by Justme

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Chapter 10: Good things come to those who wait

Michelle's getting all misty-eyed now so to kind of break the spell of the moment I smile and say, "I'm sorry, everyone must be starving and dinner's getting cold."

That's Mom's cue to snap out of her dazed and confused state and take charge of the proceedings. "Yes, please everyone, have a seat." She starts toward the kitchen.

"Let me help, Mom. It'll go faster."

She looks confused and maybe kind of worried for a second but then sort of seems to decide to just give up and go with it. "Oh, thank you, that would be wonderful." Come on, it's not like I never volunteer. Well, OK, maybe not all that often. But I'm kind of in a hurry to get through dinner. I have a lot I want to ask Michelle about.

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"The Decisive Moment. Is this where you learned your photography, Joey? Are you to be the next Henri Cartier-Bresson?" Michelle's looking past me.

Huh? Oh, right, the bookshelf behind me. Most people have those whatchacallems, you know, like dressers only with dishes and stuff in the drawers instead of clothes? Sideboards, that's it. Most people have sideboards in their dining room. Us, we have bookshelves. We don't actually have any fine china but we have more books than you can shake a stick at so they kind of overflow into every room.

Anyway Michelle is looking over my right shoulder at the spine of that book of cool photos Dad showed me when he gave me his old camera. It's by this French photojournalist who I guess Michelle has heard of. I think he's had it since he got out of the Army. The book, not the camera--it's old but not that old.

"No, that's where Dad learned it, I guess. I learned it from him. Anyway I don't know if I'll ever be that good but you should see some of the stuff Dad's done. In fact," I've finished my lasagna and just remembered something, "hang on a sec; I'll show you what I mean. Excuse me, please." I don't wait for Mom's reply before running off to my room. Now which drawer did I put that in? Oh, yeah, here it is. I run back to the table, resume my seat across from Michelle and hand her the photo Dad took of me the other day. The good one. "Here, see? If you ask me, this one could go alongside anything in that book."

"C'est vrai. C'est magnifique. Étienne, you took this?" She looks pretty impressed as she shows it to Dad.

His eyes get big. "This is the first I've seen of it. Is this the one I took Sunday night?" He's addressing me; I nod. "I didn't know you'd developed it. How come you didn't show me?"

"'Cause I wasn't ready to then. I mean, look at it." Mom and Livy are craning their necks to get a peek now.

"I guess I can see that."

"And then I hid it in my drawer and kind of forgot about it until now."

Mom finally gets a good look at it and puts a hand to her chest with an 'oh, my' expression on her face. "Do you like it?" She asks me.

"Are you kidding? It's the best picture anyone's taken of me, ever. It's the first picture of me that really looks like me to me. You know?" Livy's seen it now too. She's smiling at me; she looks almost as happy about it as I am.

Michelle looks at Dad with a puzzled expression. "But I thought you said she only told you about... who she really was... last night."

"That's right."

"And you took this Sunday night? Did you already suspect, then?"

"No, not then. I hadn't a clue."

"Unconsciously perhaps? One does not take photos like this by accident. Or without noticing."

"Maybe, I suppose, but..."

"But I was still doing my best to convince everyone, even myself I guess, that I was just a boy playing the part of a girl. Don't beat yourself up for not figuring it out, Dad. I didn't want you to. I'm sure you just got that shot 'cause your instincts are so good you couldn't help capturing the real me in spite of my best efforts."

He looks at me searchingly, then back at the picture, then back to me again with a look on his face like a little light has suddenly gone on. There's a great word for that, but I can't think of it right now. He gets a sheepish look and says, with a self-mocking tone, "That must be it. I'm so damned good I caught it on film before I even realized what I was seeing."

"Yeah, well, you caught it on film before I even realized what you were seeing. When I developed it and saw the real me captured on film for the first time, that's when I knew"--I'm getting a little worked up and have to pause and take a deep breath--"that's when I knew what I had to do. That's when I knew I could never go back."

"Your Decisive Moment, n'est-ce pas?" Michelle's smiling knowingly at me, like she's remembering when she figured it out.

Epiphany. That's the word I was trying to remember. Yeah, great word. I smile back at Michelle and nod.

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"I do envy you, Joey."

Huh? I was kinda lounging back into the couch cushions but now I'm sitting up straight. "Nuh-uh, you've got it all going for you--confidence, poise, beauty, style. Not to mention that car. You're like--like a movie star. I envy you. I wish I could be just like you."

That gets a big smile out of her. "You flatter me, and you 'ave no idea 'ow I adore to 'ear one such as you say such things about me. But it is you, not I, who 'ave all the real advantages. Non," I'm shaking my head in disagreement but she's holding her hand up to silence me, "bien écoute, Joey. To 'ave been able to be who I was meant to be so young, before undergoing all the terrible changes of adolescence that can never be completely undone--for this alone I would give up all the things you say you so envy. But even that is as nothing next to your incredible good fortune to 'ave two such understanding and supportive parents." She looks wistful and I see a deep sadness behind her eyes. As it starts to dawn on me what she means it must show on my face, 'cause she forces a smile and looks away at Mom and Dad. "She is lucky beyond words to 'ave you both. Depressingly few of us are so blessed as to 'ave one parent who can accept us, let alone two who are so supportive."

"Yours didn't...?" I can't bring myself to say it out loud. Her own parents?

She shakes her head slowly. "My mother still calls on 'olidays, I think to see if I 'ave come to my senses yet even after so long. She calls me by my old name, but at least she still speaks to me. My father, I 'ave 'eard, tells everyone I am dead. 'E 'as not said a word to me in twelve years."

