But it's also true. I've seen Ellen transform probably a thousand times. It never gets less weird, but it's definitely real."

Hannah sinks back onto the couch. Her mind is spinning, trying to find purchase on something logical, something that makes sense. But the sensory memories keep flooding back—the overwhelming smells, the sounds, the feeling of her body being wrong and then being right again.

"Let's say," Hannah says slowly, "hypothetically, that I believe you. Which I don't. But let's say I did. What happens now?"

Ellen sits beside her again. "Now we figure out who you kissed. Because that person is the only one who can break the curse."

"And if they don't? If they can't?"

"Then you transform every night for the rest of your life." Ellen's voice is gentle but honest. "Unless you can get them to fall in love with you and kiss you while you're a dog. Which is... challenging."

"Challenging," Hannah repeats flatly. "That's one word for it."

Braden hands her a coffee cup. "Drink this. You're going to need the caffeine."

Hannah takes the cup automatically, her hands still shaking. The coffee is hot and sweet and normal, which somehow makes everything else feel even more surreal.

"Okay," she says finally. "Okay. Let's say—hypothetically—that this is all real. The curse, the transformation, all of it. I need to know who I kissed."

"Do you remember anything about him?" Ellen asks.

Hannah closes her eyes, trying to pull the memory into focus. "I was on the balcony. I was talking to Lee—you know, the history teacher I've been interested in for months. We were having this great conversation, and I thought... I thought maybe this was finally my chance. But then I got dizzy, and I turned around, and I kissed someone, but it wasn't Lee."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know. It was dark, and I was drunk, and everything happened so fast. I ran away before I could really see his face."

Braden sits on the coffee table across from them, eating his bagel. "Okay, so we need to do some detective work. Who else was at the party?"

"Everyone from school. It was Marcus's birthday party—he invited the whole staff."

"Great. So we're working with a suspect pool of, what, thirty people?"

"More like fifty," Hannah says miserably.

Ellen pulls out her phone. "Okay, let's start with what you do remember. You said you were on the balcony with Lee. Where was the balcony in relation to the rest of the party?"

"Off the living room. There were a lot of people inside, but the balcony was quieter."

"And when you turned around, where did the person you kissed come from?"

Hannah tries to visualize it. "From inside. He was coming out onto the balcony, and I turned right into him."

"So he was probably coming outside to get some air, or to find someone, or—"

"Or to escape the crowd," Braden suggests. "I do that at parties all the time."

Ellen shoots him a look. "Not helpful."

"I'm just saying, it narrows down the personality type."

Hannah sets down her coffee cup and reaches for her laptop, which is still sitting on the couch from last night. "Maybe I can figure it out from social media. Marcus probably posted photos from the party."

She opens her laptop and navigates to Marcus's Instagram. Sure enough, there are about thirty photos from last night, all tagged with #MarcusTurns35 and #BestTeacherCrew. Hannah scrolls through them, her stomach churning.

There she is in the background of one photo, talking to Lee on the balcony. She looks happy. Hopeful. Completely unaware that her entire life is about to implode.

"There," Ellen says, pointing at the screen. "That's you and Lee. What time was that posted?"

"10:47 PM."

"And what time did you leave the party?"

"Around 11:15, I think?"

Ellen nods. "So the kiss happened sometime in that half-hour window. Keep scrolling."

Hannah clicks through more photos. There's one of the living room, crowded with people. Another of Marcus blowing out candles on a cake. Another of—

Hannah's breath catches.

"What?" Ellen leans closer. "Did you find something?"

"That's him." Hannah points at a figure in the background of a photo, partially obscured by other people but clearly heading toward the balcony door. "That's the guy I kissed."

Ellen squints at the screen. "I can't really see his face. Can you zoom in?"

Hannah zooms in, and the image pixelates slightly, but the face becomes clearer. Dark hair. Glasses. A slight frown, like he's uncomfortable in the crowd.

"Oh no," Hannah whispers.

"What? Who is it?"

