By the end of the week, I am swimming faster and farther than ever before. I am even winning a bunch of the races at practice in several swim styles—but that is against girls, so I know it is not a fair race. While I still can’t see the muscles that I am expecting any moment, I know that my puberty is kicking in because of the implant, so I must be getting stronger than the girls—the problem is, I still don’t FEEL stronger. And with having to be girlied-up all of the time, I can’t really SEE that I am developing either. If anything, I feel and look even girlier than ever.

Jemma is satisfied with my makeup skills and is moving on to showing me how to do different things with my hair. I can easily put it into a bun now, since Madame Pratt always insists on it being in a perfect one for practice. Speaking of, I am now officially at a ‘level 3’ and she is confident that I can make it to a ‘level 5’ before I leave, since I am practicing nearly four hours a day now. I am getting really flexible and can do things I would never have dreamed of doing.

As for cheerleading, I can do really high kicks and jumps and I know all of the routines in my sleep—for all intents and purposes, I am just one of the girls on the team. This week, I ‘get’ to start doing some of the more acrobatic things—even be in the pyramid. Angi has fully cleared me…

Francie and I are getting along great. We spend a lot of our free time at the lake with the other girls and my tan is getting really dark, now. My clothes are starting to fit differently now, too—like they are fitting BETTER. So, I must be developing, right? Angi said the implant would take about a week to really kick in, then things would take off from there—I really hope I do a lot of catching up over the next weeks before school starts back up…

o~O~o

I sit in Angi’s office—it is my last Monday at camp and my last session with her. I can’t believe it, but I am actually going to miss it, I think. Then I look down at my short skirt and five-inch heels and decide that being good ole Vick is going to feel great.

Angi has me undress, as usual, and takes my measurements. She smiles and says, “Well, Hon, you’re progressing as expected. Your body should be saturated with hormones now, so you should see an acceleration in development. You are now a full A-cup—I expect you will likely develop at least a C—maybe more. Your hips…”

I let out a strange sound—something between a gasp and gurgle. I feel like I am going to suffocate—I can’t breathe. I start hyperventilating.

Angi quickly comes over and works to calm me. After several minutes of breathing into a paper sack, I am breathing semi-normally again. She asks me, “Paige, Hon. What was THAT all about?”

I can’t take it anymore. I ask, “You mean I am really turning into a girl—a REAL girl?”

Angi shakes her head and says, “No, that isn’t possible—at least not yet. But, as we discussed, the serum is working to make you as much a girl as is possible. You’re going through puberty—just like any other girl; only at an accelerated pace, since you’re behind the curve at your age…”

I fight hard to keep my composure and can barely keep myself from breaking down into sobs again. I tell her the whole story about faking the test to get in so that I wouldn’t have to stay in the clinic all summer.

She gives me a really concerned look and asks, “Who told you anything about having to stay at the clinic all summer…?”

I whisper, “Allen.”

“And how did you get the ‘answers’ to the ‘test’,” she asks with a shocked look.

I whisper again, “Allen.”

She blanches and asks, “And do you even know what that ‘test’ was about?”

I sigh and say, “He just said it was an entrance exam into your camp—and that was my only alternative to having to stay in clinic all summer…” I really do start to cry, now.

She pulls me in and hugs me tightly. She says, “Shh…shh…shhh. It will be alright, Hon. We need to get your Mom on the phone right away, though. Do you know how to get in touch with her? I know she is in Europe.”

I nod and say with a sniffle, “I can send a 911-email—it…it…it’s our secret for emergencies.”

Forty minutes later, Mom is on a speakerphone with Angi and me. She is NOT happy, “I’ll KILL him. Angi, what can we do? Obviously, I’m going to have to get a lawyer to deal with Allen. But what about Vick? You said the implant is permanent?”

