by Justme

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Chapter 6: Seeing is believing

The clothes I wore here are in the bag, in the back seat. I can climb back there and change, and fix my hair and maybe somehow wipe off the makeup with a shirt or something before we get home, if I hurry. Fighting back incipient tears and nausea, I reach to unbuckle my seat belt.

No! I stop. Something in me recoils at the idea. This is who I am and I'm sick of having to hide it. Now I'm feeling more mad than afraid.

But the reactions--ridicule, anger, misguided concern, ostracism, a complete lack of understanding, lectures, and that's just from my own family--I don't want that either. Sigh. If I want to keep being myself I'll just have to keep making excuses. But what excuse can I come up with now? We're going home--nobody who already believes I'm a girl will be seeing me. Obviously I can't just come out and say I want to stay like this.

Hmm. Maybe....

"Does it bother you?"

"What?"

"You keep looking at me funny. Does it weird you out seeing me like this?"

"No! I ...well, maybe a little," she admits.

"Why?" This may seem obvious to you and me, but remember, she's an adamant feminist and deeply opposed to double standards--intellectually, at least. I figure she'll have some trouble with it.

"Well, it's just a little disconcerting to see my son padding his bra." Oh. I forgot about that. "And even if you were my daughter and not my son"--glad to see you can be open minded about that possibility, Mom--"I wouldn't approve of you trying to look older. It's not appropriate."

"But I'm not trying to look older--just trying to look my age. I'm kinda underdeveloped in that area for a thirteen-year-old, in case you hadn't noticed."

I can see her struggling to wrap her brain around this. "Still weirds you out, huh?" Better get this conversation back on track. Time to take the offensive. "If it would make you more comfortable, I could climb in the back seat and change." But admitting this would shake the foundations of your whole philosophy. If toys and games and careers shouldn't be sex-specific, why should clothes or hair or make-up?

"No, you don't have to change on my account." Knew it! "But wouldn't you be more comfortable dressed as ... yourself?" I am, Mom. For the first time in my life I really am. If I seriously thought for one minute you might understand that I'd just tell you. Instead...

"I'm fine. It's kind of interesting to see how differently people treat me like this," I give Mom a sidelong glance and she looks a little guilty, "and I'm learning stuff I didn't even realize I didn't know." I know she's happy about me learning first hand what it's like for the other half; I wonder how far she is from wanting me not to change back just yet, and whether it would be possible to gently nudge her across the line.

"Really? What kinds of 'stuff?'"

"Like, I always thought wearing makeup and stuff was just pure vanity, but apparently women don't see it that way--at least Linda doesn't. To her it's kind of, I dunno, like common courtesy to make the effort to look your best for other people." I figure if she thinks I'll finally learn something about the importance of personal grooming and maybe even improve my manners by doing this, it can only help my cause.

"Interesting." She's secretly delighted by this but trying hard to sound neutral. I know her too well to be fooled. But I don't think she'd be as excited about me learning that this color goes with my complexion and brings out the highlights in my hair, or how to hook a bra or put on lip gloss and mascara and eyeshadow, so I just leave it at that. I figure I've got until Livy sees me to come up with another excuse not to change back yet.

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At least the neighbors weren't out when we got home. As I walk by Livy's room dragging the bag of clothes I see her and Felicia chatting away barely noticing me, then practically getting whiplash when they do the most comical double-takes I've ever seen in real life. Felicia literally falls off the bed. I hope she's not hurt, but damn that was funny!

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I heave the bag onto my bed and head back toward the kitchen. Time to put my plan into action. Livy and Felicia are waiting right outside my door, staring at me. Felicia looks shocked but also highly amused; Livy looks like she's about to have a brain aneurysm.

Before either one of them can say anything, I jump in. "C'mon, Mom's gonna need our help if she's gonna get dinner done in time." Volunteering like this is so not like me, I think Livy's head is going to start spinning around like that Linda Blair chick in The Exorcist. Well, so I heard anyway--Mom wouldn't let me see it. Felicia doesn't know it's totally out of character so she just nods and follows. Livy finally decides to go along and brings up the rear. If we're busy helping Mom, I just won't have time to get changed. Darn.

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"You want to what?" Mom's as surprised by my offer of our assistance as Livy was.

"Help. You've got too much to do and not enough time so we want to help."

I think she's wondering what the catch is, or maybe whether I've lost my mind, from the way she's looking at me. "Uh, all right; I could certainly use it." She sounds flustered. "Felicia, you're welcome to stay for dinner, but you're our guest and you don't need to help."

