by Justme

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Chapter 14: Better safe than sorry

"Ewwww!!" I'm kinda gagging just thinking about it. "Don't worry, Mom! I am not gonna let anyone put that in my mouth!"

She looks relieved and yet at the same time dubious. "All the same, if you ever do, don't forget that you can still get V.D. that way. Make sure he uses a condom."

That's the technical term for what's usually referred to as a 'rubber.' I doubt it would taste very good, but somehow it seems maybe slightly less revolting than the idea of sucking on a naked penis. More sanitary, anyway. But still. "All right. I'll keep it in mind." I roll my eyes 'cause it just ain't gonna happen.

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"What were you thinking?" I'm too distraught to duck as Livy whacks me across the top of my head.

"Ow! I wasn't, I mean, he just asked if I wanted to meet sometime to play pinball, OK? It never even occurred to me that he was 'asking me out!'" I'm all defensive about it 'cause I know Felicia's gonna be hurt when she finds out. "I woulda said 'no.' I would never do something like that to her on purpose." Part of me realizes I'm trying to convince myself as much as Livy here. After that dream I'm not sure my judgment can be trusted where Rich is concerned. "So what do I do? Should I call her and tell her about it, and offer to call it off?"

Livy ponders this for a moment while I rub my head which is still smarting. "No, that's probably the worst thing you could do. It'll be hard enough for her to hear he asked you out after knowing you less than a week when she's been trying to get him to ask her for like over a year. On top of that you accepted, knowing how hurt she'd be--"

"I didn't know it was a date!"

"Sure, but that won't change how it feels to her. Then if you go and top it all off by offering to cancel the date out of pity for her..." She shrugs in lieu of finishing the thought. Yeah, I guess it wouldn't do much for her self-esteem. "But, I mean, do you even really want to go out with Rich? Just call it off without saying anything to her. She'll never even need to know about it. I know you like pinball but it's a small sacrifice to make for a friend."

Sigh. "Yeah..."

"...but?" She's looking at me suspiciously.

Sigh. Why can't this just be easy? Why can't something in my life just be easy?

"Oh god, you do want to go out with him, don't you?" Her expression is a weird cross between horrified and amused.

I just sigh again and nod.

"Oh, Joey. I told you you were playing with fire." Somehow I don't think this was what she had in mind when she warned me about that, but I'm not gonna argue. I feel burned either way. She sees the tears starting to well up in my eyes and gives me a sympathetic hug.

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"Hey Mom, you never did answer me before." She looks up from reading her magazine with a blank stare. "About the hair ribbon?" I just want to do anything to blot out having to think about pretending to be a boy for the doctor, or deciding what to do about The Date.

A smile grows on her face as she puts the magazine down and gets up from the sofa. "I don't have any hair ribbons just lying around, but I might have something in my sewing supplies we could use." Well, we do have a sewing machine--in the garage--and I guess maybe she uses it once or twice a year. So I suppose I shouldn't be surprised she'd have supplies for sewing.

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"This will go nicely with that dress." She's holding a roll of satiny Kelly green ribbon and measuring out a length of it.

I look down at the dress. It does have a kind of similar green in the abstract sort of impressionistic pattern of the print. "Yeah, I guess. Do you think it'll be OK with my hair and complexion?"

"Sweetie, you're Irish. Of course it will." I roll my eyes. What's that got to do with anything? Anyway I'm only a quarter Irish, and like Michelle said I kind of look more Nordic. Well, except for my coloration, I guess. That is pretty Irish. I wonder if the Kelly green will bring out the 'red highlights' in my hair the way the pale lime green does. I hope it won't make me look sickly or anything.

"How come you have this, anyway?"

Mom cuts the ribbon and starts tying it around the base of my ponytail. "It was for a costume I made for Livy's dance recital--oh, years ago." I'll say--Livy hasn't had a dance recital since at least second grade. "There. Don't you just look adorable! Let me get my camera. Don't move!" She runs off to find her Instamatic.

I roll my eyes again, but you know, I guess I should give Mom a break--it's not like she's had a lot of chances to get this stuff out of her system with Livy. It must be kind of exciting for her after all these years to finally have a daughter who actually kind of enjoys this girly stuff, or at least isn't opposed to it on principle. So when she gets back with the camera I just go with the flow, smiling and posing for her like it's what I live for.

Boy, she really seems to be getting into it. I mean, I'd rather be doing this kind of stuff with Linda or someone closer to my own age, but it is kind of fun how much she's enjoying it. Why not give her another thrill? "Hey, while we're at it could I get you to show me how to do my nails?" I've been kind of wanting to learn that anyway. Not that I particularly want painted nails for my pinball date tomorrow (shit, I didn't want to think about that right now!) but it seems to be something girls my age are supposed to know how to do.

Mom lowers the camera and smiles. "Sure! Come on." She heads for the bathroom with me in her wake. Then the wind kind of goes out of her sails. "Oh, but you have to be a boy for the doctor later. You can't have painted nails for that."

"Oh." Damn it, I was trying not to think about that, too. "Um, how hard is it to get off? Could we put it on now and take it off just before we go?"

"Well, we could, but it'd be kind of risky. Sometimes the remover doesn't get it all, especially around the edges and the cuticles."

Shoot. "OK." I'm kind of bummed but as I hang my head dejectedly I notice my bare toes and brighten up. "Hey, we could do my toenails and I'll just keep my socks on at the doctor's."

"All right. Won't it make you a little nervous though?"

"Nah, he won't be looking at my feet." A thought occurs to me. "Actually it might help me get through the whole ordeal of, you know, having to pretend to be a boy again."

"Help? How?"

"I dunno, just having that little 'secret' to hold onto, you know? Knowing that at least one part of me still looks girly even if no one else can see it." The more I think about it, the more I like the idea.

Mom's looking at me appraisingly. "Strangely, that makes sense to me. OK, then."

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I like looking at my pretty coral pink toenails. Mom's gently blowing on them in an attempt to speed their drying, which kind of tickles. I want to wiggle my toes but she's stuffed cotton balls between them to keep me from accidentally messing up the polish before it dries. The smell is making me a little woozy so I reach over and push the window open a crack. I can't reach to get it all the way open without standing up but it's enough to get some fresh air. "I like that color. When we get back from the doctor can we do my fingernails too?"

She smiles. Then she looks at my hands and it turns into a scowl. "These nails are a mess." What can I say? I bite my nails. It's a nervous habit. Mom looks torn about something for a minute, then says, "I think you need a professional manicure." She says it like she's offering me some big treat but for some reason it makes me nervous, I guess 'cause I have no idea what it involves, and apparently it shows 'cause she sees my face and says, "Don't worry, you'll love it. I'll call and try to make you an appointment for later this afternoon, after we get back."

"OK. Just make sure there's time to come back and change first." She looks at me questioningly. "Well, I don't want to get a manicure dressed as a boy, do I?" Not to mention I don't want to have to stay that way one second longer than I have to.

"Oh. No, I suppose not." Is that a smirk? It looks like a smirk.

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Shoot. I've got, like, three hours to kill before the appointment and nothing to do. Well, I can't go out back and practice my tumbling moves dressed like this. Or ride my bike to the mall. I could walk there--it's only a mile--but I don't have any money anyway, so what's the point?