Angi sighs and says, “Well, yes; I can’t remove it. The way it all works is in a sense pretty simple. Everyone produces a certain enzyme called aromatase, even males. Aromatase does many things within the estrogen cycle, including converting testosterone into estrogen. The serum ramps up the body’s aromatase production and ensures that ALL testosterone in the body is converted to estrogen. Normally, the male body is programmed to ‘expect’ certain levels of testosterone after puberty—if it is low, it produces more—in this case, THAT is in turn converted causing more to be produced to make up for the lack…and so on. The implant simply forces the body to permanently create enhanced aromatase production centers. After a while, the body’s ‘expectations’ actually shift to maintaining healthy levels of estrogen by regulating testosterone production and converting it…”

I hear Mom’s heavy breathing on the phone… I am able to follow the conversation, I think. In other words, I am screwed.

Mom asks, “So, can this cycle be turned off? How do we get Vick back?”

Angi sighs again, “It is really tricky—and we can’t really get Vick completely back at this stage. Giving testosterone will only increase estrogen. There are aromatase inhibitors, but Pai…Vick’s body is now programmed to just increase aromatase to maintain the proper levels which mean giving higher and higher doses—it would be unhealthy to try and stop that cycle; likely impossible, anyway. In addition, for reasons I don’t fully understand yet, the effects of the implant are to actually increase the cells’ sensitivity to estrogen and decrease any residual sensitivity to testosterone—that is why FEMALE puberty is accelerated with the implant. The only real option is to block testosterone production…leaving Vick as he is now. An effeminate boy that will never complete puberty…”

Mom and I both gasp at the same time. I quietly cry.

Angi says, “And short of surgical removal of the testicles, Vick will have to stay on the blockers the rest of his life. The only other viable option…is to let Paige’s female puberty continue on…”

Mom growls, “Angi, how could this happen? How could you let it get so far?”

Angi cringes and says, “Obviously, Allen is very good. He was able to push the right buttons with Vick/Paige. He was completely able to keep me on the wrong track with his half-truths and seeming confirmations from Paige. Plus, for all my part in this, he also had your authorization to do it all. But why? What’s in it for him?”

I whisper, “Albert…”

Mom gasps and Angi gives me a funny look. Mom explains, “Vick is the heir to his father’s company. The current board is very traditional and very male-centric—true male chauvinists. That’s something that I am working REALLY hard on. Allen must think that with Vick out of the way, and after we marry, that it will put Albert in the perfect position…”

Angi shakes her head and says, “Well, it’s all very criminal what he has done, but it will be tricky to prove in court I’m afraid—at least enough so to actually hold him fully accountable…”

Mom says, “Let me talk with lawyer friends of mine—please don’t let on to him that we know anything about his scheme until I do, though. That goes for both of you, OK, Vick? Which means, for now, I’m going to have to keep calling you Paige. But what do YOU want to do about your future after I do? It won’t take me long to confer with them.”

My head is spinning… It is a total no-win situation… A true real-life ‘Kobayashi Maru’. Live out life as a girl…or as some sexless freak… I don’t want to be a girl; not that I have anything against girls, quite the contrary; the last weeks have shown it is not a BAD thing at all…I was just happy being a boy. I CERTAINLY don’t want to be a sexless freak, though…

I finally say, “I…I…I guess my only REAL option is to continue the course as Paige…”

Angi says, “Not so fast! I want to have some serious talks with you—honest ones this time. I want to make sure that, this time, you FULLY understand the consequences, OK? A week, or two, is not going to make a huge difference in terms of development at this point. So we will not do anything for the moment, and let things progress—it will help you fully decide. But before I let you commit to being Paige, we need to have some serious talks—and that includes you, too, Dawn. OK?”

Without thinking, I carefully wipe a tear to keep from smearing my mascara and nod—not that it matters at this point, since it has completely run down my face. Mom says, “I will be there tomorrow. I already booked my flight while we were talking and I am packing, as we speak… Allen can’t know that I am coming, though…he is SO going to pay for this.”

o~O~o

I finish out the rest of the day as if nothing had changed after I clean up my makeup. Oh, the girls know something is bothering me, but finally give up asking after I continuously just brush it off. I just need some time to process all of this.