"That's all right Miz L. It'll be fun, and I wouldn't want to mooch without pulling my weight." Mom looks at her appraisingly, then at Livy and me in turn, as if she's wondering what's gotten into us.

"All right, thank you. If one of you can get the vacuum out and run it over the living room and dining room carpets, and the other two can get this morning's dishes washed and put away while I run to the supermarket, that would be a huge help."

Livy finally speaks up. "I'll vacuum!" She runs off to get it. Shit, I hate washing dishes. Oh well, I can tell Felicia's dying to ask me what the hell I'm up to.

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"So let me get this straight. You're not gonna just let them think you're a girl anymore, you're actually gonna pretend to be one when you're around them?" She's washing, I'm drying and putting away, since I know where stuff goes.

I'm not pretending, damn it; this is the real me. Me being a boy, that was pretending. But Livy just shut off the vacuum and I don't want to give myself away so I keep it to myself for now, except for a brief exasperated look which I don't think Felicia gets. "Yeah, pretty much. Dad says if I get caught, as actors they'll only respect me for going to such lengths to get into the role."

"OK, but what were you doing out looking like that?"

"Well, see, Linda--she's the girl playing Liesl? She thought I was too much of a tomboy and invited me over to give me some fashion tips. I figured I couldn't pass up an excuse to spend a couple hours with a foxy sixteen-year-old." Funny, I never even thought about that the whole time I was over there. Nerves, I guess.

She giggles. "Looks like it was one hot date!"

"Yeah, yeah." I roll my eyes.

"But, so, that's over--how come you don't change back? I thought you said you didn't like dressing like a girl."

She says that last part in a low voice. I'd rather not talk about it at all when Livy might overhear but I respond in kind. "Honestly, I didn't think I would. And I kinda looked down on the whole fashion-hair-and-makeup thing as totally superficial and like, you know, to be sneered at. But Linda had some interesting perspectives on that, and ..." Crap, here comes the Evil One now. Have to finish this conversation some other time. I give Felicia a quick regretful look as I cut myself off; she responds with a you've got to be kidding, you can't stop now expression which she replaces with who, us? We weren't talking about anything interesting as Livy comes into her field of view.

"All right, freak, I'll take over here. You go change." Oh, this makes you uncomfortable, does it? All the more reason not to--

I hear a car door slam. Perfect timing! "Mom's back--you wanna help her bring in the groceries or should I?"

She makes a little frustrated growling noise, then mutters "I'll do it" and goes.

"Jeez, what's her problem?"

Felicia shrugs, and gives me an appraising look. "Well she might just be weirded out by you looking like that, but I think there's more to it than that."

"Like what?"

"I dunno, but I think maybe she's jealous."

"What?"

"I know I would be, if had a brother who came home looking like you."

Oh, no. Did I hear some resentment there? How can I--oh, crap, here comes Mom.

"Are you two almost done? We'll need the sink to wash the vegetables." She sets a couple of bags on the kitchen table.

"Yeah, just about." And here comes Livy, with the rest of the groceries.

"All right, twerp. Now get out and go change." I can't think of another excuse at the moment so I hand her the dish towel and start to head to my room.

Mom gives me a momentary reprieve. "Before you go, can you get down the pressure cooker for me? It should be in the back of that cabinet above the fridge." Livy looks, well, livid, but she doesn't say anything, just glares.

As I pull up a chair and climb up on it to reach above the fridge, Livy's giving me venomous looks instead of paying attention to what she's doing. Felicia doesn't notice this as she holds out a freshly-washed carving knife for her to dry. Livy reaches for it, eyes still on me, and as her hand starts to close around the blade I try to warn her but all I manage to do is wave my arms and scream "Aaah! No!" Which, as it turns out, is exactly the wrong thing to do 'cause it startles her and she grabs it really hard just as Felicia tries to pull it away and we all just stand there frozen for a second and then blood starts going everywhere.

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"I'm really sorry, Liv. I didn't mean to scare you, I just didn't want you to get hurt and..."

"And I just was trying to get it away before you grabbed the wrong end..."

"Just leave me alone, OK? It hurts so bad." Livy's in the front seat next to Mom. She's pale and shaking and kind of moaning from time to time but surprisingly not crying. I think I would be. She's got a bloody dishtowel wrapped tightly around her hand. Grandfather Sorensen is a doctor so Mom knows how to handle stuff like this.

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"I just feel so bad. It was my fault and I should be in there, like, holding her hand or something. Her other hand." I'm not trying to make light of the situation; it just comes out before I can stop it.