"That's Sean." Hannah's voice is hollow. "Sean from the math department."

Braden perks up. "Sean? The guy who's terrified of dogs?"

Hannah's head snaps toward him. "What?"

"Yeah, Sean. He's got this whole phobia thing. I heard him talking about it at the staff volleyball game last month. Apparently he got attacked by a dog when he was a kid and now he can't even be in the same room with them."

The coffee cup slips from Hannah's hand, spilling across the carpet. No one moves to clean it up.

"No," Hannah says. "No, that can't be right."

But even as she says it, she's pulling up Sean's Instagram on her laptop. His profile is mostly private, but there are a few public photos. One from last summer shows him at a park with his younger brother, and in the caption he's written: Great day with Adam. Stayed far away from the dog park section lol.

Another photo from two years ago: Finally conquered my fear enough to walk past the pet store without having a panic attack. Small victories.

Another: Why do people bring dogs to outdoor restaurants? Asking for a friend who would like to eat in peace.

"Oh my god," Hannah breathes. "Oh my god, he's actually terrified of dogs."

Ellen and Braden exchange a look.

"Okay," Ellen says carefully. "Okay, this is... this is not ideal."

"Not ideal?" Hannah's voice is rising. "Ellen, I kissed the one person at school who is most afraid of dogs! The one person who will never, ever voluntarily kiss a dog! I'm cursed to transform into the thing he's most terrified of, and the only way to break the curse is to get him to kiss me while I'm that thing!"

"Maybe his phobia isn't that bad—"

"He wrote a blog post about it!" Hannah is scrolling frantically now, clicking through to a linked blog from Sean's profile. "Look! 'Living with Cynophobia: My Journey with Dog Phobia.' He has an entire blog dedicated to his fear of dogs!"

She clicks on the most recent post, dated three months ago:

"People often ask me if I've considered exposure therapy. The answer is yes, I've considered it. I've also considered jumping out of an airplane without a parachute, and that seems about equally appealing. My therapist says I'm making progress, but 'progress' in this case means I can now watch dog videos online without having a panic attack. Actual dogs? Still a hard no."

Hannah closes the laptop and drops her head into her hands. "I'm going to be a dog forever."

"You're not going to be a dog forever," Ellen says, but she doesn't sound entirely convinced.

"Ellen, he has a therapist specifically for his dog phobia. He can't even watch dog videos without panicking. How am I supposed to get him to kiss me?"

Braden clears his throat. "Okay, I know this looks bad—"

"Looks bad? Braden, this is a disaster. This is a catastrophe. This is—"

"But," Braden continues firmly, "it's not impossible. I was terrified of commitment when I met Ellen. Like, genuinely terrified. I'd never had a relationship last longer than three months. And then I found out my girlfriend turned into a dog every night, and I had to decide if I was going to run away or stick around. And I stuck around."

"That's different," Hannah says. "You weren't afraid of dogs. You were just emotionally unavailable."

"Thanks for that."

"You know what I mean."

Ellen takes Hannah's hand again. "Hannah, listen to me. I know this seems impossible right now. But Braden's right—it's not about the phobia. It's about the person. If Sean is a good person, if he's capable of love and growth and facing his fears, then there's a chance."

"A chance," Hannah repeats. "You're telling me I have a chance."

"A chance is better than nothing."

Hannah looks at her sister, at Braden, at the spilled coffee on her carpet and her laptop full of evidence of Sean's deep-seated terror of the exact thing she's cursed to become. She thinks about last night—the pain, the disorientation, the feeling of her body betraying her in the most fundamental way possible.

And then she thinks about tonight. About sunset. About transforming again.

"What do I do?" she whispers.

Ellen squeezes her hand. "First, we clean up this coffee. Then we make a plan. And then we figure out how to make Sean fall in love with you before you lose your mind."

"That's your plan? That's the whole plan?"

"It's a work in progress."

