Bad enough I have to write a diary for school. So why did I write another one? To tell the truth …

Stupid Diary, by Karin Bishop

Part 3

February

I missed a couple of days of school over the month because of doctors’ visits that couldn’t be rescheduled, but I was ahead of my work and kept my grades up. Sorry about not being around, Mrs. McKenzie!

*

It was sad about the train crash that happened; it was like something out of a movie. Everybody knows about it so I don’t need to go into it, but I had some inside news that they didn’t say in the news reports. They were going on about the driver of the car the train hit being drunk or something. My mother was in one of the emergency crews on the crash site and the information from the hospital was that the driver had suffered a heart attack and was probably dead before the train hit his car. That’s a relief, in a way, for his family, but at least nobody else died. And Mom was on the news!

*

After that, all the kids at school were buzzing about the Saint Valentine’s Day Dance that they renamed the Sweetheart Ball because some religious kids and their families got upset about the ‘Saint’ part, and then about Valentine himself, and so the school just threw up its hands and renamed it. All of my friends were excited and had a great time at the Ball. I didn’t go, but they filled me in so at least I knew what happened.

*

I have to confess that I knew some of the guys involved in the mess. It’s kind of funny in a way; they probably made jokes about staging a St. Valentine’s Day Massacre and then the school renamed the dance, so I wondered how they said things like ‘Let’s mess up the Sweethearts!’ Anyway, I’m glad that nobody was really hurt but I’m sad that it happened. Some people just can’t allow others to have a good time. I guess some people feel so bad about themselves that they don’t want other people to feel good about themselves, so they try to drag them down to their level.

But none of my friends were hurt and their night went on, with a bigger story to tell than who kissed who or who broke up with who. I feel funny saying I’m glad I was at home that night, because it almost sounds cowardly somehow, but I was home with my mother, who’s been sick. It sounds like a lame excuse but it’s the truth. My mother is the most important person to me and she’s better now but was really ill in the middle of the month.

*

We found out that Mom was sick from the fumes from something on the train; six of her nursing crew got sick, too. Mom was one of the very first responders to the accident and got sick first so at first we thought it was an incredibly bad flu or food poisoning but when the others came down with the same symptoms a day or two later, it helped everybody figure out what it was. Some gas was released that shouldn’t have been carried on a train with passengers. But Mom and everybody is a lot better but she was mad she had to miss two weeks of work–out of twenty years!

*

Everything resumed after the Sweetheart Ball, with school, hanging with friends, and except for my mom getting better–yay!–there’s really nothing else to report. We’re in the long haul until Spring Break, and I have no idea what’s going to happen. In the past, Mom and I have traveled; we don’t go to touristy places like Disneyland. Last year we didn’t go anywhere for some reason, but before that we went to Death Valley, Springfield, Illinois for the Lincoln museum, and the NASA place in Huntsville, Alabama. Just fun places that weren’t filled with drunk college students.

February Truth Time

Doctors, doctors, doctors …first for me, then for Mom. It was weird. We’ve been so healthy all along. After the Big Discussion (‘The Big D’, Mom and I called it, giggling), she had news for me and the first week of the month I met with three doctors and started going through the mill. They took blood, urine, swabs from my cheeks almost every time we met. And test after test, from those inkblots to describing what was going on in photos to ‘what if this happened or that happened’ kind of things. We met every week, and it kind of helped the ‘weaning’ that Ms. Belasco had mentioned and although they reviewed her notes, everybody agreed that for a time I should be meeting with another therapist at the hospital. The last time I saw Ms. Belasco, I hugged her and kissed her cheek and I was crying. I think she was, too.

*

My mother has been a nurse all of her life, and worked at that hospital since before I was born and I don’t think she ever got sick. Not once. And when it was really important, like when they had flu epidemics, she was always there. But there was nothing to prepare us for how sick she got so fast, and it was only when some of her other nurses got sick, too, that the hospital–let’s see if I can spell this!–epidemiologists realized it was something from the train crash they’d helped out on. Then they could treat everybody and everybody got better, but Mom took the longest to get well because she was at the crash site the longest and worked the longest before someone could replace her. Because of the prolonged exposure she was the first to exhibit symptoms and was sick the longest and the worst of the nurses. So I guess it makes sense that it took longer for her to get well. I thought that her getting sick wasn’t worth the hero’s treatment she’d gotten on the TV news. She’d yelled at the camera and bubble-headed reporter to get out of her way and let her treat the injured! So she was famous …and got paid for it by being sick.