Her own parents?

I'm so stunned I'm not able to even try to hide what's going through my mind. I'm sure Michelle can read my thoughts, my incredulity, all over my face.

"You 'ave many difficult times ahead of you, Joey, but you 'ave two wonderful parents--and a sister"--she bows her head a little to Livy--"who love you to 'elp you through them. That is something rare and precious for which you should thank your lucky stars every day. Promise me you will never take that for granted."

Still wide-eyed and slack-jawed, I shake my head in agreement. Her own parents!

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"So, um, you said something about--being able to avoid, you know, turning into a man?" She nods and my heart skips a beat. Yes! Felicia was right about that! I mean, I know about how puberty starts changing your body one way or the other when your 'nads start making hormones and all that; I had Health class, OK? But I wasn't sure you could stop it once it had started, and how much was hormones and how much was chromosomes. The teacher was kind of vague about that, and it's not exactly the kind of thing you can ask about without everyone wondering why you're so interested, you know? "Is it too much to hope I could grow up like a normal girl, I mean, like turn into a woman instead?" Livy's looking at Michelle like she's trying to will her to say 'yes' for me. Mom's looking at me like it's just now dawning on her that this is what I was talking about earlier--how could she not have figured that out? Dad seems impressed that I thought to ask, and appears to be as interested in the answer as I am.

"In theory, it is possible, more or less. You will of course never be able to 'ave babies, I am afraid"--I nod with a resigned look on my face; I already knew that much--"but with the proper 'ormones I know of no reason you shouldn't be able to develop outwardly as a normal girl would. Well, except for one little thing," she smiles knowingly, "and that can be corrected with surgery."

Normally just the thought of surgery makes me queasy and light-headed. This, though--well, yeah, it makes my head spin, but for entirely different reasons. I mean, I've thought about it before kind of intellectually, but the idea that we're actually talking about me doing that makes it suddenly real in a way it never has been before. And the feeling it gives me is so far from anything I've ever felt before I can't even think of how to describe it, which kind of makes it totally unreal at the same time. If that makes any sense. I wonder how soon they could do it if I signed up tomorrow. I wonder if anyone around here even does that operation--it can't be all that common, can it? Out of the corner of my eye I see Livy smiling an I'm-so-happy-for-you smile at me so I smile back, the kind of smile you only get when you find out something you've dreamed about your whole life but always thought was impossible might actually be within reach. But something Michelle said makes me think I shouldn't be getting my hopes up too far just yet.

"What do you mean, 'in theory?'" Dad asks it before I can.

"Well, I 'ave never met anyone who did this as young as Joey, though I believe it 'as been done. The trouble will be finding a doctor who is willing to 'elp 'er."

What? "You mean--they could tell me no? Even if my parents say it's OK?" I look at them with an expression I hope says, 'if you care at all about me, you will say it's OK.'

"Mais oui. For something as drastic as what you propose to do, given that your 'ealth isn't in immediate danger, even with an adult many doctors are reluctant to be a part of it. What if you change your mind later? This cannot be undone."

"I am not gonna change my mind! What do I have to do to convince you people--"

Michelle cuts me off with a wave of her hand. "I need no convincing, Joey. But I am not your doctor, and your doctor, not being like us, will 'ave difficulty understanding this. You must realize that for all but a few in the 'ole world, this is completely outside their experience."

"But...." I got my hopes up a bit in spite of trying not to, and now I just wanna cry I'm so frustrated. I hate being treated like a child who doesn't know what's best for herself. "It's just not fair." I know it's lame, but it's all I can think of to say to that. I'm trying to hold back the tears but it's not working very well.

Dad, ever calm and logical especially when others are getting emotional around him, says, "Then we'll just have to find one of those few. You can help us, can't you, Michelle?" Wow. Dad's always been kind of my hero, but never more than right now. I look pleadingly at Michelle.

"Yes. Yes, I can 'elp. I will 'elp." She looks at me and I see iron determination in her eyes. "I will not allow ignorant or cowardly doctors to squander this rare chance you 'ave."

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"Yes, it is a difficult thing, 'iding from one's past. So many things can expose one, and one must be constantly on one's guard. It is a wearying way to live."

"Why try to hide it, then?" OK, Dad can't possibly be so clueless he can't figure this out. He must just want to hear Michelle's perspective on it.

"Because the alternative is to expose oneself from the start, to live openly and accept the ill treatment, the ridicule, the stares--in a word, to live as a circus freak. If you remember what 'appened to Christine Jorgensen when 'er story was made public--well, I think you can easily see why most of us choose the first path. In your case especially, Joey, I would most 'ighly recommend it."

"What's special about Joey's situation?"

I think I know what she's gonna say, at least I know what I'd say, but I still wanna hear her say it, if nothing else so everyone else here gets the message. She must notice my interest 'cause she addresses her answer to me. "On the one side is the fact that with your early start you will avoid many of the problems that make it so difficult for most of us--things such as 'aving to 'ide an entire childhood and adolescence as a boy and invent a replacement as a girl."

Oh. I hadn't thought about that much, but I think I'll be safe if I just switch my sex and my name in all my memories and leave everything else the same, like I've been doing. Like Dad always says, the closer you stick to the truth, the less chance there is of tripping yourself up later. In a lot of my old pictures I'd probably even be believable as a tomboy.