Madame Pratt scolds me twice—and THAT gets my mind back on task. Trust me. You DON’T want that woman scolding you in that low, cold as sharpened steel voice that she uses. I immerse myself in ballet and cheerleading—fully concentrating only on the moves and tasks at hand. Drowning out every other thought.

That night, though, I have dreams. Most boys would call them nightmares—dreams of me turning into a girl. Me, though—I call them just…confusing…

The next morning, I get ready to go back to Angi’s office to wait for Mom to arrive. I do so like any other morning since coming—it is almost second-nature at this point. I am in a short sundress and perfectly made up as is usual for me now—the Pinks in my life would have it no other way. I am in four-inch stilettos and am walking down the path completely sure-footed in them—I don’t even notice the click-clack of the heels on the concrete anymore...it is just ‘normal’ now after all of the practice in them. My hair is pulled back into a tight braid—ready to be put into a bun for ballet later…

Angi gives me a tight girly hug as I come in and asks, “How did you sleep, Hon? You look great, by the way—I know this is hard for you.”

I sigh, sweep my dress and sit down, crossing my legs like it has been drilled into me over the past five weeks. I say, “I slept OK, I guess. I had…confusing dreams. Dreams about me turning into a girl…”

Angi nods and asks, “And how did they make you feel? I know you already said confused—anything else?”

I slowly nod and say, “Mad, I think is a good word. I never asked for this Angi—not really… How could it happen? How could Allen DO this?”

She shakes her head and says, “Let’s wait on your Mom and we’ll talk more about that. Tell me about being mad…you realize that yesterday you said you wanted to proceed with being Paige? Being mad about that is not a good start on the rest of your life.”

I shake my head and say, “I don’t have any option, now do I Angi? I mean, in reality? If I don’t go through with the full transition, I will be this…this…freak…for the rest of my life. A perpetual boy that looks like he should be a girl… I think I’m not so mad about becoming a girl; not really. I mean, ultimately it’s no better or worse than being a boy… I am mad at the situation…at being deceived…violated…”

Angi nods and says, “Well, I will continue to work on a way to reverse the effects of the serum if you want to wait—but I can’t promise that I will be successful. It has taken YEARS and a lot of money to get the serum to work as well as it does. And, like I said, I don’t fully understand some of the effects, yet.”

At that moment, Francie brings Mom into the office.

Mom takes a look at me and gasps. She asks, “Vick…Paige…Vick?”

I get up and go give her a girly hug, like I am now so used to doing to other girls. I feel…tall in my heels compared to what I am used to with her. I take a tissue and carefully wipe the tears from my eyes. I say, “Hi Mom. I am SO glad to see you.” I fight more tears REALLY hard.

Angi comes over and limply shakes Mom hand. She says, “I’m glad you made it, Dawn. We have a lot to discuss…”

She squeezes me in a tighter hug and says, “Yes, we do. I need some real explanations—I still don’t understand how all of this could have happened… And I can’t believe how you look—if I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I would never have believed you could look like such a beautiful girl.”

We sit and Angi pours Mom a cup of coffee. She takes a deep breath and says, “Well, as you know, it actually started when Vick was brought into the clinic after his accident. Of course, my clinic specializes in transgender issues, but we are fully accredited for basic medical treatments—like any other medical clinic in the state. Vick was brought in because it was an emergency and we are the closest clinic of any kind to the school. It is not uncommon for students to be brought to us…”

Mom nods. She knows that part.

Angi takes a sip of coffee and continues, “Allen came in right behind Vick and seemed a little surprised to find out about our true mission… You were held up in traffic and he started telling me that Vick had earlier confided in him that he was transgendered—but was afraid to tell you. He told me that he was afraid that Vick would wind up hurting himself—that the reason that he took so many chances in rough sports was because he WANTED to get hurt.”