*

I stayed with her every single moment I could. I would have missed school to do it but she wanted me to go and said I’d be grounded if I didn’t go to school, which only made me love her more. But because I didn’t have her to drive me, we had to rearrange some of my doctor’s visits, so I missed some classes. It was worth it, I think, because we were making real progress. Well, that’s the word they used, but I asked what ‘progress’ meant, and they meant progress to fully accepting me as a ‘gender dysphoric’ person. If nothing else, I’m getting good at medical spellings! Anyway, it all meant that things like getting paperwork changed would be easier.

Imagine, paperwork that made Lawrence disappear and Larissa become a real person!

*

Larissa was becoming more real, anyway. This started out as a big month for exploring girlhood–and wanting to explore more and more! I’ll tell events and bypass the time when Mom was sick, because I already covered that. During that time I was either at school or the hospital, so I had to spend much more time as Larry, and I hated it. Absolutely hated it. I told that to the therapist and she agreed with me that however unfortunate Mom’s sickness was, it taught me a lesson that might have been missed. That is, to be Larry, to wear Larry’s clothes, is like an act, and I think about ‘him’ as a third person. It’s like a masquerade, a costume I put on. Actually, that makes it easier to ‘impersonate’ Larry. But by the time I got home every night that she was in the hospital–the hospital paid for cab fare–all Larissa could do was get ready for bed in her nightie. When we’d cleared out some storage, Mom had found an old stuffed bear that I’d loved when I was three, and I had the bear on my bed and would hug it and cry. This was before we knew what caused Mom’s illness, and before she got better, of course.

*

The day after The Big D, I came home from school and Mom said we were going to make a mall run as soon as I finished my homework. I was lucky enough to have very little that day so off we went, but to a mall across town. Mom said that way ‘we wouldn’t be bothered’ but I knew she meant I wouldn’t be looking over my shoulder for classmates every ten seconds! Oh, and before we left she took a cloth measuring tape and measured me wearing just my boxers and then converted my measurements; I learned that girls’ sizes are different than boys’ sizes.

There was this …odd moment when I presented myself to Mom. She looked at me with a little frown–I mean, she really looked at me–and asked ‘how long I’d looked like that’. I guess she meant the kind of soft and doughy way I felt, because she was interested in my hips and my waist and–well, pretty much all of me. I was the same height I’d thought I was–she checked that, too–but everything else was kind of …like my body was shifting, a little bit. I learned a new phrase, ‘adipose tissue’ which is a fancy way of saying ‘body fat’. I thought it was silly to replace three syllables with five, but Mom said that in the world of medicine, it’s important to be precise in naming things. But yes, she grinned, there were a lot of syllables in medicine!

We chuckled at that while she went back to measuring me. This was all before I started with the doctors, and then I sure got used to multi-syllable words! But that day, Mom measured, converted, I dressed and we left.

On the way to the mall we’d talked about what to get and how to do it. In the stores, I kind of followed Mom like the bored but dutiful son for the first part but was getting so excited as she got things. I was surprised when she stopped at the big bookstore but she bought the latest of each of the teen girl magazines like Seventeen. The last stop was Target; she said she was going to pick up ‘some toiletries and sundries’ and I could stay in the car and read my magazines. That sounded better than what I thought she meant, getting things like toilet paper, which would be boring but I’d still be glad to help her. I don’t know how long she took but she had a cart with several bags, but I figured things were on sale.

Well, she’d bought a lot on sale but also way more than I expected the first day! On the way home she told me about the upcoming meeting with doctors and so I almost had more excitement than I could handle!

*

At home we set everything on things in my room–bed, chair, desk–and Mom took stock and said that in time we’d work on making it Larissa’s room. She looked at me closely to see how I’d take that, and I guess I passed the test because I thought that would be wonderful–making the room match my pretty nightgowns! She said don’t remove tags from anything but it was Fashion Show time. Or Fashion Showtime!