"No, it wasn't. It was my fault. If I hadn't tried to pull the knife away...." Felicia looks even more upset than me, if that's possible. And a little sick. "Anyway it's not like we could do anything. We'd just be in the way. And your mom's with her."

"Yeah but...." Sigh. She's right. All we can do is wait out here while they stitch her hand back together.

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"Oh no, look, the North Vietnamese are closing in on Saigon." Yeesh, don't they have any more recent magazines? "And Aristotle Onassis died. Oh, that poor Jackie. Whatever will she do now?" Being Irish, the Kennedys are practically family to us, or at least you'd think so from the way Dad's relatives tell it. So that was kind of big news around our house. Like, last spring. Which was before we moved, so it feels more like last year. "I'm gonna ask if they have anything newer to read."

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No one's come in for a while so the receptionist seems grateful to have something to do. She digs through the "in" box on the floor next to the desk and comes up with a pair of magazines. "These just came today."

Great. People Weekly and Tiger Beat--a veritable intellectual smorgasbord. Why don't these places ever have, like, Mad Magazine or anything good? "Thanks." I smile at her and try not to roll my eyes but they just seem to have minds of their own. On the way up they catch the cover of People. Man, Jaws was awesome. I've seen it three times and I'm always still worried at the end that Brody isn't going to shoot the air tank in time to blow up the shark. And I nearly wet my pants the first time that half-eaten face popped out of the hole in the bottom of that boat.

Wait, August 25, 1975? Whatthefuck, that means school starts in just over one week. As if I didn't have enough to worry about.

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"There you are. Come on, let's go home." Mom's voice startles me and I hastily slap the magazine shut and put it down before she can see me reading about what the cast of Laugh-In are doing now. Look, I was bored and I just kind of got sucked in, OK?

"How's your hand?" It's all wrapped in bandages, like a mummy with the thumb and fingers sticking out. Felicia sounds like she's afraid to hear the answer. Livy looks less pale, and like maybe she cried a bit after all.

"Five stitches, but they said I didn't cut any tendons or nerves or anything so it'll be OK once it heals."

"Oh, good." Felicia sounds very relieved. I am too, to tell you the truth.

"Did they say how long it would take?"

She looks at me with this kind of mildly irritated expression. "They said I should try not to use it for a couple of weeks so I don't tear anything."

"Oh." This is all my fault. "Once school starts I'll write out your homework for you until it heals."

The irritated look fades, replaced by puzzlement, and... something else. "Um, thanks. That'll help a lot." Her emotional reactions seem kind of dulled. I wonder what kind of drugs they gave her. Mom leans over and gives me a quick hug but she's looking at me like she's not sure whether to have me committed.

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Livy's on the sofa with pillows watching a Star Trek rerun with a glazed-over look on her face. Not like she needs to pay attention, 'cause we've seen 'em all so many times anyway. I hand her the Fresca she asked for and she mumbles "thanks" and kind of smiles a little. I think she likes having me waiting on her.

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"Da-arn. It has to cook for at least an hour and they'll be here any minute." Mom sounds really stressed. Well, at least we managed to get it started cooking before the guests arrived, which all things considered is kind of a small miracle in itself.

"We'll just tell them we had an emergency. I'm sure they'll understand."

"I know. I'd just rather be making a better impression the first time we meet Steve's boss and his family."

I see a strange car pulling into our driveway. "Speaking of which, looks like they're here. Where's Dad?" I watch as they park and four people start to get out.

"I don't know, maybe he got caught in traffic or something. Hadn't you better go and get changed?"

"Oh, yeah." I start to go but as I see who's in our driveway I stop. "Uh. Shit."

"Sweetie, go quick and get changed, before they see you!"

"No need."

"What? Why not?"

Felicia sees me staring out the window like a deer in headlights. She follows my gaze and sees what I see, then looks at me like oh my god, what are you going to do? with her mouth hanging open and everything.

It's Rich. Apparently Rich's dad is Dad's boss. What are the odds?

"That guy. I had a run-in with him at the mall yesterday. He--" How do I say this? I start to blush. "Um, he thinks I'm a girl." Now Mom's mouth is hanging open. Even Livy has torn her eyes from the tube and is staring at me. Face burning, I look at my still-far-too-white shoes. "Named Lee." My voice kind of squeaks as I say it. I hear a choking noise from Livy's direction that might or might not be a stifled laugh.

