"No, it wasn't that..." I hesitated. "It was Ms. Gifford..."

I wasn't sure how much I wanted to say. The real reason I was upset was all the media attention... what it might lead to. What it would have to lead to, if it kept up. If the reporters started looking into my life, they'd find out pretty quickly that I used to be a boy.

---

 

2. The Secret Passage
 

I didn't pass out, but I was pretty freaked.

Ms. Gifford seemed to think she could talk me into liking the idea of my-life-as-a-movie, but the more she talked about it, the more my anxiety grew.

Finally, she understood that she was only making things worse by talking about it. The tipping point must have been when I shrieked, "Can you PLEASE stop talking about a movie of my life?"

She was puzzled and a little shocked, but she dropped the subject.

"Okay," she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Can we go home now?" I asked.

"Are you going to be alright?" she asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Probably," I said, putting my hand on my stomach. "I don't know. Can I get back to you on that?"

---

When we got off the elevator into the parking garage, we saw a familiar face.

"Theresa!" I cried, delighted to see her. "What are you doing here?" In case you don't remember, Theresa was the detective who took me home after the kidnapping.

She was wearing a very cool dark-gray pantsuit with a black blouse. "I'm your ride home," she told me. "Do you mind?"

"Heck, no!" I said. It's funny... I only met her that one time, but I feel so much affection for her, as if we were old friends.

"Good," she said. "I was in the building because I had to give testimony, and when I heard you needed a ride, I volunteered. Couldn't pass up the chance to see my favorite teenage crime-fighter!"

"Oh," I said, pulling back into myself a bit, as if her last few words had exposed a wound. I thought she didn't notice... she didn't seem to notice. But then, after greeting my mother, she looked down at me, and pulled me into a hug. I grabbed her tight and held on.

"Don't worry," she said. "You'll be okay, kid."

I sucked the tears back inside of me before they had a chance to come out, and smiled at Theresa. Gesturing with her arm, she said, "Come on, my car's over here."

While we crossed the garage, Mom whispered to me, "Why don't you sit in front, with Theresa?"
 

We pulled out of the dimly lit garage, back into daylight. Once we were underway, Theresa asked, "Was it difficult? You had your deposition today, right?"

"Yes, I had my deposition, but no, it wasn't hard." I said. Then, as an afterthought, "Well, sometimes it wasn't hard."

"It upset you," she offered.

"No, it wasn't that..." I hesitated. "It was Ms. Gifford..."

I wasn't sure how much I wanted to say. The real reason I was upset was all the media attention... what it might lead to. What it would have to lead to, if it kept up. Once the reporters started looking into my life, they'd find out pretty quickly that I used to be a boy.

"Grace?" Theresa asked, puzzled. "She didn't do something to upset or offend you, did she?"

"No, not really... not directly."

Theresa gave me a quick look, and a smile that said, You don't have to talk if you don't want to. But if you *do* want to talk, I'm listening.

Encouraged, I went on, "She kept talking about someone making a movie of my life."

"And that's what upset you?"

"Yes."

Theresa again kept silent. It was my choice to go on talking, or just shut up. I went on.

"I was afraid... I am afraid that all the reporters and other people might start digging into my life... and..." Then I stopped, because beyond that point, lay Mark, the boy I used to be.

"You're afraid they might find something that could embarrass you," Theresa offered.

"Yes," I said, happy to leave it at that.

"I understand," Theresa said.

Do you? I thought. How could you possibly understand?
 

Mom interrupted at that point. "Theresa, please don't take this the wrong way, because I know you're very capable... but there's only one of you, and there are so many reporters and cameramen back at the house... and..."

Theresa smiled. "I understand, Mrs. D," she replied. "Don't worry: I'm not going to be alone. A patrol car's meeting us at your house, and two big, burly friends of mine will make sure that nobody gets near either one of you."

"Oh, thanks!" Mom breathed a huge sigh of relief and sank back in her seat.

Theresa looked into the rear-view mirror at my mother's face for a long moment, then glanced at me. "Do you guys mind if I come in for a sec when we get to your place? There's something I want to talk to you about." She followed this with a reassuring smile directed at me.

"Yes, of course," Mom said. "You don't mind, do you, Marcie?"

"No," I said, smiling. "She's my favorite police detective."