Michelle's not done yet. "And 'aving to disguise a deep voice, 'aving to constantly think about moving and speaking as a woman should, and even if one gets all that right, most will still raise some suspicions with a mannish figure or large hands or feet or simply by being tall. Developing as a woman from the start and growing up as a normal girl you will not 'ave to worry about any of these things. Do you begin to see why I envy you so, Joey?" I nod sympathetically. I still think she's cooler than cool, but apparently it's a lot harder for her than she makes it look. Well, it only makes me admire her more.

"And on the other side is the fact that children of your age are especially cruel to those who are different in any small way; adults are often no more accepting of differences but at least they are usually more civilized about it. I believe blending in with other girls will be much easier for you, and achieving acceptance or toleration if you are open about your past will be even more difficult than for those of us who do this as adults. It is for these reasons that I strongly recommend you try to blend in and keep your past to yourself, at least while you are still in school."

Dad doesn't like deceit, so of course he has to raise some kind of objection. "Don't you think society would learn to be more accepting if more people were open about it?"

Michelle seems a little uncomfortable with the question. "I suspect you are right, and it is a moral dilemma we all face. But even if we all revealed ourselves today, acceptance would not come overnight; it would take many years, perhaps decades. And in the meantime do you really want to subject your own daughter to that?"

"No, of course not." But he needed to see how she'd answer--calibrating her moral compass, as it were. I know his M.O. "That would be asking far too much of her. If she wants to go public when she's older, of course that's her choice. It's our job as her parents to protect her from that sort of thing until she's ready to make that choice. What do you think, Joey? How do you want to handle it?"

Whoa, put me on the spot why don't you, Dad? "Um, I, uh... it's--uh."

"It's OK, take a minute to collect your thoughts."

"No, I, uh, I'm ready. I think. I mean, I feel like being honest about who you are is important, and people ought to accept you for that or go f-screw themselves. You know? But, like, even as slightly 'unconventional'"--I illustrate with 'finger quotes' like my sixth grade teacher used to--"as I was as a boy, a lot of people had trouble dealing with that. I mean, some people might be OK with me even knowing what I really am, but like, how many of those would be willing to admit it publicly and be seen associating with me? Not many, I bet. And yeah, sure, they'd be only the best people and the ones I'd want to hang out with anyway, but I don't know if I could handle having even fewer friends than I usually do, you know? Not to mention the extra vicious attacks I'd be subjected to, 'cause the kind of people who do that wouldn't see me as a girl at all, probably; they'd see me as some kind of ultra-fag who it was their duty to eradicate before the infection spread." I'm starting to get kind of shaky just talking about this; it's starting to sink in how potentially dangerous a thing it is I'm planning to do, going to school and living my life as a girl. "And I'm scaring the crap out of myself just talking about it." As I say that Livy has gotten up and come over to sit next to me on the couch and hold me. I close my eyes and lean on her for a minute. "So if you don't mind, I won't be telling anyone anytime soon. OK?"

"OK. Sometimes standing up for what's right can do more harm than good, and I think this is probably one of those times. In any case you're the one who has to live with the consequences so ultimately it's your decision to make. So, we have a problem to solve and I'm not sure Michelle can help us with this one."

Mom looks at Dad with curiosity for a second, then gets that famous 'oh, my' look on her face. "Oh, damn." Whoa, she didn't even tone herself down in front of company. She must be really upset. "Joey, you're already registered at school as a boy." Dad's nodding; this is what he was talking about. "And all your school records say you're a boy, and your birth certificate, and your passport. Oh, what are we going to do? Damn, damn, damn."

"The public school records, I am afraid I cannot 'elp you with at all. I 'ave no experience with this. It may be possible to correct them once the other records 'ave been corrected, but legally that cannot 'appen until after you 'ave 'ad the surgery to correct your body's sex."

"How soon can I have that? If we can find someone who'll do it this week--" Livy gives me an encouraging squeeze when I say this. Out of the corners of my eyes I can see Mom and Dad both whip their heads around to look at me. I can't really see their expressions but I'm guessing they're surprised I'm not freaking out at the thought of surgery.

Now Michelle's got an 'oh, my' expression and looks like she's trying to stifle an inappropriate laugh. "I am afraid that is completely out of the question, Joey." I give her an honestly puzzled look. Hers is one of bemused but heartfelt sympathy. "Even if an experienced surgeon were available to do it on such short notice, and willing to do it on one so young, there is a long process to go through before surgery can even be considered." She looks to see if this makes it clear for me but if anything, now I'm even more puzzled so she elaborates. "Any reputable surgeon will require at least a psychiatric evaluation endorsing the surgery, of course, just to be certain. That may take a few weeks to schedule and the psychiatrist will probably wish to meet with you more than once to fully evaluate your situation. The surgeon will also want you to 'ave been taking 'ormones for an extended time, to see 'ow you react to them and to see 'ow the physical changes they bring about affect you psychologically, before taking the irrevocable step of surgery."

"An extended time? How long are we talking about?"

"It varies from surgeon to surgeon and sometimes from case to case. For me it was a year. That seems to be fairly usual."

"A year? A whole year?" This time my look of utter disbelief is combined with despair and anguish. Here I thought I was so close, and now she tells me I might have to wait a year. Or more. "I've already waited thirteen! Isn't that torture enough?"

"I am sorry, Joey. I know 'ow frustrating it is. Believe me, I know. But you will get there; you just 'ave to 'ave patience."

