CHAPTER FOUR
We four girls (yes, I seemed to have banished any thought that I was a boy) gathered at Melodie’s house on the day after Christmas. Her parents were hosting a “Boxing Day” celebration; her parents were first generation Irish and carried on the old British and Irish tradition of celebrating the day after Christmas holiday with a feast. In the tradition of the O’Donnell family, various relatives and friends would stop by for baked ham, mincemeat pie and a concoction called Brandy Butter that is composed of brandy, butter, and sugar.

There were so many people milling about the house that I was accepted as just one of Melodie’s girlfriends. Melodie eventually moved the four of us into her room for a “girls only” party where we gossiped, giggled and told of our Christmas gifts. The other three girls were particularly excited about my gifts and I had to describe each of them with great detail.

“You’ve got to come in for the model audition with me, Teddy,” Melodie pleaded. “I don’t wanna go alone. Come with me, girl. I know Stephanie wants you.”

“I’m still kind of scared to try out, you know,” I replied.

“We know, but you ought to,” Heather said. “I just know you’ll get it.”

I looked at Mitzi, who smiled and nodded her head, as if to encourage me. “Well, mom is going to call Stephanie tomorrow to set up an appointment. Then she wants to tell her the truth about me and see if she still wants me,” I said.

“She shouldn’t do that, Theodora. No one would ever mistake you for a boy,” Melodie said.

“Mom says we should be honest about this,” Mitzi explained. “Besides Theodora still has to return to school in a few days as a boy.”

“Do you want to model, Teddy,” Heather asked.

“Yes, if Stephanie still wants me,” I said, less than enthusiastically. The prospect of parading in front of camera crew in girl clothes excited me but I was scared that I’d be found out.

“Cool,” Heather said.

It was sweet that the other girls took such great joy in me being chosen over them as a potential model. They were all my BFFs.

*****
In the two short years since Stephanie Usher had founded Suzie’s Teen Fashions the store had become a thriving enterprise with growing online trade; Ms. Usher had linked her store with a major online provider and was able to market her goods using “Suzie’s Teens” as a trade name. In setting up the appointment with Ms. Usher, mom had learned that the store’s new online opportunities made the use of models even more important.

“Your daughter appears to have a natural look that the camera might really like, Mrs. Rushing,” Stephanie had told mom when mom called her on the day after Christmas.

Mom told the store owner that she was reluctant to have her daughter model, explaining that I was a good student and still pretty young. “I don’t want to have anything interfere with her studies,” mom explained.

After Stephanie assured her that she would schedule the modeling assignments with a full understanding of my schoolwork needs, mom agreed to schedule the interview for the third day after Christmas to discuss my modeling possibilities.

Mom and I argued over how I should be dressed for the interview with mom insisting I should be dressed as a boy; I thought I should be dressed as a girl, in the more casual skirt and blouse outfit that I had received at Christmas. I felt so soft and feminine in that outfit, like a typical teen schoolgirl. In the end, mom agreed, realizing that if I were to come in for the interview as a boy it might be cause Stephanie Usher to dismiss me without any further discussion.

I put on the skirt and blouse combination topping it off with a cardigan sweater. Because of the cold, I had to borrow one of Mitzi’s older coats; it was a blue-gray model with a hood.

“You’re so adorable in that, Teddy,” my sister Mitzi said.

I was shivering as mom and I drove to the mall for our interview with Stephanie Usher. It was a frigid morning with near zero temperature readings, but my shivers were likely due more to my apprehension to the coming interview. Mom was going to tell Ms. Usher that I was a boy. The other woman’s reactions, I’m sure, would be sheer anger, coupled with disgust and perhaps even violence. She was a large, strong woman, I knew.

I was somewhat reassured since I knew Melodie and her mother were scheduled to meet with Stephanie shortly before our interview. Melodie had gotten over her first embarrassment at being told she’d be an ideal candidate to model plus sizes. I had noticed in my continual browsing of fashions on the internet that the young ladies who modeled the plus sizes were rarely obese; most were large framed girls who were in top physical shape with lovely faces.