I look back up cautiously to see what the reaction is. Mom looks like her brain has seized up for a minute, then it's like a light goes on. "Go to your room." I'm being punished? "Now! And close the door, and don't come out and don't make a sound." Ah, OK, I'm hiding. Bing-bong--the doorbell. Shit! "Scoot!" OK, I'm just not used to Mom being a step ahead of me. I peel out down the hall, bounce off the wall at the end and through my door, which I can't slam 'cause they'll hear but I manage to click it quietly shut just as I hear the front door open and greetings being made.

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There's Dad now. I can see the street from my bedroom window and I can see him get out of his car with a brown paper bag. As he comes in the front door I hear clinking noises, so I deduce he's stopped and picked up a couple of bottles of wine.

Damn, I'm going to miss out--they usually let me have a little taste with dinner on special occasions, and I think this might qualify. I mostly don't like it all that much, but it makes me feel kind of grown up, and a couple of kinds are actually pretty good. My favorite is Châteauneuf-du-Pape. All right, that's the only kind I can remember the name of, but it really is pretty good. Which is why I can remember the name. And we made Sauerbraten, which is like one of my all-time favorite meals; it'd be just my luck if that's what he got to go with it, with me stuck in here all night.

I'm sitting on my bed feeling sorry for myself when I hear footsteps and muffled voices coming down the hall. I hear the door to my parents' bedroom open and close. I press my ear against the wall. There are pros and cons to sharing a wall with your parents' room; this is one of the pros.

"...parading around all day in make-up and a stuffed bra, like it was perfectly natural. I think he was doing it mostly to annoy Livy"--no, that was only a nice bonus--"and if he was trying to get a rise out of me it didn't work, but I think it contributed to Livy's accident." Jeez, I know it's my fault, Mom. I feel bad enough already.

"I'm sure he never intended anything like that to happen. But I trust him to take responsibility for the unintended consequences of his behavior." Thanks, Dad.

"He already has; he's promised to help her with writing for school until it heals."

"Good, good. Now why's he hiding in his room?"

"If you'd let me finish, I was getting to that. When he saw them coming up the drive he recognized Dick's son. Apparently they ran into each other at the mall yesterday and he for some reason thinks Joey's a girl named Lee. I didn't have time to get an explanation--I just sent him to hide in his room until we could figure something out."

"Hmm. Veddy interesting." He says it like Arte Johnson's German soldier character used to on Laugh-In. I wonder if he gets People magazine at his office and read the same story 'cause he hasn't done that voice in ages. "I'd better go have a talk with him and get this sorted out. Can you keep the Weisses entertained for a few minutes?"

"I'll try."

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As tricky as I thought it would have been to walk the tightrope of reinforcing the belief that I was a girl while not doing anything I couldn't later explain away, this is going to be harder--spending as much time as possible as a girl without letting on how important it really is to me. I wonder if I shouldn't just throw in the towel and get it out in the open now, but I know how they'll react and I don't want to deal with all that shit. Anyway I think I've negotiated the mine field of explaining the "mall incident" to Dad without either lying or giving myself away. He gave me a couple of sharp looks while I was narrating, but he seems satisfied now.

"All right, let's lay out the pertinent facts and see if they point to a solution. First, Rich has met you. If he sees you again are you sure he'll recognize you?"

"Yes."

"All right. Second, he believes you are a girl named Lee, and knows you are a friend of Felicia's. Does he have any way to connect you to this family?"

"Not that I know of. No." I don't think he saw me with Mom and Livy, anyway. I'm not sure if he knows Livy's a friend of hers.

"OK, then. Third, Dick has seen the photos on my desk, and knows I have two children. He'll be wondering where the other one is. I think the photos of you are ambiguous enough that you could be a tomboy though, and we haven't talked much about our families." He ponders for a minute, then says, slowly and carefully, "I see three options. One, you continue to hide in here and we make up some story about why you're not available tonight. Two, you come join us and we try to explain why you lied to Rich at the mall. Or three, you come join us and I introduce you as Livy's little sister, Lee."

OK, screw those first two options. I ain't missing my favorite dinner that I helped make, and I ain't tellin' Rich I really am a fairy, not to mention that I want to keep being a girl as long as I can. So it's gotta be number three. But how can I sell that to Dad? Wait, he's not quite done.

