by Justme

---

 

Chapter 4: Always be true to yourself

"Sorry you had to babysit the little runt so long. I just could not find a cool backpack."

"No problem; he's kinda fun. And cute!" Felicia puts an arm around my shoulders and gives me a lecherous look, which I return, just to fuck with Livy's head. Which appears to be Felicia's intention too. Something about Livy just seems to make you want to do that, you know?

"Oh, gross--don't tell me you've got the hots for my brother. That's disgusting. Anyway he's way too young for you."

"Well if our friendship is at stake I'll try to keep my hands off him." She takes her arm off my shoulders, puts the back of her hand to her forehead and lets out a melodramatic sigh. Livy rolls her eyes at us and we both crack up.

----------

"What?" I never like it when Livy looks at me that closely, especially not when I'm within arm's reach and strapped in place with a seatbelt. I scooch as far away as I can but it's not going to be enough. I consider undoing the seatbelt just in case.

"Nothing. You just... you look good like that. Better than usual, anyway."

"What?" Who are you and what have you done with my real sister?

"No, I'm serious. New shirt, new shoes, clean hair pulled back out of your face--you're still my gross little brother, but I guess I can kinda see where someone might think you were cute, all cleaned up like that. Or at least not totally disgusting. You should try it more often--maybe you wouldn't be such an outcast."

"Yeah, but..." I did all this trying to look more believable as a girl, not to attract one. "Don't I look kinda--I dunno--faggy like this?"

"Not really--I mean, as long as you don't go around acting all faggy. You just look kinda in-between, you know? Unisex. Like lots of kids your age do." Yeah, 'cause you're so much older. "Like Lori." She's our cousin, a few months younger than me and a total jock. I mean, she can kick my butt at just about any sport, except tennis 'cause I had lessons earlier this summer and I actually don't totally suck at it like I do at everything else athletic. And maybe soccer, just 'cause I grew up in places that take it seriously and she didn't. "Kinda the David Bowie look, you know? I mean, if you're confident about who you are it comes through, no matter what you're dressed like." Yeah, easy for you to say. No one would want to beat the crap out of you or get you psychiatric treatment just for trying to be your true self.

I don't say all that though--just, "Oh." She means well, and I can't very well explain why she's wrong, can I? "So do you think it will work for tonight too, at the rehearsal I mean?"

Her eyes narrow a bit. "I think so. As long as you can avoid acting like the little shit you are, and try to pretend to be human for a change, at least you won't change anyone's minds about what they already think you are."

"So, no more heebie-jeebies then?"

"No more heebie-jeebies. You're still a freak for doing this, though." OK, it really is Livy and not some impostor. That's a relief.

----------

Boy, Dad sure is being quiet tonight.

----------

Really quiet. And he's not looking at me.

----------

"You mad at me, Dad?"

"What?" OK, he's looking at me now. Eyes on the road, Dad. "No. Why... no."

"Well, something's eatin' ya. You haven't said a word since we got in the car."

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye and seems to be considering an answer. "Well..."

Long pause. I'll just have to out-wait him. He's committed now and will have to say something sooner or later....

----------

"I don't want you to think I'm 'square' or anything"--in which case you've defeated your purpose already by using that term--"but I don't know what to think about how you look. On the one hand, I know that androgynous, so-called 'unisex' look is 'in' and as far as that goes, you look pretty sharp tonight. If I didn't know better I'd think you were hoping to get some action with one of the girls in the cast or crew." I know it's a father-son bonding thing but somehow it's still always a little creepy when he talks to me like that. Parents aren't supposed to know about that kind of stuff.

"But the problem is, you do know better, and as simple as it seemed last night, now that I'm going through with it you find the reality kind of disturbing?"

"Well... yes. I'm sorry, but it is a little--disturbing--to actually see my son changing his style in the hope of passing for a girl."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Guess I won't be letting him in on my little secret any time soon. I have an idea how to maybe make it a little more palatable for him though. "If it helps, I'm trying to look at it as research for my role. I mean, if I can manage to walk the line the next couple of months and have a bunch of people I work with every week believing I'm a girl, after that playing one on stage in front of a few hundred strangers should be a piece of cake."

He looks like he's digesting this. "Yes. Yes, that does help." He starts parallel-parking the car in front of the school. "And it might help in another way, too. I should have thought of it before." Has he thought of something I haven't? "If you do get found out, it's the perfect alibi for this crowd; the actors, at least, will respect your dedication to your craft and won't fault you for fooling them. In fact they may applaud you for it."

Hah! This is so cool! I was worried about having to walk the razor-thin line between boy and girl and tap dance around any direct questions that might come up about my sex, but he's just given me carte blanche to 'girl it up' as much as necessary to pull it off. It's research for my role, after all! If I'd known that would go over so well, I'd have suggested it in the first place. Live and learn.

I have a thought. Should I? Oh, what the fuck. "That's good, 'cause now I have an excuse for this." I pull the rubber band out of my ponytail and shake out my hair. The look on his face! Man, I wish I had my camera.

----------

"...and she seemed so upset when she saw my reaction to it, I just didn't have the heart to tell her." He's laughing so hard he has tears in his eyes. Good thing I waited until we were parked to do this. "But she was right--it is perfect for the part; and if I pull it back in a ponytail it doesn't look totally girly, so I figured I'd just keep it this way until the show's over."

"Did your mom or Livy help you with the ponytail?" He asks when he's able to catch his breath.

