Unequal gifts
by Jennifer Brock

Sibling rivalry is a powerful thing. Sixteen years of his twin sister receiving obviously superior presents sends a boy into an unusual battle of wills with his father. How far is he willing to go to prove a point? (This one runs a little longer than the challenge guidelines wanted.)

Reagan had been living all his life knowing that his sister was their father’s favorite, but the car was the last straw. The day after he threw her a massive Sweet Sixteen party, (technically it was Reagan’s birthday party too, but none of the guests seemed to notice) their father called Cordelia outside to show her a brand new powder blue BMW convertible with a big red bow on the front and a license plate that said “DADYSGRL.” Reagan scanned the rest of the driveway, from the circle in front of the house to the tree-lined avenue down to the front gate. It was completely empty. There was no second car. He wasn’t getting a present like hers.

That evening he marched into his father’s study. “I demand fairness.”

Lawrence Edward Powell looked up at his son, irritated about being interrupted while reviewing his company’s quarterly numbers. “Life is unfair, Boy. Is there a particular unfairness you’re against?”

Reagan pounded his fist on his father’s desk. “You got Cordelia a car for our sixteenth birthday, but you got me nothing. I insist on being given a comparable gift!”

His father snorted derisively. “I gave your sister that car to encourage her to behave. I don’t want her riding around with older men all the time. I made it clear to her that if she screws up and gets any kind of traffic violation or even the hint of a DUI, the car gets taken away. You’re more responsible, so you don’t need that kind of arrangement. You can take any of the cars in the garage out when you need to go somewhere.”

“But those are your cars!” Reagan whined, “I want one of my own, like Cordy got. You’re always giving her better gifts than you get me; it’s just not fair. I know she’s your favorite and all, but couldn’t you try to see how it looks from my point of view?”

His father shook his head. “I may buy her more material things, but that’s because the two of you are different. She’s a girl, so when I spoil her a little by showing her what material wealth can buy, I’m helping her become accustomed to a lifestyle that only a hard worker and serious breadwinner can keep her in. I want her to be very particular in choosing a husband, instead of settling for just some loser bum like that last boyfriend of hers. But you, on the other hand, need to learn that if you want material things you have to work to earn them. Some day you’ll inherit the company and it wouldn’t last with some layabout in charge.” He pointed an accusatory finger at his son, before adding, “Besides, even if she is my favorite, perhaps it’s because she does what I expect of her.”

Reagan was getting furious. “That’s just sexist and old-fashioned, and horribly unfair. She gets stuff now, but I have to wait until some vague day when I get the company? Why do I get the responsibilities but she gets the reward?”

His father sighed. “She has her responsibilities, too. Since your mother died, Cordelia has had to fill in as hostess in all my social obligations. That’s no small task. Plus, she has to live a life in the public eye and keep the family name on the society pages.”

The boy’s face was starting to turn red. “So you’re really rewarding all her public scandals and paparazzi photo ops? That’s even worse!”

Lawrence rolled his eyes. “There’s no such thing as bad publicity, Boy. She’s doing what’s expected of an heiress. Granted it’s occasionally a little embarrassing, but she’s keeping the press talking about us, and her little incidents are nothing compared to what some of those other girls are doing. You, on the other hand need to be doing what’s expected of an heir apparent. You should be getting out there showing interest in what the company is doing, even if it’s something minimal like volunteering for some of our charity projects. Hell, you’re set to inherit controlling interest in an aircraft company, and you’ve never asked about learning to fly.”

Reagan paled at the idea. “I can’t stand flying as a passenger; I don’t see why I’d want to be a pilot. I’d rather have a car than a plane, like Cordy’s.” He laughed. “That was a nice trick there, Dad, trying to change the subject. But I’m not going to be satisfied until you agree to complete present parity.”

As a plan was starting to form in his mind, the elder Mr. Powell kept his face from showing it, a skill he’d perfected after decades spent in board rooms and at poker tables. “What exactly do you mean by that? Every time I get your sister a present, you want me to get you one, too.”

Reagan thought he could see through his father’s trap. “No, no. You’re not going to be able to get square with me by getting me some piece of cheap junk every time you get her something expensive. I want you to agree to spend the same amount on me that you spend on her, dollar for dollar.” He crossed his arms, confident that he’d effectively countered the old man’s ploy.

Lawrence threw his arms up in the air. “Well, it looks like you’re going to be immobile on this. I like your tenacity, Son. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. Let’s have a gentlemen’s agreement: I’ll promise to spend exactly what I spend on gifts for your sister on gifts for you, for the next year. In exchange, I want you to promise to read all the biweekly financial reports about the company that are sent to the board. I’ll have your email address added to the routing list. Does that seem reasonable?” He stuck his hand out for a handshake.

Reagan smiled. “That’s the kind of fairness I was looking for. Thanks, Dad.” He took his hand and shook it.

But his father wasn’t quite done. He held onto his son’s hand and didn’t release it right away. “Hey, just to make this interesting, why don’t we throw in a little wager?” He looked up at the ceiling and took a moment to think. “How about this: if at any point I get your sister a present without getting you one, you can stop reading the reports, but if you don’t read them while you’re still experiencing present parity, I get to sign you up for flight school.”

Reagan swallowed hard. “I’ve had to read a lot of boring stuff for school; those reports can’t be any worse. Sounds like a deal I can accept.”

Still clenching his hand, his father added, “and of course for the sake of completeness, if for some weird reason you refuse or return one of my gifts, that also breaks the agreement and you go to flight school.”

The boy’s smile widened. “Sure, Dad, but on one condition: the gifts start with getting me a car of equal value to Cordy’s. You’ve got great taste, so I can’t imagine I’ll be refusing anything.”

Lawrence shook his son’s hand again before letting go of it. He stoically concealed his glee at the thought of a well-baited trap. “So it’s agreed. I hope you’ll prove to be a man of your word. I know I am.”