When you're trying to avoid thinking about something there's nothing like a really good book to keep your mind off it. Unfortunately I've got nothing like a really good book, at least not one I haven't already read a couple of times or feel like re-reading yet again.

There's never anything worth watching on the tube this time of day but I can't think of much else to do so I wander out to the living room. Livy's on the sofa watching some corny soap opera. I sit down across from her and watch for a couple of minutes, trying to figure out what the appeal is. The acting is so overdone, and the characters--I mean, they are just so stupid, they don't seem to see the most obvious things coming, and then they totally overreact. And how contrived does the plot have to get before the audience stops buying it altogether? I can't take it anymore so I have to ask. "You actually watch this crap on purpose?"

She looks startled, then embarrassed. "Uh, no no no. I was looking for something to watch and just kinda got sucked in. It's like watching a car wreck, you know? It's gruesome but you just can't seem to take your eyes off it. Umm, go ahead and change the channel if you wanna."

"No, that's OK. Hey, you read any good books lately? I mean ones I haven't already?"

"Oh, sure. I just finished a really good one a couple of days ago, about this girl who rides dragons." I roll my eyes and kind of make a face; I'm just not into that fairytale stuff the way she is. "No, it's not like that. It's actually kinda science-fictiony. And really well-written. I think you'd like it too. You want me to go get it?"

"Sure, I guess." What the heck, it's worth a shot. It can't be any worse than worrying about dates and doctors for three hours, can it?

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"Here. Enjoy."

I pull my attention away from the TV. Livy's right--it is like watching a car wreck. She hands me a book: Dragonflight by Anne McCaffrey. I read the jacket blurb. Well, they make it sound pretty interesting anyway. But then that's what jacket blurbs are for, right? "Thanks."

"Felicia loaned it to me so give it back to her when you're done, OK?"

"Sure." I smile even though I'm a little irritated. It's like there's some cosmic conspiracy to not let me not think about stuff. It's a nice day with a bit of a breeze; I decide to take the book out on the sun porch and lie in the chaise.

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"There you are." Mom's voice harshly yanks me out of mid-air from my golden dragon's back and into her dull, pointless and depressing plane of reality. "It's time to go."

"But I'm almost finished! It's a really good part!"

"You can read it in the waiting room. Just go hurry and get changed. They're squeezing us in so we don't want to be late."

"Oh, all right!" I get up in a huff and stomp off to my room. I see Mom rolling her eyes at me as I go by. I'd roll mine back at her but I don't think she'd see.

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I take off my panties and there's that stupid thing again. I try to pretend it's not there and look past it at my pretty painted toenails. Surprisingly, it helps. A little.

I open the pack of Fruit of the Looms, pull a pair out and hold them gingerly with my index finger and thumb, cringing a bit as I look at them. Sigh. Might as well resign myself to the inevitable and get it over with. As I pull them up I can't help myself--I tuck it down. It just feels wrong to have it sticking out like that.

I take one last wistful look at my toenails before pulling my socks on. They'll still be there the whole time, I tell myself. All I have to do is remember that. After the socks it's the jeans, then pull on the t-shirt. A big baggy one to hide my lack up top. I feel so naked without a bra and just--I dunno, incomplete without the boobs.

I remembered to take out the ponytail this time but like before I want to wait until we get there before I pull it back in a 'boyish' style.

I look in the mirror and wince. It's only for an hour or two. You'll survive. You survived thirteen years like this, I tell myself.

Yeah, but I didn't like it, I reply. I just didn't know any better.

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"Cheer up, sweetie. It'll be over with soon, and then you're going in for a manicure, remember?" She keeps saying it like that's some big treat.

Maybe this'll take my mind off other stuff. "What exactly is a manicure, anyway? I mean I assume it has something to do with getting my nails done but..." I shrug.

"Well, first they'll clean up your cuticles and hangnails. When that's done they'll file your nails, and since yours are in such bad shape and so short I think we'll have them put on tips. Then they'll polish them in the color of your choice--"

"I want them to match the toenails. I like that color." I'm not sure I get what she means by 'tips' but aside from that it doesn't sound like the kind of thing that's particularly fun to have done by a stranger.

"If that's what you want I'm sure they can do it, sweetie. And after that they'll finish it off with a hand massage."

Now that sounds promising.

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As I look up from putting the rubber band in my hair Mom looks--odd. "What?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie. It's just that even dressed like that and with your hair pulled back, you still somehow just look like a girl to me."

I'm really glad to hear that, but I guess it could be a problem. "That's 'cause I am one. Um, how's this?" I think about acting like a boy like I did when I babysat the other night. A rush of old memories of having to put up a false front flows over me.

She looks impressed. "What did you do?"

"Nothing much; just remembered how I used to be." After a week of being myself it's kind of hard to go back to this old persona, but it's not long enough to have forgotten how if I put my mind to it. I don't think I'll do it quite the same, though. Some of what I used to do is pretty embarrassingly stupid and immature when I think about it now. God, how could I have ever thought I was being cool?

"It's a bit strange to see Larry back after so long."

I wince. "Don't call me that, Mom. My name is Joey, or Lee. Larry was just a fictional character I had to create to survive." Larry was kind of a jerk.

"All right." She seems to mourn his passing. I don't; good riddance to the little creep. I admit it--Livy was right about me all those years.

"Can we get this over with? I'm not enjoying it. I want to go back to being me as soon as possible."

"OK."

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"Joey Llewellyn?"

"That's us. Come on, Joey."

Damn. Eight pages to go. I have to pry myself out of the book with a crowbar to follow Mom and the nurse into the back rooms. The nurse stops at a scale and says, "Take off your shoes and step on the scale please, Miss." That kind of thing used to really bother me but this time it just makes me happy. As I hand my shoes and book to Mom I return her admonishing look with a sheepish one and try to get my head back in boy territory. This requires me giving the nurse a dirty look, at which she does a double-take and looks at the chart she's holding. "I'm sorry, young man. I don't know what I was thinking."

Mom pipes in with, "I told you you needed a haircut."

It takes me a fraction of a second to catch on and reply with a sullen "Mo-o-om!" and an eyeroll. When the nurse isn't looking Mom winks at me and I grin back at her. Maybe this won't be so bad; it's only for a little while.

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Knock, knock. I'm sitting on the edge of the examining table as the door swings open and a woman walks in without waiting for a response. Well, at least she warned us. She's wearing a white coat and a stethoscope. Her light brown hair is pulled back in a tight bun and she's got on a pair of not-terribly-feminine horn rim glasses that kind of make her look like Buddy Holly. Her nametag says "Dr. E. Cykuta MD."

Before she can even introduce herself I smile and say, "Cool!" She looks at me with a puzzled expression on her face. "I don't think I've ever met a woman doctor before." Her expression gets really odd, and it occurs to me she's probably wondering why a boy would think that was cool.

She turns to Mom and says, "I'm Dr. Cykuta. You must be Mrs. Llewellyn, and I take it you"--she turns her attention back to me--"must be, er, Joey is it?"

"Yeah, that's me." She's giving me the oddest looks; she's smiling but looking a little uncomfortable at the same time. What's that all about?

"So, what seems to be the problem, Joey?" Well, she sounds like she genuinely cares. Something about me seems to be bugging her and I wish I knew what it was, 'cause otherwise I kinda like her. She seems nice.