"No, I did it before I caught up with them."

"So they haven't seen it like this yet?"

"Nope."

"Oh, I can't wait to see their faces when they do!"

"Uh. I was kind of hoping they wouldn't."

"Don't be silly, son. You can't hide something like this for long." Maybe not, but I was going to at least try. "Best to get it out in the open and deal with it right away." OK, but forgive me if I don't look forward to it the way you do, all right? I just roll my eyes at him.

Another thought occurs to me. Make lemonade, and all that crap. "Can we at least make sure I have my camera ready when they do see it?"

"Hah! Of course, of course! Beautiful!"

----------

I'm kind of expecting Tim to react the way Dad did, but he just smiles and gives me a little conspiratorial wink when he sees me. I guess he's pretty quick on the uptake. Wait, now he's coming over here. Wonder what he wants.

"Hi, Joey! I'm so glad you decided to join our cast after all. Listen, I forgot to ask you--we're a couple of nuns short for the choir in the opening number so do you think you could help us fill it out?"

Me, a nun? Oh, the irony. Dad looks like he appreciates it too. I look at him questioningly for his opinion, but he just shrugs so I guess it's up to me. "Um, sure, OK. I guess." Not like anyone would recognize me in a habit anyway. And there should be plenty of time for a costume change before Louisa has to make an appearance.

"Oh, good. Thanks so much. Now if I can talk Linda into it when she gets here we'll be all set for nuns." He spots some people coming in and heads off to accost them.

----------

Speak of the devil...

"Hi, Joy! Ooh, I love your hair."

She thinks I'm a major tomboy, so I'd best stay in character. Should be easy enough too; it's not that far from the truth. I give her an unenthusiastic "Thanks, I guess."

"You don't like it?"

"Well, when I told the lady at the salon I was going to be doing this role she just decided to cut it this way for me. I guess it's all right for that, but..."

"Better than all right, it's perfect! We should get her to do all our hair for the show."

"Yeah, great, but I have to go around with it like this every day."

"What? I think it's adorable. And very flattering on you."

"You think?" I sound unconvinced. "I mean, it's just so..."

"Feminine?"

I was going to say girly, but close enough; I shrug.

"Oh come on, it won't kill you to look pretty for a while." Little do you know. Under certain circumstances, it could. "Who knows, you might even enjoy it. Are you interested in boys yet?"

"Most of my friends are boys."

"I'm not surprised. But that's not what I meant."

"I know. No, not really." Not at all actually. I'm interested in girls. But I don't think that would go over real big so I leave it at that.

"I thought not. I was a late bloomer too." Wait, did I just see her eyes flick down to my undeveloped chest? Too funny. My first time being checked out there, and it's by a girl. "Well, I'm sure you will be soon enough." Yeah, don't hold your breath. "And trust me, they'll be a lot more interested in you looking like this." Great, I hadn't thought of that. At least I know a few good brush-off lines, from personal experience. With a little luck maybe I won't need to use them....

And here comes Tim now, no doubt looking to complete his nun collection.

----------

"You've done this before," Linda accuses me.

"Huh? Done what?"

"This. Played a nun in The Sound of Music."

"Nuh-uh. I've never even been in a play before."

"Then where did you learn these songs? Do you sing them in the choir at St. Andrew's or something?"

"Huh? No! I've never even been inside that place. We just have the soundtrack record from the movie at home." Doesn't everyone like to listen to showtunes?

"And you sing along with those songs?"

"He-ck, no." Did I just stop myself from swearing? What, am I turning into Mom now? "I guess I must've just kind of absorbed them."

"Wow. You must have a photographic memory."

"I dunno, I've only heard 'em like a bazillion times." Now that she mentions it, no one else here seemed to know the words and a lot were having trouble with the tunes. Huh.

----------

Shit. I kinda need to pee but we forgot to scope out an inconspicuous men's room for me to use. Hope I can hold it until we get home.

----------

"Wow. You know all the words to all the songs already?" Linda seems truly amazed.

"Uh, yeah...." The ones I need to, anyway. Seems there are a couple of songs in the play that aren't in the movie, or they left them off the soundtrack album for some reason. But Louisa doesn't sing any of those.

"Amazing. You're like a little musical prodigy or something." I'm not little! Well, not as tall as you maybe, but still.

"Nah, just really into showtunes, I guess. You didn't do too bad yourself."

"I hope not. I've been practicing every day since a week before the tryouts." Probably wouldn't be polite to mention that I haven't. I just smile.

Ngh. I should not have had that Coke just before we came.

----------

"Listen up, everybody." Tim's not quite yelling but still manages to be heard above the general din. "Grab a copy of the rehearsal schedule on your way out, and you'll be getting measured for costumes next Saturday so remember to wear clothes that are easy to get on and off. And don't forget, the renovations are done so we get to rehearse in the theatre from now on." Several people cheer and clap at this.

"OK kiddo, your mom's holding up dinner for us so let's not keep her waiting."

"In a sec. I really need to hit the bathroom first." I'm hoping I can find one away from prying eyes in time.

As I turn to go I almost bump into Linda, who says, "Good idea. I think I'd better join you." Oh, crap. Now what do I do? I look back at Dad in panic. He just looks bemused and gives a subtle shrug. I turn back to Linda, who's looking at me like well, are you coming or not? Crap, crap, crap. No time to mess around here--I need to go, now. It's either go with Linda or wet myself. No real choice there. OK, just think of it as in-depth research for my role....