Two days later, Reagan learned the hard way the kind of game his father was playing. He was called outside after supper to see his birthday present had finally arrived. It was a car of his own, and it was definitely equal in value to his sister’s. It was a powder blue BMW convertible, virtually identical to hers, down to the “DDYSGRL2” license plate. It was a comfortable car, and a great ride. He was sure that he’d be comfortable with it after only a few tweaks, but then his father pointed out that it was leased, and he couldn’t make any modifications to it. His father asked if that meant he was going to refuse it and back out of their deal, but Reagan was not going to let him down that easily. He put on a cheerful face and thanked him for the gift.

He tried just leaving his “chick car” in the garage and catching a ride with his sister to school, but after two weeks his father said that refusing to use a gift is effectively the same thing as refusing a gift. So Reagan had to start being seen in public driving his vaginamobile, and it didn’t take long before he was the biggest joke in all of Stonewater Prep. But he couldn’t let his father win.

The next trick his father tried was getting Cordelia a pair of cross-shaped diamond earrings for Easter, and of course an identical pair for Reagan. In order for him to accept the present, he had to be able to wear them. So that meant he had to go get his ears pierced. He tried to get out of it by pointing out that it was a violation of the school dress code, but a phone call from his father to the headmaster earned him permission to break that rule.

Lawrence got encouraged by that and pushed even further. He went to an upscale boutique and bought two bottles of elegant perfume, giving one to each of his children. He let Reagan know that unless he started regularly smelling like Chanel Coco Mademoiselle, his father would know the gift had been refused. It wasn’t a bad scent, but it just added more fuel to the rumors that were starting to spread around school about Reagan. He wasn’t going to let his father win, though. He just had to develop a thicker skin.

The three of them were going to Bermuda for Spring Break, so Cordelia asked if she could have a spa day a week in advance to prepare. Their father said she could, and told her to make an appointment for her brother too, and to make sure that he’d get exactly the same treatments. The massage was nice, and the facial wasn’t too bad. His feet probably appreciated the pedicure, although he wasn’t that keen about having them painted fuchsia and there was no way he’d be able to hide the matching shade on his newly elongated acrylic fingernails. But the worst part of the day was by far the bikini wax. Reagan was walking funny for days, and it was definitely a strange feeling to lie in a tanning booth and have his absolutely bare skin irradiated. Cordy tried to apologize that she wasn’t thinking about Reagan’s gift situation when she’d asked for her usual treatment, but she couldn’t help laughing at his predicament. She did point out that at least she’d only asked for a bikini wax and not a new bikini; that would have been sure to make him popular at the resort.

While they were vacationing, Reagan realized another side effect of present parity. Since their father was paying for it all, any time they went to a restaurant it was technically a gift. He’d let Cordelia place her order, and then tell the waiter to give Reagan the same. It was very annoying, because she liked very spicy dishes that he couldn’t stand, but he had to eat the whole portion and keep it down since he wasn’t allowed to refuse or return a gift. It especially wasn’t fair since she’d often leave part of her meal uneaten and then get a rich dessert that she only wanted two bites of, but he’d have to finish a whole one.

On their last day, he begged her to let him choose what they’d eat, but she refused. It wasn’t her fault that he’d made a stupid deal with their father; he should just give in and it would all stop. In a moment of anger, Reagan said that it was actually her fault for never noticing that he was being slighted all those years while she was being given everything under the sun. Cordelia had the last laugh as she told her father that when they got back home she’d like to make that spa day a recurring appointment, going back every three weeks for a full treatment. Reagan winced at the prospect, and could feel certain parts of his body retreating in anticipation.

Reagan spent the rest of the spring term being laughed at by his schoolmates, as each weekend seemed to bring a new beauty treatment. First their was the eyebrow threading, then the salon appointment where his hair was colored, permed, cut and restyled into the cute pixie shag Cordelia wanted. But then her archnemesis on campus, Madison Lancaster showed up at school with the same hairstyle, so it was back to the salon the following week for a full set of extensions and a restyle. With longer hair Reagan was once again he was in violation of school rules, so once again his father had to call the Headmaster to get him permission.

Right before the last week of school, Lawrence sent Cordelia and Reagan to the beautician for a complete makeover. They each came home with a caseful of new cosmetics, and of course Reagan had to use them or that would mean he was rejecting his gift. And he couldn’t fake it by just dabbing a little powder on his face or doing a light coat of gloss with no lipstick underneath. He had to apply his makeup as the professional had done it, or else he’d be rejecting the gift of her advice. At least she’d shown the twins a daytime look as well as a sexy nighttime one, so he wouldn’t be wearing more makeup than the other girls at school. On a girl it would have been a subtle look, but on a boy it shouted out that he was wearing makeup.

Reagan was overjoyed when school was out for the summer. The game he’d been playing with his father had essentially cut him off from all his friends; no one wanted to be seen with the girlie boy. It would be nice to get away from them for a while. He hoped that his father would run out of ideas before school started up again.

Contrary to Reagan’s wishes, Lawrence raised the stakes even further as the summer months passed. He started by bringing in a decorator to redo Cordelia’s bedroom, and then make a duplicate of it in Reagan’s. He ended up with a room painted in lavender and plum, with an antique bed with a chiffon canopy that any little girl would be envious of. At least he now had a full vanity table where he could put on his makeup.

Most of his favorite things got taken out of his room, since Cordelia didn’t have them so there was no space for them in the room layout. He now had a thousand pillows on his bed, but no X-box. And his antique Wurlitzer jukebox and kick-ass set of speakers were gone, replaced by a wall-mounted flat stereo that he could plug his little pink iPod into.

The only thing in the new room that he actually appreciated was this old photograph the decorator had found and had it blown up and framed and hung on the wall next to his bed. It was a picture of his mother lying in her hospital bed holding her newborn twins and smiling contently. It was an image of perfect love that was the best thing to wake up to every morning. He wondered what she would have thought about the silly deal he’d made.

For her part, Cordelia was taking advantage of the opportunity to get her father to say yes to things he would have been against if he hadn’t been able to use them as ammunition in his war with her brother. Thus he ended up allowing her (and by extension her brother as well) to get a piercing in her navel, a cute little tattoo of a snowflake on the small of her back, collagen-enhanced lips, and permanent eyeliner. She wasn’t mad at Reagan or anything, but these were things she’d wanted to do for a while and took advantage of the opportunity. But he accepted each one of the changes to his body, even though they wouldn’t be easy to undo.