"Now, the first and last options involve lies, and I don't like starting down that road." C'mon, Dad. Anyway number three isn't really much of a lie. "But I'm not insensitive to how difficult the second option would be for you. Also it would require a lot of long-winded explanations. And I'm not sure the Weisses are collectively bright enough to understand, let alone open-minded enough to accept the truth anyway. So we're left with choosing the lesser of two evils." OK. Hey, my odds just improved to fifty-fifty. "Now, hiding in here would probably be the easiest thing for everyone." He sees the look of disappointment on my face and adds, "We can save you a plate so you won't even have to miss out on your favorite dinner." Oh, well, that might not be so bad. "But if you're up for the challenge, playing the part of the second-oldest daughter for the evening might be good preparation for your role." I have to restrain my head from snapping around to stare at him. Is he trying to sell it to me? "Judging from the fact that you've made no effort to change since you got home--"

"Are you kidding? I haven't had time to even think about--"

"You've had opportunities; you've just made other choices. I'm not arguing with your choices," he cuts me off before I can challenge this, "I just think it says something about how comfortable you are with looking like that, and being comfortable in your role is a big step toward a successful performance."

"Um, would it make things easier, like down the road, if you introduced me as a friend of Livy and Felicia's?"

"No, it just adds needless complexity--we'd still have to make up a story about where Larry is, on top of everything else, and think of a plausible reason for you to be staying for dinner. Not to mention all the things you'd have to make up about yourself in the course of dinner conversation. If we have to lie, we should keep it as close to the truth as possible. We'll just drop your first name and switch your gender from masculine to feminine for the evening." And as much beyond that as I can drag it out. Thank you, Dad. I couldn't have asked for better support.

I have a sudden urge to mess with his mind a bit. I give him an affectionate hug and an innocent smile and say "OK, Daddy, I'll be your little girl for tonight."

"Thanks, punkin. I knew I could count on you." Wha-? Oh, he's onto me and playing along. Judging from the proud twinkle in his eyes I've just shown him something he's been hoping to see for a long time--a hidden gift for improv, I guess.

I have a brainstorm. "One thing, though. Don't tell anyone 'cause she doesn't want everyone to know, but Felicia kind of has a thing for Rich"--OK, yeah, understatement--"and she was jealous of the attention he was giving me in the mall, you know? If you could, like, subtly let him know I'm strictly off limits? Like, I dunno, cleaning your shotgun while discussing statutory rape laws or something?" He laughs. "I'm sure Felicia would appreciate it, and so would I."

"Don't worry, sugar. I'll hose him down with cold water for you." Why does it feel so nice to hear him call me stuff like that? He looks at me thoughtfully. "You might want to let down your hair and wash off your makeup before your big entrance, though."

"Huh? Why?"

"You don't want to upstage your sister. She's had a hard enough day already."

"Oh." Well, at least he didn't ask me to change my clothes, and I still get to be a girl. "OK."

To tell you the truth, the braid is starting to give me a bit of a headache anyway.

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Knock, knock. "You all right in there, sweetie?" Mom sounds concerned.

Sigh. "Yeah, just gimme a minute, OK?" I try to sound annoyed to hide what I'm really feeling.

"OK." She's not convinced but she'll leave me alone. She must have heard me. I don't know why but I couldn't help it. I took out the French braid and scrubbed the makeup off my face, which by the way took a lot more scrubbing than I expected. Then I pulled my pants down to sit on the toilet and pee, and looking at it and seeing my rolled-down Jockeys made me realize what I was doing and now instead of feeling right it all suddenly somehow feels all wrong, like I'm living in some fucking delusional fantasy world, like I'm pathetically trying to make believe I'm something I'm not, something I can never be, and in a way it's even more phony than all those years of pretending I was a boy because at least that would stand up to more than a casual inspection. I know I'm not really a boy but good luck trying to convince anyone else of that, and clearly I'm not a girl either except in my own head. I'm nothing, a freak; I hate my body and I hate the lie I'm forced to live because of it and it made me cry a little thinking about all that, OK?

But I'm done with that now, and they know I'm in here so I have to go through with the whole charade. I get up and do my best to hide it and I wish I could just chop the goddamned thing off and be done with it once and for all, but not really 'cause that would really hurt and all the blood would make a huge mess; I just wish I was a girl like I'm supposed to be 'cause everything would be better then. But even I don't really believe that either 'cause life seems to suck for everyone one way or another, but this is mostly how it seems to suck for me.

Guess I have to live with that.

Now tuck it in, zip the damned pants and get out there. Your public awaits.

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Fuck. If only I hadn't had to pee, I might be sitting here feeling comfortable about who I am, confident in my role as myself, my real self, and happily joining in the dinner conversation. And enjoying my food. Instead I'm so nervous I think I'm gonna upchuck and afraid to open my mouth for fear of giving myself away and my mouth is so dry I can barely swallow. It was all I could do to get out here and survive the introductions and the sitting around just talking waiting for dinner to be ready without hyperventilating or throwing up. Felicia looks really worried; I can tell she wants to ask me what's wrong but knows better than to just come out and ask in front of everyone. I keep seeing flashes of sadness or maybe guilt on Dad's face when he looks at me, which is only making it worse, and Mom I think wants to murder him for talking me into this which I'm sure she thinks is what happened and I guess he does, too. Even Livy looks uncharacteristically concerned about me. Whatever she had at the hospital must be wearing off a little, 'cause she looks actually concerned, not just vaguely interested.