----------

No urinals--what was I expecting?--and only one stall. Thankfully Linda sees my need and lets me go first. I unzip and start whipping 'it' out, anticipating impending relief, when I realize where I am and who I'm supposed to be. A few more precious seconds tick by while I fumble with the snap on my jeans, pull them down (along with my Fruit of the Looms--hope they're not visible under the stall door!), pull the tail of my shirt up and sit, pointing things downward so I don't piss all over the stall.

Ahhhhhh. That was close. Good thing the seat was down already.

----------

Linda startles me while I'm washing my hands by asking from the stall, "So Joy, how old are you?" OK, this is unexpected; I haven't had anyone talk to me in the bathroom since, like, fourth grade. Let alone while going. Is this something girls do, or is Linda just weird?

"Thirteen." The less I lie, the less chance I have of tripping myself up later.

"Oh." She sounds like she's trying not to sound surprised. Did she think I was older 'cause I'm a little taller than most girls my age? Or younger because I'm so underdeveloped?

"How 'bout you?"

"Sixteen." Flush.

"Going on seventeen?" That gets a chuckle out of her.

"Yeah, but I don't need anyone telling me what to do." She comes out of the stall and joins me at the sink as I dry my hands.

"I hear ya." Hey, they have mirrors in here. Working ones. In the boys' room there are just slightly less dingy areas on the wall suggesting where mirrors might once have been. Noticing my hair, I decide now would be a good time to pull it back into a ponytail, so I can wait to 'reveal' to Mom and Livy when I'm good and ready.

"But it's so much prettier down." She looks and sounds disapproving, or disappointed, or something.

"It gets in the way when I'm doing stuff." It did even before it got cut like this, and I never pulled it back then, but it sounds like a good excuse.

"Uh huh." Not that good, apparently; she's not buying it. "You know, wanting to be treated as an equal of boys doesn't mean you have to look or act like one."

"And how you act doesn't have to be decided by what sex you are," I counter. "Just 'cause you're a girl doesn't mean you have to like playing with Barbies and Easy-Bake Ovens and wearing make-up and dresses and stuff."

"I guess not. But--I don't know, don't you like the way it feels when someone tells you you're pretty?"

"Uh." Why does that question scare me? Well, the less I lie... "Yeah, I do." When I'm not trying to be a boy. I can feel my face flushing a little. "But..." I dunno, admitting that makes me feel kind of vain or something. "I don't want to be defined by that. You know? I wouldn't want people to see that and think that's all I am, and overlook everything else about me." Like I do to pretty girls I see all the fucking time. Shit. I never thought about it from this point of view before.

"Yeah, I guess some people do that. Especially boys," she says, rolling her eyes. Boys like me. I'm not feeling real good about myself right now, to tell you the truth. "And I guess some people get so wrapped up in looking good that really is all they are." Well, no one could ever accuse me of that, anyway. "But you are what you are, inside, you know? And no one can ever take that away from you, even if they can't see it."

That's what I've always told myself, but for some reason it blindsides me like a baseball bat to the back of the head to hear her saying it. And she has no idea she's just exposed my very soul. I squeeze my eyes closed to hold back tears, and nod in fervent agreement. I can't help it, though--I start to cry. Good thing I'm supposed to be a girl right now, or I'd be dying of shame and humiliation on top of the embarrassment I'm already feeling. She looks alarmed; she wasn't expecting this any more than I was. She wraps her arms around me gently and holds my head against her shoulder, stroking my hair. It's oddly comforting. "Oh, baby, it's OK. Shh. It's OK. What's the matter, honey? Was it something I said?"

I pull back from her shoulder, partly to make it easier to talk, partly to avoid getting snot all over it, and let out a sniffly, mucusy "Uh-huh." She looks like she might get upset about this so I head her off. "No, you just--what you said, about what you are inside, and not being able to take that away--just..." Words fail me so I make a clutching motion toward my heart to illustrate. "I don't know why it affected me like that. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me. You didn't make me cry." She rummages in her purse for something. "Here you go." She hands me a tissue.

"Thanks." I take it and blow my nose. She hands me another one; I wipe my eyes and cheeks with it. She has a third one ready but I wave it off. I lean over the sink and splash cold water over my face, then dry off with paper towels. I have to try not to shake 'cause what just happened kinda scares the shit out of me. Why couldn't I hold it together? What if I did something like that when I was supposed to be a guy? Like, at school or something? Shit, I'd be dead meat. I try to put it out of my mind.

"Anyway, I was just trying to say you're a very pretty girl and I don't understand why you try to hide it. When you've got an advantage like that you should make the most of it."

I'm blushing again--all over this time. "Thanks, but... I wouldn't even know where to start." I'm not real excited about the prospect of turning myself into a guy magnet, if you know what I mean. But--being looked at as a girl, having people finally be able to see me as I see myself--it just feels so right. I don't know why it makes a difference. It shouldn't, but it does.

"I'd love to help you with it. Would you like to get together, maybe tomorrow? And try a few things?"

Are you kidding? Hang out with a total fox? Hell yeah - where do I sign up? Wait, but... spend the whole time practicing looking and acting pretty? I dunno about that. I mean, girls my age are supposed to know that shit, I guess. And be interested in it. I'm just ... not. It's like, totally vain and superficial and just rubs me the wrong way. But I kinda wonder how much of that is, like, a defense mechanism, you know? And how much is a smoke screen I've been putting up so long I can't see through it myself anymore. Still, the thought of doing it is a little nauseating. As we exit the bathroom I put a dubious expression on my face and say, "Well..."