Reagan still hadn’t given up, so in the second week of August his father declared that for the new fall season, Cordelia would be getting an all-new wardrobe. He called in a fashion consultant who came and took both twins’ measurements, and then took them shopping for two of everything that a girl who wanted to be in style would need, and if Reagan didn’t want to be interpreted as rejecting this gift he had to wear only these new things. He voluntarily got rid of all his old clothes, so that he wouldn’t slip up. The wardrobe was so complete that it included underwear, so he had to be in a bra and panties every day. And everything was perfectly tailored to fit, which in the case of the bras meant his all had a little more padding in the cups than Cordy’s.

Reagan’s new look debuted at a charity Labor Day ball in Southampton, where he and his sister wore identical emerald green satin evening gowns, and entered the room on each arm of their father. Lawrence took each of his lovely children out for a spin on the dance floor, (ballroom lessons had been yet another gift) and quite a few murmurs circulated through the crowd, wondering who the girl was who looked so much like his daughter.

By far, Reagan’s most embarrassing moment that evening had been when Cordelia’s ex-boyfriend Langston Pierce came over to them and brought his friend James Conover, a boy who’d sat behind Reagan in freshman English. Langston asked Cordelia to dance, and they got up and left Reagan alone with James. He hoped he hadn’t been recognized, and tried to make small talk, pretending to be a relative of Cordy’s new to town.

Reagan accepted James offer of a dance, if only so he’d be able to stop talking. (He also wasn’t sure whether turning him down would have counted as rejecting his gift of dance lessons.) James actually turned out to be a very good dancer, holding Reagan firmly enough to lead but not uncomfortably tight. At the end of the song, he escorted Reagan back to where he’d been sitting and pulled out his chair for him.

James pressed Reagan’s hand to his lips and said, “Thank you for the dance, Miss.” Reagan smiled politely, but then James leaned in and whispered in his ear, “You look amazing, Ray. See you in school.”

Reagan wanted to crawl under a rock and hide, but unfortunately his sister had just returned from her dance and had seen everything. She dragged him off to the ladies’ room to spill everything about how it had felt to dance with a guy, did he regret that the only kiss he’d gotten was on the hand, and whether he’d want to double if she were to start dating Langston again. Reagan was embarrassed and confused and couldn’t tell if she was being serious or teasing. He spent the rest of the evening mingling more with his father’s people than with his sister’s.

The curious gossipers who couldn’t figure out who the other young lady with Lawrence was only had themselves to blame for not knowing. He told anyone who simply dared to ask him truthfully. The quote which ran in the paper the next day under a photo of the Powell twins was “Cordelia and I fully support the experimenting Reagan’s been doing lately, and I think he looks quite beautiful. He has his mother’s eyes.”

Reagan was further shocked when two sets of new school uniforms were delivered, both sets girls’ uniforms. Lawrence explained that he’d spoken at length again to the Stonewater Prep Headmaster, and they concluded that instead of having numerous violations of the dress code for boys, it was better for Reagan to fully comply with the dress code for girls. That way, he wouldn’t have to make any exceptions to the rules.

So Reagan started the new fall term looking and dressing like a girl, but everyone knew he wasn’t one. He still had to use the boys’ restrooms and take phys. Ed. in the boys’ gym. He wasn’t sure which was worse: the guys who insulted him, or the ones who made passes. He joined the school’s Gay-Straight Alliance club just to have somewhere to be with kids who might be going through vaguely similar experiences.

James started coming to the meetings, and slipped Reagan a note. It said “I’m not just here being supportive. I’ve been there. Call me if you want to talk.” His phone number was at the bottom. Reagan folded the note and put it in his purse, just to hold it until he got to a wastebasket. He didn’t want to litter.

Cordelia decided that Reagan should go with her when she slipped out at night to go clubbing. He at first tried to decline, but she pointed out that some of the dresses in his closet were clubwear, so where else was he going to wear them? She had a point. He just wanted to make sure she wasn’t taking him to a club they were too young to get into. She winked and promised that they weren’t going anywhere that needed to see ID, which was a trick since every bouncer in town recognized Cordy on sight and never asked her. Club owners loved to see her in their places, as she always brought free publicity.

When the bouncer asked who was with her, Cordelia just said “my decoy,” which actually made some sense since they were dressed in identical black cocktail dresses. The only difference was that underneath Reagan wore a painfully tight thong to keep things tucked in place and a padded strapless bra to give his dress some curves to cling to, while Cordelia’s dress was tight enough that you could tell she was braless. They had matching sandals with five-inch heels strapped to their feet, which Reagan had needed to practice walking in before they could leave the house, and they’d both done the same sultry evening look with their makeup.

Cordelia led Reagan to the bar and picked a hot guy out of the crowd and told him to buy them drinks. The bartender knew her, so she didn’t even have to tell him what kind of drink to get. He returned with a couple of glasses of red stuff, and Cordy rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek. It tasted sweet and fruity and not strong at all. Reagan was relieved that it didn’t seem to have any alcohol in it.

They sipped for a while, and then Cordy grabbed a couple of guys and pulled Reagan out onto the dance floor, telling him to copy her moves. He didn’t feel like he had any other option so he did, feeling extremely self-conscious and particularly uncomfortable when his dance partner grabbed his hips and he had to grind his behind into the other guy’s crotch. It seemed to be the longest song in the universe, and he was elated when it was over and he could go finish his drink.

He was still thirsty from all that dancing. Fortunately his dance partner had followed him back and was more than happy to go to the bar to fetch him another. Reagan couldn’t see where Cordy and her partner had disappeared to. When his drink arrived, he thanked the guy with a kiss on the cheek like his sister had done; only this guy quickly turned his head to catch the kiss on his lips. Reagan was shocked, and took his drink and walked away from him.

This other really nice guy had seen the whole thing, and stepped in to keep the jerk guy from following. Reagan talked with him for a while, and then accepted his offer of a dance, since he’d been so sweet, and it wasn’t nearly as scary as trying to keep up with Cordelia’s dance moves. After their dance he went and got them drinks and they talked some more, and then they went back out on the floor for a couple slower songs.