Mom suggested I do this ‘from the skin out’. I knew that every step of the way she was observing me and my reactions and I think I passed all the tests so I don’t have to say any more about that. She handed me a three-pack of panties and another of bras, all in pastels, and a lump formed in my throat. This was it …wearing panties and a bra was way more of a leap than wearing a nightie. And I wanted to wear them! So I opened the packages and pulled out yellow and stripped down–Mom was puttering with her back to me on purpose–and I pulled the panties up. I’d worn boxers lately because it was more macho, but always liked the tight closeness of tightie-whities and now, my very first panties.

Only …there was that lump visible. Small but still, it was there. I turned my back to Mom and tucked my little boy bits back between my legs and pulled the panties up smoothly and snugly and at that moment promised myself to keep the bits tucked away.

Then I pulled on the bra, and from somewhere I’d learned about putting it behind me, clasping in front and spinning it around. Once I’d gotten it into place I was surprised how much me there was in the cups. I’d been soft, like I mentioned in other entries, and now it kind of worked to my advantage. Mom turned around and gasped and I took that for a good sign–and especially the hug I got afterward! I told her I’d like some tightie-whities, or better yet, boys’ bikini briefs for Larry at school. They’d help keep everything tucked, and I told her I’d already decided I wanted to stay that way. Mom frowned a little but nodded, so tucked it is.

Then I tried on the skirt, a denim mini that was my very first ever and it was sort of no different from my nighties but way different, too. And Mom was great on the size; it fit perfectly. I kept it on as we went through the few tops she’d gotten, and finally chose what she’d called a camisole, or cami, in what I thought was turquoise but Mom said was really teal–I really have to learn the proper names for colors. It was very odd pulling it over the small mounds of my bra, and I thought that maybe more than my mind had been changing …

She’d gotten some flip-flops in pink, and black flats and the flats fit so I wore those. Mom came up and brushed out my hair and spun me to the mirror.

“Look, Larissa, no makeup or anything, but just dressed for school or a day at the mall–a perfectly normal, pretty girl!”

It was my turn to gasp. She was right.

*

Needless to say, nothing was taken back to the store. Everything fit and I wanted everything and more. What I hadn’t expected were the lessons I now got. Since every girl grows up learning about walking and sitting and moving in skirts and dresses–but over years–Mom now gave me a crash course. I also hadn’t expected the things she’d gotten at Target. Well, I did think about things like more cleansers and moisturizers and shampoo and stuff, but she’d gotten headbands and scrunchies and clips and brushes and …two things like fishing-tackle boxes that she said was a ‘two-fer’ special. One was a complete makeup kit, with brushes and everything, and the other was a nail kit with polish and manicure stuff. Impulsively I hugged her and she smiled and told me to ‘be careful’ and handed me some nail polish remover. She meant to be careful not to have any traces of Larissa’s makeup or polish on Larry at school. I resolved that as much as I wanted to try using nail polish, I’d only wear it on weekends.

*

But the makeup …that was exciting! Mom had picked up a large soft-cover book at Target that was like ‘The Teen’s Guide to Makeup’, and was full of ‘how-to’ suggestions, and combined with the pictures of the girls in the magazines, I started experimenting that night. But first I made Mom swear that she wouldn’t laugh at anything I did but that I would expect and accept all criticism. Deal, she said, so I sat down, opened my makeup box and proceeded to put way too much on, like all girls do, then removed it (makeup remover also came from Target ‘sundries’) and reapplied.

When I went out to the couch for our nightly sit-together, she nodded, smiled, hugged me, kissed the top of my head, and I nestled in, enjoying the sight of my legs sticking out from the hem of my skirt.

But that night I also thought about my legs in another way, and sure enough Mom had ‘sundries’ for that, too. I discussed it with her, but since I didn’t have Boys’ PE any more–a study hall instead, for the rest of the school year–there was no reason not to shave my legs. I’d done that remover thing once before, but to actually shave?