Luckily the Weisses seem mostly oblivious to all this. Especially Mrs. Weiss, who's on her third glass of wine. And it's not even good wine--it's Gallo Hearty Zinfandel in the big screw-top bottles. I guess Dad doesn't care about impressing his boss--not that Mr. Weiss would know the difference but I sure as hell do; I didn't even bother asking for a taste. Anyway I suppose they probably just see me as a shy, awkward, plain girl to be pitied for having to live in the shadow of such a pretty and graceful older sister. Even if I do have better fashion sense. Honestly I kind of wish that were the truth; at least then I'd be a girl. But I'm kind of worried that's not what they see, that they see right through me and are just being polite and not saying anything. Also Rich keeps checking me out which is just gross 'cause he's fifteen and what's he doing leering at a thirteen-year-old when there's two girls his own age at the table, and his little sister, Maria I think she said her name was, who looks like she's maybe ten or eleven, seems to think Livy is like the coolest thing ever and keeps looking annoyed at me like I'm ruining the party or something. Which I guess I kind of am.

Finally Mrs. Weiss, who's sitting next to me, looks at me with sympathy, leans over and says in a real low voice so no one else will hear, "Rough period, dear? I know what that can be like." This really knocks me for a loop and not just because of all the alcohol on her breath, and I look at her like what the fuck are you talking about but apparently what she sees in my face is how on Earth did you know 'cause she leans in closer and whispers, "I could see your pad," then pulls back a bit and looks at me and when I look puzzled leans back in and whispers some more, "Those jeans are kind of tight; you might want to use a tampon or wear something less form-fitting this time of the month." My pad? What's she going on about? Then I remember an ad I saw in Tiger Beat at the hospital--I wasn't really reading it I was just sort of thumbing through it out of sheer boredom, OK? But it had this ad for tampons where this girl was talking about pads showing under a leotard or something and OK, I was just sort of curious, I'd never seen a tampon ad before, all right? At least not one that didn't act all mysterious about what they were for and why you'd want one. And that must be what Mrs. Weiss is talking about, but why would she think....

Oh my god. Oh, no way, that's just too funny for words.

I must not have tucked it away well enough, and that's what she saw, and thought it was... a pad. Bursting out laughing, which I desperately want to do, would not be an appropriate reaction, but I have an idea what to do, from how Karen Hardy reacted in Social Studies last year when she wasn't expecting to get her period and was wearing white shorts. I'm still worked up enough that it's not too hard to turn the laughter that's trying to come out into hysterical tears; I sob "Excuse me, please," run back to the bathroom and slam the door, locking myself in.

Here I was, all worried that if anyone saw anything fishy down there I'd be found out, and instead it's just confirmed beyond any possible doubt I'm a girl. Tears are streaming down my face; I just hope my stifled laughter sounds enough like muffled sobs from out there.

I hear Mom say, "I'd better go see what's the matter," and then Felicia saying, "No, Miz L, I'll go," and a few seconds later a gentle knocking on the door and "You OK, um, Lee?"

I figure I'd better assume they can all hear me so between guffaws or sobs or whatever you want to call them I squeak out "No!"

"Can I come in?"

"Um, oh, all right." I unlock the door and let her in, then close and lock it behind her.

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My bedroom door's not all the way closed so I can hear the dinner table conversation.

"The poor dear. Does she need a Midol? I have one in my purse." That's Mrs. Weiss.

"I already gave her one of mine. I told her to just go lie down and hug her pillow until it kicks in." Felicia's not a bad actor. You'd never guess from her voice that just a minute ago I'd had to clamp my hand over her mouth to stop her from laughing out loud when I explained what happened. I just wish I could be there to see the looks that must be passing back and forth between her and Mom. Not to mention the look on Livy's face.

It occurs to me that because I have this male body I'll never be subjected to the misery I'm supposed to be going through right now, or the embarrassment of having my menstrual pad visible through my clothes, 'cause even though that's what Mrs. Weiss thought she saw I knew it wasn't really and it was pretty funny so I wasn't embarrassed about it at all, and I ought to be feeling relieved or even smug about all this but for some reason I just find the thought horribly depressing, I guess 'cause it just drives home really hard how I'm not really a girl and I never will be no matter what. And if I don't stop thinking about this I'm gonna start crying again.