"Oh, c'mon. It'll be fun. And it won't hurt a bit."

"I'll think about it, OK?"

"OK. Wait." She pulls a scrap of paper and a pen out of her purse and writes something. "Here's my phone number, so you can let me know. Or if you just want to talk."

"Oh. Thanks." I put it in my pocket. "There's Dad. Gotta go. Later!"

"Bye! Call me!"

"'Kay!" I say and wave as I run across the room to where Dad is giving me a funny look.

----------

"What took you so long? Or do I not want to know?" He kinda sounds like maybe he doesn't.

"Just 'girl talk.' Apparently going to the bathroom is a big social occasion for female types. Or at least for Linda, anyway." That's enough detail; the rest is mostly stuff he doesn't want to know.

He considers this for a moment. "No, I don't think it's just Linda. They seem to always go at least two at a time when they're out in a group."

"Huh. Who knew."

"Vive la difference, eh?"

"Yeah, certainly keeps things interesting." I ponder for a moment as Dad unlocks his door and gets in, then reaches across to open my side. "I guess I wasn't just blowing smoke out my ass, about this being research for my role. I mean, not like there's a bathroom scene in the play or anything, but... knowing all this kinda sh-tuff"--there I go again, it's not like I never swear in front of Dad; what am I doing?--"will give me a lot more confidence about playing a girl on stage in front of a bunch of people, I think."

"Well, that's the key; it's much easier to play a role if you can draw on something you know. That, and lots and lots of rehearsal." That damned work ethic of his. Well, I suppose he might know what he's talking about in this field.

"Yeah. Plus, I'm already learning stuff about girls I never suspected--you never know, it might come in handy when I'm tryin' to get some action." This is an angle I know will appeal to him on a lot of levels. He's always been a real ladies' man. Mom sometimes gets pretty jealous of some of the actresses he works with. I'd worry too if I didn't know he's too in love with her to be fooling around, 'cause he enjoys the game and they seem to go for him like bees to honey. I've always wished he'd pass on his secrets to me but I suspect it has mostly to do with his outgoing, confident personality and not anything I could benefit from anyway.

"Wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more," he says in his best Eric Idle voice. Which is actually pretty lame--he sounds more like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins. "So what was that I saw Linda writing down for you?"

"Just her phone number," I say with exaggerated innocence.

"Oho, taking after your old man, I see." Can't tell if he's prouder of me or himself here.

"I wish. She thinks I'm a girl, remember? And I don't think she swings that way."

"I know; I just couldn't resist pulling your leg." Nor I, yours. "Why did she give it to you?"

"I dunno, I think she sees me as a big tomboy and wants to open my eyes to the joys of femininity or something."

"So were you planning to take her up on it?"

"Eh. The thought kinda turns my stomach. And maybe scares me a little, too. I've never gotten why girls go in for that stuff anyway. On the other hand, I hate to pass up the chance to hang out with a fox and maybe learn a thing or two about what makes them tick. Even if she is too old for me."

"There's no such thing, son. A fox is a fox. An older one is all the better for having experience."

"I mean, she would think she's too old for me. I mean I'm too young for her. You know what I mean--she wouldn't want anything to do with me if she knew I was a thirteen-year-old boy."

"You may have a point there. Well, if you think you can stomach it, I don't see any harm--and it would be a shame to pass up the opportunity for reconnaissance behind enemy lines. If you learn anything useful, be sure to share it with me." He gives me a broad wink and a nudge with his right elbow. I force a grin onto my face and refrain from rolling my eyes. Like I said, it's just a little creepy when he does that.

----------

Flash. I couldn't work the camera and let my hair down at the same time so I had to let Dad take the picture. I guess he can handle it, though. I learned the art of photography from him after all. Hah! The looks on their faces! I think I may have to stay up late tonight and develop this one. Flash. Guess he took a second one for insurance.

Huh. Now Livy's kind of staring at me like she knows me, but she doesn't know me. And Mom--what's with her? She has a hand on her mouth and looks like she might start crying any second now. You'd think I'd just confessed to some heinous crime or something. I better explain.

----------

"It sounds like a wonderful learning experience. In fact I wish every man could do something like this." She looks pointedly at Dad. "Maybe then they'd be more sympathetic to women's issues and more sensitive to their needs." When Mom looks away from him Dad rolls his eyes at me. Mom's a dyed-in-the-wool feminist and insists that apart from body development, all the differences between men and women are due to upbringing. Dad agrees on equality in principle but firmly believes in the practical benefits of specialization and the traditional division of labor. It's always been the one major sore spot between them.

"Just do not let me catch you 'borrowing' any of my clothes, freak." Jeez, Livy, what's your problem?

"Like I would. I might catch something. Besides," I continue in an exaggerated stuck-up-girl manner, just to fuck with her head, "you have no sense of style." Which, by the way, is pretty much true--even I can tell that. "I wouldn't be caught dead wearing anything you own." Mom looks briefly alarmed, until Dad chuckles, which clues her in that I'm joking. She's not stupid or anything but she can be a little slow on the uptake sometimes with humor. Especially when she's on her high horse like now. Livy just glares at me.

----------

Whoa. Nice shot, Dad. But--unh.