It was very strange; I was wearing a bra and panties and skirt and I was freaking out about shaving my legs? But somehow it seemed like an even more formal declaration. I think it came down to the fact that the clothes could come off. Makeup could come off. But once I shaved my legs and underarms–and maybe, in the future, plucked my eyebrows?–then I’d really crossed a line. And I wanted to cross that line–I really wanted it!

I took a bath that night and Mom said to let her prepare it. She’d put wonderful stuff in the water, and scented candles, and I got tears in my eyes at her thoughtfulness and it just made the candles sparkle prettier! Mom said that baths were special times for girls to relax and get in touch with their bodies and their inner selves, and I resolved to make this kind of bath a regular thing for me.

Of course I nicked once under my knee, but other than that, no cuts, and even did under my arms with no problem. I didn’t really have any hair anywhere, but I also decided, laying there in the relaxing tub, to get wild and crazy. I had just a little downy wisp of hair at my crotch, but I shaved slightly to make a nice little triangle. I emptied the tub and got scissors from the medicine cabinet and trimmed ‘my bush’ down a little, then showered to rinse everything from me and the tub. Mom had baby oil to put on, and powder, and that night I slept in my nightie, smooth and sleek and feeling deliciously feminine.

It made it all the harder to get up in the morning and dress as Larry.

*

The shopping frenzy for the Sweetheart Ball was incredible; I think it excited everybody to be able to wear so many pinks and reds. Celia and I went shopping with her mom again, and it was very relaxed and fun. I got to help carry everything into Celia’s room, despite the ‘no boys’ rule; her mom looked at me and was obviously torn and I excused myself and went back downstairs.

She came back down and said, “Larry, it’s not that I don’t trust you …”

I smiled and told her it was okay, really, and that I understood. I felt safe in knowing that hopefully she’d see me as her daughter’s girlfriend someday.

And Celia called me after she got home from the Ball; she’d had a sort-of fight with Stan the Man but not because of her being hurt–just the opposite. She’d pretty much realized even before the dance that he wasn’t the right guy for her–we’d been talking about it–and when she told Stan that she didn’t think they were right together, he took it kind of hard. She felt crummy but I pointed out how much worse she’d feel, in the long run, if she’d faked it and stayed with him? Fortunately, he hadn’t had to pay anything for the Sweetheart Ball for her, and she’d broken the news to him on the ride home. It had taken an hour to talk him out of talking her into it, so to speak.

In the meantime, I’d gotten a call from a thrilled Molly Chen who apologized for calling so late but just had a fantastic time! Monica had kind of nudged Molly and a guy named Derek together and they sort of clicked and it was her first dance ever and she owed it all to me!

“What?” I asked.

“Come on, Larry; if you hadn’t dragged me to the basketball game, and then just happened to slip away and then sit with Monica, well …I’d still be sitting at home wondering why nobody liked me.”

It felt great to help her; I just felt as great as I could without having been there.

*

And it was a good thing I wasn’t there because there’d been an ugly scene. It was kind of like the original movie of Buffy the Vampire Slayer where the prom is crashed by vampires. Only in this movie, it was Mackie and his new buddies. They demanded to be let in, pretended to be all kissy-face, screaming that they were ‘sweethearts’. The scary thing was that Celia and Molly both told me Mackie now had eight or nine new followers, not even kids from our school …and who knew if there were more that weren’t there?

Nobody knew who’d called 911, but it was a good thing because the chaperones wouldn’t have been able to handle it and might have gotten hurt. Mackie’s gang had somebody that was already in the room open the double doors at the back and they flooded in. The chaperones tried to get them back out that door and there were a lot of yelling and extended arms on both sides, but then the cops arrived and with the open doors flooded with red and blue flashers, Mackie’s bunch ran through the room, smashing decorations as they went, knocking over a punch bowl and scooping food as they went. They turned and threw the food back into the room as they ran through the school’s halls, finally blasting out the far end …and right into three cop cars led by a police sergeant who graduated from the school long ago and knew the school’s layout!

So Mackie got expelled and sent to Juvie, and nobody knew how long and how angry he’d be when he got out.

I couldn’t help wonder if I would have been one of his rampaging gang if things hadn’t …gone a different direction?