Patience? I have plenty of patience. Patience is my middle name. But a whole year? Who do these doctors think they are, anyway, deciding who gets to have the operation and how long they have to wait for it? Did I mention I hate being treated like I don't know what's best for myself? Am I the only one who feels that way?

Livy's squeezing me pretty hard, trying to comfort me I guess. It's comforting but not comfortable, if you know what I mean. Between that, and my anger and frustration, I don't know whether I feel more like spitting or crying. I kind of rudely push Livy away, which I immediately regret. I fold my arms and stare at my knees, taking deep, ragged breaths and pushing them out to try to keep my temper and hold back the tears. Nobody's saying anything so I kind of look up to see if I can tell what they're thinking.

Why are Mom and Dad staring at me like that? I glare at them, but that makes my eyes water so I look back down and squeeze them shut to try to keep from looking like I'm crying. I'm so mad I can't hold it in any more. "I hate being treated like a child!" I practically scream it out. Now I'm so fucking embarrassed I just did that in front of Michelle I can't stand it so I jump up and run to my room and slam the door and I don't fucking care if Mom doesn't like it and I throw myself on my bed and just start crying my fucking eyes out in frustration and shame.

----------

Knock, knock. "Joey? C'est moi, Michelle. May I come in? I want to apologize."

Huh? "For what? I mean yeah, OK, come in."

"For making you feel foolish and naïve. Of course you 'ad no way to know and I should not 'ave expected you to." She closes the door quietly behind her and leans back against it.

"Oh. No, it wasn't that, really. I mean, it didn't help but I'd have gotten over it. I knew you didn't mean anything by it. It was those stupid doctors and their stupid rules. That kind of I-know-what's-best-for-you attitude just burns me up. I mean, what gives them the right to tell us how to live our lives and make our choices?"

"Ah. Well, I'm sure they believe they only 'ave our best interests at 'eart."

"They always do. I bet Hitler and Stalin said that a lot too."

"Hm." Why does she look like she's trying not to look amused? "Joey, the truth is, before Dr. 'Arry Benjamin published 'is groundbreaking work on the subject less than ten years ago, this was considered by most doctors in this country to be a sickness, a mental illness--or worse, a sexual perversion. Comprends-tu? We owe 'im a debt of gratitude for changing all that and making it even possible to get such 'elp 'ere. These doctors are only trying to do the best they can to 'elp us without causing serious 'arm to some out of carelessness and ignorance." Oh. I feel myself blushing a little; I guess I must have sounded pretty ignorant just now. Still, it's maddening. "I understand 'ow you feel; these sorts of rules do seem a bit patronizing, and in a case as clear as yours may do more 'arm than good. But in any case since we cannot get what we need without the 'elp of the medical profession we must play by their rules. N'est-ce pas?"

"I guess so." I don't have to like it though.

"Well, besides apologizing I 'ad another reason for coming in 'ere with you." I look at her with curiosity. "I want to share with you some tricks that will 'elp you keep your secret until such time as the medical profession consents to allow you a more permanent solution." She says the last bit with more than a hint of irony. Or maybe it's sarcasm--sometimes it's hard to keep those two straight.

"Tricks? What kind of tricks?" I'm definitely intrigued.

----------

In hindsight, it seems like maybe I should have been a little creeped out by what she was just doing with me and showing me, but I wasn't at the time 'cause I was so fascinated. And I'm not now, really. It seems like somehow I ought to be; I dunno why, but I'm not.

Let's just say I'll be a lot more confident about wearing short skirts in public now. Well, as much as any girl would be. And I won't have to worry about my pad showing through my clothes, if you get my meaning. I'll leave the details to your imagination, but you probably don't want to try too hard.

Oh, and I won't be spending a fortune on tissues after all, either. She's showing me how to make something a little more durable--not to mention realistic--out of an old pair of nylons and a little birdseed. You know, I've always kind of enjoyed arts and crafts.

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"I can't thank you enough for coming tonight, Michelle. We're indebted to you for all your help."

"C'était mon plaisir, Étienne. Vous avez une famille très charmante."

"You'll always be welcome here. After the way you and Joey connected tonight, you're practically family now." Wow Mom, that's quite a turnaround from earlier this evening.

"Thank you, Madame Llewellyn. I am deeply touched." She is, too; you can see in her eyes she's not just saying that to be polite.

"Oh, please, call me Sandy."

"Do you have to go now?"

"Je suis désolée, Joey. I 'ave a job and must be at work early in the morning."

"It's just, I've never had a chance to talk to anyone who really understands before and I don't want it to end." I give her a big hug which I really wish wasn't a goodbye hug.

"We will be seeing each other again soon, I 'ope." She squeezes me back. "And I will find a doctor who will 'elp you."

Despite my frustrations with the process, it makes me happy to think about that. The sooner I can get started, the sooner it will all be done and I'll have the body I was always supposed to have and I won't have to work so hard to hide my freakishness. I smile big and give Michelle another hug. "Thank you." It doesn't begin to cover what I'm feeling but it's all I can think of to say.

----------

Michelle said I should undo what she showed me how to do every night, to let things air out. But I don't want to just yet. I'm sure one night won't hurt.

Sigh. I can't believe it. Now everyone knows how much I want to get rid of this stupid thing, and they even seem OK with it. So why do I still have to wait a whole freakin' year?

###

Chapter 11: Nothing ventured, nothing gained

"Come on, Joey. It won't hurt a bit. I promise!" Where have I heard that before lately? But it turned out to be true, didn't it?

"Well... all right. Just be gentle, OK? I've never done this before."