"I'm the only police detective you know," Theresa countered, and I laughed.
 

---

 

Mom made us tea. The three of us sat at the kitchen table. Theresa cupped her hands around the hot mug, looking down at it. Her mouth was working slightly, as if she trying to figure out the best way to say something. Then she looked at Mom and me, and stretched her hand toward me, palm up. I put my hand in hers. It was warm, nearly hot, from the tea. She squeezed my hand, and kept hold of it.

"What I'm going to tell you," she began, "is something that Grace Gifford doesn't know yet. I've decided to tell her tomorrow. I wanted to tell you first.

"Sometimes I have to work for the district attorney... investigating, doing background checks, stuff like that." She paused for a moment, then said, "I think I know what's worrying you, Marcie: why you're afraid of the reporters... and why the idea of a movie scares you."

I stiffened, and she felt it through my arm, so she gripped my hand a little tighter.

"You're afraid they're going to find out about Mark," she said in an even tone, looking me straight in the eyes.

"But... how..." I faltered.

"You're the chief witness for the prosecution," Theresa explained. "Grace wanted to be sure that she didn't get any surprises. Imagine if you were sitting in the witness chair and she found out that you'd shot someone else in the foot two years ago."

"Is that legal?" Mom asked. "I mean, poking around in someone else's life like that?"

"I didn't want to do it. I often hate doing it," Theresa replied, "but the D.A. really needs to know. By the way, I was pretty impressed with some of the things you did back in Tierson. It was kind of odd when there was nothing before that."

I actually began shaking as I said, "So, if you know, tomorrow Ms. Gifford will know... then the papers will know—"

"Hold on there," Theresa said. "The papers, the media won't automatically know, and Ms. Gifford can't tell them. I'm just letting you know that *I* found out, and it wasn't hard. If the media starts taking a close look at you, it won't take them long to find out."

I looked at her wild-eyed. I heard her, but what she said didn't help. "It will be on TV," I continued. "My school will know, and Dad's job will know..."

"Everybody could potentially know," Theresa said, cutting it short. "Right."

"I kind of thought," I said, beginning to cry, "that I could just quietly be a girl, and no one would ever know... that I was... that I used to be... a boy."

To my surprise, Theresa didn't seem very sympathetic. She sipped her tea and waited for me to stop crying. Mom was also quiet, watching to see how things played out between me and the police detective. Neither of them spoke, neither moved to comfort me. So, it was a bit strange: it was like crying on a stage, with people just watching, interested but not involved. I cried quietly for maybe a half a minute, then stopped.

Mom said, "Theresa? I've never known your last name."

"Dandino. Do you want my badge number, too?"

"No," Mom replied quietly. "I was just curious."

"Marcie," Theresa said to me. "Listen to me. I've seen a lot of horrible things in my short career, and I've sat at a lot of kitchen tables, stood at a lot of front doors, and had to give some pretty bad news to some pretty nice people. And, quite frankly, I understand that you're upset, but this is really nothing. I'm not saying you're not entitled to have yourself a good cry, but then you've got to straighten your shoulders and go on. There are a lot of people a lot worse off than you. Remember that. You're young and healthy and attractive. You have a nice house, a nice family, and everybody thinks the world of you. Life goes on, you know? You're not the first transkid in Flickerbridge, and you won't be the last. At least you had a shot at nobody knowing who you used to be, but all the others had to change on the spot, in their schools, with the people who've known them their whole life.

"Maybe you ought to get in touch with them, find out what's it like. Realize that you're not the only one in your situation."

"Were any of those children — the ones you just mentioned — outed on national TV?" Mom asked.

Theresa froze for a moment, then admitted, "No, none of them have."

Mom nodded. She didn't need to say the rest: So it's not "nothing."

Theresa drank the rest of her tea, and said, "I just wanted to give you the heads-up, so you'd know it was coming, and not be taken by surprise."

"We appreciate that," Mom told her. "Thanks."

"If there's anything I can do," Theresa said, "call me. I don't know that there's anything I can do, but here's my card." She stood up and set a business card on the table. "Sorry to bring bad news, but anyway... just keep one thing in mind, Marcie: you're going to be alright. Remember that."
 