*

All of which made it harder to be Larry at school. Every day it took more effort to ‘be a guy’ and not giggle or give myself away somehow. Walking more or less like a boy was hard. And talking? It was all I could do to not talk like I did at home or with Celia; I talked like a boy–if at all–only six hours each of five days. And not even a full six hours; only when I was called on in class. All the rest of the time I relaxed and was myself, and the way I spoke was girlish. Not girly, not like some of the gay boys with lisping and all; I just sounded like another girl. It just came to me; as I got happier, I talked more, and I talked with my girlfriends. While we never got into ‘omigod!’ Valley Girl-speak, I guess I’d just picked up the melody and word choice and it was natural to me. And harder to be Larry without drawing attention to how hard it was to be Larry.

I needed allies, friends who would know about me and be able to police me better than I could myself, but limited myself to considering only Celia and Molly until the end of school. So …how to reveal myself? I knew there was no problem with Celia but Molly was an unknown factor.

Molly and I were working on a project in English; we’d worked well in Science so this was easy for us. Our teacher was a big Lord of the Rings fan, and told us how Tolkein was fascinated with language. So, like a class of mini-Tolkeins, we were trying to construct a usable grammar in a non-existent language. It made our brains hurt, which was part of the fun. She’d come over to my house on a Sunday afternoon when Mom was home and we’d sat at the kitchen table working and actually came up with something. Mom had ice cream for us afterward and we got along great.

So at school I’d be chatting with Molly and kind of try to sound her out about gays, boys and girls, and her feelings. And wonder of wonders, she had a gay older brother–much older–who was an emergency medical technician, but was very flamboyant and very effeminate. She giggled and said at least her clothes were safe from him because she was much smaller than him. But she and her parents had actually marched with him in a Gay Pride parade!

Taking another leap of faith, I invited her to my house ‘for more ice cream’ on Sunday, and she said ‘what for’ and all I said was ‘pride’. She gave me a look after a pause, a small smile, and agreed.

But I wanted Celia to fully know first; she’s my closest friend and has just been wonderful. It was funny; when I first went to her house, her mother said I couldn’t go into Celia’s room because boys weren’t allowed. We hadn’t pushed it, even when it was obvious that I wasn’t boyfriend material, and even after shopping for Winter Ball gowns.

Mom and I discussed it, and we decided to grab the bull by the horns. I was going to be Larissa, and if her mother freaked out now or later it would be the same. We could only hope for as closest to zero freak-out as we could get. Mom and I set it up for the last week in February, when she was strong and healthy again. We decided to make it a celebration of Mom back in the world, so to speak, and although Celia’s mom wasn’t a close friend of my mother’s, she knew that her daughter and I were close so she came along.

We had a lovely catered affair, so to speak. We decorated a little bit and this company delivered things in covered dishes and we just set it up. The next day we returned the dishes. So it was very nice and I would have loved to be dressed up as mother and daughter but I had to be Larry at the start.

They arrived and we had a little sparkling cider before, making small talk, and then the meal. After, when the ladies had coffee and we had Cokes sitting in our living room, we began talking about …well, me. I started it by saying that I fully understood Celia’s parents not wanting boys in her room. But I hoped it would change where I was concerned because–

And Celia interrupted me. “Do you really want to do this? You don’t have to, you know.”

God, I love that girl, for being so kind and compassionate! I said yes, I did, and looked back at her mother, who was looking back and forth between Celia and I. I looked at Mom, who smiled and nodded.

“Mrs. Duran,” I began, “I’m not like …any boy you know.” I swallowed. “That’s because I’m not really a boy.”

“I asked awhile ago if you were gay,” she said gently, “and you never really answered me.”

“That’s because it’s not a simple answer, and that wasn’t the time or place. Tonight, it is. The usual things about gay don’t apply. Because in my heart of hearts, I’m a girl.” I went on in a rush, my voice shaking. “In my heart, in my soul, in my thoughts and dreams and in every way but one, I’m a girl.”

Silence.

Mom leaned forward and was about to say something, but Celia’s mom said, “You’re transgendered.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, not trusting my voice to say more.

More silence. Mom raised an eyebrow at me and back to the woman.

Celia’s mom turned to her daughter. “Did you know about this?”