In the red glow of the safelight I can see Mom and Livy all right, looking somewhere between concerned and confused, but they're kind of in the background, in shadow and soft focus. In the foreground off center to the right is me, hair spread wide as I shake it out after pulling out the rubber band. It's a moment in time frozen by the flash. I mean, it's a beautiful shot, very artistic--but looking at it you'd never guess in a million years that I'm not a girl. In fact if someone told you, you probably wouldn't believe them. My eyes are kind of closed, and I have this calm, almost serene expression on my face. And the pose he caught me in, arms slightly out from the sides and back a little, bent upward at the elbows and wrists as I was pulling them away from my newly-released ponytail, is about as feminine as you can get. Not all overtly girly-girly like I was trying to sell it or anything, just naturally, unselfconsciously feminine.

As I pull it out of the tray and hang it up with clothespins to dry I can't take my eyes off it.

That's me. The real me.

----------

The second picture is more like what I was expecting. Not nearly so artistic, but still well-composed. There's me to one side in soft focus looking like a boy with a girl's haircut and a "gotcha!" expression on my face, and Mom and Livy in sharp relief goggling at me like I've sprouted a second head or something.

That's the me everyone else sees. The persona I've created.

----------

I put the pictures in my dresser drawer, lie down in bed and turn off the light. I'm still stunned by the first one--I mean, I love it; I think it's the best picture anyone's ever taken of me. I'm afraid to let anyone see it though. It's a humiliating picture for a guy, and worse yet, someone might guess the truth behind it. But Dad took it--did he notice anything, was it intentional, or was it just a passing moment he captured purely by accident?

I can't seem to stop thinking about it. I have a feeling it's going to take me a long time to get to sleep tonight.

Life wasn't exactly easy before, but at least I kind of had the hang of it and had it mostly under control. But this... it's all upside-down now. How can I keep going on this path without fucking everything up? Could I even turn back now if I wanted to? Do I want to? What do I want?

What the fuck was I thinking?

###

 

Chapter 5: Believing is seeing

"I dunno, I mean, what kind of stuff did you have in mind?" I'm kind of preemptively cringing, and holding the phone slightly away from my ear, like I'm worried it might bite or something.

"Oh, there are lots of possibilities. I could show you some things you could do with your hair to make it pretty for, like, special occasions, or help you practice your makeup, or give you fashion advice; whatever you want."

"Eh... OK, I guess." I have to consciously remind myself, as long as people think I'm a girl, doing this stuff won't get me shunned or beat up. I'm probably OK with Mom and Dad too, as long as I don't appear to be enjoying it too much--which shouldn't be hard; the whole idea of makeup and fashion seems kinda lame and phony to me. Livy's the only one I have to worry about wanting to use this against me, and hopefully that's already covered.

"Oh, come on, show a little enthusiasm. It's not like torture or anything."

The great thing is, I can say what I really think and still be in character. "It kind of is to me. I guess it could be worse though--you could be taking me shopping." I hate shopping. Especially trying stuff on.

"How can you not like shopping? Are you sure you're a girl?" Whoops, did I go too far? No, she's laughing, just teasing me. Almost had a heart attack there, though.

"I just don't enjoy it, OK? I don't see what's supposed to be fun about it."

"Well, you must just be doing it wrong, then. But I guess I won't take you shopping. This time." She likes to tease. Or so I hope. "All right, do you want to come over, or should I come there?"

"Um, there, I guess." Too many possible complications here. "Hang on, let me make sure I can get a ride." I cover the mouthpiece with my hand. "Mo-o-om!"

----------

"Thanks, Mom. I'll call when I need a ride back." Slam! I don't wait for a reply as I run up the walk and ring Linda's doorbell. While I'm waiting I notice how big this house is with its two story faux-Colonial facade compared to our little ranch-style place. I think our yard's a little bigger, though.

"Hi, Joy! Come on in. Dad's at work and Mom left to run some errands, so it's just us." I hear Mom pulling out of the driveway as I close the door behind me.

"Nice place." The ground floor is at least as big as our whole house. Plus the upstairs, and I think it has a basement too. If ours holds the four of us comfortably, this place could probably handle at least a dozen, I figure. "No brothers or sisters?"

"Three older brothers and a sister, but they've all moved out on their own. My sister Kirstin's starting college this year. She moved into her dorm this weekend. Want something to drink? We have milk and Coke that's cold, and a bunch of other kinds of pop in the pantry."

We've wandered into the kitchen. It's huge but the thing I notice right off is they have a dishwasher. An automatic one; I qualify it like that because whenever I beg my folks to get one they say "Why do we need a dishwasher? We already have two," meaning me and Livy. Slave labor, that's what we are. Anyway I'm not too impressed with the size of their house--we have all the space we need--but I am pretty envious of that dishwasher.

"A Coke would be nice, thanks. Must be nice to have 'em all out of your hair, huh?"

"Yeah, they can be a big pain. Especially brothers." Hey! "But you tend to forget about that after they've been gone a while and believe it or not, you actually start to miss 'em. I think it's gonna take a little longer with Kirstin though. My ABBA albums are missing and I'm pretty sure she took 'em." I would never admit it publicly, but I do kinda like ABBA.

"Bummer. Thanks." She's gotten two Cokes out of the fridge and hands me one. I open it and take a sip. "Sounds like she's as big a B-I-you-know-what as my sister."

"Yeah. So how many sibs do you have?"

"Just the one."

"Older or younger?"

