by Justme

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Chapter 18: Get right back on the horse

She's not here yet. At least, I don't see her anywhere. Part of me is relieved I don't have to face her yet but the anticipation isn't much fun either and I'd almost rather just get it over with.

Shit. Be careful what you wish for--she just came in the door. All the feelings from the last time I saw her come rushing back--sheer, blind terror mixed with abject humiliation and an almost overwhelming need to vomit. Everything sounds hollow and echo-y as the world kind of slows down, as if to drag out this horrible moment for all eternity. I must have been wrong all these years; there is a Hell and I've died and gone there.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here." The snottiness in Linda's voice is so ridiculously out-of-place in my nightmare scenario it breaks the mood like an overstretched rubber band and for a moment I almost feel like giggling, but I manage to hold it back. The moment passes and I'm left feeling... nothing. The world snaps back to normal speed but my brain seems to be in overdrive as in a flash of insight I instantly grasp how to take control of the situation, and my life, back from this--this insignificant insect in front of me who once pretended to be my friend.

"You've got some nerve talking to me, after what you pulled today." I'm speaking loudly and clearly--not so I sound like I'm shouting, but so everyone in the room can overhear without straining. Projecting, Dad calls it. Playing to the back row. Out of the corner of my eye I see more than one head turn in our direction.

Clearly Linda was not expecting this. She looks floored. "What I pulled?" Good--she's matching my volume and not trying to keep this private.

"Yes, what you pulled. Turning your back on me, abandoning me when I most needed your support, kicking me when I was obviously down and hurting badly. What kind of way is that to treat a friend? Hell, what kind of way is that to treat an enemy? What could I possibly have done to deserve that kind of abuse from you?" I let enough emotion into my voice to make it clear to those listening in that whatever she did really hurt me, but not enough to sound hysterical or out of control. The look on my face is one of mixed pain, anger, and contempt.

She's on the ropes now. I've got everyone in the room in my corner and she knows it. Maybe she's even starting to realize she might just be in the wrong here. It occurs to me, now that it's too late to turn back, that she could just rat me out to everyone in the room here and now, and part of me wonders if I shouldn't be worrying about that. She'll be desperate but for some reason I don't think she has it in her to do something that low out of malice. And if she does, I can act all shocked and honestly tell them she was the one who encouraged me to do it in the first place, making her look even worse kicking me again when I'm down. I feel like I'm holding all the cards here.

She has this look like a cornered animal on her face as she stammers out, "Y-you lied to me!"

Perfect--I couldn't have asked her to feed me a better line. Putting as much indignation and cold contempt into my voice as I can manage without risking sounding like I'm faking it, I deliver the coup-de-grace: "Never. Not even once. And even if I had, if that's how you treat someone for lying to you it's a wonder you have any friends at all. Well, you've got one less now." With a final dismissive look I turn my back on her and walk as calmly as I can over to where Dad's watching, leaving her doing an impression of a goldfish. I'm a little embarrassed by the chorus of "oooohs" and catcalls from the onlookers.

Now that it's over I feel all shaky and kind of a little bit sick. I can't believe I just did that!

"OK, people, can we please save at least some of the drama for the performances?" Bob's shouting but he actually sounds as much amused as annoyed.

I make no effort to sound contrite as I say, "Sorry about that. I'll behave if she will." Bob just nods at me and then glares in Linda's direction for a minute; I can't bring myself to look at her to see her reaction but under the shakiness I feel a glow of satisfaction.

Dad looks--well, stunned is probably a good word. And proud.

----------

Jeez, that was kinda tedious--basically two hours of figuring out who stands or walks where in what scene, and wait, no, that doesn't work--try standing a little to the left; and I mean it was kinda like when we're arranging the furniture, which is so much fun we only ever do it once when we move into a new place and then the furniture stays put until we move again. And I hope we're not expected to remember all this yet; I mean, it looked like Bob was writing it all down as we went which is good 'cause I'm sure not gonna remember. They call it "blocking," which is kind of backwards because it seems like a lot of what it's about is making sure you're not blocking each other as you move around the stage.

Anyway it seems like I spent most of the time just standing around twiddling my thumbs, and occasionally exchanging dirty looks with Linda. I guess I'll be more involved when we start doing the choreography for the musical numbers next week. I wonder what Bob is saying to her in the wings--she looks kind of upset and I can't tell if he's trying to comfort her, or if he's making her upset. I turn to Dad.

"Can we go now? I don't want to hang around any longer than we need to tonight."

"Just a few more minutes, Joey. I need to have a word with Bob before we go. Oh, good, here he comes now."

Surprised, I turn around just as he comes up. I don't see where Linda went, which makes me nervous. He smiles at Dad, then puts a hand on my arm and turns to me.

"Any fears I might have had about your acting ability went out the window with that little performance you gave earlier. I'm sorry I ever doubted you." I look down at my Keds and try to fight back an embarrassed smile. I can feel myself blushing, and Dad's positively beaming when I look back up just as Bob continues. "But it's going to be awful tense around here for the next two months if you and Linda can't find a way to put your differences behind you. Can you do that for me?" OK, I'm not so happy now.

"I... well, it's not really up to me, it's up to her. But I'll try."

"That's all I'm asking. Thank you. Now, Steve, what did you want to see me about?"