I try not to sound embarrassed or self-conscious. "I noticed a rash on my penis this morning. It itches so I put some cortisone cream on it. That just made it burn for a little while and doesn't seem to have helped the itchiness at all."

"Hm. Yes, topical hydrocortisone is indicated in cases of itching and inflammation. Please take your pants off. Might I ask where you obtained cortisone cream and why you thought to apply it?"

I talk as I'm getting undressed. "Grandfather Sorensen prescribed it for dermatitis on my arm last year."

"I see. So your grandfather is a dermatologist? I think I'll need you to take that shirt off too." Well, it is hanging down low enough to cover my privates.

"No, a urologist."

She smiles. "Then this would seem to be right up his alley. Shouldn't he be looking at this?" I'm naked now except for my socks and she's examining my rash.

"Well it would be kind of inconvenient. He lives in Illinois." Also he retired this year, though I don't suppose that would stop him from treating his own grandkids.

"Ah, I see."

"When I told my sister about it she said it sounded like maybe a yeast infection-"

She looks up at me with surprise. "You discussed this with your sister?"

"Well yeah, we're pretty close. Why?"

"Yes, you must be. I think most boys would be embarrassed to talk about rashes on their penises with their sisters." Well, yeah, I guess most boys would. "I think she's right, by the way. This looks like a typical Candida rash. In boys it's usually called 'jock itch' though." She's looking in nearby nooks and crannies, which is really kind of making me uncomfortable. "It is a little unusual to see it on the shaft of the penis like this. Usually it occurs in folds of skin that stay warm and moist. I see some signs of irritation on the scrotum too." Great, next she's going to ask how I got it there. "Would you remove your socks, please?"

What?! "Um, why? I mean, they don't itch." I try to keep my voice level. Mom looks as alarmed as I feel.

"I want to check for signs of infection there too. A common way to transmit a fungal infection to the groin is from your infected feet brushing against your underwear and pants as you're putting them on. Untreated athlete's foot could lead to the jock itch recurring."

"Oh." Shit. I can feel myself blushing. I look to Mom in desperation but she just shrugs and grimaces. "OK." I take them off.

The doctor coughs but it kind of sounds like she's covering up a laugh. "My, what a lovely color."

Mom comes to my defense with a creative excuse. "His girlfriend talked him into letting her do that. I think she thought it was funny."

"Um, yeah, and I forgot about it or I woulda cleaned it off before we came."

Dr. Cykuta, a true professional, has managed to get her face back to a neutral expression. "I see. Well, I don't see any obvious signs of infection on your feet but just to be safe you should treat them as well. I'll write you a prescription for that too."

"OK. Can I get dressed now?"

"Certainly." She writes out two prescriptions and hands them to Mom. She seems to be watching me get dressed out of the corner of her eye. She gets that puzzled look on her face again, then shifts to one of concern. "Mrs. Llewellyn, could you come out in the hallway for a moment? I'd like to discuss something with you in private."

"Of course." Mom gives me a 'what's this all about?' look as she follows the doctor out. I just shrug. She pulls the door closed behind her.

After a minute of idly looking around at the educational posters, a model of what appears to be a uterus and the usual bizarre implements of torture found in a typical exam room, I'm surprised to hear muffled laughter, followed by shouting, from the hallway. I can't make out any words but it kind of sounds like Mom's voice.

I try pressing my ear up against the door. I can hear two voices now, definitely Mom and the doctor, but I still can't make out what they're talking about. After a minute of this the shouting starts to escalate and I figure it's time to butt in.

As I open the door I hear Mom saying with barely restrained anger, "...breathe one word of this to anyone I will have your license!"

I stick my head out into the hallway. "All right, break it up, guys." I figure someone needs to lighten up the mood here. They both nearly jump out of their skins when I speak. The doctor gets an expression of disgust and loathing on her face when she looks at me--what the fuck? I feel like I've just been punched in the stomach. My heart starts going a mile a minute and I get a metallic taste of fear in the back of my mouth. What did I do?

With a venomous look at the doctor Mom spits out, "Come on, Joey. We're done here." I feel kind of sick and my ears are starting to ring. She grabs my arm and practically drags me out to the car, drawing curious looks from the other patients in the waiting room. Once we get in and close the doors she slumps on the steering wheel and just starts sobbing.

That hits me like a slap in the face; the only other time I've seen her like this was one time a couple of years ago when she had convinced herself Dad was cheating on her. My own worries go out the window for now; Mom needs me. I'm kind of surprised at how quickly I'm able to pull myself together. "What happened, Mom?" I ask it gently as I stroke her hair and back like she sometimes does for me when I'm really upset. It seems to help 'cause the sobbing turns to sniffles.

"That awful, awful woman!" I don't want to upset her more so I don't push for details; I just wait patiently until she's ready to tell me.

After a couple of minutes she calms down a bit and starts talking again. "When we got out in the hallway she broke the news to me that my son was a sexual deviant. I demanded she explain herself and she started listing off things she'd observed about you that she said were dead giveaways--starting with the long hair and the toenail polish, and the fact that you shave your armpits. Do you, by the way?" She looks at me; her eyes are red and puffy.

"Do I what?"

"Shave under your arms."

"Uh, yeah. How'm I supposed to wear stuff like tank tops or that dress I had on earlier if I don't?"

"I'm not upset about it; I just didn't know. And I won't ask whose razor you've been using--we'll get you your own today." I smile sheepishly at her. She seems drained but she's not crying anymore. "Anyway, after giving me a laundry list of so-called signs, most of which seemed perfectly normal for any boy or girl to me, she insisted they all pointed irrefutably to your being, as she called it, an abomination before God--a homosexual." She says it in a parody of that voice television preachers use to scare their viewers into coughing up a big donation. I roll my eyes. "And for a capper, she said your rash was proof that you were 'actively engaging in that perversion.' Well, I just stood there, shellshocked, until she tried to hand me literature for a treatment program provided through her church, guaranteed to put you back on the straight and narrow. I couldn't help myself--I just burst out laughing."

"Yeah, I heard you. I take it she didn't react well to that?"

She snorts. "You could say that. Then--I'm so sorry Joey; I don't know what I could have been thinking, trying to reason with that--that nutcase." She sighs. "I tried to explain the truth to her." The haunted look in her eyes tells me this turned out to be one of the worst mistakes she's made in her life. "The trouble with these religious wackos is they're absolutely impervious to reason. You'd think a doctor of all people would need to be open-minded and rational. In this case you'd be wrong. Well, there's no need to go into details but when she started threatening to go to the police or social services with accusations that I was encouraging my own child to engage in acts of sexual perversion she crossed the line. Let's just say I reminded her of her professional and ethical duty to preserve doctor-patient confidentiality and it's lucky you interrupted when you did or I might be facing jail time for assault with intent to do bodily harm." Lucky for the doctor--you do not want to be up against Mom when she gets this mad. I almost wish I hadn't interrupted.

I give Mom a big hug 'cause she really, really looks like she needs it. "Thanks, Mom. It means a lot to me that when the chips are down you always stand up for me." She smiles. I let go and reach up to take out the rubber band that's holding my hair back. "Now can we go home so I can get out of these things and go back to being me?"