Rich reaches down and tenderly, with slightly shaky hands, undoes the button on my cheerleader skirt, then the zipper. He gets down on his knees, eyes on a level with my exposed bellybutton, and slowly pulls it down past my hips until it drops to the floor. I step out of it and flick it out of the way with my foot.

Now I'm shaking. With excitement, and anticipation, and fear. I have a pleasant knot in my lower tummy.

His trembling fingers fumble with the elastic of my panties for a second before he's able to get a hold and start pulling them down, too. When they get to my knees he lets them fall and I fling them over by the skirt. With one hand he reaches for my naked crotch as the other goes into his back pocket and comes out with a pair of barber's scissors.

"Now hold still, OK?" With his left hand he frees my penis from its bondage and pulls it out to its full length as his right brings the scissors, open and at the ready, to its base. "If you move I might slip and really mess things up."

"OK." I close my eyes tight and grimace. He said it wouldn't hurt. He promised. But it's got to at least pinch a little, doesn't it?

Snip.

AAAAAHHGHH!!! Aaahhghh... oh. Ack. Whew.

What a fucking weird dream.

----------

OK, now I'm having trouble getting back to sleep. It's that damn dream. You wanna know what's bugging me about it? You'd think it was the snip at the end, but no. I'm kind of OK with that, since it turned out it was only a dream. No, it's Rich.

What's he doing in my wish fulfillment dream with erotic subtext?

No, damn, I wish I hadn't asked that. What's he doing? I'll tell you what he's doing--he's fulfilling my wish, that's what he's doing.

Damn you, Sigmund Freud, and your evil psychoanalytic theories. Damn you to hell.

----------

I mean, I guess it's OK for me to, you know, want Rich. I mean, Dad's friend Billy is gay, and he's a good guy, right? And as a girl I don't even have to worry about not letting it show lest I get the shit kicked outta me, as long as no one finds out my secret. So I'm not upset about that, just kinda surprised. It's just, I never thought about a boy that way before. Ever. Only girls. Always girls. So I just thought I only liked girls that way, OK? Only--thinking about Rich, after that dream, is kinda turning me on. It's kinda confusing.

I mean, if I like boys too, how come I never noticed before? Like in the locker room? 'Cause it's not like I could ever control my dick; if I'm the least bit turned on I get a boner, no matter how embarrassing or inappropriate the situation, and that's all there is to it. And thankfully, I never have in the locker room.

And oddly, I don't now. I mean, the crotch of my panties is a little damp and sticky where the tip of my penis is tucked, and things feel kinda swollen down there, but I'm not like hard or anything. Still, I am definitely turned on.

Guess I like boys after all. Or at least Rich.

Rich. Mmmm. The way he was touching me in the dream--

Oh my god, I do have a 'thing' for Rich.

----------

All right, how the hell am I supposed to get any sleep like this? As soon as I close my eyes I start thinking about that dream, and getting more turned on, and it's to the point now where I can't seem to think of anything else and it feels really good but really, really frustrating at the same time. It's a weird mix of feelings--almost painful, but I don't want it to stop. But I do, so I can get some sleep. But I don't.

Sigh. I wish Rich were really here. We could...

...oh god, no we could not. If he ever really did get me undressed and see that he'd be, like, so totally grossed out and he'd hate me 'cause I'm a total freak and I feel so... disgusted with myself. And ashamed. And kind of sick.

And not turned on anymore. At all.

But I still can't get back to sleep.

----------

Ugh. I'm a wreck this morning. Now I understand that expression about beauty sleep.

Maybe a nice hot shower--no, I'm already sleepy; that'll just put me out and I need to go to Linda's in an hour. Better be a cold one, I guess. Or at least cool. Br-r-r. Even the thought makes me shiver. Cool showers are nice and refreshing when I'm all hot and sticky in the afternoon, but first thing in the morning? It's just masochistic.

----------

Gasp. My heart's pounding a mile a minute, but I don't know if I'm really any more awake. My face looks a little less like Muhammad Ali's been using it for a punching bag, though. I think. If only I had makeup....

I pull my hair back into a ponytail, only higher up the back of my head like girls like to wear them, not down at the nape of the neck to look 'boyish.' Even without makeup it's kind of a cute, fresh all-American girl look. At least, if I let my eyes go kinda blurry so I can't see how tired I look. Which isn't too hard to do because I'm so tired.

Well, it'll have to do.

While I'm still in the bathroom I get the bandage tape out of the first-aid kit and redo that magic Michelle showed me. I left it on all night and it doesn't seem to have done any harm but I had to undo it to get things properly clean in the shower.

I can't tell you how nice it feels to look in the mirror and see what you're supposed to see. I guess most people just take that for granted and don't think twice about it. Now if I only looked thirteen instead of eleven....

----------

What to wear, what to wear--the cheerleader skirt? Aaah! No! I don't want to be reminded of that dream all day! Anyway since it's a Franklin uniform Maria might get a little miffed, and Linda would probably see it as either total lameness or biting sarcasm on my part; I wouldn't want the first and I don't feel up to pulling off the second.

Shorts. I think I remember putting away some cute black cotton shorts--yeah, here they are. Not as tight as the cutoffs, so I should be able to move around better in 'em. And I can wear the white tank top from the other night again--Mom did laundry yesterday.

----------

"'Morning, Mom." Yawn.

"Good morning, Joey. Oh, honey, didn't you sleep well?"

"It shows that bad?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Anything you want to talk about?"