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I figure they'll understand if I don't come back out before the Weisses leave, but just in case I do need to go back out I figure it wouldn't do for me to still be in tight hip huggers with my "pad" showing 'cause that's what I was supposed to be all distraught about. So I dig through the bag of Linda's old clothes for something appropriate and find a Franklin Junior High maroon-and-gray cheerleading warmup suit, which looks comfy and kind of loose so I change into that, and a white tank top 'cause the crop top I had on doesn't go and the jacket from the warmup suit would be way too hot. Of course I keep the bra on 'cause it would be odd if my boobs just disappeared suddenly. Since the sweatpants aren't tight in the crotch, which is pretty much the whole point of wearing them, I kind of have to give myself a wedgie with my Jockeys to keep things in place.

As long as I'm stuck in here for a while I might as well dump the bag out on my bed and fold and put everything away. I've got plenty of room in my dresser and closet if I just re-organize my stuff a little bit. To make it easy to keep it all straight I'll move all my old boy clothes to the left-hand drawers of the dresser and the left side of the closet, and put all my new girl clothes on the right.

----------

It's official; I now have more girl clothes than boy clothes. Including a fair number of skirts and dresses, and yes, even a Franklin cheerleading uniform. I have to admit I'm kind of curious to see what I'd look like in that; not that I'd ever be caught dead in it in public 'cause cheerleaders are like the poster girls for everything that's wrong with school and society in general but, you know, they're foxes, pretty much automatically as soon as they put on that uniform. I can't imagine what possible excuse I could have to wear it around the house either, so I guess that's not gonna happen.

I seem to have acquired, in one blow, a fairly complete wardrobe for a thirteen-year-old girl, with the exception of socks of which there only seems to be one pair, and panties of which there are thankfully none 'cause who wants someone else's used underpants, yuck. The socks are little footie things that would just come up to the ankle with little fuzzy maroon-and-gray pom-poms at the cuff or whatever you call the part at the other end from the toe, so I guess they go with the cheerleading outfit. My feet are kind of cold so I put them on.

It's a good thing wire hangers reproduce in dark closets; otherwise I'd never have had enough to hang up all my new clothes.

----------

OK, putting those things away was a good way to keep myself mindlessly occupied for a while, but now that I'm done with that my thoughts keep turning to what I'm doing, and what it means, and what I want, and whether I'm really a girl or a boy or both or neither, and whether I'm being true to myself by doing this or just deluded, and I really don't want to think about this shit right now. I've still got a headache and that's just making it worse. In fact I think I'd rather go back out and see what the Weisses are saying about me behind my back.

----------

She looks momentarily shocked to see me, but gets it together before anyone else notices. "Hi, sweetie. Feeling better?" Nice save, Mom.

"A little. The Midol helped. Thanks, Felicia." She grins and looks like she's holding back a giggle fit. What the hell is Midol, anyway? And how's it supposed to help? I'll have to ask about that later. "And sorry 'bout freaking out on you like that, Mrs. Weiss. I know you just wanted to help."

"Oh, don't worry. I know how it is. You're still new at this, aren't you?" She giggles. Ever the diplomat. And pretty tipsy too, I think. I go ahead and roll my eyes, 'cause I know from watching Livy that's a perfectly normal response for a thirteen-year-old girl to just about anything.

"Yes; in fact she'd never had one before today."

Mom! I look at her, shocked, mouth open. That was unexpected. I start to try to figure out how to cover up my reaction when it occurs to me that it's actually probably pretty appropriate for the situation.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, sweetie. You should be proud. It means you're a young woman now." Whoa, Mom! Don't you think that's a little over the top? I don't know whether I want to laugh uncontrollably, or run and hide. Probably both. I can feel my face getting hot, which luckily is still an appropriate reaction. How the hell are Felicia and Livy holding it together? Good thing Dad's moved into the family room with Rich and Mr. Weiss; I think this conversation would make them pretty uncomfortable. I know it's doing that to me.

OK, Livy and Felicia are pointedly not looking at me, and they do seem about to explode. Maria is looking at me, though. And she looks impressed, as opposed to the contempt she was showing me before. What, that I've gotten my period for godssake?

"Are you really a cheerleader?" Oh, that.

Before I can answer, Livy sort of snorts and says "Yeah, she is. Why don't you do a cheer for her, Lee?" Felicia kicks her in the ankle for me, hard--thanks, Felicia--but still looks like she thinks this is abso-fucking-lutely hilarious.