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I'm not letting on to Mom but the whole incident has really shaken me up. Especially that look Dr. Cykuta was giving me as we left. That scared the shit out of me. I don't understand it--she seemed so nice, too. What have I ever done to her? How does my being like this hurt her? It's like just my very existence is intolerable. I'm pretty sure she's not the only one who'd feel that way about me if they knew, too. I mean, I kind of already figured that out, but I never really felt it before now. I kind of feel like I need to vomit.

Even with Mom and Dad's total support I'm feeling really alone and scared right now. I can't even imagine going through this without that like Michelle had to.

###

Chapter 15: To do is to be

I'm feeling a little carsick from reading the last few pages on our way home. Reading in the car always does that to me and it didn't help that I was already a little green around the gills but I just couldn't wait to get back to it--which would have been the case even if I hadn't desperately needed something to take my mind off what had just happened. Of course now I have that sort of emptiness, that feeling of loss you get when you come to the end of a really good book you didn't want to ever end. Oh well. I feel so much better being back in my clothes that the carsickness isn't bothering me too much, as long as I keep my eyes on the horizon. "How come Livy's not coming with us?"

"I offered but she said she didn't feel like it. You know, I think she's really grateful you're taking some of the pressure off her to do this sort of thing with me."

I smile. Maybe that's why she's so much nicer to me now. That, or the fact that I'm not acting like an obnoxious jackass boy anymore.

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Mom didn't mention the pre-soak. "Isn't this the part where Madge comes in and tells me I'm soaking in Palmolive?" I check the manicurist's name tag just to be sure. Nope, not Madge--Debbie.

She laughs at my little joke but Mom just rolls her eyes. "Just try to relax and enjoy it, Joey." I can hear the unspoken threat that for how much this is costing I'd better enjoy it, or else.

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You know, it is kind of nice to have someone else tending to your grooming. I guess it's an instinct that goes back to monkeys picking fleas and ticks off of each other. And eating them. For monkeys, I bet that's the best part. Mm-mm, crunchy.

I don't know if it's just this salon--it's the same place I got my hair cut--or if they're all like this, but the people here seem to just be really chatty with the customers. I'm mostly staying out of it though, letting Mom hold up our end of the conversation and just sort of listening in while I "try to relax and enjoy it." I just don't have the energy for a lot of talking right now.

"Tips" turn out to be these little plastic fingernail extenders they glue on the ends to make them longer before they file and polish them. They look kinda like something I've seen in one of those loud and obnoxious commercials on TV late at night--like one of those K-Tel or Ronco deals. Only I think those are whole fake nails you stick on over your real ones.

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Debbie keeps glancing at me out of the corner of her eye while she carefully paints the Pearlescent Coral polish on my nails. "You're being awfully quiet today. Something on your mind?" Jeez, I thought you were a manicurist, not a psychotherapist. I guess it'd be rude not to respond though.

"Sorry. Yeah, I guess."

"Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes talking about it helps." I've got an 'eh, not really' look on my face. "Worried about a big date?" My expression just switched to 'alarmed.' She smiles. "Don't worry, I'm not a mind reader. I've just gotten good at picking up on these things over the years. Why don't you tell Aunt Debbie all about it?"

I look around and notice Mom's not right here anymore. "Um, where'd my mom go?"

Debbie smiles. "My, you must be preoccupied." I give her a sheepish look. "She got up a few minutes ago to schedule a manicure for herself. Doris was free so she's getting it done now." She indicates the other side of the shop with her eyes. I look over and see Mom engrossed in conversation with, I presume, Doris. I catch her eye and smile. She returns the smile and goes back to her conversation.

"Yeah, I guess I was pretty out of it." I think for a minute. What do I want to tell Debbie? I really don't want to think about the date situation, but I really don't have a good solution and I guess I can't avoid it forever. I start talking and it just kind of pours out of me in a flood of words. "I have this date tomorrow, only it's not really a date, he just asked me to meet him at the arcade to play some pinball, you know? 'Cause I just mentioned one time that I love pinball and it was, like, really sweet of him to remember that. But he said he'd bring a roll of quarters and it was his treat, so I guess since he's paying it really is a date. Only the thing is I didn't think about that at the time, you know, when I said yes? And like, I would never have said yes if I'd realized he was, like, asking me out for real."

She finishes the nails on my left hand and sets the bottle of nail polish down, to focus all her attention on the conversation I guess. "Whoa, slow down girl. You're losing me." She gives a little laugh and has a bemused look on her face. I've been getting that look a lot lately; I'm getting kind of used to it. "Do you like this boy?"

"Well, yeah." The intensity of my reply surprises me. I blush.

She smiles knowingly, but looks puzzled at the same time. "So why on Earth wouldn't you have said yes to a real date?"

"Oh. Didn't I say that part?" Her expression says I didn't. "Um, 'cause one of my very best friends is like totally head-over-heels for him and she's been trying to get him to ask her out for, like, forever." I mean, she's as much my friend as Livy's anymore. Maybe more, since she knew about me before anyone else.

"Ah." She says it like somehow now it all makes sense. She picks the bottle back up and starts on my right hand. "Well, it sounds like you have a choice to make. Which is more important to you--a date with this boy, or not hurting your friend?"

I hang my head in shame. When you put it like that, it's pretty obvious. "I don't suppose you could think of a way I could convince my friend to be OK with this...?" She pauses from painting my nails long enough to look me directly in the eyes and shake her head. Sigh. "Then I guess I better call him when I get home and call it off." Finishing up, she closes the bottle and gives my hand a sympathetic squeeze, skillfully avoiding messing up any of the still-wet polish.

"So, tell me about your friend." I smile, welcoming the change of subject.

----------

"Yeah. Bye." Click.

Sigh.

Rich sounded almost as disappointed as I feel. I don't know whether to be happy or sad about that. I feel kinda guilty about lying and blaming it on Dad, too--I told him Dad said I was too young to be dating. But it was all I could come up with that would get him not to ask me out again without making him think I didn't like him.

Now if you'll excuse me, I think I need to go curl up in a ball and cry for a while.

----------

"Uh, hi, Felicia?"

"Yeah?"

"Hi, it's me, Joey."

"Oh, hi! Uh, you OK?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I dunno, you sound like maybe you've been crying or something."

"Oh. You can tell?"

"Yeah." Pause. "You want to talk about it?"

"No, I'm OK now."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, it's stupid anyway. I'm kind of embarrassed about it." Embarrassed that I came so close to hurting my friend over a boy. "Anyway that's not what I called about. You know that dragon book you loaned to Livy?"

"Oh, Dragonflight? Yeah, is she done with it?"

"Yeah. Actually she let me read it when she finished and now I'm done too. So you can have it back any time."

"Oh. OK." Another pause. "You called to tell me that?"

"Uh, no, not exactly. Um, I was wondering if you know, is there a sequel? 'Cause it was soooo good I didn't want it to end."

"Oh. Yeah, it's called Dragonquest. But if you were gonna ask to borrow it, the answer is no."

"Huh? W-why not?" I try not to sound hurt. After what I just went through for her sake--OK, she doesn't know about that, but still.

"Ha! Gotcha! 'Cause I don't have it."

"Why, you little--! I oughta--" I can't help doing a Moe Howard impersonation. Rich Little I ain't but it gets a laugh. "I don't get it. How could you read Dragonflight and not want to run right out and read the sequel?"

"I did. I borrowed it from the library."