Mom gasps and sort of growls. My head is spinning…

Angi continues, “I told him that I had a test that we could administer to get a better gauge of Vick’s status after we got him through the worst of the concussion. I told him it was a modified version of a common transgender test that is fully validated and very accurate in its assessment. He was very adamant that I not say anything to you, since Vick had confided in him alone. That isn’t uncommon and so I didn’t really think anything of it.”

She pauses and takes another sip, “Of course, my plan was to talk with you after the I got the results of the test, but you weren’t available—and Allen had a full medical power of attorney. He also was very convincing that he was keeping you informed and that you were fine with all of this. I had no reason to doubt to him.”

Mom looks at her, pale-faced, and asks, “So, how did Vick…Paige—oh, HELL, I don’t even know what to call my own child, anymore!”

I squeeze Mom’s hand and say, “Just stick with Paige, for now. I am totally used it to it after the last few weeks.”

Mom grimly nods but gives me a weak smile and looks back at Angi, “So, how did PAIGE pass this supposedly fool-proof test of yours?”

Angi says, “Now, that I don’t know. There is not really a pass/fail, in that sense. It gives a score based on the answers provided and shows where the individual is on the transgender spectrum. What the girls at camp commonly call a ‘perfect score’ actually is 750 points out of 750 possible. It rarely ever happens. That score is certainly not perfect, though. It signals grave danger on the part of the participant if immediate action isn’t taken—that score is only possible if the participant is so distraught over their need to transition that they are suicidal.”

I shake my head emphatically, ‘no’. I say, “I certainly have not wished to transition—ever. I have also never been suicidal or distraught over not being able to do so. Allen gave me the answers to your test and quizzed me on them until I had them down cold. Of course, I thought they were really weird questions for an entrance exam, but he had me so paranoid about having to stay at the clinic if I didn’t pass the test into your ‘creative’ camp that I wasn’t thinking straight at all—plus, I was still affected by my concussion at the time, I think.”

Angi nods, “You certainly were. And I was so concerned over your score—and the accounts that Allen gave me about you that I was likely not thinking the best either. I was WORRIED about you. The only other time I have seen that score—or one even close for that matter—was with Francie. We barely were able to save her before it was too late…”

Mom says, “But that still doesn’t explain how Allen got the answers…”

Angi says, “I suppose he could have somehow gotten them off of the server. It isn’t like they are hugely safe-guarded behind the firewall—and he was at the clinic enough to get to them if he is fairly computer savvy.”

Mom nods and says, “He’s more than ‘fairly’ computer-savvy… So, let me get this straight. Because of a freak accident, Vick is brought in to a transgender clinic with a concussion that has muddled his mind. Allen figures this out and hatches a scheme to get him accepted as a transgendered patient, steals the answers to a specialized psychological profile questionnaire, convinces Vick to use them to get accepted and dupes all of us?”

Angi says, “That is close—he also found out about the experimental treatment program and insisted on using that because of the severity of the score. He promised to help continue to fund the experiment through the family corporation and that you were both fully on board with that course. That about sums it up.”

Mom looks at me and asks, “Do you still have the answer sheet that Allen gave you?”

I shake my head and say, “No, he took it to ‘quiz’ me and I never got it back after the test.”

Mom says, “He is too good to have left any evidence behind in your system—it isn’t like he would have had to do any major hacking from what you’re saying anyway… We could take this to court, but it would be our word against his. I will take it up with Sheila, my head lawyer, but I think we’ll need more to effectively go after him. In the meantime, I would appreciate it if neither of you let on to him that we know about his scheme. V….PAIGE, I know that will be hard. Trust me – it will be really hard on me, too.”

I feel a steely resolve settle over me and say, “No, Mom—it’s fine. I can handle it.”

Angi says, “Of course I won’t let on. I want to get the bastard as much as you do—he has used me and made us all into utter fools! But, more importantly, he has hurt Paige and that isn’t acceptable!”

Mom nods, “So…what do we do about ‘Paige’?”