I don't get to find out because Linda comes up behind me and asks, "Joey, can--can we go somewhere and talk? In private?" Her voice makes my stomach clench and feel sick but Bob's right there, looking at us as he talks to Dad, so I just say, "Um, OK, I guess so," and follow her. On the way backstage I glance over my shoulder and see Dad watching with concern. I just shrug and keep following Linda, all the way back to the prop room. Once we're both inside she closes the door. I feel a momentary surge of panic--what's she going to do to me in here? She's a lot bigger and stronger than me. But then I see her face and my fear is replaced with concern.

"Linda? Are you OK?"

"No, I'm not, Joey. You humiliated me. In front of everybody--"

I was doing so good with not feeling anything. Why am I having a sudden attack of compassion? I interrupt her to apologize. "Yeah, look, I'm sorry about that, OK? Just 'cause you did it to me is no excuse for doing it to you." OK, sort of apologize. Linda winces. Maybe I could have been nicer about it; I feel a little guilty for enjoying her reaction.

"I guess I deserve that. I'm sorry about what I did--and what I said. It's just--unnatural, what you're doing. Wrong. It just kinda creeps me out and I guess maybe I didn't handle it very well."

You guess? Maybe? I'm not sure how to feel about that. I mean, it is an improvement over how she treated me at the mall, and the apology sounded sincere as far as it goes, but still. I look at her with mild disdain for a moment before she continues.

"I guess I'm trying to say I don't, like, hate you, OK?" She's looking around now, everywhere but at me. "Look, finding out was kind of a shock, all right? But after I had a chance to calm down and think about it, I mean, it's not like I ever saw you leering at me or anything, and you did say you were interested in boys--which is part of what's wrong about this whole situation, but I guess at least I didn't have anything to worry about, with you seeing me in my undies. So... I don't understand what you're doing, I don't like what you're doing, but--"

Something just occurred to me and I kind of feel a panic rising in me. I know it's rude to interrupt, but that's kind of low on my list of concerns right now. "Have--have you told anyone? About me?" I try to say it as a challenge, but I'm pretty sure it comes out just sounding desperate. God, what if she tells her friends and this gets around at school? The people here finding out would be one thing, but that would be--no, it's too horrible to even think about.

"No, not yet."

Whew. Wait, not yet? "So what, you're planning to at some point?" Anger and abject terror are fighting for control of me. It's not a pleasant combination.

"...Nnnooo, I guess not. As long as it doesn't look like you're hurting anyone."

OK, really whew. I'm feeling like I'm kind of totally at her mercy here though, and having trouble trusting her. "You didn't even tell your mom when she picked you up from the mall?" I'm assuming that's who she called, anyway.

She gives me a sour look. "No. I was going to, but it would have taken too long over the phone and by the time she got there I'd had a chance to calm down a little. Anyway, she never really listens to me so I'd probably have just gotten in trouble for being alone with a boy in the house--and in my room with the door closed. Huge trouble." Now the look on her face is so sad I almost feel sorry for her. "I just--I felt betrayed, OK? You were like the little sister I never had, and then I find out you're really a boy--"

"I'm not a boy." Any sympathy I might have felt just went out the window.

"Well, you're not like any other boy I know, that's for sure." Her voice is so full of contempt it almost makes me want to laugh. Or smack her.

"Yeah, I'm a freak."

"No, I didn't say--"

"You don't have to. Anyway it's true. It's just--not the way you think, OK? I'm not a freak because I'm a boy who wants to be a girl and dresses and acts like one, trying to be something he's not."

The look on her face says yeah, right. "That's exactly what you are. Why? Why are you doing this? I just don't understand!"

"No. That's not what I am. I'm a freak because I'm a girl whose body has been developing the wrong way since--well, since before I was born. I'm a girl with a birth defect that gives me the body of a boy. And my whole life I was dressing and acting like one because I thought it would make things easier. For everyone. But I finally realized it didn't and now I'm just trying to be myself."

"But--" She looks and sounds exasperated. "I mean, your body is part of who you are, isn't it? I mean, if you're just trying to be yourself why are you... disguising your body like that?"

"I dunno. Why do you wear makeup? Why did you pad your bra until you developed?"

"It's not the same thing!"

"Yeah, it is. Hiding your flaws, remember? Showing you care what other people think of you?" She does not like having her own words used against her. "I mean, my body just looks wrong to me, you know? It always has. And people just aren't used to seeing a girl with a boy's body. If I just dressed like one without trying to hide that, they'd all see me as a freak and I'd constantly be getting the crap beaten out of me. And when I dress like a boy and act like a boy, like people expect me to, then as far as they're concerned I am a boy. And that feels wrong 'cause I know what I am and I'm not a boy." Now she's rolling her eyes. Why the fuck am I even bothering? Her mind's already made up about me. Why do I even care what she thinks? "I guess I'm dressing like a girl so people can see me for what I am but hiding my deformity so I don't make people uncomfortable and so no one treats me like a freak."

She looks like she's getting impatient. Her arms are crossed and she's scowling. "Look, you can say you're a girl all you want, but you already admitted you have a... thing," she gestures vaguely toward my crotch, "and that means you're a boy."