“Not really. Sort of. I mean,” Celia floundered, hating to be put on the spot. “I just got this feeling that Larry wasn’t like other guys. I mean, really not like other guys. And that was pretty hard to see at first, because he’d been such a jerk.” She turned to me. “Sorry, but you were.”

“You’re only saying jerk because your mom’s here,” I smiled with shame. “You probably had a stronger word for the …jerk that I was.”

“Overcompensating?” her mother asked, startling us.

“Yes,” I admitted. “Big time.”

Celia’s mother nodded and then said to her daughter, “And?”

Celia said, “I could never be friends with somebody like he was. But last fall he changed. I mean, in every way. His grades got better, he was nicer to everybody, he wasn’t dirty–you were, you know,” she said to me again and I blushed again. “But I got this feeling it was …that there was someone else inside him, you know? Wanting to come out? I never put it into words before.”

“You responded to him as a girl? I mean, as another girl?”

Celia nodded. “And it was just so natural. I mean, come on, Mom; you’ve spent lots of time with Larry. Does he feel like a boy? I mean, close your eyes and think. Like a vibe, or something. Anyway, after the holidays, at the end of January, he told me about sleeping in nightgowns and being named …”

She looked from Mom to me, as if asking if it was okay. We both nodded, since for some reason her mother wanted to hear the story from her.

Celia shrugged. “He told me his mother called him Larissa. His old, bad friends mocked him with that name when he split from them, and his mom said that it would take the power to hurt away from the word.”

Celia’s mom nodded. “It works; it can be a very powerful antidote. But you knew he slept in nightgowns?”

I said, “Yes, starting at my grandmother’s over Thanksgiving. And ever since. And I told Celia.” I got another nod.

There was a pause, and then Celia’s mother asked her, “And are you convinced that Larry is transgendered, and is Larissa?”

Celia looked at me and then back to her mom. “Yes, Mom, absolutely. I never even thought about that word until tonight, but, yes.”

Her mother nodded and turned to my mother. “And what are your feelings?”

Mom said, “I am also absolutely convinced that my child is transgendered. That I never really had a son, but a daughter that was in embryo, sort of …like a chrysalis. And what’s more, the doctors at the University Medical Center agree. Larissa has been diagnosed with Gender Dysphoria–the medical term for transgendered–and is under their care and treatment. It’s been only a short time, but they are definite in their assessment.”

The woman nodded again, still not displaying any emotion one way or another. “And clothing?”

Mom nodded. “We’re slowly building up her wardrobe. She comes home from school …or I should say, the Larry mask comes home from school, removes the mask and the boy clothes, and reveals Larissa, my daughter. We find it easier to think of it as a boy costume rather than switching from boy to girl.”

“Well, you never really got the boy part right, ever,” Celia teased me.

Silence.

Celia and I exchanged looks with Mom, then all three of us looked at the woman who sat in thought. I don’t think any of us expected the next thing she said.

“I think I would like to meet Larissa.” She looked at me, at Mom, and back to me.

Mom smiled and nodded. “I’ve got some cake and we can refresh the coffee or switch to tea while she gets out of her boy costume.”

I was slow on the uptake; Celia reached over and swatted me. “Hel-lo?” I looked dumbly at her and she said, “I told you I wanted to be able to call you Larissa all the time!”

Ah!

*

I truly hadn’t thought of what to wear. Mom and I never got that far; we were so busy trying to figure ways to break it to Celia’s mom that we never got as far as Larissa actually making an appearance. I figured that would be later, with Celia and me alone, but this made more sense.

It was best, I thought, to go with the same kind of clothes that Celia was wearing, a simple skirt and top. We’d told them that tonight wasn’t a dress-up affair, thank goodness, because I didn’t have dressy clothes, anyway–yet! So I stripped quickly and put on a burgundy bra and panty set and the teal cami that I liked so much and a black denim skirt Mom had brought home on the day she fell ill. I brushed out my hair quickly into a style we both liked, with a barrette, and did a quick makeup application, not too much of anything. I slipped on some black skimmers that needed breaking in and my jewelry, including the magnetic earrings that Mom had found on the internet. We’d agreed that I’d wait until school was out to pierce my ears.