“You should be flattered to be asked,” I told Melodie one day after school, having shown her pages and pages of plus size models. I think that helped her to take a more positive view of the prospect.

Mom and I got to the store about five minutes before the appointment time and we were surprised that the store was already crowded with teen girls and a few adults checking out post-Christmas sales. Others, we noticed, were returning clothes they’d obviously gotten for gifts and didn’t fit. We knew Stephanie Usher was busy in her office interviewing Melodie and her mom and we waited patiently. As we waited, I checked out some of the offerings on the racks. A girl has to shop, doesn’t she?

Melodie was all smiles when she and her mother left Stephanie’s office. She spied me immediately and rushed over, hugging me, almost lifting me off my feet in her enthusiasm. “I’m a model. Can you believe it? Fat ol’ me,” she gushed.

“I told you, Melodie, didn’t I? You’re perfect for it,” I told her, giving her a congratulatory kiss on the cheek.

Melodie’s mom was smiling, too. I liked Mrs. Kersten and she always treated me warmly; besides, she usually had a plate of freshly baked cookies awaiting my visits. Her specialty was chocolate chip oatmeal cookies; lots of people made them, but for some reason Mrs. Kersten’s were special. I’ve been meaning to ask about her secret so I could try to make them. Melodie’s mom was a social worker and she knew that I had dressed occasionally in girl’s clothes. In fact, I learned that mom had also called her when she discovered my crossdressing habit. Mrs. Kersten never encouraged me to dress, but I think she understood. She, of course, didn’t know about the times Melodie and I hugged, kissed and made awkward attempts at lesbian love-making.

“Now it’s your turn, Theodora. Good luck. It’d be great to have both you and Melodie modeling,” Mrs. Kersten said.

*****
Stephanie Usher was all smiles when mom and I entered her office.

“Thank you for coming, Theodora and Mrs. Rushing,” she said upon greeting us. “I was worried because I thought that you, Theodora, wasn’t too excited about modeling clothes. Guess that’s natural for a tomboy.”

I suppressed a giggle. I was hardly a tomboy, but then Stephanie had seen me in boy clothes when I first entered the store on that eventful Saturday several weeks earlier.

“Teddy is hardly a tomboy, Miss Usher,” mom said immediately.

“Well, whatever, I’m just glad she’s willing to try. She’s lovely and I think she’s photogenic, too, but we will audition her with our photographer and marketing professionals for final approval. Now I need to go over some specifics with you, Mrs. Rushing, since Theodora is a minor. I want to assure you that we will follow all the rules affecting the employment of teens and we want you to fully understand what Theodora’s responsibilities are.”

Mom held up her hand, stopping Stephanie from going on with what appeared to be a long litany involving the details of the modeling work.

“Wait, before you go any further, Miss Usher, I need to make you aware of something,” mom said firmly.

“Oh?” Stephanie asked, puzzled.

Mom hesitated before she continued, probably reframing the words she was going to use. Finally, she said, “First of all, his name is Theodore Michael Rushing and he is a boy.” She emphasized the words “his” and “he.”

Stephanie looked at me and shook her head. “No, no, no. It can’t be, but she . . . oh my God . . . she seems so naturally feminine?”

I looked down at the floor, unwilling to meet her eyes. I waited for Stephanie to shout out in rage, to accuse me of lying and making a fool of her. But no explosion came.

“You should understand now why Teddy can’t model for you, Miss Usher. He had no right to accept your invitation.”

But Stephanie just laughed, a joyous, almost raucous laugh.

“What’s so funny?” mom asked. We were both mystified by Stephanie’s strange reaction.

I looked up. Stephanie was all smiles.

“Let me show you something,” she said, turning in her chair. She leaned down toward the credenza behind her and pulled something out of a drawer.