Some time later, Reagan found himself in the ladies’ room where Cordelia was splashing water on his face. Apparently, when she went to check up on how he was doing she’d found him sitting across some guy’s lap, and he had one hand up the back of Reagan’s dress squeezing his butt, and the guy was kissing the back of Reagan’s neck. Cordelia was surprised that her brother was letting some dude he’d just met do that, but then she noticed that his eyes had a glazed-over look to them. She figured that he’d either had too much to drink or he’d been slipped some kind of drug. So she took charge of the situation and hauled him off to the bathroom to snap him out of it.

Once Reagan had sobered up enough and fixed his makeup, Cordelia had the bouncer call them a cab and they went home. She let him sleep it off, but the next day she gave him a lecture about everything he’d done wrong, and told him to keep his eye on his drink the next time they went out, and to limit himself so he didn’t get too drunk; he was still a novice. And most importantly, he needed to think of the guys in the club as the enemy. They were a pack of predators looking to devour him, so he needed to stay on guard. It was better to flirt and tease a bunch of guys than to allow just one to monopolize his time. Reagan appreciated his sister’s advice, but thought that he’d done all the flirting he cared to do already. He didn’t think he’d be going clubbing again any time soon.

Cordelia wouldn’t accept that. She said he needed to get right back up on that horse, or his one bad experience would haunt him forever. She pointed out that he had many more outfits in his closet that were made for dancing, and he wouldn’t want her to tell Daddy that he was rejecting the rest of his clubwear, did he? He was trapped.

To go out the next night, Cordy thought she was doing her brother a favor by choosing pants instead of a skirt. But her taste in jeans was to have them very tight, which meant that Reagan’s boy parts got severely compressed when he zipped them up. He had to wear low-rise thong panties under them so that his “tramp stamp” wouldn’t be obscured by a “whale tail.” The top she’d chosen was a shiny gold halter top that required a special bra. It revealed a lot of skin (which Cordelia dusted with glittery powder) and showed off their navel jewelry. Reagan felt very exposed and vulnerable.

He stayed closer to Cordelia at the new club, but that meant spending more time dancing, and the moves she wanted him to do were even more sexual than the night before. Besides rocking her behind into some guy’s crotch, she’d sometimes face her partner with her leg between his and let him practically hump her thigh. Everyone was watching the twins dancing, so Reagan had to follow suit and virtually go through all the motions of having sex with one guy after another. He only had one fruity cocktail, and then a bottle of imported water. All in all it wasn’t that horrible an evening. Dancing was kind of fun if he let go of his hang-ups.

However, the next day their father called the twins into his study. He showed them the tabloid newspaper his assistant had brought to his attention. Some photos that must have been taken with people’s phones showed the two of them dancing in both clubs. The headline above a picture of Reagan doing some very naughty moves read “New Party Girl on the Scene is a Boy.” The accompanying article then described how “Power Cord” had been spotted taking her cross-dressed brother “Ray-Gay” out on the town for a night of partying.

Reagan felt humiliated, but their father was more disappointed in Cordelia. She’d promised him that she was going to clean up her act, but now she was back to her old tricks, and was trying to take her brother down with her. She tried to say that it wasn’t a big deal and she wasn’t using again, but he pointed to a picture that showed her drinking and reminded her that alcohol was illegal for them. His lawyer had said that the photos weren’t enough evidence to get them arrested, but Lawrence knew they’d broken the law. He grounded them for a week and took their car keys away from them for a month, saying that if they wanted to go dancing he’d lend them a driver, who would take them to a teen club, and wait until they came out again to take them home.

Reagan had been having a rough time at school, but the tabloid article made it worse. Teasing turned to serious harassment. Just about everyone called him “Ray-Gay,” and he’d have to deal daily with dozens of taunts and come-ons like, “That’s a nice color lipstick. It will look great on my dick.” He tried to be cool and answer back with a witty retort about sharpening his teeth, but it was still wearing him out emotionally.

The absolute low point came one day in gym class. He’d long since stopped showering in the locker room after too many uncomfortable moments, but on the day in question the coach had sent them outside to play soccer. Reagan was feeling like a Hooters waitress in his girls’ gym uniform with its tiny shorts and tight tank top, and it seemed like all the boys were staring at him. He was playing defense, and the guy with the ball was coming right toward him. He tried to make a kick for the ball, but lost his balance and then the other player crashed into him and knocked him down. It must have rained the day before because Reagan landed in a mud puddle, getting soaked and filthy.

He tried to shower as quickly as possible, but he had to close his eyes to wash the mud out of his hair and when he opened them he saw Everett Danbury coming toward him from an adjacent stall. Tall and athletic, he was a senior on the lacrosse team. He threw something like a small tube of toothpaste to Reagan. He caught it and discovered it was actually a sexual lubricant. Everett grinned and told him to use it, and Reagan noticed that Everett was aroused. He knew the worst was about to happen. He shrieked and braced himself for the inevitable.

Luckily, his scream attracted the coach’s attention before Reagan had been violated by more than a finger. However, he completely misread the situation, and called both Reagan and Everett to his office once they’d dressed. He told them both that sex on school grounds was prohibited, and didn’t want to listen when Reagan tried to complain that it hadn’t been consensual. He preferred to believe his boy Everett’s story of Reagan coming on to him. It was hard for Reagan to argue that he wasn’t a tease and a flirt, sitting there in a skirt and blouse. Reagan got lucky though when the coach’s solution to his perceived problem was to move him over to the girls’ gym class. He did his best not to stare, and he’d been unofficially using the girls’ bathrooms for a while, so they eventually accepted him as one of their own.

When he got home on the day of his assault, Reagan could still feel those awful hands all over his body. He wanted to get clean but didn’t want to go near another shower for a while, so he took a long relaxing bath. He thought about how tempting it would be to just cut his wrists and bleed out there in the tub, and all his problems would be over. He couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. He feared that his funeral would just turn into another joke headline for the tabloids.