Oh, fer--! How many times am I going to have to explain this to people? I'm about ready to just scream in frustration when I realize I know just what to do to get through to her. Looking intently straight into her eyes, I quote her own words back to her, and find myself slightly mocking her voice and the intonation she used without really meaning to: "'You are what you are, inside, you know? And no one can ever take that away from you, even if they can't see it.' Someone told me that once. Someone I looked up to and admired. Someone I thought was my friend. I wonder what ever happened to her...." And what was left of my shield of emotional invulnerability is gone, just like that. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn away as the tears start pouring down my face. I hear a gasp and a sob, and I look back around just in time to see her yank the door open and run out.

Huh? Sniffle. What was that all about?

----------

"You didn't happen to see where Linda went, did you? Was she mad or upset or something?" I feel like I desperately need to find her, to talk to her some more, to get her to understand. So we can be friends again. 'Cause all day after she ditched us at the mall I felt like I never even wanted to think about her again, let alone see her. And when I did see her again and got over being afraid of her I thought she didn't matter to me at all anymore, except for some reason I guess I still felt the need to hurt her back, to show her she didn't matter, not just to me but at all, to anyone. But now... now I just ache inside; there's like this big empty raw gaping hole where this person used to be, this wonderful, special person who showed me how to be the kind of person I always felt like I was meant to be, just by being that kind of person. And who somehow always knew just the thing to say or do to snap me out of it when I was being cynical, or mopey, or otherwise depressing or just plain depressed. And... uh. I'm not even sure that person exists anymore, or ever really did exist outside my own imagination--but suddenly I realize I miss her. I miss my friend and I want her back. The realization kind of sucks my breath away.

"She just left in a hurry without saying anything. Are you all right?" Dad's looking at me like if she hurt my little girl again she'll live to regret it. Which feels kind of nice but not enough to fill up the hole inside me.

But I don't want to give him the wrong impression, so I have to think about how to say this. "Um, well, we were talking and I kind of gave her a backhanded apology for descending to her level and publicly humiliating her, and she surprised me by apologizing for what she did at the mall, kind of, a little bit, but she sounded sincere and we were talking about it and I was just starting to hope we might be able to somehow find a way to patch things up and be friends again when she all of a sudden just took off crying. And I don't know if I did or said something that pissed her off, or freaked her out, or hurt her feelings or what. So, no, I'm not all right, I'm upset and confused and I'm also worried about her."

Dad looks sympathetic, but also something else I can't quite fathom. "That's very forgiving of you considering what she did to you today. A lot of adults I know wouldn't handle it that maturely." I can't tell from his voice if he really thinks I'm being mature, or just a sucker.

I shake my head. I don't feel particularly grown up just now. "I just miss my friend and I want her back. I'd do... anything..." I'm crying again, damn it. How many times is that today? Like fifty? And the people who haven't left yet, which is most everyone besides Linda, are all giving me these sympathetic looks and it's embarrassing and I kind of want to hide so I hug Dad and bury my face in his chest and he puts a protective arm around me. Which feels nice and kind of helps. A little. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly to try to calm myself down. "Can we go home now?"

"OK, punkin. OK."

----------

That kinda looks like the car I saw parked on the street outside Linda's house, and there's someone in it but I can't tell if it's her with the streetlight reflecting off the windshield like that. As we come up parallel to it I can see through the side window and it is her, and she looks like she's blowing her nose. "Just a sec, Dad." But just as I leave his side and start walking toward her she sees me, wads up the tissue, starts her car and drives off before I can get close.

Shoulda seen that coming, I guess. But it still feels like a slap in the face.

----------

"It was really something to see you standing up to her like that, especially considering the state you were in just beforehand." Dad seems to think I ought to be proud of myself, but he's just making me kind of uncomfortable, like I don't feel like what I did was entirely something to be proud of. I'm not sure why. "You were taking a big chance, though. How did you know she wouldn't just expose you to take you down with her?"

"I didn't. But I mean, even after seeing her reaction to me at the mall today I somehow just couldn't see her as the kind of person who would do something like that, something that could hurt someone so much, intentionally. But mainly I figured if she did do something that low in front of all those people it would end up hurting her as much or more than it hurt me." When I pause to think about it I realize there's more to it than that. Reluctantly I confess to Dad, "I think part of me was hoping she would. I had myself convinced I didn't care but part of me wanted to really hurt her for what she did to me." I guess maybe that's what's keeping me from feeling proud of myself. On the one hand I was counting on her being a better person than me so I could hurt her, and on the other hand hoping she wouldn't so I could hurt her more, even if it meant I got hurt too.

Dad seems to be in a charitable mood, or maybe he just doesn't want to upset me any more tonight 'cause he kind of gently tries to let me off the hook. "Well, you're only human. It doesn't hurt to try to rise above that but you can't always succeed. At least you're owning up to it, and not trying to justify it or make excuses."

Yeah, but that doesn't make me feel any better about it. It occurs to me that even if somehow Linda manages to get over being "creeped out" by me, I may have wrecked any chance of her wanting to be my friend again.

Shit. As if I wasn't already feeling bad enough.

----------

"Je suis désolée, Joey."

Snif. "So, you really think there's no hope then?" I shift the phone to the left ear 'cause the right one's getting sore.

"I did not say that. It is possible you may be able to salvage some kind of friendship with 'er. It may even grow into something you will value, even cherish. But... it will never again be the kind of relationship you 'ad with 'er before. She will never again be able to see you, and treat you, as an ordinary thirteen-year-old girl. Even if she is able to see you as a girl again, it will be as an unusual type of girl, not like 'er, and you will feel it in 'ow she relates to you. It is not unlike what is experienced every day by those unfortunate enough to 'ave obvious differences that set them apart from everyone else--a cripple for example, or someone badly disfigured by an accident or a disease, n'est-ce pas?"