Braden stands up and grabs paper towels from the kitchen. "For what it's worth, I think you can do this. Sean seems like a decent guy. A little awkward, maybe, but decent. And you're smart and funny and—"

"A dog," Hannah finishes. "I'm a dog, Braden."

"Only at night."

"That's not as comforting as you think it is."

Ellen pulls Hannah into a hug, and Hannah lets herself collapse into her sister's arms. For a moment, she just breathes, trying to process everything, trying to find some way to make this make sense.

"I kissed the wrong person," she says into Ellen's shoulder. "I kissed the wrong person, and now I'm cursed, and the only person who can save me is terrified of dogs."

"I know," Ellen says softly.

"This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

"I know."

"I'm going to be a dog forever."

"You're not going to be a dog forever." Ellen pulls back and looks Hannah in the eye. "We're going to figure this out. Together. I promise."

Braden finishes cleaning up the coffee and sits back down on the coffee table. "So," he says, "what do we know about Sean? Besides the dog phobia thing."

Hannah wipes her eyes. "He's a math teacher. He's quiet. He has a younger brother named Adam who he's really close to. He's been at the school for two years. He's... nice. I think. We don't really talk much."

"Why not?"

"Because he's in the math department and I'm in English, and our paths don't really cross except at staff meetings."

"Okay, so step one is to start talking to him more. Get to know him. Build a connection."

"While also being a dog every night."

"While also being a dog every night," Braden agrees. "It's not ideal, but it's doable."

Ellen nods. "And we need to figure out his schedule. Where he goes, what he does, who he spends time with. If we can figure out where he'll be when you transform, we can make sure you're nearby. As a dog."

"This is insane," Hannah says for what feels like the hundredth time.

"Yeah," Ellen agrees. "But it's your life now. Our life. The cursed life."

The three of them sit in silence for a moment, the weight of the situation settling over them like a heavy blanket. Outside, the sun is fully up now, bright and cheerful and completely oblivious to the fact that Hannah's entire world has just been turned upside down.

"I have one question," Hannah says finally.

"What?"

"When I'm a dog... what kind of dog am I?"

Ellen and Braden exchange another look.

"What?" Hannah demands. "What kind of look was that?"

"You're, um..." Ellen clears her throat. "You're a golden retriever."

"A golden retriever."

"A very cute golden retriever."

"Ellen."

"What? You are! You're adorable! If it helps, Braden says you have very expressive eyes."

Hannah drops her head back against the couch and stares at the ceiling. "I'm cursed to turn into a golden retriever every night, and the only person who can break the curse is a man who is terrified of dogs and has a therapist specifically to deal with that terror."

"When you put it that way, it does sound pretty bad," Braden admits.

"Braden!" Ellen smacks his arm.

"What? I'm just being honest!"

Hannah closes her eyes. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she can still feel the echo of last night's transformation—the pain, the disorientation, the wrongness of it all. And she knows, with absolute certainty, that it's going to happen again tonight. And tomorrow night. And every night after that until she either breaks the curse or loses her mind.

"Okay," she says, opening her eyes. "Okay. If this is real—and I'm still not entirely convinced it is, but if it is—then I need to know everything. How does the transformation work? What triggers it? Can I control it? What happens if someone sees me? What—"

"Hannah." Ellen's voice is gentle but firm. "One thing at a time. Right now, you need to eat something, drink some water, and try to process what's happening. We have all day to figure out the details. But tonight, at sunset, you're going to transform again. And we need to make sure you're somewhere safe when it happens."

"Somewhere safe," Hannah repeats. "Like where?"

"Like here. In your apartment. With me and Braden watching over you."

"You're going to watch me turn into a dog."

"Yes."

"That's humiliating."

"It's necessary." Ellen stands up and pulls Hannah to her feet. "Come on. Eat a bagel. Take a shower. Put on real clothes. And then we'll make a plan."

Hannah lets herself be led to the kitchen, where Braden hands her a bagel with cream cheese and another cup of coffee. She eats mechanically, her mind still spinning, trying to find some way to make this make sense.

