I stared down from the little stone bridge into the calm water of the pond below me, reflections sharp in the lamplight of the park. With a sigh, I ran my hand back through my hair, then pulled the toothpick out of my mouth and flicked it toward my own distorted image.

"Hey! Chau! C'mon, man, we're gonna be late!"

I continued to stare into the rings making their way out across the water. Amazing, isn't it, the way just a single small thing renders the whole unintelligible?

"Chau! No foolin' man, this gig is paying and we NEED this, buddy! The depressed Indy kid act is for the customers -- now let's GO!"

I tugged on the open front of my long wool trench coat and bent to pick up my case. With a final glance at the pond, I tromped across the footbridge and toward Pete -- sorry... still getting used to it -- toward Pike and the brightly lit glass convention house a bit beyond him.

Trumpet. Soulful and Jazzy. Like a Japanese Louis Armstrong -- or even Dizzy Gillespie, but without the bent horn and puffy cheeks. I lose myself in the music every time, just paying enough attention to Pike, Ramona, Beth, and Roger to get the changeovers.

I needed it that night. I hoped they realize it. Gawd. I don't think I'd ever needed it like that. I hoped they pick up on that. After the day I had had, I needed that more than anything. Pike nodded to Ramona, who tapped the other two on the shoulders and they stepped back, Roger putting down his sticks. I glanced over and Ramona nodded to me.

I tore loose. Ohhh yeah. Better than any drug I've ever heard tell of. I ran the gamut. From standard basic jazz riffs to some of the most bluesy horn you'll hear outside of the French Quarter. Song, after song, after song, after... song. Eventually, some of the partygoers noticed that there was only one playing and I ignored them. My eyes closed, lost in the music. They stopped to listen, but I didn't care. They could've started booing me right then, and I'd've gone on.

Finally spent, I opened my eyes and looked up as I played one last long, bent and bluesy note, echoing away in the silent glass house. Everyone standing and staring at me.

I played it cool. I nodded and stepped back as the other four picked up on another standard. I flopped into my chair on the little stage and pulled out my cloth. I started rubbing down the horn as my bandmates picked up where I left off. There was a murmur and a smattering of applause as I stopped, but they just kind of melted back into their dancing.

After a bit, I stood back up and I played along with the band. I felt a bit better, but still not great. Music soothes the soul... it can't mend it.

We finished and I packed up my trumpet, and Pike gave me my cut... but I noticed him slip a five from each of the other piles and add it to mine.

"C'mon, Pete, uh, Pike, we all need the money. I appreciate the gesture, but..."

"Chau. Buddy. Dude. Um, -ette. Well, someday you'll be an -ette... Buddy. You did a twenty-five minute solo. Don't look at me that way, you DID. You totally deserve an extra Jackson, and well, it's only costing each of us a five. Take it with the good grace you're supposed to have on this whole journey to becoming a woman."

I looked over at the others and they were smiling, Beth giving me a thumbs up. I nodded... hell, I know I blushed.

"The solo was as much for me as for them..."

Ramona cleared her throat.

"And, my dear sister-in-waiting, there's nothing wrong with a gal enjoying what she does for a living. Look, when I marry your retard-o brother, you really will be my little sister, anatomy notwithstanding, so you HAVE to listen to me. So there."

I grinned and pulled in the petite blonde (though, her current purple and blue and green and white would never give that away) for a hug, and smiled shyly at the others.

"You know, hon," put in the perky little redhead, "Someday soon, you need to show us the real you."

Pike and Ramona murmured assent, but...

"Count me out on that, man."

Roger took another drag of his 'clove' and flicked it toward the pond. It didn't make it, but sat there on the bank in the dark and smouldered.

"Look. I don't care, really, I mean, you say you're a chick... fine... your business, and I can see where you'll be a total fox once you get, well, girlified. But I know you as a guy. My brain can't handle it. I mean, you're the hottest horn in town, and I'm happy to get to play with you... but I don't need to see your 'true self' to get along, y'know?"

I nodded, and opened my mouth to tell him it was okay.

"No, Chau. It's not okay, and don't say it is. I know it's a horrible thing to say to you, but I can't help it. I mean, I've known you only for less than a year, and you trusted me along with these three to tell me your big secret. You put yourself out there and I smack you in the face and tell you to put it away. If I'd known you as a chick, and you'd told me you used to be a dude... I wouldn't want to see any pictures of you before, get it? I support your right to be who you are, and I understand that society sucks ass for not allowing it. But I'm a product of that environment, yo?"

Roger dropped the clove that none of us remembered him lighting onto the sidewalk and ground it out, then swung open the squeaky door of the red '89 Ford pickup with his drum kit in the back, started it and drove away.

"Well," said Pike, "That was..."

"What it was, was rude, Petey," said Beth.

"It's Pike, dammit," mumbled the scruffy faceman and then nodded to each of us and headed back through the park with his guitar strapped to his back.

The three of us walked over to the footbridge (the two with portable instruments carrying them along), leaning over the rail in silence for awhile.

"He's right, you know."

"He's a shit, right Beth?"

"Doesn't make him any less right."

"Chau, listen to Ramona. Look. You're all stressed out. Don't let him bother you. Sticks & Stones would survive fine without him."

"You're a lousy liar, Beth."

"I'm also a lesbian and in love with you, you twit."

"What?"

She laughed. A sound with a music of its own I could get lost in.

"Um, you didn't just say,"

"Oh, yes she did, chica."

I snapped my head around to look at Ramona.

"Chee, Chau... she's been droppin' hints the size of all Baltimore at you for months."

Beth was nodding and looking pouty behind Ramona.

"But I'm --"

Beth interrupted me.

"Yes, I know... mere details -- ones that will change, at that. I'd be okay with you as you are and as you become who you're supposed to be, but I understand that you gotta do this your way. Just know... you ain't gotta do it alone, petit."

I laughed at the double... no... triple reference. She's from 'Nawlins' and Cajun to the core. I'm originally from Georgia and have a slight... very slight... accent. Some of the kids at school call me 'Belle' to try and rag on me. See, one of the things Beth and I have in common is the X-Men... totally into the Gambit/Rogue romance plot.

"You tryin' t' tell me somethin' Cajun?" I asked, laying on the accent thick and putting my fists on my hips while I grinned at her.

Ramona rolled her eyes and pushed off the wall of the bridge.

"I gotta jet, girls. Play nice."

She picked her bass up and gave a sort of two-fingered salute and left us alone.

"You really meant...?"

She nodded and grinned.

"But I'm..."

She laughed again, sending chills up my spine, and pushed me back against the little wall.

"So... how long've..."