"Nah, just a weird and kinda disturbing dream. You know how sometimes dreams can seem so real and important at the time, and later they just seem silly?" This one doesn't seem silly at all, but I don't want her prying. Just 'cause my big secret is out doesn't mean I don't want any privacy anymore. I mean, come on.

"Uh huh. I'm glad it's nothing serious, then. Oh, you're not going to wear that to go to your friend's house, are you?" She sounds disapproving.

"Huh? Yeah, what's wrong with it?"

"Nice girls don't let their bra straps show, honey."

"Oh." I hadn't noticed that. I tuck them up under the straps of the tank top, but clearly they're not going to stay there when I'm flailing around attempting to do cartwheels and stuff. "Hey, since when am I a nice girl anyway?" Can't pass up the opportunity to tease her a bit. And, you know, I've got an image to maintain. Or create. Or something.

Huh. I never thought much about that. OK, so I'm a girl--but what kind of girl am I? What kind do I want to be, and whatever that is can I pull it off?

"Why, you've always been a nice girl, sweetie. Not once have you ever gone out in public with your bra straps showing."

"Well, you've got me there. But this top is nice and cool and lets me move around. Do I really hafta change?"

"You could always go without the bra."

"Mo-om!" No bra means no boobs, and I kinda feel naked without 'em anymore. Weird, huh? So how do I convince Mom I need boobs? Ah. "Maria saw me with these," I point at my chest with both index fingers; "don't you think she'd wonder where they went?"

"Well--oh, I have an idea. Come here." I follow her to her room, where she rummages around in her jewelry box for a minute and comes out with a couple of tiny safety pins. "These ought to do the trick. Hold still so I don't poke you--there, now the other side." She's pinning the bra straps to the insides of the tank top straps from underneath so the pins don't show. "OK, move your arms around and let's see."

I wave them up and down and swing them around a couple of times.

"All right, they're still peeking out a bit sometimes but I suppose that's good enough."

"Thanks!"

----------

Why's Livy getting in the car with us? "You guys going somewhere without me?"

"Mom's dropping me off at Felicia's first. They live on this little farm out in the boonies." Which isn't necessarily as far as it sounds--the 'boonies' starts just outside our subdivision, about a quarter of a mile from here.

"Oh, cool. Wish I was coming." I did this summer day camp a couple of years ago, where we cleaned duck crap out of the 'cement pond' and slopped the hogs and shoveled cow manure out of the barn and generally worked our butts off doing nasty, dirty shit on a farm all day. It was fun. No, really; I'm not being sarcastic. I guess I just like animals a lot. Livy does too.

"Yeah, they've got chickens and goats and who knows what else. Rabbits I think. And horses."

OK, now I really wish I was going. We took riding lessons when we lived in Europe but haven't had a chance since we moved back to the States. I like all animals but I love horses. Everything about them--even just the way they smell. "Oh, don't tell me you're gonna go riding."

"Yeah, she said we might." She said that way too casually; she's trying to make me jealous. Well, it's working.

"Without me? No fair." Especially since technically it's her fault I have to go do this stupid cheerleader thing. It's almost like she planned it that way. Maybe the initial thrill of having a little sister is wearing off and she's reverting to type.

She laughs. "She said you could come over this afternoon and ride with us if you want."

"You--she--really?"

"Yeah, I told her how much you love horses and how disappointed you'd be if you didn't get to go. So we figured we'd hold off until you could join us. If you want to." As if I wouldn't.

"Wow. Thanks, Liv. You're the best." Having a big sister who looks out for me--it's kinda surreal, you know? I wonder when it'll wear off, or whether she'd have always been like this to me if I'd been born a girl--well, an obvious girl, I mean.

----------

"Hi, Joey! And you must be, um, Maria, right?" Maria nods, but she's giving me a funny look. "I'm Linda. Niceta meetcha." She offers a hand.

"Niceta meetcha." She shakes Linda's hand but she's still looking at me. "Um, did she just call you Joey? Isn't your name Lee?" OK, now Linda's looking at me funny too.

I cover my eyes with my hand and shake my head. "Um, yeah. Lee's my name. Joey's a nickname. It used to be just a family nickname but everyone seems to be using it these days so you might as well too."

"Oh." Maria sounds a little skeptical. Linda looks like she doesn't know what to make of this, which figures--before yesterday she thought my name was Joy. "How is Joey a nickname for Lee? Anyway with a name like Lee what do you need a nickname for? Isn't a nickname supposed to be shorter than your real one?"

Gee, she's almost as tactful as her mother. "Hey, I didn't start calling myself that. Heck, I've never even introduced myself to anyone as Joey." Linda looks like she's about to argue with me but I guess she remembers she called me Joy first 'cause she closes her mouth without saying anything. Better give 'em the condensed version--keep things simple. "When I was a baby our Australian nanny thought it was cute to call me that." They both look more confused than before. "It's what they call a baby kangaroo." Their 'huh?' looks turn to 'ah.' "Unfortunately it stuck."

Linda looks mildly upset now. "Do you not like it? Would you prefer we called you Lee?"

I don't want to be a big pain about it so I try to keep the exasperation out of my voice. "No, it's fine; you can call me Joey. It's not the name I have a problem with, it's having to explain it every time someone hears about it the first time. 'Cause, you know, Maria's right; you wouldn't expect someone named Lee to even have a nickname, let alone that one."

"You're sure you wouldn't rather we call you Lee though?"

"No, look, actually I kinda like it that you call me Joey. You're my first friend that ever called me that and, I dunno, you've been so nice to me, it makes it sorta... special. It's like you're family." I'm blushing a little now 'cause I'm not sure where that came from. "God, I must sound like a total dork."