One of the tears that's trickling down my cheek finds its way into the corner of my mouth. It tastes salty. "Yeah, I get the picture. Like a circus freak." I do my best carny barker voice, dripping with bitterness: "Step right up, folks, and see the hideous Bearded Lady. A half-man, half-woman freak of nature. Only seventy-five cents each." Sigh. "I wonder if the rubber man and the tattooed lady find her a little creepy too." I'm secretly ashamed when I realize I kind of do myself.

"I would not be a bit surprised." Michelle sounds a little bitter. I guess she's had to deal with this a lot longer than I have. I need to change the subject before I get overwhelmed thinking about a lifetime of that to look forward to.

"Oh, there's something I wanted to ask you. Um, we're having a barbecue tomorrow, and--when I asked Dad if you could come he got all embarrassed that he didn't think of inviting you and said yeah, of course. So could you?"

"Bien sûr! A quelle heure commence-t-il? Should I bring anything?"

"Um, about lunchtime, I guess. Just bring yourself."

"Oh, no, that would never do. I will at least bring a bottle of wine. You wouldn't 'appen to know if your parents 'ave a particular favorite?"

Memories of dinner with the Weisses and screw-top bottles pop into my head. "Nah, they don't seem to be too picky. But I'm, uh, rather partial to Châteauneuf-du-Pape myself," I say, trying to sound all sophisticated.

She laughs. "You 'ave excellent taste, Joey. I will see what I can do. I 'ave some things to take care of in the morning so I may arrive a bit late, if that is all right."

"Yeah, sure, no problem. It'll probably go all afternoon and into the evening, so come whenever and stay as long as you like. ...Um, there's something else I was going to ask you, too. A favor. If it's OK, I mean; you don't have to."

"Nonsense, Joey. Ask away, and if it is in my power to do it for you, consider it done."

Wow. That takes me by surprise and kind of chokes me up. I have a slight catch in my voice as I say, "Thanks. Uh, my, um..." I take a breath and collect myself, then start again. "My grandparents are here, and my grandfather, well, he's... I think he doesn't know what to make of me, and is worried about me and maybe scared or... well, I'm guessing disturbed is really more accurate--OK, I think he's kind of freaked out about what I'm doing, but loves me too much to just come out and say it, and..." When I pause to figure out how to continue Michelle jumps in.

"And you would like some 'elp bringing 'im around, non? I would be 'appy to do whatever I can, Joey. Tell me, what kind of man is your grandfather?"

"I dunno, um... grandfatherly, you know?" She chuckles. "I guess I don't know what you mean exactly."

"I only wish to know the best way to approach 'im. What is 'is background, 'is occupation, is 'e philosophical or pragmatic, set in 'is ways or open to new ideas? These sorts of things."

"Oh." I have to think about it; I never really have before. He's just--my grandfather, you know? Warm, loving, wears a hat, smokes a pipe, his coat closet smells like mothballs and his garage like garden chemicals, stuff like that. "Um, well, he's a doctor--actually a urologist, and I think he might have even heard about Dr. Benjamin's work, you know?"

"Intéressant. That could make it easier or 'arder. Go on."

"Um, let's see--I don't know much about his background, except that he's from somewhere out west originally. Utah, I think. Or maybe Idaho. Anyway I think Mom said once that he was born in a log cabin, just like Abe Lincoln."

"I am guessing then that 'e is more of a pragmatist than a philosopher?"

"I guess. He seems pretty down-to-earth most of the time. He does like to quote poetry, though, and he and Dad are always having intellectual discussions about politics or religion or whatever." And his barbecued burgers always have just enough of a charred flavor to make them distinctively his, without ruining them. But I'll let her make up her own mind about that tomorrow. I know I'm looking forward to it.

"Very well. I will give it some thought and 'ave a go at 'im for you tomorrow. I cannot promise anything except that I will try my best."

"That's all anyone could ask. Thanks, Michelle. This means a lot to me."

"De rien, Joey. I am 'appy to do this for you."

"Well, still. Thanks. ...Um, I don't suppose--" Ngh. I'm almost afraid to ask, but... "I mean, I guess if you'd found a doctor willing to help me you'd have said something by now, huh?"

"Encore, je suis désolée. I 'ave not given up 'ope and neither should you, but this 'as proven even more difficult than I imagined. I am afraid in this day and age a doctor who honestly cares more about 'is patients' well-being than about 'is legal liability is a rare beast indeed. I will keep trying until I succeed; this I promise you."

"Yeah. Grandfather was that kind of doctor but he's retired now. Last of a dying breed I guess."

"Quelle dommage."

"Yeah." Kind of applies to the whole day, really. I can't even tell you how much I'm looking forward to it being over.

----------

"I am not a fag! I'm a girl!" I feel like I'm trying to make it true by shouting it, but even as I say it I can see my reflection in the glass behind him and realize I'm fooling myself. That's not a girl, that's an awkward, gangly boy in girls' clothes, trying to be something he can never be. It's so depressing I can't even summon up the energy to cry; I just turn my back on him and walk away, hearing the comments from the crowd that's gathered around us: Pervert. Freak. Fairy. I can't look at them. I just walk away slowly, out the door, and seeing an empty beer bottle on the sidewalk I pick it up, pull my arm back, and swing with all my strength at the wall.

