Author's Note: I have a Veronica Mars marathon to blame for this one. I always admired her quick wit and thirst for justice, never letting anything stand in the way of completing her case... no matter how bizarre. Pixie D'Angelo is dedicated to that spirit. This is a self-contained episode, much like a TV show. Quote credit: The autoeroticism quote is from an episode of Veronica Mars. It was just too good to pass up. Photo Credit: Blane Saunders
You might want to read the previous story so you know what the heck is going on in this one.

S1-02 - Does This Towel Make Me Look Fat?

"Guess what I'm doing tonight?" asked Shutt3rbug, otherwise known as Peter Peterson, aka Little Freshman.

I looked over my shoulder as I headed to English class. "I'm guessing it involves autoeroticism."

It had been three weeks since the beginning of school and since I had pulled him out of a locker twice in one day. That afternoon, he'd joined a good portion of the ignorant public and freaked out over me changing my gender. The next day I'd snubbed him, and ever since, he's been hounding me.

"Nope... wait, what?"

I sighed. "What are you doing tonight, Peter?"

He gave me a half frown, which is a really odd look; only half of his mouth moved downward. "I said you can call me Pete."

Looking at my watch I announced. "Got about fifteen seconds before the warning bell rings. You might want to speed this up."

Determination showed on his face. "I've got two tickets to the Del Mar Carnival."

I squinted at him for a moment. "Well, uh, have fun with that."

He grabbed me by the upper arm. It wasn't hard or anything, more like an I'm not through telling you the awesome news yet, don't go away gesture. The problem was that he started talking right when the warning bell sounded for class to start, and with the speaker right above the door to the classroom three feet away, I didn't hear what he had to add.

"I'm sorry, what?"

His face had taken on an unhealthy red, splotchy look to it. He swallowed. "I asked if you wanted to go to it with me?"

Pardon me if I lapse into mild incoherence for a moment. I was momentarily taken aback.

Here was a guy, a freshman mind you, that knew exactly who and what I was. For the last three weeks I've known him, I've all but smacked him upside the head to encourage him to go away and leave me alone. All of this was due to his ability to be an ignorant ass --maybe that's a little strong -- how about ignorant twit. And now he's asking me to go out on a date with him.

"No."

He didn't take it badly, just set his lips kind of firm, nodded, and walked away.

No, I didn't have to wash my hair, or do my nails, or clean the closet or whatever lies most girls tell guys to let them down. That just wasn't me.

"Dude, that was harsh."

I spun to find Craig Vaughn standing there, all six feet whatever former basketball player, and all around nice gay guy. "It's best to be straight forward about these things, Craig. I don't want to lead him on."

He shrugged and walked with me to our seats which were next to each other. "Yeah, but damn."

I shrugged. "He's a freshman anyway. It would never work out."

He smiled at me as he tossed his book bag underneath his seat. "Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

Looking affronted, I dropped my bag beside the desk and then gave him a questioning look. "You're saying I should go out with a freshman that’s been pestering me for three weeks?"

He shrugged. "Do what you gotta do, Pixie. It's our junior year. In two more years, who's gonna care?"

There was that. For most teenagers, life begins and ends on the opinions of your fellow classmates, your cliques, your peers. The desire to be included, and part of the social strata drives a good portion of the idiocy that is adolescence. This usually leads to drug abuse, alcohol abuse, eating disorders, misdemeanors, felonies, you name it and a teenager has probably done it all so they can be accepted and revered by their fellow classmates.

Keeping that in mind, there was no chance whatsoever that I would be accepted, popular, part of the in-crowd... ever. So what did it really matter if I dated an underclassman, even if he was a twit? I'll tell you why.

I'm in this for two more years. I can pretty much take care of myself and if I can't, I have my uncle and my dad that can back me up. If all else fails, I can always get revenge later. That's me. Peter Peterson had four more years and he was a relatively normal person, and he had crap for defensive skills. I mean, he did get stuffed in a locker... twice, in one day.

So it was like I was doing him a favor by ignoring him and saying no to his offer. It was a community service I was performing by reducing the amount of chum in the water for the bullying upperclasssharks to feed upon.

Or at least that was how I was rationalizing it.

~O~

Logic homework wasn't difficult, just very time and attention consuming, which was why I wasn't acutely aware of my surroundings as I sat in the commons awaiting Dad to get off work for my daily ride home. So, you can understand why I jumped when the little freshman dropped himself down in the seat across from me.

I frowned a little and then resumed my work.

"Why no?" he asked, fairly straight forward.

I looked up at him beneath my eyelashes. "Why are you even asking in the first place?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Cocking my head to the side, I laid my pencil down on my work and laced my fingers on top. "It means: what is your motivation for asking me out on a date? You made your opinion of me and my desires known pretty well at this very table, three weeks ago."