"Oh, OK." At least she's not insane. Still, I don't get the whole library thing. If a book is any good, I want to have it so I can read it over and over. And I can read the first few pages of a book to see if it's any good just as easily in the bookstore as at the library. "Guess I'll just have to shell out for it myself then."

"Or check it out at the library."

"Yeah, or that." Right. Good thing she can't see me rolling my eyes through the phone.

----------

"OK. Bye." Click.

Sigh.

Yeah, definitely the right choice.

So how come I still have this hollow, achy place inside?

----------

"Hey, Mom?"

She responds without looking up from separating the laundry she just dumped out of the hamper into piles of darks, lights, and colors. "Hm?"

I keep pulling clothes out of the dryer and folding them into the basket as I talk. If you do it carefully, while they're still warm, you end up with a lot less creases and wrinkles. For stuff you wouldn't iron, like jeans, it's an easy way to make them look sharper and less sloppy when you wear them. "When you talked to Michelle last night did she say anything about finding me a doctor?"

"No. Uh, yes. I mean, she said she hasn't found one yet."

"Oh." Poop. Hasn't enough gone wrong today already?

"Don't give up hope, sweetie. She said she'd find you one and she'll keep her word."

Sigh. "I know. I just... it's so frustrating." She nods and we go back to just quietly doing the laundry. I spend some time trying to work out my thoughts.

After a while I kind of have a vague idea of something I want to say. "It's just, for so long I was just resigned to growing up the wrong way, you know? I didn't think there was anything I could do about it. But now that I know there is, I don't get why I have to wait to start. I don't want to have to go further down the wrong road. I know I can never be normal but I want to at least wind up looking normal, you know?"

"Oh, sweetie, you look fine. You're a very pretty girl."

"Thanks, but you're my mom--you have to say that. Anyway that's not what I see when I look in the mirror in the morning, you know? I'm thirteen and a half but I look, like, eleven."

"Well, so you're a bit of a late bloomer. Lots of girls are."

"I know, but I don't have to be. I could be developing and starting to catch up to where I should be. I could be starting to grow real boobs, and curves and stuff." I illustrate by moving my hands around where my hips should be. "Instead of worrying about my voice breaking and getting all hairy everywhere. It's just frustrating, is all."

"I can understand how you must feel. Until Michelle finds a doctor for you though, I don't know what we can do about it. We just need to be patient."

"Yeah. ...You don't think--nah. Never mind."

"What, sweetie?"

"I was thinking about something that stupid doctor said today and it got me wondering. I was just gonna ask if you thought Grandfather Sorensen would prescribe me something. But he'd never go for that. He'll probably have a heart attack when he finds out. I guess I'm just getting desperate."

Mom looks perturbed about something but she gets all quiet for a while. Finally she says, "I don't know how Daddy will feel about... your change. But I've put off finding out long enough." She seems to be struggling, trying to make up her mind about something. "I want to call him right now. But it would probably be better if Steve and I discuss the best way to handle it before I just go charging in like a bull in a china shop and mess everything up." She's probably right. She does have a tendency to go off half-cocked. I guess I get that from her. Dad's the meticulous planner. "We'll figure it out tonight and I'll call Daddy tomorrow. Will that be all right, sweetie?"

"Yeah, I guess I can wait one more day." To be honest, much as I want to get started with medical treatments to set my body right, I'm kind of terrified of how the rest of the family will react when they find out about me and I don't mind putting that off.

----------

"Ah fink--"

"Livy! You know better than to talk with your mouth full."

Livy rolls her eyes as she pauses for a second to swallow her mouthful of salad. "'Scuse me. I was trying to say, I think you should talk to Grandmother about it first, and let her deal with Grandfather."

"Hm. You know, Sandy, that's not a bad idea. If we could think of a way to get her on Joey's side, and that's a big if, she'd have Pop Sorensen going along with it and thinking it was all his idea in no time." There's a hint of sarcasm in Dad's voice; I've never seen any open hostility between them, but I've always gotten the feeling that Grandmother is kind of the Endora to his Darren. Though I've never really figured out why.

Mom gives him a bit of a dirty look. "All right, but how do you propose to convince her?"

"I don't think she'll need much convincing." I'm not sure why, but something just dawned on me.

They all turn and look at me with curiosity. Mom asks the question on all their minds. "Why do you say that?"

"I dunno, I've always kind of gotten the feeling she was a little disappointed I wasn't a girl."

"How so?" Mom can't seem to decide whether she should be sympathetic about how that must have felt before, or relieved that it will make things easier now. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure whether to resent Grandmother a bit for feeling that way, or look forward to making her happy now that I can finally give her what she's always wanted. I guess I can do both, can't I?

Shrug. "Just a feeling I get from her. She isn't, like, blatant about it or anything." I think for a minute while I chew a bite, then swallow and shrug again. "Anyway all you'd need to do is let on that Dad might not be too happy about it and she'd be moving heaven and Earth to make it happen."

At first it looks like Dad's choking 'cause his face is turning purple, but then I realize he's just trying really hard not to laugh out loud. Mom's glaring at us, but she's not denying the truth of what I said.

I think we have our plan.

----------

After going over all my lines again we only rehearsed one of Dad's scenes--over, and over, and over, and over--until he was satisfied he had it committed to memory. So it didn't really take as long as last night, it just felt a lot longer.

I kind of feel like escaping for a while, exploring distant worlds to take my mind off this one, you know? But none of the planets are out just now and none will be for a couple of hours. And it's not really dark enough to be looking at deep-sky objects yet. So I don't bother lugging out my telescope. I just drag the chaise from the sun porch out to the back yard, lie down in it, wrap myself in a blanket and lose myself in the gradually darkening sky, letting my imagination take me to the other side of the galaxy.

To boldly go where no man has gone before. Heh. Somehow I don't think this is what Captain Kirk meant. Though there was that one episode with the mind-transfer machine....

----------

I wake up shivering uncontrollably. I didn't think I was that tired. Jupiter and Mars and the Moon are up now but all I can think about is getting inside and curling up in my warm, comfy bed. I can feel the checkerboard pattern imprinted in my cheek from the crisscrossing straps of the chaise. I drag it back onto the sun porch and try the back door.

Shit. Locked.

I walk around and try the front door, not expecting the situation there to be any better. I'm not disappointed.

I'm fucking freezing.

In the shrub under my bedroom window I see a pair of glowing green eyes floating in a sea of inky darkness. "Bonsoir, Charbon." It occurs to me I should probably be saying "bonjour" at this point but it's not like he cares anyway. He's a cat; cat's don't care. That's what makes them cats and not dogs.

He blinks at me, then nonchalantly strolls over and rubs up against my legs. He looks up at me and asks, "Mrow?"

I don't know what to say to that so I just shrug. He starts to stroll off. As he goes around the corner of the house he looks back and says, "Mrow."

"Bien sá»r." Whatever you say, kitty. I pull my blanket more tightly around my shoulders against the chill and ponder my predicament. I suppose I could just wake someone up to let me in, but I can picture Emma Peel looking disappointed in me, imploring me not to be so bloody dull. How do you ever expect to make it as a secret agent if you can't break into your own house without leaving a trace? Well, she does have a point.

I walk around the house, quietly trying every window. No luck; they're all closed and locked tonight. Then it occurs to me there's one door I haven't tried.