"Older, by just over a year. I'm taller for my age so we've always been about the same height--well, except for last year when she had a growth spurt, but I've caught up again. People always assume we're twins." I've heard people call us Irish twins. One time Aunt Kathy said that, kind of jokingly I thought, but Dad gave her a dirty look so I guess he saw it as somehow insulting or rude or something. So I don't use that term.

"Oh, cool. So do you, like, share clothes a lot and stuff?"

"Not very often." Just that one time actually. "We have very different tastes in clothing." Even if I dressed as a girl that would probably still be true. She has no sense of style. Not that I'm a fashion plate or anything, but at least I can tell what looks good on me and what doesn't.

"What, does she wear a lot of dresses and skirts?"

"Ha! You're funny. No, only on Christmas and Easter, if then. She wears mostly jeans and t-shirts too, just"--shrug--"different ones. Ones I wouldn't be caught dead in." I might be dead if I were ever caught in them, but that's not what I mean. I can't put my finger on it, exactly--her choices just don't work somehow.

"Well, it's good that you have some kind of a sense of style, I guess, even if it's for dressing like a boy." She's giving me an appraising look with just a hint of dismay. "At least what you're wearing goes together, and the colors are right for your complexion. I think there may be hope for you yet." Huh. I just picked the colors 'cause they looked right and I liked 'em. I didn't, like, try to match my complexion or anything. "I guess that's a good place to start. My room's upstairs. C'mon!"

----------

"No, I am not going to try on any skirts or dresses." Actually, surprisingly, I kind of want to, 'cause unlike Livy she has some clothes of the type I like seeing girls in and I'm curious how I'd look in them. But I don't think it's a good idea--I can probably convince her to give me a little privacy while changing, but there'd be too much chance of her getting a glimpse of my Jockeys, which would be a major disaster. Like Ragnarok major.

"Have you ever even worn one?"

"Not since I was like six, and there were tears involved." Livy's, when she got in trouble for dressing me up. It's kinda fun saying things that are perfectly true but completely misleading. "Look, maybe some other time I'll give it a try, but I'm just not ready for it today, all right?" See? I mean one thing, she thinks something completely different. Fun.

"OK. I just wish I knew what your hang-up was." It's that I don't want you to find out I have a dick, OK? That would be bad. She rummages through her closet for a while, muttering to herself, then heads for her dresser before going, "Oh, I know. There's bags and bags of my old clothes in the attic." This place has an attic, too? Jeez. "I bet there'll be some stuff that'll fit you. Wait here."

----------

"These are from when I was thirteen. They should be about the right size."

The bag is huge. She dumps the entire contents out on her bed and digs through the pile.

"Some of these were Kirstin's hand-me-downs, so they're like totally out of style." From time to time she flings one of the offending garments into a small but growing heap in the corner as she sorts through the mess on her bed. Suddenly she gets a big smile on her face. "Oh, here you go. These were my favorite jeans ever. Here, try 'em on." She tosses them to me and waits expectantly. I just stand there holding them. "Well, what are you waiting for? Oh. Don't tell me you're shy about your body?" Thank you, perfect excuse. I nod sheepishly. "I'm sorry. You can change in the bathroom across the hall. I forgot how self-conscious I was when I started to... well. Oh, here, put this on too and we'll get the whole effect." She hands me a bit of pale lime green cloth with some stringy things dangling off it. I turn it around, trying to make heads or tails of it. "It's a halter top, silly. Look, you just put it on like this and tie it here and here." Oh.

I head into the bathroom, close the door, and strip to my skivvies. In case she decides to barge in I quickly pull on the jeans, which turn out to be hip huggers so I have to kind of scrunch down the tops of my Jockeys to keep them from showing--shit, that doesn't work, they keep popping back up. I try rolling the waistband down a couple of times--OK, better. Now if I can... just... arrange things down there so--ow, ugh, did something just go sproing? That can't be good--well, it doesn't seem to actually hurt anywhere, so--OK, not real comfortable, but it looks OK I hope. I put on the halter top like Linda showed me--not as easy as she made it look, but I eventually manage. Now to check myself out in the mirror to make sure nothing's showing that shouldn't be--

Gasp.

That's me looking back out of the mirror, but it's like for the first time in my life I see on the outside the same me that's on the inside.

The real me. The one in the picture.

Only way better dressed.

----------

"How're you doing in there? Everything OK?"

I guess I've been staring at myself for a while. Better turn around, make sure everything looks OK in the back too--OK, safe to open the door.

"Yeah, fine."

"C'mon out, let me see... Wow. Those jeans fit you perfectly. They look great on you."

"Yeah, they do." It pops out before I can stop myself. I blush. Well, they do.

"You can keep them if you want."

"I--really?"

"Sure, it's not like they'll ever fit me again. I think Mom just saved them out of habit; there's no one left to hand them down to."

"Uh. Wow. Thanks!" These are now officially my favorite pair of jeans ever.

"Hmm. The top is a good color for you--it sets off the red highlights in your hair. But... you really just haven't started developing at all, have you?" No, and the thought that I won't, ever, brings me sickeningly back down to earth. I somehow manage not to cry or puke, but I must look miserably dejected. "Don't worry, you will." I realize I need to stay in character so I just give a small, resigned nod instead of laughing psychotically in her face. "In the meantime there's stuff we can do to make up for it--but not, I'm afraid, in that top." She's rummaging through the pile on her bed again. "Here, take it off and put this on." She's offering me what appears to be a training bra, like Livy used to wear. I take it from her and again, just stand there. "I won't watch, OK? But I'm going to need to see you with your top off if I'm going to help you with this." She turns around and looks away. "Go ahead."