Again before I can say anything Mom jumps in with, "Now, Livy, you know she's not feeling well right now."

Thank you, Mom! Maria, who appears to be in awe of me now, looks disappointed. "Oh. Um, maybe, could I--could you, I mean, when you're feeling better, maybe--" She looks embarrassed and looks down at her feet.

"What?" I'm feeling strong empathy for her embarrassment right now, so I say it gently and encouragingly.

She just looks more unsure of herself and doesn't say anything, so Mrs. Weiss jumps in. "She's trying out for the cheerleading squad this year and I think she's hoping you'll coach her. Isn't that it, honey?"

Maria nods and looks up at me, hopefully. Those eyes. That face. How can I possibly say no?

Whoa. I don't know fuck about cheerleading. How can I say yes? I'm starting to freak out now. Everyone is looking at me intently, wondering what I'll say. Staring at me. I hate being on the spot like this. What do I do? I didn't even know they had cheerleading in grade school. She's not old enough for junior high, is she?

As if she's reading my mind or something Mrs. Weiss mentions, "We went to the informational meeting at Van Helsing this morning. She's starting seventh grade there this year." WHAT? Ohhhhh, fuck. Here comes the adrenalin rush, and it's a major one--my ears start ringing, the light in the room seems suddenly brighter and harsher, and all I know is I need to sit down so I do, on the floor, and Mom says "Are you feeling all right, sweetie?" And the ringing in my ears is really loud now, accompanied by a large swarm of angry bees, and my vision is all gray and speckly, which is odd 'cause my eyes are closed, and I'm lying down and I'm drenched in cold sweat and shivering, and someone's rubbing my hand and a voice from far away in a tin can or something is slowly coming nearer and saying "Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?" So I do, and it's Dad. And I'm in bed. And I need to throw up. So I do. On Dad.

----------

"They're not here anymore, sweetie. After you fainted they said we needed to concentrate on taking care of you and Livy, said their goodbyes and went home."

"I'm sorry, Mom. I guess I ruined the evening for everyone." I sip on the glass of apple cider she's brought me. I'm still a little shaky but starting to feel a little better. Less nauseated, anyway.

"No, no, we're more worried about you than any silly old dinner party."

Dad decides it's time to put in his two cents' worth. "You didn't ruin the party at all--in fact until you fainted you were the evening's entertainment." Is he making fun of my misery? That's not like him. "At first I was worried about you, you seemed so nervous and anxious. But then when you ran to the bathroom in hysterics, and then went and hid in your room, and Felicia came back to tell us why--it took me a minute to figure out what she was alluding to but then I had all I could do to keep from laughing out loud. It was brilliant. Inspired. Your mother says you put on quite a show when you came back out, too. If it hadn't ended with you fainting--"

"--and throwing up all over you--"

"--it only got on my shoes. Well, other than those two things I think it was probably the most entertaining party we've ever thrown. For us, anyway. I'm afraid the Weisses missed out on most of the fun."

"Um, yeah. Actually at first I was kinda freaked out, kinda wondering why I thought I could pull it off, you know? And I was all worried about being caught, and having really bad stage fright and just trying really hard not to do anything stupid and blow it, and then--well, the thing I was afraid would expose me turned out to be what made sure I wouldn't be caught." That's got them curious, so I explain about tucking myself back after I peed, but apparently not well enough, and Mrs. Weiss mistaking the slight bulge for a pad, and how her inebriated well-meaning tactlessness gave me the inspiration for the rest of my evening's performance, and by the time I get to the part about Mom telling the Weisses this is my first period and telling me how I should be proud 'cause now I'm a young woman, she and Dad are in hysterics and Livy and Felicia are too--I hadn't noticed them hanging out in my doorway listening in--so I have to ask: "What the hell is Midol, anyway?" Which only gets them laughing harder, so I don't get an answer.

Then I remember why I freaked out and fainted in the first place. "Um, guys, I have a serious problem." I wait while they finish laughing and calm themselves down before going on. "Maria. She's going to Van Helsing. She's seen me like this." I remember something else, too. "Um, two problems." I'm telling this mostly to Dad 'cause everyone else here already knows. "She thinks I'm a cheerleader and wants me to coach her before the tryouts." Mom and Livy are looking pretty guilty about this, but I take responsibility even for unintended consequences of my choices, like Dad said. "I guess that's what I get for wearing these sweatpants." Yeah, well, don't look too relieved, you two; responsibility can be shared, you know.

"So, what the expletive-deleted am I gonna do?"

---

 
To Be Continued...