He sighed and scratched at a piece of dried food that the custodians missed when wiping down the tables after lunch. "I apologized for that."

I nodded. "Which is why I'm even talking to you in the first place."

While watching his face go splotchy red again was amusing, it didn't make me feel any better.

"Why do you have to make this so hard, Pixie?"

Leaning into the chair, I twisted my back to get a kink out. "It's called survival." At his questioning look, I clarified. "I was young and naive at one time too. Always thinking the best of people, thinking that if I was humble, truthful, you know, all that Girl Scout crap. Well, then people would accept me as I was."

I shook my head. "That's not how the world works, Peter."

He leaned into the table, defensively crossing his arms. "What has that got to do with me? I can't be threatening to you."

That brought a mild smile to my face. "I never said you were." Deciding on another tack, I crossed my legs. "Why do you even want to go out with me? You know I used to be a boy and I'm barely started with my transition."

He nodded. "Yeah I read up on what was involved."

That didn't surprise me. "So you've seen the pictures and read the stories that are out there."

"Yeah... what? No." He was getting incredibly flustered. "I mean, yeah I saw them, but I had to adjust the Safe Search in order to find anything that wasn't porn related."

I gave him a doubtful eye.

"Really! Guh." Peter's head dropped to the table and then came back up. "I'm not perfect, Pixie. I'm a fifteen year old teenage guy. Of course I've seen porn on the internet."

That threw me for a second. "You're fifteen?"

He nodded. "Today's my birthday." The change of subject looked very welcome. "Dad's taking me down to DPS tomorrow so I can test for my temporary drivers permit. That's how I got the tickets for tonight."

I blinked. "Well, happy birthday."

"Thanks." Peter glanced down at the table again and then back up at me. "So, what do you think? Carnival tonight?"

Back to subject. "Answer one question, truthfully, without any deflection and I'll consider it."

He straightened and swallowed. "Okay."

"Why would you want to date a transgendered girl?"

His eyes told me that he didn't completely understand the question. "I don't. I want to date you."

~O~

Who would have thought that a newly minted fifteen year old boy had hidden depths?

Can people learn from their mistakes? I'm living proof. That naive person that I used to be had to learn that lesson the hard way -- Sorry. I keep hinting about some major trauma sub-plot that is part of my life. But the truth is that I don't want to talk about it right now, maybe next time.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Dad asked from the doorway to my room as I was touching up my makeup.

"You knew this was coming at some time, Dad."

He was chewing in the inside of his cheek.

"Look at it this way. You won't have to worry about me getting pregnant."

"Pixie, that's not funny."

I chuckled. "It's a little funny." He shoved his hands in his pockets. I was worried about him. "What are you having for dinner?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I’m sure there’s a tasty Raman noodle cup that hasn’t expired yet."

I sighed. "Go out and eat tonight. You deserve a break for once."

"I'm helping a couple of the boys out tonight."

Capping off the lipstick, I stuck it in my purse. "Oh yeah? Where at?"

"The carnival."

"Daaaad."

A smug look dropped on his face. "I haven't met this boy of yours and I don't feel comfortable with you alone with him."

I snorted. "He's a freshman. Today's his fifteenth birthday. He's actually smaller than me. I think I could take him."

"Smaller?"

I shrugged. "We're the same height. He's just skinnier than me. Hard to believe, huh?"

"Do you have to wear so much makeup? Guys get the wrong idea if you put too much on."

I stood and set my purse on the table, walked over and gave my dad a hug. "I love you. You know that, right?"

He mumbled something unintelligible, but I let it go.

"I'll be safe. Peter isn't a perv."

Dad huffed. "All teenage boys are perverts. It's hardwired in their genetic code. I was a pervert when I was fifteen."

"I wasn't," I countered.

"You don't count. You're not a boy."

Kissing him on his cheek and thumbing the residue lipstick off, I smiled at him. "Try not to embarrass me tonight, please. You can watch from a distance if you absolutely need to..."

"I'm not going to spoil your first date as a girl, but if he so much as touches any part of you, except for your hand and maybe a kiss on the cheek, then I bring out the handcuffs and cane, and we reenact Midnight Express."

After rolling my eyes, I grabbed my purse. "Thanks for letting me use the car tonight. Don't wait up."

"I expect you back home no later than nine, Pixie," he said as I exited down the hall without him.

"I'll see you about ten or eleven."

"No later!"

~O~

Since Dad had the police issue Impala, he dumped the old family car and bought a new one. It wasn't officially mine, but I was the only one who drove it. Knowing this would be the case, I voted for a Volkswagen Beetle; what I received was a Honda Fit.