"Ow!" As my head starts to clear I realize I've bumped my injured finger against the bedframe. I don't know who I was yelling at and now I never will, because the memory of the dream is quickly evaporating, leaving behind only an unpleasant emotional residue.

It's early, not even dawn yet, but I'm not particularly tired and I don't want to go back to that dream so I figure I might as well get up. Having dutifully undone my tape job before bed, what I see as I pull back the covers only reinforces the feeling left over from the dream; I try not to look at it as I put on my bathrobe and make my way to the shower.

It's a new day, a fresh start and everything looks better.

Yeah, right.

###

Chapter 19: Nothing to fear but fear itself

As much as I'd been looking forward to yesterday being over, I can't seem to enjoy the fact that it is because when I think about it, it isn't, really. I mean, yeah, on the calendar it's a new day but Ben still hates my guts and my friendship with Linda is still over and with my cousins and aunt and uncle to deal with, not to mention Grandfather, today's just looking like a continuation of my misery of yesterday.

Ugh. I wish I hadn't just caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The top half is all steamed up but the part I could see just brought back the feelings from that awful dream. Gotta do something about that, quick. Where the heck is that roll of tape anyway? Ah. Hm, gonna hafta go to Walgreens for more tomorrow--'m running a little low. Wouldn't do to be caught without any with school about to start. OK, gently push these up in here, wrap it around--so, another, longer piece around here and pull down and back, reach behind--good thing I'm so flexible--and... voilà.

OK, that helps a bit. I just wish it felt as "gone" as it looks. Even though you can't really see it anymore I can't seem to help being aware that it's still there. You know, if Liv had an ugly growth like that down there I bet she could go in and have it removed without having to wait a whole freaking year. 'Snot fair.

Sigh. Time to go make myself look like a boy in girls' clothes I suppose. Though I'm not sure what the point is anymore.

----------

Knock, knock. Liv never seems to wait for a response before sticking her head in. At least she knocks; I guess that's something. "Joey? You OK, sis?" I'm sitting on my bed in my bra and panties with my pathetic fake birdseed boobs, clutching a pair of shorts and a tank top and crying my eyes out. What do you think?

Snif. "N-no."

"Wassamatter?" It does feel a little comforting to have her sitting next to me, holding me, stroking my hair. Her flannel nightgown feels soft and somehow safe against my skin.

"Just," I take a deep breath and let it out, "everything. Yesterday was a really bad day and a good night's sleep didn't fix anything. And I had this dream, and...." I just need to lean on her shoulder and cry some more. Good thing flannel's so absorbent.

"Was it something in particular that got you crying, or ... just sort of overwhelmed by it all?" Her gentle rocking motion kind of helps too.

I hold up the clothes I'm clutching. "These. I--" I have to think about how to put a feeling into words. "I felt like I needed to practice, you know, for the tryouts, and wasn't really thinking about it until I got the clothes out and was about to put them on and trying to remember what time Linda wanted me to come over today and..."

"Oh, baby. Oh, my poor baby sister!"

Talking clearly when you're sobbing is kinda hard but I try anyway. "...and now I don't even know if I should still try out; I--I mean, I've put in all this work and was almost kind of starting to think I might, you know, enjoy it, it might even be fun, but now--now it hurts just to think about it but for some reason I still feel like I need to practice for it even if I'm not gonna go through with it. It's like--like it's kind of become part of who I am now. Somehow. You know?" She's got kind of a faraway look and her eyes are glistening but she's nodding.

"Yeah. I know." I wonder what that's about? She sees me staring at her with curiosity and looks away. "Never mind. I just know. Look, she may have given you this but don't let her take it away from you, OK?"

"OK. It just hurts, is all, 'cause it makes me think of her."

"And how she hurt you?"

"Yeah. ...No." She looks a little surprised. "How much I miss having her as a friend. That hurts way more than anything she said or did." She looks like that hadn't occurred to her but kind of makes sense.

"You really were attached to her, huh?"

"Yeah. I dunno, she had this way of always making me feel good about myself, and want to try to be even better. ...Until yesterday, I mean."

"Yeah. Well, just keep doing what you're doing, what you need to do, and before long you'll have been doing it more without her than with her and eventually it won't hurt quite so much."

"Yeah. I guess you're right." It still hurts even to think about it but I guess maybe it's like getting back on that horse. If I give in to the pain now I'll never be able to face doing it again. "Thanks, Liv. I don't know what I'd do if you turned against me too."

"Oh, sh-sh-h. Don't even think about that. You're my little sister and I love you no matter what."

"Even if I turned back into your bratty brother?"

She looks scandalized. "Don't you dare even suggest such a thing! But ... yeah, even then. Just, please--don't, OK?"

"Don't worry. I was just checking." I give her a squeeze to reassure her. "Your little sister is here to stay." At this point I think I'd kill myself rather than go back, but I don't think I'd ever better say that out loud unless I wanna be locked up for my own protection. Looking relieved, she squeezes me back.

----------

The fact that I had that thought scares me. Would I really kill myself? Rather than go back, I mean? Or for any other reason?

I mean, I did kind of try to yesterday. But not really, 'cause I never actually made the attempt; I just can't figure out if that's 'cause Matt interrupted me, you know? If I'd have actually gone through with it and cut open a vein if he hadn't shown up.