He lay on his bed and cried for a while, looking over at the picture of his mother trying to imagine what she would have said to get him to keep going. He wondered if maybe he could talk to Cordelia about it, but worried that she’d agree with the coach. She might have assumed that Reagan was just as big a flirt as she was. He just wished he had someone to talk to, and remembered that he still had James’ phone number. He tried to remember which purse he’d been carrying that day, and rummaged through his closet until he found the one with the little folded paper in the bottom.

Reagan was nervous and tried to talk around the subject, but James had heard a rumor at school that was basically Everett’s version of the story, although he didn’t believe it. He assured Reagan that he didn’t think he was the gay slut that people were making him out to be. He’d heard enough to know that Reagan should not have been left alone. Without giving him a chance to say no, James told Reagan he was on his way over.

Reagan realized that he would have to get dressed in more than just his bathrobe, and spent a few minutes trying to figure out what to wear and how to do his makeup. He told himself he wasn’t trying to look nice for James; he just wanted to show that he wasn’t getting depressed and letting himself go. Still, it did feel good when the first thing James had to say when he got there was how pretty Reagan was.

They sat up in Reagan’s room for a while. He told James everything that Everett had done, and cried into his shoulder for a while. James was angry and thought he should press charges, but Reagan didn’t think anyone would believe the big sissy over the handsome jock. James said he admired Reagan for his courage in continuing to express his femininity despite all the adversity. Reagan said that he couldn’t quit if he wanted to, ultimately breaking down and telling James the whole thing about his arrangement with his father. James thought that maybe Reagan could file abuse charges against his father, but Reagan said that it all hadn’t been so horrible; some of it had even been kind of fun. Besides, he needed to show his father that he wasn’t going to back down. James thought that was a little crazy, but he was there to listen, not to judge.

The following Saturday, James called and told Reagan to wear something casual and “not too couture.” He showed up dressed like a Gap catalog and driving a seven-year-old Toyota. He said he was there to take Reagan out for a day free from snobbery and paparazzi, enjoying the things that middle-class people do for fun. They started at an arcade, where James won Reagan a pink fuzzy teddy bear playing Skee-Ball. After that, they went out for lunch in a tacky old-fashioned pizzeria. The waitress, a round matronly type named Gina, said they were a cute couple, and when Reagan tried to tell her they were just friends, she didn’t believe it. James chose to remain silent on the topic and wouldn’t even make eye contact.

Gina insisted that they have her famous homemade cannoli for dessert. James jokingly asked if she made them at home and then brought them to the restaurant, but she was too sharp and said the place was her home; she lived upstairs from the restaurant. The cannoli actually were very delicious, but a little messy. Reagan accidentally got a little bit of cream on his nose. James held Reagan’s chin and leaned in, and it seemed like he was going for a kiss, but he just took a napkin and wiped Reagan’s nose. A small part of Reagan was disappointed, he had to admit.

After lunch, James let Reagan decide what to do next, and he picked the art museum. It was almost a little too high-brow for their “common folks” ruse, but they saw some other people dressed even more casually; James thought they might be tourists. Reagan had been there many times before, and took James’s hand and led him to his favorite gallery, where a painting that used to belong to his mother was hanging. James held onto Reagan’s hand for a little longer than necessary, but it wasn’t that horrible.

When the day wore down and they were losing steam, James drove Reagan home and walked him from the car to his front door, and stood there for a moment. Reagan could sense the tension in the air. “Thanks for giving me a day away from myself. It was fun, and I needed it.” He leaned in and gave James a hug. “Um, not to sound weird or anything, but was this a date?”

James blushed and looked away. “I didn’t want your experience the other day with that jerk leave you feeling afraid of all guys. Some of us are actually quite nice. So, yes, this was a date.”

Reagan wasn’t sure how to process that. He just muttered, “Oh. Well then, thank you again. You are a nice guy…”

James could hear rejection in Reagan’s tone, and cut him off before he added the “but” that was inevitable. “I like you, and I have for a while. You were pinging my gaydar even before you started wearing your sister’s clothes. You’re smart, and funny, and very sweet, and I think you’re beautiful. You’re exactly my type; soft feminine guys totally do it for me, and you’ve taken that to the extreme. Now, I’m not saying I want to hide or feel ashamed of who and what I am, but I have to admit that it did feel nice that I could hold your hand in public without getting any funny looks. I would love to see you again some time.”

Reagan gave James another hug. “I’m just feeling really confused right now. I did have a good time with you, but right now I don’t think I want to date anyone: male, female, gay, straight, bi, trans, whatever. I do know that I could really use a friend. So could we just keep it as friends for now?”

James sighed, but that “for now” gave him a glimmer of hope. “Okay, friends for now.” He snuck a quick peck on Reagan’s cheek, and left. He turned back to look, and saw that Reagan was still there watching him leave, wearing a smile that melted his knees.

Reagan had been diligently reading the financial reports all this time, and by this point could actually understand what they meant. It was kind of interesting watching how changes in sales figures and production costs showed up as changes in profit numbers down the line, and the way business in foreign countries tended to increase and decrease in bursts that seemed to migrate geographically. He was taking real interest in the company, but he didn’t dare let his father know that.

When his father decided to throw a dinner party for some of his executives, Reagan volunteered to serve as hostess. That was usually Cordelia’s job, but he offered to give it a shot, since she was having trouble working on a term paper and her history teacher was immune to her charms. His father allowed it, since having a teenage boy as hostess might shake his people up enough that they wouldn’t be able to get anything past him. Reagan poured himself into the role, even going so far as to call the guests’ assistants to get information about their dietary preferences, and to then review the planned menu with the cook.

He wore his most conservative cocktail dress, and accessorized it with classic pearls, a single-strand necklace and dangling cluster earrings. His makeup was a sophisticated but not too sexy look, and he had his hair in a half twist with extensions. His four-inch d’Orsay pumps were probably a little too much, but he didn’t want to be shorter than all the guests. He was ready a half hour early, and nagged his father to make sure he was dressed on time.

As the guests arrived, Reagan took their coats and ushered them to the parlor, where he made introductions and his father greeted them and served drinks from the bar. Reagan’s research had included favorite beverages, so he made suggestions as he brought them in. The executives weren’t sure how to treat him, but the wives generally didn’t have any problem seeing him as their hostess.