She handed mom a framed color photograph. I only got a glimpse of it and it appeared to be a picture of a young man in a football uniform. Mom looked puzzled and handed it to me. The young man stood straight and tall, cradling a football helmet in his right arm. He had long blonde hair and the young man looked unhappy. His green, gold and white uniform had the words “NDSU” with the number “53” emblazoned underneath.

I looked from the picture to see Stephanie watching me closely. “You?” I asked.

Stephanie smiled, “Yes, me.”

“But, but . . .” I mumbled, incredulous that the strikingly beautiful lady before me was the young man in the photograph.

“Yes, I’m a transgendered woman, Theodora, and Mrs. Rushing, I think I can understand what your son . . . or shall we say for now, anyway, your daughter . . . is going through,” she said.

She explained she was born Steven Usher Horning in a small North Dakota town that was a breeding ground for top football players; her dad, a former football star, had groomed young Steven to follow in his footsteps. “He had me up an hour early every morning to put me through fitness programs. Because I was always a big girl . . .” she paused, smiling.

“Anyway, to make a long story short, I became quite good as a linebacker, making all-state in both my junior and senior years and winning a full-ride at North Dakota State to play for the Bison.”

“I’ve heard of the Bison,” I said. “They’re usually pretty good, aren’t they?”

“You bet, and I made all-conference in my freshmen year and my dad saw fat NFL contracts coming, but I hated it. I didn’t like hitting people, though I had fooled myself for a long time. I quit football, lost my scholarship and moved to Minneapolis and eventually here.”

“So you gave up a lot to transition, Miss Usher?” mom asked.

She nodded. “Mainly I lost my family. Dad still won’t talk to me, though mom calls me when she can and one of my two sisters lives nearby and we see each other.”

“Would you do it again?” mom asked.

“It’s been difficult and I wouldn’t urge any young man to consider doing it, but I had to do it, or else face terrible unhappiness, and no, I will not encourage Theodore to follow in my footsteps. I’ll be hiring him to model for me, period. He’ll be paid well and we’ll make sure it does not screw up his schoolwork.”

Mom was silent for a moment; she looked at me and smiled. She reached over and touched my arm. “You know, Teddy, I really don’t want to hurt you, but I’m beginning to think this is not such a good idea.”

“But mom, you got me all those clothes,” I protested.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” mom said, now looking at Stephanie. “It’s so hard to know what to do. I wish my Stanley was here now.”

I began to cry. Mom, of course, was referring to dad; I knew she continued to miss him, even though he had been gone for five years.

“Look, Mrs. Rushing, I do not want to press you now,” Stephanie said. “I too want to make sure that Theodore, or if you wish, Theodora, does what is best. So, if you’re not ready for him . . . or her . . . to model now, that’s fine. Do you want a few days more to consider?”

“Give me a few minutes with Teddy, would you please?” mom asked, suggesting that Stephanie leave us in private.

Stephanie smiled and got up from her chair. “I’ve got to check up front anyway,” she said, indicating the retail store.

Mom’s basic questions involved whether I truly wanted to model girls’ clothes. “It just exposes you to all sorts of problems, mainly your safety, Teddy,” mom said.

“I know, mom, and I’m scared, too.”

“You know how you got teased and bullied in middle school,” she reminded me.

“Yes, mom, but no one’s bothered me at Madison high,” I said.

“You know they’ll soon find out your modeling as a girl, and you know how some teens can be.”

“But look at Stephanie, she seemed to go through transition OK,” I said.

“Yes, look at her, dear,” mom began. “She was a star football player, big and strong, and she could defend herself. You’re not very strong, honey.”

I nodded. Mom was correct.

Finally, mom asked the ultimate question. “Do you want to be a girl, Teddy? To live your whole life as a girl and then a woman? It won’t be easy.”

“I don’t know, mom. I don’t really know, but I keep thinking I already am a girl,” I said.

“You’re only fourteen, so maybe we don’t need to answer that question yet.”