The garage door is locked too, but the latch that holds it closed doesn't work very well. It takes a couple of good hard yanks, but I manage to get first one side, then the other, to come loose without making too much of a racket. As quietly as I can, I lift it up just enough to duck under it, then carefully pull it closed behind me.

There's only one small window in the garage so it's nearly pitch dark. While waiting for my eyes to adapt I feel something slither past my ankles. "Gaaah!"

"Mrow?"

"Merde! Tu m'avez effrayée, Charbon! Ne pas faire cela!" I hiss it at him, so I think he gets the point. I hear him scamper off in the darkness.

After a minute or so I can see enough shadowy shapes in the gloom that I figure I can make it to the door into the family room without killing myself. After a bit of groping and only a little toe-stubbing I manage to make my way there. I fumble around until I find the doorknob. Holding my breath, I try it, and let out a whoosh of relief when it turns. As I open the door I see, in the moonlight filtering in through the brand-new window, something small and black zip past me into the house. "Mr-r-row!"

"De rien." Because as you know, I exist only to serve you. I roll my eyes and lock the door behind me.

----------

This time I remember to hug the opposite wall of the hallway by the bathroom to avoid the squeaky spot, and manage to get myself to bed without waking anyone up. Emma Peel would be so proud.

----------

I'm awakened by Charbon purring loudly right in my ear. His breath tickles. And smells. "Ugh. Bonjour, fish-breath."

He just looks at me through half-closed eyes and keeps purring. I scritch him behind his ears and on his cheeks as I crawl out of bed.

----------

"...So I was wondering if it'd be OK if I came over to work on my routine with you this morning instead."

"Sure. ...Um, do you mind if I ask why you called it off?" Linda sounds concerned.

Sigh. I just knew she was gonna ask about that. "I'll tell you when I get there, 'k?" I don't like to talk on the phone when I could be doing it face-to-face. You miss, like, half the conversation when you can't see the other person.

"OK. See you in a bit, then."

"Yeah. Bye."

----------

"Just hold it like that and kind of lean into it until it almost hurts. You'll need to do this for about five minutes every day if you want to be able to do the splits by the tryouts. Maybe twice a day."

"I have been. It doesn't seem to be doing much."

"It takes time." Which I'm about to point out is running out fast when she adds, sounding surprised, "Hey, did you do your nails?"

"Oh. Yeah, it was Mom's idea. She treated me to a professional manicure. I guess to try to break me of the habit of chewing on 'em."

"And you went willingly?" She's laughing at me. Well, not really, but I can tell she is on the inside.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, it's one of the signs of the apocalypse. Oh, and I was wearing that sun dress you gave me too." OK, now she is laughing at me. I roll my eyes at her.

After she calms down she gets this look like she just remembered something. "Hey, so what's the deal with you calling off the date with Rich? I thought you wanted to go out with him."

I was wondering when she'd get around to that. "Yeah, I did. But, like, this friend of mine--she's been a really good friend lately, you know? And she's had this huge crush on Rich like forever, you know? And she was getting all mad at me at the mall the other day for flirting with him, and I wasn't, I swear!" She raises an eyebrow at this. "At least, not on purpose. I just met him and was only trying to be polite." Hey, I can do without the skeptical looks, OK? "Anyway at first me playing pinball with him seemed kinda harmless, but the more I thought about it, and the more everybody insisted it was a real date, the more I felt, like, bad about it, you know? And I was talking to Debbie about it, at the salon while she was doing my nails--" She's shaking her head like she still can't believe it, and looks like she's having trouble not laughing again. I pause and give her a dirty look.

She holds up her hands and tries to look innocent. "Sorry! I'll be good."

Yeah, right. "As I was saying, so Debbie at the salon was like, 'What's more important, a date or a friend?' and when she put it like that I finally got the picture so I was like 'oh, duh, guess I'd better call it off then.'"

"Uh huh. So did you tell Rich why you called it off?"

"No way. Felicia--that's my friend with the crush? She doesn't want him to know. Anyway I didn't want to take any chance of it getting back to her. I figure she'll be happier if she never finds out he even asked me out."

"Yeah. So what did you tell him?"

"I told him my dad said I was too young to date. Which isn't totally a lie, 'cause even though he never said it I'm pretty sure he feels that way."

"Yeah, I think mine still feels that way."

"Yeah, dads are weird like that."

"Yeah. Well it's good to know I can trust you around my boyfriends then, 'cause you're turning out to be a little heartbreaker."

"Oh, gimme a break. Like any boy would give me a second look with a fox like you around."

She looks bemused. "Thanks for the compliment. I'm not sure I've ever been called a 'fox' by a girl before--"

"Well, you are. And I'm, I'm just a skinny little kid who you couldn't even tell was a girl if I didn't dress like one. Or at least sing like one," remembering how this all got started. I'm trying not to show it, but this line of thought is kind of making me really upset for some reason. Or maybe I'm still upset from everything that happened yesterday and this is just sort of bringing it out.

"Hey, a lot of guys go for that look. I mean, look at models. Look at Twiggy."

Snort. "Guys don't go for that. Girls think they should look like that 'cause the models do but guys like a girl to have curves. Like you."

"Oh, come on. Anyway how would you know so much about what guys like?"

Guess I'd better not tell her the real reason. "C'mon. Haven't you ever seen Playboy?" My cousin Lisa found some in Uncle Keith's bedroom and showed me once. With three grown brothers I figure she'll have seen one at some point. Her eyes tell me I'm not wrong. "Those centerfolds aren't what you'd call plump but they aren't exactly built like me, either. More like you. That's what guys want. Not this." I indicate my lack of contours. I almost lose my balance in the process but cover up by switching my stretch to the other leg.

"Rich seems to find you attractive enough." I sigh dejectedly; she looks alarmed. "Sorry! Forget I said that."

"Too late. Anyway you're right; I guess I can't argue with that. It's just, I see what I look like, and then I see you, and my sister, and... I dunno, I just feel so..." I can't think of the right word so I just shrug and look at the floor.

"Well you shouldn't. You know what body part guys say is most important for deciding if a girl is attractive?"

"I dunno, big boobs? A cute butt? Sexy legs?" None of which apply to me, in case you weren't aware.

"No, the face. And trust me, you have nothing to feel bad about there."

I roll my eyes. "Psshht. Right, the face. Guys are always going around saying, 'Hey man, check out the face on that chick.'" My over-the-top 'guy' impression gets a laugh. "Where did you read that--Tiger Beat?" My voice is dripping with scorn but I can't help smiling a bit--it does make me feel better about myself to think that.

"Cosmo, actually." She says it like somehow that makes it more credible. I guess maybe it does, a little.

"Oh, Cosmo. Well I guess it must be true then." I have to tease her about it a bit, don't I? But my smile is getting bigger. It occurs to me maybe this is why I was so bummed out about missing our practice session yesterday. Linda has a real knack for making me feel better about myself and cheering me up. I giggle at a sudden thought.

"What?"

"Nothing." I suppress another giggle.

"Fine, be that way."

"Jeez, you don't hafta get all pouty about it. I just realized something about you, is all. Cheerleading isn't just a sport for you, is it? It's like, a way of life." I smile big to let her know I don't mean it as a put-down or anything.

She gets a big smile too and looks skyward. "Finally, someone who really gets me!"

----------

"Well, someone seems to be in a better mood." Mom keeps glancing at me out of the corner of her eye.