Once everyone was there, he circulated and made appropriate small talk, asking the correct questions about children or recent vacations or minor details about their particular branch of the company. The cook signaled Reagan when the meal was to be served, and he brought people to the dining room and made sure everyone was seated in a reasonable arrangement. The only really weird thing about it was being paired with his father in the seating.

After the meal, the men went to go talk business in Lawrence’s den, and Reagan had to stay behind and talk with the wives. They discussed celebrity gossip (including asking where the famous Cordelia was), and some light politics, and fashion. They finally broached the subject of Reagan’s true gender, and he received compliments on his making it all appear effortless. They applauded Lawrence for allowing Reagan to live as a female, assuming that it was Reagan’s idea. One of the wives asked whether he was planning to eventually get a sex change, and he gave a vague answer about still researching the best medical options. Fortunately, she dropped the subject.

All in all, the night was a success. Reagan had done too good a job at it, and from then on Lawrence preferred him to handle such social events, rather than making Cordelia do them. It almost made Lawrence question whether he really wanted Reagan to give up. But winning was far too important to him.

Lawrence saw that the hardest part of Reagan’s new lifestyle seemed to be the attention he was getting from males, so for his next move he had Cordelia and Reagan dress in their finest formal dresses and took them out to a special charity event. To raise funds for a hospital expansion, they were holding a bachelor auction, where dates with fourth-year med students were being sold to the highest bidder. Cordelia eyed the “merchandise” hungrily when her father told her to pick one out, but Reagan was uncomfortable. Lawrence gave him a chance to back out of their deal before the auction started, but Reagan held his ground. He even played along and joked with his sister about which guys were the hottest.

Lawrence stopped them after Cordelia pointed out the impressive bulge in the front of one of the students’ pants and said that was the one she wanted to take home. He corrected her that she wouldn’t be taking any of these home; the bachelor he bought for her would be serving as her escort for a very public date of dinner at a five-star restaurant and an evening at the symphony, and would not be doing anything with the underage daughter of a hospital trustee that could jeopardize his future. Cordelia pouted, but Reagan was still nervous.

Lawrence realized that the only way to guarantee getting two bachelors for the same price was to seriously overbid. Thus he ended up paying ten thousand apiece, even though the next highest bids were only one thousand. It was for a good cause, so he didn’t mind too much.

The night of their dates, Cordelia insisted that Reagan and she wear identical dresses, even though their wardrobe contained several that were appropriate for the occasion. Reagan wasn’t sure what her angle was until the limousine arrived with their dates, and she introduced herself as “Reagan,” and poached his date. He really didn’t care which one of these med students was his escort, so he went along with it and pretended to be his sister.

In the car on the way to dinner when Cordelia told her date, “I know Daddy told you I’m not a real girl, but for tonight could you just pretend I was?” He shrugged and said okay, so she leaned over and gave him a quick kiss.

It all started to make sense when Reagan’s date Eric actually shifted a little away from him after that, and then turned to him and said, “Don’t get any ideas. Jake there might be allowed to let your tranny brother kiss him, (and he’s fruity enough to like it) but your father gave me strict instructions that I’m not allowed to touch you. I mean, you do look smoking hot, but you’re not worth losing my job or going to jail over. I hope we can still have a fun time tonight.” That was a great relief to Reagan, until he realized that to be believable as Cordelia he’d have to keep trying to flirt with Eric anyway.

The meal was excellent, although it was a shame that they weren’t allowed to enjoy it with wine. They were allowed an occasional glass with dinner at home, and Reagan appreciated a good wine’s ability to complement a good meal. But it was probably a good thing they weren’t drinking, since he’d hate for his sister to get publicly drunk again, especially when she was pretending to be him.

At the symphony, Cordelia and Jake lingered in the car a little too long and missed the first movement. At intermission she dragged Reagan to the ladies’ room and said, “It’s too bad that Daddy kept Eric from letting me have a good time, but I’m sure Jake will be telling the whole hospital tomorrow about his date with you.” She winked at Reagan, “Particularly after what you did in the car after we left you alone. I’m surprised at you, but I guess you’re only living up to your reputation in the press.” She flashed Reagan a wicked smile, and he was left dumbfounded wondering exactly what his proxy had been up to, and hoping that it wouldn’t go public. And the worst part was that there was really no way to retaliate; nothing he’d be willing to do could possibly make Cordelia’s reputation any worse. He forced a smile through the rest of the evening, and snuck a goodnight kiss on Eric’s cheek at the end, just to keep up the charade.

Another charity event at the hospital came at Christmas. Lawrence got notes from the nurses on the pediatric ward about the patients there, and then he and the twins went shopping to pick out the best present for each one, wrapping and labeling each one by hand. It was a tradition they’d started back when their mother was in the hospital.

On the day before Christmas, Lawrence put on his top-of the line Santa suit, complete with a glued-on beard made from real hair. This time, he had the twins accompany him in matching elf costumes. They wore green mini-dresses with a zigzag hem that had a jingle bell on every point, candy-cane-striped tights, pointy shoes, and floppy hats. Their makeup exaggerated their rosy cheeks, and they wore their hair in cute pigtails. It was a little embarrassing, but it was for the kids, and the nurse who let them in thought they were adorable!

It was a sad kind of fun visiting the sick children and seeing their faces light up to receive a special present from Santa Claus, picked just for them. Sometimes their parents were there, and they’d try to find out who was responsible for the gift, but they’d just say it was from Santa, with the help of his favorite elves, Happy and Merry, and a child’s smile was enough reward.

One little boy thought Reagan was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, and gave him a hug. Reagan gave him a kiss on the forehead but then corrected him, “I’m not a girl. I’m an elf.” That then spun into a whole conversation about elf magic and what life was like back at the North Pole, and whether “Happy” had a boyfriend. Reagan had to make up a lot of the details about elf life, and said that there was a boyfriend named Jimmy Jingles who was a teddy bear stuffer in the workshop. It was very sweet.