Maria seems to think so but Linda doesn't look like she does. "Not at all, Joey. I think it's kind of sweet."

Maria looks like she might barf and is all but rolling her eyes at me. "Do you want me to call you Joey, too?" Jeez, what a little see-you-next-Tuesday, if you catch my banter.

"Whatever you like is OK with me."

"Guess I'll stick with Lee then, since I'm used to it already." Suits me fine, bitch. I just smile.

Tell me again--why was I so worried about disappointing this girl?

----------

This is the part I was not looking forward to. Maria's picking it all right up just fine. Me, well--I can do the arm movements, and I can do the steps; I just can't do both at once. I have no coordination whatsoever.

"I'm sorry, Linda. I'm hopeless."

"No, don't give up; you'll get it. Come on, let's start over." Oh, don't look so fucking smug, Maria.

----------

"Go, Vikings, Go!" Gasp. This is harder than it looks. Even in the tank top I'm sweating, and it's not even all that hot today. I'm bent over, hands on my knees, panting for air. Maria and Linda aren't though. Man, I am so out of shape.

"Great job, Joey! I knew you could get through it!"

"Yeah, nice work." OK, Maria doesn't sound like she's being patronizing anyway.

"Thanks. This stuff just doesn't seem to come naturally to me."

"Oh, I don't know about that. I mean, you're gonna need lots of practice before the tryouts"--thanks for the vote of confidence, Linda--"but there were some moments there where you looked positively graceful. I think you've got potential."

Huh. No one's ever called me 'graceful' before. "You're just saying that so I won't quit and you can torture me some more." I straighten up but I'm still breathing kinda hard.

"No, she's right. I think you could be pretty good at it." Huh? What's with the Jekyll and Hyde act, Maria? "Look, don't feel bad, OK? Linda's been a cheerleader for--how many years?"

"Four."

"Four years. And I've always wanted to be a cheerleader. It's like I've been getting ready for it my whole life. I bet you've never even had ballet lessons, have you? Or gymnastics?"

"Uh, no." Does figure skating count? Probably not; I never got as far as jumps and spins.

"See? It's just 'cause you're comparing yourself to us. You're not doing too bad, considering. Give yourself a chance."

I'm not sure if that's good news, or bad.

----------

"Not even a cartwheel?" I shake my head. "Come on, everyone can do a cartwheel." I shake my head again. "Well, it's never too late to learn. Watch closely." OK, Linda, I get it. You can do a cartwheel. And yeah, it looks easy enough, but once again, it requires that coordination thing I lack.

When she's done showing off she comes around behind me. "OK, now you try it. I'll hold you so you don't fall." She puts her hands on my waist. "Keep your body in a plane. Hands straight up. Now, reach out and down with this hand"--she touches my right--"while this leg"--she touches my left--"goes up." See, coordination required. Not my thing. "When that hand gets to the ground, your other one should be almost there too. Yeah, like that. OK, now kick off hard with your other leg and swing this one over--whoa, you need to keep your knees straight while they're in the air. You almost got me in the head."

"Sorry." I'm paused halfway through the cartwheel, basically in a handstand. My arms aren't all that strong and I don't think I can hold this too long. Plus, all the blood's rushing to my head and my ears are pounding and oh my god, my boobs are falling out--shit. Plop. There goes the right one.

"What was that?"

If my face wasn't already red from being upside down it would be now. "Nothing. Put me down, please." Plop. And there's the left.

"There it is again. What--" she lets me down--"what are those?"

Still beet red even though I'm right way up again, I reach down and pick them up. "My boobs." No point trying to hide it now.

"Your what?"

Maria's goggling. And giggling.

"My boobs." Brazen it out. When you're in this deep, that's the only chance you've got. "Well, stuffing my bra with tissues was all well and good but, um, my friend Michelle showed me how to make these instead. They're more convincing and they last longer."

"Let me see. What is that, birdseed?" Maria seems more than casually interested. Well, I guess she's kinda flat-chested too, but that's more normal at her age.

"Yeah, they're made from the feet cut off of an old pair of nylons. See? And if I want to look 'perky' I can turn them so the knots face forward." I demonstrate, holding them up to my chest.

Now they're both giggling. "I never would have thought of doing anything like that. How did your friend ever come up with this?" Linda seems honestly impressed.

"Um, well, she told me she didn't start to develop up top until she was like eighteen. So I guess she had plenty of time to figure something out."

"Eighteen? And I thought I was a late bloomer. How old is your friend?"

"I dunno, pretty old--around thirty, I guess. She's really a friend of Dad's from the theatre but we just kinda seemed to really hit it off when we first met."

Maria's examining one closely with a thoughtful expression. "I bet you could make 'em bigger, too."

"OK, this is all very amusing and everything, but shouldn't we get back to practicing now?" Clearly Linda isn't nearly as fascinated as Maria.

"Oh, yeah, sorry." I start to stuff my birdseed boobs back into my bra.

"Um, you might want to just leave those things out until we're done, don't you think?"

"Good idea." I look around for a place to set them down. "Where should I put 'em?"

"How about over there, on the patio table?"

"OK." It occurs to me I'm going to need to figure out a way to keep them in when I'm upside-down before the tryouts, if I'm going to have boobs in school. Which I intend to.

----------

"...And then my boobs just fell out of my bra, plop, plop. Right in front of everyone."

"Your what?" Yeah, that seems to be how people react to that.