---

 

I sat in the kitchen alone while Mom made a phone call to Dad. I wasn't sure what to think. I had no idea how anyone would react. I guess I'd see tonight, when I'd tell Ida. She was one of the people closest to me. And I'd have to tell Susan. And the people back in Tierson: Eden, Jerry — oh, my God! Jerry. How would *he* take it? At least he wouldn't be able to break up with me over it — we'd already done that. Still, I had to tell him before he heard it from someone else. Even if it made him hate me. Would it make him hate me?

Mom came back to the kitchen with her cell phone in her hand. She'd never really been comfortable with one, and she held it as if it was going to bite her or explode or both. "Your father wants to talk to you," she said.

I put the phone to my ear. "Dad?"

"How are you doing, kid?" he asked.

"I'm alright," I said. "I'll be alright."

"Remember, your Mom and I are always behind you, with you, wherever we need to be, okay? We'll get through this together, alright?"

"Okay," I said, sniffling.

"Listen," he said. "I have to tell you something that has to remain a family secret."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"You cannot tell anyone, not even a hint. Do you understand?"

"I guess," I said hesitantly. I was mightily confused.

"Don't guess," he insisted. "Tell me you understand: this has to be a secret between you, me, and your mother. No one else. No one else on earth."

"Okay," I said. I still had no idea what he was talking about.

He took a deep breath. "Marcie, do you remember hearing that our house has a bomb shelter?"

"Yes," I said, "but it's walled off. We can't get into it."

"Right," he said. "That's not exactly true. In fact, it's not true at all. There's a secret door in the basement that your mother is going to show you tonight."

"Why?" I asked, more than bewildered.

He ignored my question. "I don't want you going down there, or taking your friends down there. Especially boy friends. Is that understood?"

"Yes, but why?"

"Your mother is worried about getting past the reporters tonight, when you leave to go to Ida's. She imagines — and she's probably right — that they're going to dog your steps all the way to Ida's house–"

"So what's that got to do with a bomb shelter?" I asked, bewildered.

"Here's the thing." He hesitated. "The bomb shelter has a second entrance, or second exit, however you want to put it. There's a secret way in and out of the house."

"NO WAY!" I shouted.

"Jeez! My ears, Marcie!"

"Sorry!"

"It's okay. Anyway, it comes out in a little stone outbuilding behind the hedge out back."

"Cool! But that's not our property, is it?"

"It is. We have an easement on the lot behind ours, and this is why."

"What's an easement?"

"Ask your mother later. I don't have time to explain. But listen to me, Marcie. I don't want you using the secret entrance at all, except for emergencies, and your mother feels that tonight qualifies. Each time you use it, you increase the chance of it being discovered, so it's better not to use it at all."

"Okay," I agreed. I was nearly jumping out of my skin. I couldn't wait to get down there and check it out!

"Once it's discovered, it's not a secret any more."

"Got it," I replied.

"Sounds like this bit of news has cheered you up a little," he commented.

"Yeah, just a little bit," I laughed. "Are you going to meet us at Ida's, Dad?"

"No," he said. "I'm going to camp out in a hotel near work tonight. Maybe tomorrow as well. We've got a lot going on, and running the gauntlet of those reporters morning and night would wear me thin.

"Oh, and one more thing: Did your mother talk to you about visiting my sister Jane until school starts?"

"No, she didn't!" I said. "Aunt Jane?" At first I was excited by the prospect, but then remembered that in a few days everyone in Tierson would probably know about Mark. Oh, well. Aunt Jane, Denise, and Alice already knew about me, and they were still my friends. I had the feeling that Eden and Carla would be okay... I stopped thinking about it right there. I didn't want to think about it any more. Not right now, anyway.

"We agree that it's a good idea for you to get away. If not with Jane, well, we have plenty of other relatives that would love to see you."

Would they? I wondered, blushing. Still... after that talk with Theresa, I wasn't feeling so... afraid and inadequate. Now I was curious. I wanted to see who would still want me, who'd be on my side, once they found out.

"We'll work something out, and we'll work it out soon, hopefully tonight." Dad said. "Now maybe you and your mother should go down to the basement and clean the secret passage: knock down the cobwebs, scare away the mice."

"Yick," I said.

"Everything has its price, Marcie," Dad said.

"Yeah," I said, "I know. Still, a secret passage!"

"Yeah," Dad laughed. "I know. It's a hoot, isn't it?"

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

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