I don't know why it didn't occur to me to get freaked out about it yesterday but I don't think I'm gonna be able to think about anything else until I figure this out.

----------

You know what? No. I wouldn't kill myself. Ever. Not straight out, anyway.

'Cause when it comes right down to it, I'm too goddamned stubborn to just give up like that. Yesterday, that was--I dunno what that was. Me being melodramatic, I guess. Feeling sorry for myself. But the truth is, I had plenty of time to get it over with before Matt showed up, if I really had wanted to. Like Dad always says, actions speak louder than words. Or thoughts for that matter.

I can't really imagine what it would take for me to really want to kill myself. Not even if I was being forced to go back to "being" a boy. What I would do is fight to my last breath, even if it was hopeless. I guess that's sorta like killing myself to keep from going back, but it's not really the same thing at all. It's like the opposite, really. Like, one way would be giving up all hope, and the other way would be never giving up hope even when there's none left.

I can live with that.

"Joey? You OK?"

"Huh?" Liv's still here? I thought she left. "Yeah, fine."

"You sure? You're still sitting where I left you, like an hour ago."

Oh. "I was just thinking."

"'Bout what?"

"Just, stuff. You know." No, she doesn't, but I don't want to worry her. "I needed to work some stuff out. I think I feel a little better now."

"That's good. I made pancakes. You want some?"

"Sure!" She's not exactly the world's best cook but even her pancakes are still better'n cereal any day.

----------

Pop. OK, there goes that hip joint again. It still feels kinda disconcerting when it does that but it doesn't really hurt. And I'm not feeling quite as overstretched as yesterday. God, was it really yesterday morning? It seems like forever ago. Sigh.

"Wow. Hey, no fair. I can't even do the splits." I didn't realize Liv was watching. Good thing, I guess, or I mighta been all self-conscious about what I was doing.

"You could. Want me to show you how?"

"How can you show me how? I can see what you're doing; I just don't stretch that way."

"No, but I can show you how to work up to it little by little so you do stretch that way." And I'll try to do it without thinking about who showed me how.

"Um, OK, sure, I guess."

"Uhmmm..." Shoot. There must be a more graceful way to do this but I can't figure it out for the life of me. Oh well. Smiling sheepishly at Liv, I flop over onto my side and swing my legs back to their normal positions before getting up.

"Y-y-yeah. I think that part of your routine needs some work, Joey."

----------

"U-u-uhh. Ow."

"You OK?"

I'm lying on the ground, flat on my back, moaning. "Do I look OK?" Why do people always ask questions when the answer's so obvious?

"Where does it hurt?"

"My pride, mostly. That and my left hand." It kind of gave out in the middle of that last cartwheel and didn't support me. "Lots of other stuff too, but that's the worst."

"Don't you think you oughta stop before you get seriously hurt?" If you don't think this is serious, you should try being me right now. The pain in the back of my head is starting to catch up to my hand. "You've been going at it for over an hour. Aren't you getting tired?"

"Yeah, but..." I don't want to stop, 'cause then I'll have to think again. I don't want to think right now. Everything I think about is too depressing.

"Come on. You need another shower and the cousins could get here any time."

Sigh. "OK, OK. Can you give me a hand up?"

----------

"You're not wearing your new dress." And good morning to you too, Mom. Jeez.

"I was gonna put it on later. I want to play with Lisa and Lori and Ken when they get here and not worry about getting it dirty." Plus, I mean, what was I thinking anyway, getting that thing for today? It's not like we're entertaining royalty or anything; heck, the only guest not technically part of the family is Michelle and she won't care if I'm in cutoffs and a crop top for a freakin' backyard barbecue. But Mom'll get mad at me for wasting Grandmother's money if I don't wear it now, so I guess I'll have to at some point, no matter how impractical it might be. Anyway I know Grandmother will appreciate it; she may not actually be royalty but she kinda acts like it sometimes.

"Oh. Well, I can't argue with that. But Steve said he invited a bunch of people from your play to come, and the Weisses said they might stop by for a little bit on their way to a family get-together. You know how Grandmother likes us to put on our best faces for the outside world. Could you do that for her, sweetie? And for me?"

"Yeah, sure. I didn't realize we'd invited all those other folks. Is it OK if I wait to change until they start showing up though?"

"All right. And thank you. I know it'll make Grandmother happy."

Oddly, me too. 'Cause, I mean, I've always pretty much hated having to get dressed up for anything, but now that I think about it I'm glad I have an excuse, and actually kinda looking forward to it. Who'da thunk?

----------

Hm, my first happy thought of the day and it's about looking forward to making myself pretty. And it's not 'cause I want to look my best for other people 'cause I care about them or something, OK? It's 'cause I like it when people tell me I'm pretty. It makes me feel good.

And realizing that makes me feel not good. About myself.

What have I become?

----------

"What's the matter, did your dog die?" That's what I get for moping in the living room instead of in the safety of my own bedroom.

"'Swhat I love about you, Dad--the way you're always so sensitive and understanding."

"I try. Anything I can do to help?" I know he's just being like this to try to shake me out of my mood, but it's kind of irritating.

"Not unless you can turn back time and let me do yesterday over."