I get the halter top off, put my arms through the bra straps and try to figure out how to get it hooked. I'm taking too long 'cause eventually Linda peeks and sees me having trouble with it.

"Silly me--you've never worn one before, have you?" I shake my head in frustration. "Of course not. Sorry. Here, let me help." She shows me how it's done. "OK, now..." She grabs a box of Kleenex off her bedside table, pulls out a few tissues and stuffs them into my right bra cup.

"Aaah!" She has cold hands!

"Hold still!" She repeats for the left side but this time I'm expecting it so it's not such a shock. "There. Much better. OK, now try this on."

She hands me something about the same color as the halter top. I put it on. It has no sleeves, and like a mini-turtleneck. It fits kind of snugly and only comes down to my ribs, leaving my bellybutton showing. Oh cool, a crop top. I remember when they banned girls from wearing these and halter tops in my old junior high. It was a dark day indeed.

"Nice. Here, have a look." She pulls her closet door open wide; there's a full length mirror on the back side. I look.

The mix of feelings is kind of confusing and almost overwhelming. I don't know whether to grin like an idiot or cry my eyes out. I settle on giggling.

"What?"

"I have boobies!"

She rolls her eyes. "But what do you think?"

"I like it." Now that I've suppressed some of the scarier strong emotions I ponder something. "I really like it. I don't know why I was so afraid of doing this." I kind of do know, and I kind of still am afraid but I don't want to think about that right now; I just want to savor the moment. I look at her and my smile is genuine, and heart-felt. "Thanks for doing this with me."

"No problem! See? I told you this would be fun. Are you sure you don't want to see what you'd look like in a dress now?"

"No! Um, no. I think I've had all the fashion I can take for one day. Can I just stay in this and we'll do something else?" Underwear issues aside, this just feels right and I don't want to take any chance of losing that feeling.

"Oh." She seems disappointed. I guess she was just getting started. "OK. Tell you what, let's put the rest of this stuff back in the bag so you can take it with you when you go home. That way you can try it on when you feel like it."

"Really? Cool. And I can bring them back to you at rehearsal next weekend." There must be more clothes here than I own, not that I have that much beyond jeans and t-shirts.

"Nah, don't bother--just keep 'em. None of it fits me anymore and it was all just going to sit in the attic forever anyway."

"Wow. ...Thanks!" I have an impulse to hug her, which normally I'd suppress not wanting to freak her out 'cause most guys just don't do that kind of stuff and I don't know her well enough, but I'm a girl today so I go ahead and do it. And she doesn't freak out; she just smiles big and hugs me back.

----------

"It's just when you slouch like that, you look all, I dunno, kinda limp and shapeless, and like you're trying to hide or something. A good straight posture gives you an air of confidence and strength, and makes people want to get to know you." She's doing something to the back of my hair as she talks; I think she called it a French braid. It feels kinda like she's braiding my hair inside-out or something.

"Mom keeps telling me that. I guess I've just had too many people being mean to me in school to want to attract a lot of attention to myself. Ow."

"Sorry, there was a knot or something. Why on earth would people want to be mean to you?"

"Just 'cause I'm different. That seems to be all the reason they ever need." She makes a sympathetic noise, like she's been there. No way--she's a total Marcia Brady type. "But I'd rather be true to who I am than be popular, if that's the choice." As I say this I'm aware of the irony, which will fortunately go right over her head. But there are limits to how far even I'm willing to go in the name of defiance; going too far could wind up getting me seriously hurt or worse. That's always kept me from being anything like true to my real self.

Up until now. Huh.

"I guess that's right, but does that have to be the choice? Can't you be both? There, all done."

I turn around and just look at her intently for a while, thinking about it, then finally look back away and shrug. "It's never worked out that way before." I've never been able to even consider it before. Something is different about the situation this time, but I can't quite put my finger on what it is. Different enough though? Highly doubtful. What I am seems to be just too weird for most people to take.

She just says, "Go have a look in the mirror and see what you think."

----------

"Wow." I didn't think my hair could look any more feminine, but it does. But not in some frilly, sickeningly-sweet hearts-and-rainbows way. This is--elegant. It makes me look somehow older and more mature, like a young woman and not just a girl. "I had no idea I could look like that. Can I do this on myself? Can you show me how?"

"Sure. It takes some practice, but it's not that hard."

----------

"It just seems kinda like, I dunno, cheating."

"How is it cheating?"

"Like, you know, covering up what you really look like. Like wearing a mask only pretending you're not." I'm not sure I'm explaining myself clearly. I'm not sure I'm quite clear on what I'm trying to say, for that matter.

"Nuh-uh. It's more like, um, like wearing clothes that show off your assets and hide your flaws."

"Yeah but that's kind of like cheating too."

"Hm. Well that would explain your fashion choices." What's she implying here? And why do I suddenly feel all defensive about what I usually wear? "...Think of it like using deodorant. Everyone sweats, you know? But no one wants to smell it. You're not really trying to pretend you don't sweat, you're just trying to keep from offending people with your B.O. It's like, the polite thing to do."

"So, makeup is like, a way not to offend people with your ugliness?" I love twisting people's own arguments against them. It's like verbal jiu-jitsu. I can't entirely suppress a wicked grin.