We were on a budget and the family car paid for half of the down payment for the tiny Japanese car, so I couldn't complain. It was a car, it was new, and I was a junior in high school. I suppose I should be grateful that I didn't receive a '79 Gremlin.

Peter lived four streets over. I spied the address clearly marked on the mailbox and pulled into the driveway.

By the time I'd closed my door, I heard his voice call out. "She's here, Mom. See you later."

What came out of the front door was something that I had to pause and stare at for a moment. He had his dirty blonde hair slicked back and was wearing clothes that weren't the standard high school freshman fare: black Docker style pants, dark red long-sleeve button down, and black loafers.

He gave me a look and smiled before grimacing. "Don't say anything. My mom made me dress this way."

An amused grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. "Well, she has pretty good taste. A little formal for a carnival, but it makes a good impression." When he met me at the car, I added. "Don't worry, we can relax it a little."

Peter nodded and made his way to the driver's side to open my door for me. I gave him the slightest lift of my eyebrows and turned around to sit down. The skirt I was wearing wasn't too short, a couple of inches above the knee, but I didn't want to flash him.

When he finally settled himself on the passenger side I gave him a fashion tip. "Roll your sleeves up to just under your elbows and unbutton the next button in line from the top. It'll look more relaxed."

His mother had him cinched up all the way, excluding the final collar button. It definitely wasn't anywhere near the style for today’s emerging teen, but it was better than before.

Once he was firmly under restraint of the seatbelt, I backed into the street and headed out of the subdivision. Peter looked around the interior.

"Is this your mom's car?"

I shook my head. Not wanting to delve into the drama that is my life, I gave him an amended version. "I live with my dad. It's my car, but I have to prove that I can be responsible before I can use it regularly. It's one of the downfalls of living with law enforcement. He sees firsthand how brainless teens can be when introduced to alcohol and drugs. So, I get to pay for their stupidity."

He nodded. "That right. He's a cop."

I glanced at Peter and noted his green complexion as he probably pondered the ramifications of dating the daughter of a powerful man.

"Chief of Police."

"Right."

I enjoyed the silence for the next few minutes until we made it to the edge of town where the carnival likes to set up each year. Peter was fidgeting until we came to a stop and he unbuckled his seatbelt. Grabbing my purse, I stepped out and secured the car along with the alarm soon after, then met him in front.

The air was dry and the heat moderate. While I was cool enough wearing a black cami that went with the Chambray overall skirt, Peter had to be burning up. But we matched, which was a little more than disconcerting.

The carnival seemed to be going full tilt with lots of laughing, the occasional scream along with the sound of a ride clacking along, and the calls of vendors hawking their wares.

Peter handed the tickets over and after we stepped through the turnstile, he nervously took my hand in his.

Reflexively, I felt myself pulling away until I realized that I was on a date and traditionally, boys did things like hold their companion’s hand on dates.

“Do you want to do some rides first?” he asked as I was trying to retract my eyes from our hands and the sight of someone other than a relative voluntarily touching me.

I cleared my throat and looked around. “That sounds good.”

Peter’s face brightened up and he looked less nervous than before. It was probably because I actually didn’t give him a hard time answering one of his questions. What can I say? It’s a defense mechanism.

You try being the brunt of everyone’s jokes for the majority of your life and see if you don’t develop antisocial traits.

We did the Tilt-a-Whirl and the small rollercoaster. The lines were relatively long, so we’d already spent almost an hour waiting in lines and a total of maybe seven minutes on the actual rides.

When we exited the rollercoaster ride, I stopped at the closest reflective surface and fixed my hair. It was nothing drastic since I had most of it pinned back anyway.

The first booth we passed was a ring toss and in typical male tradition, Peter had to try it out.

I don’t know if you are aware of it or not, but those games are specifically rigged to make you waste your money. If you won anything, it was usually a tiny prize. The only way to win something big was winning multiple times or completely luck out with the one in a thousand chance.

This specific game included about three hundred old fashioned Coke bottles, with ten covered in yellow paint and two in red. The object of the game was to take a ring, about two inches in diameter and toss it on top of the bottles. If you got any bottle, you were awarded a trinket prize, yellows were medium prizes, and reds were the gigantic ones.

A dollar got you five rings.

Peter paid for a round for me and I was pathetic. I didn’t even touch the top of the bottles. Then he tried.

On his first throw, the plastic ring bounced off one of the bottles and came straight back at me.

“Eek!”

Peter snatched his hand out and caught it a millisecond before it would have hit my face.

“You’re dangerous with those things.”

“Sorry.”