After they left the hospital, Cordelia teased Reagan that he’d named his imaginary elf boyfriend after James, and said he was still hung up on him. Reagan tried to make her stop, but she wouldn’t.

For their own Christmas, Lawrence took the twins skiing in Gstaad, but they only got to wear their bright pink snowbunny ensembles for a day. He surprised Cordelia by revealing that she had an appointment with a world-famous cosmetic surgeon to get that new nose she’d been asking him to allow her to get for years. And naturally, he’d made an appointment for Reagan too. He was sure that he wouldn’t go through with it, but when they left Switzerland, Reagan had traded his strong masculine aquiline nose for a cute button. Lawrence was impressed with his son’s resolve, but disappointed that his pushing the envelope had failed.

Back at school, even though they both had to tell the same lie of skiing into a tree, which made neither of them quite as believable, Cordelia seemed to have more admirers among the boys. Thomas vanLupert asked her to the winter formal, and she accepted. The Snow Ball was an old tradition at Stonewater, where the theme was taken to the extreme. Cordelia needed an ornate ballgown, and that meant Reagan would have to get one as well.

But since it was the ultimate faux pas to show up in the same dress as someone else, this was the one time Reagan and Cordelia did not get identical things. Their ballgowns were similar in style but made from shimmering satin in different colors, Cordelia’s in silver and Reagan’s in ice blue. They had full bell skirts with layers of crinoline, a modest jewel neckline, and leg-of-mutton sleeves with puffy shoulders. Exquisite white embroidery decorated the bodice, which tied into lace accents at the cuffs and hem. It was very much the sort of dress a fairytale princess would wear. Reagan wondered why they needed to be in heels if their hems were sweeping the floor, but the couturier insisted.

Now that he had a fabulous ballgown, Reagan needed to go to the ball; otherwise he’d be rejecting the gift. The dance was strictly a “couples only” affair, so that meant he needed a date. It’s seemed like his only option was asking James if he’d accompany him to the ball. James made him beg a little, but accepted the invitation. He arrived on the day of the dance looking very handsome in his tails, and he told Reagan he was beautiful.

They danced wonderfully together, and Reagan got nominated for Snow Queen. Maybe it was a joke nomination, but he pulled enough support to actually win. He actually got Cordelia’s vote, but that might have been due more to the fact that he was running against Madison Lancaster. He felt an odd kind of pride when the tiara was placed on his head and he and James had the dancefloor all to themselves for the first measure of a waltz.

James had behaved like a perfect gentleman, so when he walked him home, Reagan rewarded him with a good-night kiss. It started small, but Reagan surprised himself by eagerly parting his lips for James’s tongue to penetrate. They stood locked in a passionate embrace for several minutes before Reagan had to bring his hands around to James‘s chest to physically push him away. He apologized and told James that they needed to cool things down. He was feeling too many different emotions and his life was just getting way too confusing. James reluctantly left, and Reagan went up to his room to weep.

Cordelia kept going through hobbies, and for the most part, like when she wanted to take a photography class so she could beat the paparazzi at their own game, it was just an annoyance for Reagan, as it would mean one more thing that he’d have to spend some amount of time on per week in order to show that he hadn’t rejected that gift. But it was worse when another living creature was brought into the mix. In one case, Cordelia decided that her father should give them matching teacup Pomeranians, because it would make a perfect photo op for the two of them to show up at a gallery opening in Chanel suits with identical little faces poking out of their Gucci bags.

But Cordy soon grew bored with her puppy, and wanted to get rid of it. But Reagan didn’t think that was fair. He felt that the two little dogs shouldn’t be broken up; they’d been litter mates and had never been apart. So he ended up taking care of both Mitzi and Fritzi, with two doggie beds in his room, and spending twice as much time feeding and brushing and walking them and carrying twice as many baggies of poo.

The other time Cordelia’s whims interfered with other lives was when she wanted to take up riding (mostly so she could wear the habit) and got Lawrence to buy her a horse. Cordelia’s Moonlight and Reagan’s Starshine were both beautiful white mares. Even though the tight jodhpurs and slamming into the saddle were both hell on his genitals, Reagan did enjoy spending time with his horse. But he really didn’t have enough to give her the attention she deserved.

When Cordelia gave up riding and got rid of her horse, Reagan couldn’t. He only managed to get to the stables every other week or so, which really wasn’t fair to Starshine. Horses were social animals, and it was just plain wrong to have to neglect his. He noticed this girl who always seemed to be hanging around the paddock fence watching the horses, and asked her if she worked there. She didn’t; she just lived a mile away and liked to ride her bike over to look at them. Her name was Shelly and she was twelve. She loved horses but her family could never afford one.

Reagan couldn’t give his horse away, but he did the next best thing. After talking with Shelly’s parents, he hired her to pay attention to Starshine for him. He arranged with the stable master to let her come and ride any time she wanted to. She said that Reagan was as kind as he was pretty, and promised to brush and clean and keep Starshine looking perfect.

When Valentine’s Day rolled around, James tried to woo Reagan again by having two dozen long-stemmed red roses delivered. Cordelia didn’t get anything from her admirers. Reagan teased his sister by complaining that if she’d only asked their father for a vase he’d have somewhere to put his flowers. But then she’d have to ask him for flowers to put in it, and then Reagan would have even more flowers and still have not enough vases. He ultimately found a vase that his mother used to use hidden in the back of a cabinet in the dining room, but he still had a great time torturing his sister.

Cordelia vowed revenge, and thought she’d hit upon the perfect ploy. She told her father she was out of tampons and asked him to get her some more, which meant he’d also need to get a box for Reagan. And Reagan would have to use them or he’d lose the challenge. She expected that would mean that he’d have to insert them into an uncomfortable location.

But Reagan beat her by just proving that the proper way to use them was to carry a couple in his purse at all times, since he wasn’t on his period. He pointed out how most gynecologists agreed that it was inappropriate to put one inside you if you weren’t menstruating. In the meantime he could give them to any girlfriends in need in the ladies’ room.

He also added that if their father was going to be providing such things, he could use more pads. Whenever he got his bikini wax he’d wear one in his panties for the first few days, so the salve he used to soothe his tender parts wouldn’t stain. Lawrence really wasn’t comfortable with the subject and just declared feminine hygiene products to be out of bounds after that.