"Oh, you know that's not what I meant." Ah, the sweet sound of exasperation. My grin grows. "It's just, it's not like no one can tell you're wearing makeup, you know? It's just like a way to say look, I care, I care what you think of me enough to go to this trouble. I care enough to spend some time trying to look nice for you. It's just, you know, good manners."

Huh. I never thought of it that way before. It kinda does make sense, I guess.

----------

"You really don't need that much. You've got a great complexion. I wish I had freckles; they're so cute." Who is she kidding? They make me look like I have a permanent case of chicken pox. "And you have nice full lips"--I've always thought they looked puffy or swollen--"and such beautiful long eyelashes." OK, now I'm getting embarrassed. "Anyway you're too young for heavy makeup; it wouldn't look right on you. Here, start with this."

She hands me something that looks like Chapstick but the label says Lip Smacker. I put it on like I would Chapstick and it makes my lips sort of shiny without really changing their color much. Mmm, strawberry!

"Try not to get it outside your lip area. Here, wipe off the extra." She hands me a Kleenex. "Let me guess--you've never done this before either?" I shake my head. She gives me a look that's kind of annoyed and sympathetic at the same time. "All right then, watch me and do what I do. It won't do you any good if you can't do this yourself later."

----------

Lip gloss, mascara to "thicken" the lashes, and a hint of blue eyeshadow to "bring out the color of your eyes" which by the way are gray, but never mind; it's relatively subtle but it all adds up to a big difference. Somehow seeing myself like this makes me want to sit up straight and not slouch. Which only makes the difference more pronounced. Before I thought I looked kinda cute as a girl, if a bit mousy. The girl looking back at me out of the mirror now, though--she's poised, and pretty, and confident; all the things I've never been. And happy. Well, who wouldn't be, looking like that? Behind me in the mirror I can see Linda's look of satisfaction. I smile at her.

----------

"You can hang on to this." It's the tube of lip gloss.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I don't really wear it much anymore. Now that I'm sixteen Mom lets me wear real lipstick. Anyway that's my spare tube. I have a whole 'nother one in my purse."

"OK, thanks." I've been saying that a lot today. "Just don't give me anything else, OK? I feel kinda guilty taking all this stuff when I don't have anything to give you."

"Don't worry about it. I get a kick out of seeing you having so much fun, and I like knowing my old stuff is going to a good home where it'll be appreciated."

My smile of gratitude turns to puzzlement as I realize these jeans have no pockets in which to put the lip gloss. "Um, where do I..."

Linda realizes my dilemma. "I bet you don't even own a purse." I shake my head, she rolls her eyes and grins. "Follow me." We go back across the hall to her room.

----------

"Uh, thanks..."

"Don't worry, I'm not giving it to you; I want it back when you get your own." 'It' being a small white canvas purse with a zipper and a shoulder strap that clips to metal rings on the ends.

"OK." I sit on her bed to open it and drop the lip gloss in. "Thanks for letting me borrow it, then." I put the strap over my shoulder, kind of trying it on. The strap's adjustable, but it's already at about the right length to let me get into it without taking it off first.

R-r-ring. It's the pink princess phone on her bedside table. I hadn't noticed it before. I thought they only had those on TV.

Linda answers. "Hello? ... Yes, it is ... Oh, sure, she's right here." She extends the handset toward me. "It's for you. Your mom."

As I reach for the phone I kind of see myself from outside my body for an instant, dressed like this, with the hair, makeup and purse, about to talk on a pink princess phone while sitting cross-legged on a teenage girl's bed. The image is so absurdly, stereotypically girly I have to fight to keep from laughing out loud. Apparently Linda really is Marcia freakin' Brady, and I'm her new best friend. This is so not me, but I have to admit it's kinda fun, if only in a sort of oh my god, I can't believe I'm actually doing this way. Linda looks at me funny but I get it under control and take the phone.

"Hello?"

"Joey? Is that you?"

"Hi, Mom. What's up?"

"Oh. I didn't recognize your voice at first. I need to come pick you up early. Steve's just informed me we're having company for dinner tonight"--she sounds exasperated; gee, I wonder why--"and I won't have time later. I really don't have time now." From the sound of her voice Dad's gonna be in some hot water over this. "Can you be ready to go right when I get there? I'll be about ten minutes."

"Sure. See you then."

----------

"Here she is now. Thanks again, for everything!" I give Linda a big hug, then grab the bag of clothes and bolt out the door. "See ya!"

"'Bye!"

Mom's car has barely come to a full stop in the driveway when I yank the door open, toss the bag in the back and jump in. I can see Linda waving from the doorway looking bemused as I slam the car door, set my purse on the floor and belt myself in. "OK, ready!"

Mom's just staring at me. Gaping, actually.

"What? You said you were in a hurry. Let's go!"

She theatrically uses her hand to push her apparently unhinged jaw closed. Without saying a word, she puts the car in gear and backs out of the driveway.

----------

She keeps looking at me out of the corner of her eye, but she still hasn't said anything. You'd think she'd never seen a girl wearing stylish clothes and makeup before, or something.

Oh.

Mom doesn't see a well-groomed girl sitting here. She sees a boy, one who usually devotes a lot of his energy to avoiding being seen as unmasculine, sitting here looking way more girly than his sister usually does. To her I must just look comical or pathetic.

My self-confidence evaporates, and I feel a cold knot of dread form in the pit of my stomach. Livy's going to see me like this when I get home. And maybe the neighbors. And what must Mom be thinking?

Fuck. What am I gonna do now?

---

 
To Be Continued...