"Sorry, kiddo." Now he's shifted gears to warm and sympathetic. Not much more helpful but at least less annoying. "But maybe I can take your mind off it for a while. A lot more people RSVP'ed than we expected so Sandy's sending me to the store for more charcoal and meat to grill. You're welcome to tag along if you feel like it. I won't even make you do any heavy lifting."

I kinda feel like just laying here and moping some more, but if I know Dad he's not gonna just give up and leave me in peace. "Uh, OK, I guess."

"Fantastic! I'll go start the car and get the air conditioning going while you put on some shoes." I kinda want to roll my eyes, but I guess even dads are allowed to be sarcastic once in a while. In our cars, "air conditioning" means rolling the windows down and turning the vent fan all the way up.

----------

"Let's see, five pounds of hamburger should be plenty. Can you run back to the bread aisle and grab a few more bags of buns?"

"OK." Yeah, no heavy lifting, just pushing this stupid cart with the one wheel that wants to go off to the left and the other one that's not quite round, and running all over the store for stuff he thinks of at random. At least when Mom does this she knows where everything is so we can hit it all in order and get through the store without any backtracking.

----------

"Mom usually gets the sirloins. They're a lot cheaper."

"Yes, well, there's a reason for that." He's grabbing a stack of Delmonico steaks--not that they have a lot left, this being National Barbecue Day, but four counts as a stack, right? Like I care; I don't even like steak. "A few good steaks won't send us to the poorhouse." No need to ask me not to mention it to Mom; it's understood.

"Better run back and grab a bottle or two of A-1 sauce. Think you can find it?"

"Yeah, Dad." I roll my eyes. Some of us have been to the supermarket more than once since we moved.

----------

"Hey, we gonna need more drinks too?" We're passing the soda pop aisle.

"Good thinking. Why don't you pick out a few six-packs while I get a couple of bags of ice?"

"OK. The ice is over there." I point at the upright freezer off in the corner of the store. As he heads off on his mission I turn to mine. Let's see... Faygo Redpop; cheap, artificial, delicious. Check. Shasta root beer, likewise; check. Hmmm... now the choices get less obvious. Oh, wait--Vernor's ginger ale. Gotta have some of that. What is it they say in the radio ads? Aged two years in oak barrels? Well whatever they do, it has a real kick to it. Tickles your nose and makes you wanna sneeze before you even take a sip. Beats the crap out of that Canada Dry shtuff.

I don't see anything else that grabs me. Guess I'll let Dad pick something he likes.

----------

Figures. Pabst Blue Ribbon and Guinness.

----------

Well, that was a nice pleasant little diversion. Yeah, I'm being sarcastic, duh.

But, you know, to be honest it did put me in a slightly less crappy mood. But now it's over and I don't want to go back to moping on the couch or I might never get back up. Plus, I really don't want to think anymore right now and that's pretty much all there is to do when you're moping on the couch.

"Mom? I'm gonna go for a walk, OK?"

"OK, sweetie. Don't stay out too long--the Garners will be here soon." That's my cousins.

"OK." Miraculously, she didn't ask me not to make her shout across the house. Either she's in a really good mood, or she realizes I'm not. I'm guessing it's the second one.

----------

OK, when I decided to follow our street to its far end I didn't expect to wind up facing my new school. The last place on Earth I wanted to be today. It's like there's some cosmic conspiracy or something.

Huh, Addams Road--I wonder if the high school is named after the road, or the other way 'round. Or maybe it's just a big coincidence.

Speaking of which, that must be it just up the hill there. The high school, I mean. Where Rich and Liv and Felicia will be going in--two days. Shudder.

Somehow when I wasn't paying attention I must have teleported myself to the front of the junior high 'cause I don't remember walking across the road and that parking lot. Doesn't look very big--not even half the size of my old school. Not any bigger than the last elementary school I went to, really. I try to fight down a surge of panic at the thought that this will be my prison in two days' time.

The front doors are locked of course. I have to press my face up to the glass to see past the glare cast by the late morning sun. Looks like the main office is right up front here, and lining the hallways I can see the expected rows of lockers. Not nearly as beat up as the ancient ones at my last school but not exactly brand new, either.

I hear a car door slam behind me. Spinning around, I see a tall, thin man locking the door of a clean but slightly rusty compact car. I don't know how I could have not heard him drive up. He must see me 'cause he's smiling at me as he's walking my way. I start to panic again until I realize I'm not doing anything wrong. I force myself to smile back but the sun's in my eyes so I'm kinda scowling too.

"Hi. Can I help you with something?" Well, he seems nice enough, and he's got this really gentle voice that just seems to put me at ease.

"I was just out for a walk and wound up here so I thought I'd have a look at my new school."

"You'll be starting here Wednesday, then?" I nod and try not to cringe too obviously. He gives me an appraising look. "I didn't think I'd seen you here last year. Let me guess, eighth grade?"

"Ninth." He looks confused for a second, then happy.

"If you're taking science I'll be your teacher then. I'm Mr. Valuta, by the way."

"Leigh. Leigh Llewellyn." I accept his proffered hand. His handshake is as gentle and comforting as his voice. I think I like Mr. Valuta already. "And yeah, I'll definitely be taking science. It's my favorite subject." I see the bemused yet skeptical look on his face. "No, seriously, it is. I am not sucking up." I laugh 'cause I realize I must sound like I 'protest too much.'