Reagan rewarded James for providing him with such a great day of antagonizing his sister that he accepted a date for another day of pretending not to be rich. They shared another pizza and some of Gina’s cannoli, and then went bowling. James somehow convinced Reagan that since strikes were scored with an “X,” that meant that anyone who made one earned a kiss. He showed himself to be a rather competent bowler, as it turned out.

Cordelia got it into her head that she could use her fame to become a pop star, so she got her father to pay for music lessons. She wasn’t good enough at it right away that she soon gave up, but Reagan was stuck continuing through the whole course, so he developed a dulcet alto voice, and was able to pick up on his piano lessons from where he’d left off as a kid. By the end of the course he was accompanying himself on a variety of old standards. His father was particularly amused by Reagan’s version of “Hey Big Spender.”

For years, Lawrence had been telling Reagan that he’d make an ideal Yale man, and as a legacy, he’d be a shoo-in. However, that was before their little arrangement. He’d scheduled a meeting for Cordelia with an admissions officer from Sarah Lawrence, their mother’s alma mater. He asked Reagan if he wanted one as well, or if he was ready to quit their deal. Even if it wasn’t Ivy League, it wasn’t a horrible school, so Reagan agreed to take an interview.

The woman from Sarah Lawrence, Bridget Olson, thought Cordelia was acceptable, but she absolutely loved Reagan! When she found out the lovely girl sitting in front of her was a boy, she explained that they had an excellent nondiscrimination policy, and a program devoted to LGBT studies. He would definitely fit in. When he mentioned his recent extra curricular activities, she was very interested when he mentioned music. He brought her to the piano room and showed off with a little Chopin and a couple of torch songs, and she was ready to offer him whatever it would take to get him to go to her college. He told her he’d think about it and get back to her; he still had another year of high school anyway. She was prepared to guarantee him an early admissions slot, but he still opted not to commit just yet. Cordy practically smoldered when she found out.

Lawrence was irritated that his contest with his son had lasted for so long, and he didn’t want to let an entire year pass without being declared the victor. So he played his trump card, and announced that for her seventeenth birthday he’d finally let Cordelia get the enhancement surgery she’d been asking him for ever since she was fourteen and less developed than her girlfriends. He was sure that would be the move that would make Reagan back down, but he didn’t even blink, and asked when the doctor’s appointment would be.

Rather than get the surgery on the twins’ actual birthday, Cordelia thought it best to wait until after the end of the school term. It would be easier to convince people she’d blossomed over the summer than over a weekend. So ever preliminary appointment with the doctor became just another skirmish in their battle of wills; would Reagan back down and cancel the surgery, or would Lawrence back down and refuse to sign the consent forms? It seemed as if they were both too stubborn to quit. Lawrence was so sure that Reagan would be giving up at the last moment, but then he didn’t.

As he sat in the recovery room by Reagan’s bedside, he was ashamed. He’d let his pride get the better of him, and now his child had undergone the risks of a surgery that left him disfigured just to beat him. He realized what a horrible role model he’d been. He was sure that if his dear wife had been alive she never would have let him do this to their only son. He put his head in his hands and wept.

Reagan, still foggy from the anesthesia, awoke to the sound of sobbing. “Daddy, are you crying? Did something go wrong?” He looked down at the new swelling on his chest. “Everything looks like it went okay from here.”

Lawrence threw his arms around his son. “I am so sorry I made you do this. Our deal’s off — you win! I don’t care about that anymore. I’ve been a lousy father to you, son. They can take you back into surgery in a few hours. The doctor said that if they take them out right away, you’ll have less scarring and should be back to normal in three or four weeks.”

Reagan was still a little out of it. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“You don’t have to keep those implants.” His father pointed at Reagan’s chest. “You’ve proven to me that you’re the bigger man.”

Reagan sucked on his lower lip, a gesture his mother used to do when she had to give someone bad news. “Um, actually Daddy, I want to keep them.”

Lawrence fell back into his chair. “What? Why?”

Reagan took a deep breath. “This whole contest we’ve been having wasn’t really as awful for me as you might have thought. I’d been secretly borrowing Cordy’s clothes off an on since we were nine.” His father just stared speechless. “And I really wasn’t sure what that meant about me. I’d read up on gender issues, but didn’t know exactly where I fit in. Was I a boy who enjoyed dressing as a girl? Or was I a girl stuck in a boy’s body?”

Reagan wet his lips with an ice chip. “By forcing me to take my secret out into the open, you helped me figure it out. I mean, some of the stuff with guys was a little too intense, and I don’t quite agree with Cordy’s taste in everything; there were some outfits I would not have chosen, but on the whole I got to spend this last year living as a girl, and it felt right. I got mad when the tabloids ran their stories about me that called me a crossdressing boygirl, and I realized that it was because I wanted to be treated just like a regular girl and not some in-between kind of freak.” Reagan laughed. “This whole thing started because I didn’t think you were getting me valuable enough gifts, but it turned out the gift you gave me was priceless. You helped me figure out who I am.”

She reached out and took Lawrence’s hand. “Now I hope you’re not disappointed, Daddy. But I need to tell you that I am a girl, I’m pretty sure I always have been, and there’s no way I want to go back. So I’m keeping my boobs. I’ve been on androgen-blockers for a while so my body wouldn’t get all masculine on me, but the doctors won’t let me go on estrogen until I’m eighteen, and there’s no way I want another summer to pass without anything to fill my bikini top.”

Reagan’s father gave her hand a squeeze. “I suppose it’s just more proof that I should be more involved in you and Cordelia’s lives that I had no clue what was going on with you. I am truly sorry I lost track of what’s important.” He wiped another tear that was forming. “I’m rather surprised how unsurprised I am by this news, but in a way we’ve been preparing for it. I’d already accepted you when I thought you were just gay, which isn’t that much better or worse than this. When I think about it, you really are becoming a very lovely young woman. I think your mother would have been proud.”

Reagan smiled through the tears and thanked him, and then Lawrence left to go find someone to check out his daughter so he could take her home.