But the truth is, it doesn't make sense. None of it makes sense. She's cursed. She's going to turn into a dog tonight. And the only person who can save her is the one person who will never, ever want to be near her when she's in that form.

"Hey," Ellen says softly, sitting beside her at the kitchen counter. "We're going to figure this out. I promise."

Hannah looks at her sister—at the determination in her eyes, the love, the understanding that comes from having lived through this exact nightmare herself. And for the first time since waking up on her living room floor, Hannah feels something other than panic.

She feels hope.

It's a small hope, fragile and uncertain. But it's there.

"Okay," Hannah says. "Okay. Tell me everything I need to know."

Ellen smiles. "First rule of being cursed: always keep spare clothes near the places you might transform. You're going to wake up naked a lot."

"Great. That's just great."

"Second rule: avoid mirrors when you're a dog. It's really disorienting to see yourself with four legs and a tail."

"This just keeps getting better."

"Third rule: don't try to talk when you're a dog. You can't. You'll just bark, and it's really frustrating."

Braden raises his hand. "Fourth rule: don't eat dog food, even if it smells good. You'll regret it in the morning."

Ellen and Hannah both stare at him.

"What? Ellen tried it once. It was not pretty."

"I was curious!" Ellen protests.

"You threw up for an hour."

"We're not talking about this."

Despite everything—the curse, the transformation, the impossible situation with Sean—Hannah feels a laugh bubble up in her chest. It's slightly hysterical, but it's real.

"This is my life now," she says. "This is actually my life."

"Welcome to the family curse," Ellen says, raising her coffee cup in a mock toast. "It's terrible, but at least you're not alone."

Braden raises his cup too. "To Hannah. May she break her curse faster than Ellen did."

"That's a low bar," Ellen mutters.

"To breaking curses," Hannah says, clinking her cup against theirs. "And to not being a dog forever."

"To not being a dog forever," they echo.

And as the three of them sit in Hannah's kitchen, drinking coffee and eating bagels and planning for the impossible, Hannah realizes that Ellen is right. She's not alone. She has her sister, who understands. She has Braden, who stuck around when most people would have run. And she has herself—smart, stubborn, determined Hannah, who has never backed down from a challenge in her life.

Even if that challenge is making a dog-phobic math teacher fall in love with her while she's cursed to become the thing he fears most.

"So," Hannah says, setting down her coffee cup with newfound determination. "Let's talk strategy. How do I make Sean fall in love with me?"

Ellen grins. "Now you're talking."

"I mean, it's impossible, but we might as well try."

"That's the spirit."

"I'm going to die alone as a dog."

"Probably not."

"Definitely."

"Hannah."

"Fine. Fine! Let's make a plan." Hannah pulls her laptop back over and opens a new document. "Operation: Make Sean Love Me Despite Being His Worst Nightmare. Step one..."

She pauses, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

"Step one?" Braden prompts.

Hannah takes a deep breath. "Step one: Don't panic."

"Too late for that," Ellen says.

"Step two: Figure out how to talk to Sean without seeming like a crazy person."

"Also challenging."

"Step three: Somehow, miraculously, make him fall in love with me before I lose my mind."

"Now you're getting it."

Hannah looks at her sister, at Braden, at the document on her screen with its impossible steps and its even more impossible goal. And then she looks out the window at the bright Sunday morning, at the world that has no idea that curses are real and that she's living one.

"I can do this," she says, trying to convince herself as much as them.

"You can do this," Ellen agrees.

"I'm going to do this."

"That's the spirit."

"I'm going to make Sean fall in love with me, break this curse, and never drink tequila again."

"Two out of three isn't bad," Braden says.

Hannah throws a bagel at him.

And despite everything—despite the curse and the transformation and the impossible task ahead of her—she feels something shift inside her chest. Not quite hope, not yet. But something close to it.

Determination.

She's going to break this curse. She's going to make Sean fall in love with her. And she's going to do it before she completely loses her mind.

How hard could it be?