I watched as his face went splotchy red again, so I smirked to let him know I wasn’t serious. Then he tried again.

This time it bounced around, from bottle to bottle, until the unthinkable happened. He’d actually ringed a bottle; a yellow one to be exact.

My mouth dropped open in shock.

“We have a winner!” yelled the carny. “Whatcha like kid? The bear or the squirt gun?”

Peter took a quick glance at me and said, “The bear.”

I watched as the carny took down a ten inch tall fuzzy brown bear and handed it over. It went from Peter’s hand directly to mine.

“Here you go,” he said.

I blinked and looked at the generic teddy bear for a moment. Then I felt something happen to my face that I hadn’t experience in quite a long time: a genuine smile.

I’ve smiled. I’m not a robot or anything. However, most of my smiles are derived from satisfaction due to a well delivered vengeance scheme, or a pleased smirk from a caustic quip. I just hadn’t had much reason to smile in any other way. This time, the edges of my lips actually curved upward and my teeth showed with genuine happiness.

“Um… thanks,” I said.

Peter looked like he was on top of the world. “You’re welcome.” He bounced once on the balls of his feet. “What are you going to name him?”

“Mephistopheles.” Come on; that was too easy to pass up.

The crestfallen look on his face was pretty funny, which made my smile widen.

“I’m kidding.” Slipping my free hand to his, I twined our fingers together and bumped him with my hip. “It’s going to be Peter, of course.”

A wry smile tugged at his lips and we were off to our next adventure.

~O~

The light was on at the front porch when I pulled into Peter’s driveway. This was one of the advantages of me being the driver for our date. Dad wouldn’t be looming behind the curtains with his handcuffs at the ready.

“I had a great time tonight, Pixie.”

I nodded and killed the engine. “Me too. Thanks for being persistent today at school. And thanks for winning me little Peter here.”

Yes, I had enough class to leave that double entendre alone.

I watched as my first date sat nervously in his seat, alternating looks from his lap to the front door. It was a tense moment; I understood that.

Would he think he was gay if he kissed me? Would I even allow it?

All night, he treated me like a girl. It was nothing out of the ordinary or extreme. He opened doors for me where applicable, and made sure I didn’t get squished on the rides. All in all, it was a delightful first date.

“You don’t have to kiss me if you don’t…” I didn’t even get it all out there.

Peter jerked and looked up as if I’d burned him. “I do!” He realized that he almost screamed it. “Sorry. I mean… I do… want to kiss you, I mean.”

He leaned forward and came to an abrupt halt before frowning at the seatbelt that was holding him back. I stifled a giggle at his awkwardness and waited patiently for him to pop the lock and try a second time.

Peter leaned over and paused for a second, looking me in the eye, before moving the rest of the way into giving me a soft chaste kiss. I tasted the cotton candy on his lips that we shared near the end of the night.

Before I knew it, he’d backed away with an embarrassed grin on his face.

“Can I call you tomorrow?” he asked.

I nodded. Then he was gone.

~O~

Dad was sitting in the lounge position on his recliner with a Road & Track magazine haphazardly lying on his chest.

“Faker.”

He opened one eye and frowned at me. “Your lipstick is messed up. What’s this boy’s address again?”

Leaning down, I pecked him on the cheek. “Leave him alone. He was a perfect gentleman tonight and look.” I held up the fuzzy bear. “He was manly and won me a miniature version of himself.”

Dad raised an eyebrow and studied the bear. “So he’s a short and hairy freshman with beady black eyes. That narrows the suspects down considerably.”

I set my purse on the counter propping up Little Peter beside it before entering the kitchen and pouring a small glass of orange juice.

“Are you going to explain the kissing?” I heard him call out.

After slugging the juice down and rinsing the glass, I stuck my head out around the corner. “It was a goodnight kiss. Tongues weren’t even involved, relax.”

He didn’t seem too placated.

“Didn’t girls and boys kiss back in your day?”

He grunted. “No, we just whacked the girls on the head with our clubs and drug them to our caves.”

When I smiled at his lame joke he pointed at me. “No more dating this boy until I meet him.”

“Daaad.”

“I mean it, Pixie. This is all part of the experience, so experience it.”

I grabbed my purse and Little Peter then stuck my tongue out at him.

“Good,” he said. “I’m glad we have an understanding.”

~O~

Little Peter faced the other direction while I got undressed and took a shower, but once I was dressed in my shorts and tank he took position on the nightstand for the night.

Thirty minutes later, after tossing, turning, and trying my best to get comfortable, I finally gave up and pulled him in with me.

He smelled of roasted peanuts, cotton candy, and maybe a little dust.

“You can sleep with me, but if you try anything then it’s the road for you, mister.”