"Her boobs." Livy has a hard time saying it clearly 'cause she's about to fall off her horse, she's laughing so hard.

"Since when do you have boobs?" Felicia's looking at me like I've lost it or something.

"Since Michelle showed me how to make 'em." I pull out the left one to show her. Her eyes get big, and now she's laughing as hard as Livy.

----------

"But you could never do a cartwheel."

"Yeah, I thought I was just too uncoordinated. But I guess it was just that no one ever took the time to show me what I was doing wrong." Livy looks a little guilty now. "Hey, I'm not blaming you. If I'd cared about it enough I might have kept trying, but like doing cartwheels is kind of for girls, you know? I didn't want to seem too interested." Guilt gives way to pity. I'm not looking for pity here. "Anyway I can do it now. Both kinds. And I can almost do a split. Linda says I just need to stretch lots and pretty soon I'll be able to do it. She wants me to come over and practice with her every day until the tryouts."

"Cool."

Felicia looks confused. "There's more than one kind of cartwheel?"

"Yeah, there's the one where you lean to the side to start and face the same way the whole time, and the one where you lean forward to start and end up facing back the way you came from."

"Oh. I've always just done it the second way, I think. Hey, when we get back could you show me how to do the other kind?"

"Um, sure, I guess." I'm in no hurry; I'm enjoying riding for the first time in forever. The scenery's nice, too--apple orchard on the right, corn field on the left. Except for the crunch-crunch of hooves on gravel and the creaking of leather, it's nice and quiet. "We don't have to go back yet though, do we?"

"Nah. As long as we're back in time to get the chickens ready for dinner. Mom said she was gonna let me help this time."

"You have to get chickens ready before you feed them?"

"No, silly. Before you eat them."

"Oh." It takes me a second to figure out what she means, and at first I think Livy and I are saying "Cool!" at the same time, only then I realize what she's saying is "Ewww!"

----------

It was quiet....

"Car coming! Get over to the side."

I look back. It's a beat-up looking black hot rod. It's either kicking up a lot of dust or blowing smoke out the tailpipe--maybe both. I can't tell how fast it's going but I bet it's way over the speed limit. I pull the reins to the right and a little back. "Easy, Coco. Off the road, now." I asked if they named her that from her chocolate-brown color, but Felicia's mom said no, it was 'cause she's a big hairy nut. I dunno, so far she's been fine for me. She does seem a little skittish about the car noise though.

As the car's approaching us the occupants, who appear to be four or possibly five teenage boys, roll down the windows and yell out something I can't quite make out, for which I should probably be grateful. I catch a glimpse of one guy in the back seat shouting whatever presumably rude thing it is they're all shouting at us and something about him looks familiar but I can't get a good look. Just when they get up next to us the jackass behind the wheel decides it would be really funny to honk the horn and scare the horses. Livy's and Felicia's mounts look a little startled and crowd each other further into the roadside ditch. Good ol' Coco, on the other hand, decides this would be a good time to show off and rears way up, whinnying, looking and sounding quite insane. The world starts going in slow motion.

As Coco gets to the top of her arc and waves her front legs around for dramatic effect I keep going upward for a bit, carried by momentum, and my right foot comes out of the stirrup. I grab the saddle horn with both hands and hold on for dear life. As she starts back down and I'm pulled along by the saddle horn my right leg is flung up and over her back until, as she lands, it's on her left side along with most of the rest of me. I, of course, being relatively unsupported and still in the air, continue downward--all but my left foot which is still in the stirrup. Using that leg and my hands on the saddle horn I manage to slow my descent just enough to land lightly on my right foot; in one fluid motion I let go of the saddle, lift my other foot out of the stirrup, and step back from Coco, the reins miraculously still in my left hand. As the world resumes normal speed I go up to her head and pat her gently, making calming noises 'cause she still looks kinda spooked, poor thing. I'm so pissed off at the jerk driving that car right now I could spit nails.

Livy and Felicia just look at me in stunned silence for a few seconds, then burst out in raucous applause and cheering which fortunately doesn't seem to bother Coco a bit. I put a kind of "aw shucks, 'twarn't nothin'" expression on my face, then shrug and give them each a formal bow.

Then it hits me what just happened and what could've happened and I get all weak and shaky. "Uh, suddenly I don't feel so good. Can we go back now?"

"Sure. If we turn up there it's about another half mile up that road. We've been going in a big circle and we're almost back anyway."

"Good."

"You OK, Joey? You're not hurt, are you?" Liv sounds worried.

"I'll be fine. Just a little shook up is all."

I remount Coco--not nearly as smoothly as my dismount; it takes four or five bounces to get my right leg up and over--and give a gentle tap with my heels to get her going. I never thought I'd ever want a ride to end but I've had enough for today.

----------

"Hey, did either of you see who that was? In the car?"

"Not me."

"Me neither. Why?"

"Nothing, I just thought the guy in the back seat looked sorta familiar but I didn't get a good enough look."

"Huh." Felicia looks mad. "If I find out that was someone we know they are so gonna pay for this."

OK, I didn't really see his face so I can't be sure. And maybe I was just, you know, seeing what I wanted to see. But the more I think about it I'd almost swear that was Rich in the back seat.

Thinking about it is making me feel sick again, and kind of empty. I can't believe I wanted that asshole. I can't believe Rich would act like that. Well, yeah, I guess I can, but I don't want to. God, I hope I'm wrong and it wasn't really him. But I'm pretty sure it was.

---

 
To Be Continued...