"Well, I'm delighted to hear it. So few girls your age seem really interested in science." This fact seems to honestly baffle him, judging by his expression. To tell you the truth it kind of does me, too.

"Yeah. I guess I'm unusual that way." I guess I'm unusual in a lot of ways. Most of which he doesn't need to know about. Kinda runs in the family, though. Grandmother studied medicine and Aunt Kathy has a degree in mathematics. Didn't I mention that before? Yeah, Grandmother went to med school right alongside Grandfather, until she discovered she couldn't stomach some of the things they were expected to do to lab animals in some of the required courses. Can't say I blame her.

He smiles, then pulls out a large keychain and tries a few keys before finding the one that fits. "Now that you've seen your new school from the outside, how'd you like to have a quick look inside?"

"Um, sure. Thanks." I smile gratefully. Maybe this way it won't be quite so scary the first day.

"I just need to grab a couple of things from my classroom first. Over this way." I follow him through the dim corridors; even though he's turning the lights on as we go my eyes are still dazzled from the sunlight and are slow to adapt. "Do you know what period you have science?"

"No; actually I'm not even registered yet. This all happened kind of suddenly." No need to get overly specific; let him fill in the blanks with something that makes him comfortable. "My parents are going to take care of that tomorrow."

"Ah." I guess this must be his classroom, 'cause he's standing by the door fumbling with his keychain again. "If the school district's computer hadn't been down for maintenance this week I might have known that. As it is we'll be lucky to have our class rosters by Wednesday. Here we go." He turns the key and pushes the door open to reveal what appears to the untrained eye to be an ordinary junior high science classroom but is, in fact ... an ordinary junior high science classroom. Sorry to disappoint you.

"So, what--the computer needed a tune-up?" I'm trying to imagine what that would involve--oiling the tape drives, maybe? Replacing burned-out lightbulbs on the front panel?

"Sort of. They're upgrading the operating system software. Why they chose this week to do it is beyond me."

He might as well have said 'they're gleeping the blorg zatz fibble.' I guess he realizes 'cause he looks a little sheepish and tries again. "Um, the 'operating system' is the program that tells the computer how to do basic things like input and output." OK, those terms I've heard. "'Upgrading' just means they're loading in a new, improved version to make it more useful and reliable."

"Oh, OK. But what's 'software?'"

"It's what computer people call programs and data. To distinguish it from 'hardware'--the machine itself; the wires and transistors and such."

"Right, gotcha. Nerd humor." I smile to let him know I don't mean that in a mean way. The smile he gives me in return is really warm, and not condescending at all. Yeah, I like this guy.

----------

"'Bye, Mr. Valuta. It was really nice meeting you. Thanks again for the tour." I think it'll help with my first-day nerves, knowing where everything is.

"My pleasure. It was nice meeting you too, Leigh. I'll be looking for you Wednesday."

I hate to get my hopes up, but I have a feeling he's going to wind up being one of those teachers. You know, the good ones. The ones that almost make it worth the torture of going to school. The ones you come across so depressingly rarely. I smile and wave at him as he backs out of his parking spot, a billow of bluish smoke coming out of his rusty tailpipe.

Amazing. I've just been inside a school, talking to a teacher, and yet somehow my mood is better. And for the moment at least, I'm actually not dreading starting here in two days.

OK, maybe a little.

----------

"That sounds a little... creepy. I mean, weren't you scared to go into an empty building alone with a strange man?"

Huh? That didn't even occur to me. "What? I mean, he had a key, right? So he wasn't just some random weirdo. I mean, jeez, if you're not safe with a teacher, who are you safe with?"

"Yeah, but--how d'you know he was really a teacher? He coulda been, like, a janitor, or a groundskeeper, or even just the air conditioner repairman or whatever. I mean, who knows who they give keys to, you know?"

"Now you're just being paranoid. Anyway he was really nice. He showed me around the school and stuff so I won't be so, like, freaked out the first day, not knowing where anything is. And he said he's looking forward to seeing me in his science class."

"Look, I'm glad it turned out the way it did. But I think you should be more careful. I mean, there are some real sickos out there. I just don't want the police to be coming to our house someday to tell us my sister's body was found in a ditch somewhere."

"OK, Mom." How can I not roll my eyes? "Whatever you say." Jeez, who knew Liv was such a scaredy-cat?

"Come on, don't be like that. Look, just promise next time at least you'll remember this conversation, and maybe think twice, OK?"

"OK, OK." I'm just saying it to get her off my back, though. I can't see living my life being afraid of my own shadow like that. Way to kill a good mood, Liv. Jeez.

----------

OK, now I feel like I was being a total bitch for no good reason. She was just worried about me, after all. Being protective. Better go find her and apologize.

----------

"There you are. Hey, I'm sorry 'bout before. I was just--"

"Huh? ...Ooh, they're here, they're here!"

"-wha?" Oh. The cousins are here. Ordinarily I'd be just as excited as Liv about that.

This time I'm just scared as hell.

"Come on! ...What's the matter, Joey?" Liv's voice sounds funny and she looks worried.

"I--urk. I can't do this." I feel kinda woozy.

"Can't what?" She sounds really funny.

I want to say can't face more people treating me like a freak and turning on me like rabid dogs but for some reason my mouth is really dry all of a sudden and all I can manage is "Can't face 'em" and I'm not even sure I get that all the way out before the ringing in my ears gets really loud and drowns everything out.

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To Be Continued...