"Hmm? Oh. Yeah, I guess so." I lean my head back down on my right arm, which is resting on the car door with the window rolled down. I'm just enjoying the warm wind in my hair and on my face and I guess I must look kinda blissed out. Man, I wish this thing was a convertible.

"Did something in particular make you happy?"

"Not really; it's just kinda hard to stay down around Linda."

"I'm glad you've finally made some friends here. I was starting to worry about you."

"Me too--I mean, I'm glad too. It's good to have friends." I let out a little laugh. "I always thought I was pretty good at it, what with having to make all new friends every time we move. Usually it takes a couple of months once school starts though."

That gets a big sigh out of Mom. Crap, I didn't mean to upset her. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm hoping we can stay longer this time."

"Nah, 's'ok. I've always kinda liked moving every couple of years. New scenery, new people, a fresh start--keeps life from getting boring, y'know?"

We're home; she pulls into the driveway and parks. "I'm glad to hear you feel that way. So do your father and I. We do pay a price though, and sometimes I wonder if it isn't too high." Huh. Well, I've never regretted moving, though at times I've wished we could've moved somewhere... better.

----------

"Oh, I talked to Mother--uh, Grandmother, while you were gone." Mom takes a dish from Liv to put away as I hand her another one to dry. I can see Dad through the window over the sink, mowing the back yard.

"Oh." A wave of fear washes over me and my stomach hurts. "Um, so, how'd she take it?"

"Well, you must have been right about her--she didn't seem too fazed about it."

Phew. "That's good news."

"She even said she thought it was probably for the best."

"I couldn't agree more." Yay!! Grandmother still loves me! I didn't think I was that worried about it, but I am so relieved.

"In fact she's so excited to see her 'new' granddaughter, they're going to drive up for a visit. They'll be here some time tomorrow morning."

"Wow, cool. So wait, she told Grandfather while you were on the phone with her? How'd he take it?"

"No, he was out puttering in the garden. But she said she'd handle him and to tell you not to worry."

"OK." I guess. I'm pretty nervous about how he's gonna react though. But I guess I don't have to deal with that until tomorrow.

----------

"You ready to go to the rehearsal, kiddo?" Dad's Old Spice aftershave is kind of powerful but still a definite improvement on lawnmower exhaust and grass clippings.

"Yeah, just lemme get my shoes on." I think I left 'em under my bed--yeah, here they are. As I sit down to tie them I notice Dad's come into my room and closed the door behind him. "What's up?" He looks a little nervous or something.

"You remember they're going to be measuring for costumes today?"

"Yeah, that's why I'm wearing this." White shorts and the lime-green crop top. "I figure these are thin enough they should be able to get good measurements with 'em on, and if they do need me to take 'em off, well--it should be easy enough." I shrug.

He clears his throat. "Hm. Sure, that makes sense." He's looking everywhere but at me. "I'm just a little worried..."

"'Bout what?"

"If they do need you to take them off..."

"Oh." I get it now--he's worried about me being exposed. More than other people with their clothes off, I mean. "Don't worry, I can handle it."

"Are you sure? I mean, really sure? The consequences if you're wrong--"

"Yeah, like up top with the stuffed bra might be kind of a little embarrassing, but it'll be in private, right? I mean, they wouldn't make me strip in front of everyone, would they?" He shakes his head. "Yeah, so I've already had to deal with that once and like I said, it'd be a little embarrassing maybe, but not a big deal really. Lots of girls my age are still flat up top and bra stuffing is pretty common. Heck, it wasn't even my idea originally; it was Linda's."

"All right. You sound like you know what you're talking about. But what about..." He looks uncomfortable, even awkward, as he gestures vaguely toward my nether regions. "I mean, what if they need you to take off your shorts? Won't they see--won't they be able to... tell?"

"Shouldn't be a problem. It's not like they're gonna make me take off my panties." Like I said, that technique Michelle showed me has really improved my confidence in that department.

"You're sure about that?"

I guess Dad's a little reluctant to trust my judgment on this. Which is irritating enough to overcome my modesty so I think I'll let him judge for himself. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to get a second opinion. What do you think?" I drop my shorts and pirouette.

"Gah!" His eyes bug out briefly before he can get his hand over them. "All right. I'm not sure I needed to see that but you've made your point. Have you got your shorts back on yet?"

Zip. "Yeah." I put a little scorn in my voice to go with the smirk I can't seem to keep off my face. Serves him right, not believing I knew what I was talking about.

He uncovers his eyes but still won't look straight at me. "How... no, never mind. I think I'm happier not knowing."

"Prob'ly." Just when I thought I had that smirk under control, it's back. "OK, can we go now?"

"Uh, right." He shakes his head and rolls his eyes as he opens my door. I can't make out what he's muttering.

----------

"Do I need to get undressed or something?"

The costume lady--I think Dad told me her name but I can't for the life of me remember it--looks me over and feels the fabric of my top and shorts. "No, those won't make enough difference to matter." She pulls the tape measure around my butt. "Hips, thirty-one." Letting go of one end she makes a note in her book.

Putting the pencil back behind her ear, she reaches behind me and pulls the measuring tape around to meet in front again, this time a bit higher up. "Waist, twenty-three and a half." Again she releases the tape and writes in her book.

I kind of zone out, looking around the room at the racks holding an odd assortment of costume bits and pieces from past shows. "Under the bust, twenty-six." I wonder if that hula skirt is from a production of South Pacific. Dad was in that last year, but not at this theatre. He played Luther Billis--the character played by that My Favorite Martian guy in the movie version. In one scene Dad got in drag in a hula skirt and a coconut bra. He camped it up pretty good. Mom and Liv and I laughed our asses off, especially since he had Mom's name in a heart tattooed across his belly big enough to read from the back row. It was way better than the movie.

I feel the tape being pulled against the back of my bra and it occurs to me that she's bound to notice something funny with what's filling it, even with my shirt on. Why I didn't think of this before I don't know. I start to get nervous. Sure enough, when her hands get around to the front she looks momentarily startled, then raises an eyebrow and gives me a look. I respond with a blush and a guilty-as-charged grin.

Her eyes bore into mine for a heartbeat, then she grins back. "Make sure you wear these for the show or your costumes won't fit right." Phew. She had me worried for a second there. She looks at the tape. "Across the bust, thirty-one."

----------

"...So anyway, the costume lady--what's her name? Did you tell me and I forgot?"

"I thought I did. It's Georgia."

Doesn't ring a bell. "OK. Well anyway, Georgia didn't make me take anything off but she did notice my stuffed bra. No big deal, like I said, I just acted embarrassed and she made me promise not to forget to stuff it for the show." OK, so I wasn't actually acting.

"Well it's a relief to have that over with."

If you say so, Dad. If I'm not worried, why should you be? It's my ass on the line after all. I just shrug.

----------

On the way home we pass a big fenced-in parking lot full of yellow and black buses. I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach at the reminder of the hell that lies just a few more days in my future known as the First Day of School. Then I remember something else and really freak out. "Hey, Dad?"

"Hm?"

"Did you and Mom--I mean, what have you guys been able to do about my school situation?"

He doesn't look happy, but then he doesn't look too terribly upset either. Just like he maybe has a touch of indigestion or something. "We're still working on it, kiddo."

"Oh." That tells me nothing. "But I mean, am I gonna go in there Wednesday morning and have all the teachers asking for 'Llewellyn, Laurence' when they call roll? Or what?"