So …time to go in and face the music. As I’d been dressing I’d become more and more myself, my real self, and was actually kind of oddly relaxed when I walked into the kitchen and asked Mom if there was anything I could do to help? She smiled at me and nodded her approval, and handed me the teapot to bring in.

I walked in and I swear I stopped ‘em cold! Celia gasped, ‘Omigod!’ and her mother gasped and stared as I asked if she’d like more tea? And on her nod, I poured and set it down and then sat in the chair I’d been in. Of course, I smoothed my skirt under me the way I always did, knees together and my hands folded in my lap.

Celia looked at her mother, who nodded, took a deep sigh, and then smiled hugely and said, “Now that makes more sense! I’m very pleased to meet you at last, Larissa. You’re a very pretty young lady.”

“Very pretty young lady?” Celia asked, shocked. “Mom, she’s a babe!”

So it went pretty well, I guess!

*

Saturday was truly, truly weird. I wore a skirt and top and makeup and went to Celia’s and up to her room like any of her girlfriends, and her mom took us to the mall! It was weird and wonderful and I think the strangest thing was that it was so normal! Her mother accepted me without problem, and since I’d never met Celia’s dad, I would be introduced as Larissa and so he’d never know of any weirdness.

It was a distant mall, but they said they liked to explore other malls for the unique shops, but actually I think her mom wanted to return something to the big department store that she’d bought at our local mall, and didn’t want to face that local mall’s staff!

Afterwards, we had smoothies and sat in the food court and her mom said the ultimate compliment–she said that already, she couldn’t remember Larry. I hugged her for that and all in all it was a great day, but they both knew I’d have to be Larry at school and now I had some sympathy.

*

Which left Sunday and Molly. I was so worried that after the acceptance by Celia’s mother–not to mention Celia, who I truly knew was my best friend–I just thought it was tempting fate for lightning to strike twice.

And at first it was awkward, way more than I thought it would be or should be. I think it was because there was no obvious reason why I’d invited her over. We’d finished the project, and ice cream alone wasn’t much of an inducement–even if it was Baskin-Robbins Gold Medal Ribbon!

So Molly was kind of …odd, stand-offish. I tried to get her to open up a little but only succeeded in making her suspicious. Suddenly, a light bulb went on in my head.

“Oh!” I said, stunned. “Molly …do you think I’m trying to …I don’t know …ask you to be my girlfriend or something?”

“Well,” she said, her head down, “it does kind of seem like it, and I really like you, Larry, but as a friend, and …”

All of my carefully-planned speeches went out the window.

I stared. “Molly, I could never be your boyfriend!”

“What?” She looked up, the start of hurt feelings on her face.

“No! I could never be your boyfriend because I’m not a boy!” I almost laughed. “Molly, I asked you here today because you’re a special friend and I wanted you to know that I’m a girl! Boyfriend? As if!”

“What?” she said again, then the light dawned. “You mean that you’re …omigod, Larry, are you TG?”

I’d learned enough to know what she meant. “Yes. My name is Larissa.”

“Geez, Larissa …couldn’t you pick something a little less …obvious?” she giggled.

I told her the Mackie story and she agreed that it made sense but that I should have picked Julia or Rebecca or something like that. “I mean, my brother Tommy doesn’t become Tammy, or Thomasina, for God’s sake.”

“Your brother …” I wasn’t sure.

“I told you he’s gay. He does drag at Halloween and a couple times a year but he’s not really a queen. But he’s Jessica.” She grinned. “A short, Asian Jessica!” and she giggled.

I sighed with relief. She wanted to know how long I’d been like this and I told her everything and she said she would have liked to be the first to know, but she understood. “I mean, Celia’s your BFF and that’s what matters. But I think it’s really cool that I’m your number two.”

So I knew it was time for Larry to disappear; Mom stepped in to answer any of Molly’s questions while I became Larissa and I was so glad not to have to waste any more precious weekend time as Larry! And it was a couple of girlfriends that tucked into the ice cream, giggling away, and we ended the night with Molly promising to help me anyway she could with my struggles to be Larry–or Larissa.

End of Part 3