"No, we withdrew Larry's enrollment. He won't be going to school here this fall. How can he? He doesn't exist anymore." Well that's good, I suppose. Dad looks like he's trying hard not to let on that he's got any regrets about this.

"He never did, really. He was just a character I played." I kind of say it quietly to my knees 'cause it bugs me that Dad feels that way even if he's nice enough to try to hide it from me.

He gets a kind of faraway look in his eyes and doesn't say anything for a minute, then starts softly quoting The Bard:

"'All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts...'" There's more to that monologue but his voice kinda fades out there.

Man, I thought we were past all this. It's like that annoying song about the cat who keeps coming back. I'm overcome with a feeling of weariness--the kind of achy tired you feel after a long day at Cedar Point when you went on one too many spinny rides. "Yeah, OK. So Larry's made his final exit and Lee's made her big entrance. But it's the same 'player,' Dad. It's still me." I'm trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice, but I can't seem to keep the tiredness from coming through.

He glances over at me and sighs. "I know, punkin. I know. It's just taking a little getting used to, is all."

Sigh. "Yeah, I guess it would." I just sit there staring at my hands in my lap for a minute. Damn, I've got a chipped nail. How'd that happen? Then I kind of kick myself mentally. Who the fuck cares about a stupid chipped nail? I still don't know what the deal is with school. "So, but then if Larry's not registered, and as Lee I don't have any school records or any records really, then who am I gonna be? What's gonna happen the first day?" I start to hope I won't be able to attend school at all until they get this straightened out.

"We wanted to wait a few days between pulling Larry out and enrolling you, just to reduce the likelihood of someone making the connection. We'll go in on Tuesday and get you enrolled with the understanding that we don't have your legal documents immediately available because of our recent move." Damn. Guess I'm not getting out of school after all. "It'll take a while before they find out there's a problem locating your old school records; we'll try to get something worked out by then. Which reminds me--we--well, you--need to decide what your new name is going to be before we enroll you."

"Huh? It's Lee. Lee Llewellyn."

"Of course. But is Lee your full first name, or a nickname? And what's your middle name? Or is Lee still your middle name but you've decided you prefer it to your first name? Whatever you come up with, it won't be easy to change once you're enrolled."

"Oh. I guess I'll have to give it some thought then." Huh. I'd kinda been thinking I was stuck with Lee now for good or ill. I guess I have a little more leeway than I thought. So to speak. Heh. Oh, stop groaning; it wasn't that bad.

Do I like the name Lee? I never had a choice about my name before. This is kinda weird.

Hey, I never said how it was spelled. So it could be Leigh, like the actress from that Hitchcock movie, Psycho. Anyway Mom always said Liv and I were both named after Dad's favorite actor (think about it; I'm sure you can figure it out). So Leigh kinda makes sense as a replacement. At least it sorta fits the theme.

But that brings up an interesting question. "Dad? If I was born a girl, I mean looking like a girl and everything, what would you guys have named me?"

"Funny you should ask. We had a lot of trouble with that and actually hadn't come up with anything we could both agree on by the time you were born. So we were relieved when you came out a boy." He glances over and apparently notices the not-so-happy expression on my face at this revelation. "Well, you certainly looked like one when you were born." Guess I can't argue with that. "Anyway it saved a lot of arguing."

"Well, what did you want to name me? If you'd known I was a girl, I mean."

"Audrey, as in Hepburn." Yuck. I mean, I wouldn't mind having her looks and her talent, but Audrey? Come on. "But your mother thought it was too old-fashioned and would have none of it." Thank you, Mom! His voice gets conspiratorial. "I think she also suspected I was infatuated with Miss Hepburn and didn't want to encourage it."

I roll my eyes. "Thank god one of you had some sense." Luckily Dad seems to find that funny rather than getting offended. "What did she want to name me?"

"Tammy. After the title character of her favorite movie."

Good lord. My eyes are rolling so far back I think I can see the inside of my skull. "Oh, yeah, that's better." Well, I guess it would explain why she used to sing that song to me at bedtime. "Almost makes me glad I was born looking like a boy. At least this way I get to pick a decent name." Heck, Lee is way better than either of those. "I think I'm gonna stick with Lee for my first name. Only I'll spell it l-e-i-g-h, like Janet Leigh. How's that sound?" Dad chuckles. "What's so funny?"

"You mean you never figured out where your middle name came from?"

"Huh?"

"Your sister's middle name is Vivien..."

"Yeah, so?" It's always sounded kinda silly to me--Olivia Vivien. Then it dawns on me. "Ohhhh. Vivien, Lee.... Hey, so you saddled me with a girl's middle name for all those years?" I reach over and whack him on the arm.

"Ow! What's the problem? It never bothered you before. And now..." He looks amused but confused.

"Yeah but... I mean it's fine now, but... I'm just glad I never knew, is all. It was hard enough keeping up the pretense, without having to worry about that getting out."

"'All's well that ends well.' Have you thought about a middle name at all yet?"

"No, I was about to ask if you had any ideas."

"Well, a few years after you were born we did finally come across a name we could have agreed on for you. I think you might like it. It's from a Beatles song."

"What?" God, I hope it's not Rita. Or Lucy, or Madonna, or...

"Michelle."

"No way. Seriously?" He nods. Oh my god, it's perfect. I've got a big smile on my face now. I try it on for size. "Leigh Michelle Llewellyn. Hm, yes, it has a nice ring to it. Kind of rolls off the tongue." I like it. A lot. Plus it's like somehow it makes it all just a little bit more real. Like I'm not just pretending anymore, that really is my name. I'm a little giddy. "OK, I'll take it."

Dad laughs and gets a twinkle in his eye. "Shall I wrap it up for you then, Miss?" He's doing his best Obsequious Shopkeeper, which is a damn sight better than his Eric Idle.

I decide to play along as the Valued Customer with a haughty "Certainly. And see that it's delivered to my address."

"Your wish is my command, Miss. No sooner said than done." He pulls into our driveway and parks. We both break out laughing.

----------

At least I managed not to use up my babysitting pay before I even got the check this time. 'Course you're a lot less likely to break windows playing poker. Mrs. B didn't look all that thrilled when she saw me pull the cards and the carousel of chips out of my duffel, but the boys had fun learning and I had fun teaching them. And it's not like we played for real money, after all. She'll get over it. Anyway she seemed pretty impressed when I told her they went the whole evening without even asking to watch TV.

I'm having trouble falling asleep though. Worried about tomorrow, I guess. How it's going to go, how Grandfather will treat me, what Grandmother is going to expect of me--she has very definite ideas about how a young lady should behave and they're quite different from Mom's. Then again she's pretty tolerant with Liv so who knows. I guess that's the scary part--the not knowing.

I just try not to think about that, and think about what I'm gonna do with my hard-earned money instead. I should have plenty for that belt and the matching bracelet and some make-up but I don't know if that'll leave me enough for any new shoes. Or should I go for the shoes and hold off on the other stuff for now? We didn't set up another babysitting job so who knows when I'll be getting more money. And--you know, I never really gave a crap about this before, but for some reason it seems really important to make a good impression the first day of school and I haven't given any thought to what I should wear. And it's less than four days away!

OK, now I really can't get to sleep.

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To Be Continued...