I smiled at mom. I had decided about modeling. “Mom, let me model, please.”

Mom leaned over and kissed me. “OK, my darling, if that’s what you want, I’ll say OK for you to model. Let’s call Stephanie back in and we’ll sign the papers.”

*****
Stephanie handed a sheet of paper to mom, explaining it was a permission slip needed by the state to hire children. 
 
“Here, I have signed it already, and Mrs. Rushing you’ll have to sign and date the bottom,” she explained.
 
Mom looked at the paper, taking time to read it and then nodded her head.  “I see it uses Teddy’s boy’s name,” mom said.
 
“Of course, Mrs. Rushing.  That’s his legal name, isn’t it?”
 
“Yes, it is.”
 
I felt mom was about to balk at signing the paper, but to my surprise she went ahead and signed it, using her precise writing style.  Mom was one of those few people whose signature on checks and other items was totally legible, “Patricia J. Rushing.”
 
“I sure hope I’m doing the right thing,” she said, handing the paper back to Stephanie.

“Oh mom, you are, and I love you so.”

Stephanie was smiling broadly, obviously warmed by the atmosphere of love exhibited between mom and myself. She said, “Mrs. Rushing, I know there may be some difficulties ahead for her, but your Theodora seems like a strong and determined young lady. And, believe me, I’ll make sure she’s not going to be embarrassed or hurt in every way I can.”

“I know you will Miss Usher, but I know there’ll be other girls modeling, too, and there’ll be other parents there, too,” mom said.

“Yes, of course, we’ll be picking five girls out of ten, and I can almost guarantee that your daughter will be one of the five,” Stephanie said. “And your friend Melodie almost assured to be one of the girls modeling our special styles. It’s hard to find big girls who can successfully model these clothes, but Melodie seems perfect.”

“Will they know about Teddy’s situation?” mom asked. “And how will she be able to change outfits without being betrayed as to her gender?”

In my joy of being told I’d likely be able to model, I had forgotten about the obvious complications that might arise due to me gender. While my penis shamed me because it was tiny compared to other boys, I knew it might bulge out a bit, particularly if it was stimulated. And then, I was worried about how I could change without exposing my boyhood.

“I see no reason to inform the others about Theodora’s situation,” Stephanie replied. “You know our models are always identified only by their first names and we have little cubicles for the girls to change in.”

I could tell mom was a bit skeptical.

“Maybe there’ll be girls from her school and they might recognize her,” she said.

“None of the other girls are from Madison or from Hudson Middle School, where your daughter attended. Except of course, your friend Melodie, but then she knows about you, right Theodora?”

“Yes, and she wanted me to model,” I nodded.

“Besides the furthest the girls will be exposed is to their panties and bras and your daughter has such a soft and naturally feminine body I can’t imagine anyone seeing any ‘boy’ in her.”

Being called naturally feminine and soft excited me. If I were a real boy, I should have been hurt to be regarded for my lack of masculinity. I felt my penis growing hard at the realization that I was almost a natural female. I tried to withstand the excitement running through me, fearful that I might suddenly have to ejaculate. I began to rock back and forth, trying desperately to keep it in check so that neither mom nor Stephanie noticed.

“And I’ve got a little aid for you, Theodora, just in case,” Stephanie said.

“What’s that?” I said, thankful that my feeling of excitement was ebbing and my penis was softening.

“It’s called a gaff. I’ve got some in stock for our special girls and I’ll give you a couple before you leave today,” she said, smiling.

“A gaff? What’s that? It sounds ominous,” Mom asked.

“It’s like a string bikini bottom except it’s made of sterner material and is used to hide the male appendage for special girls like Theodora here,” she explained.

“Will it hurt?” I asked.

“It might be a little uncomfortable at first, but you’ll get used to it,” Stephanie said. “I used gaffs to hide mine until I had my surgery. Best of all, you’ll have a nice, girlish flat front, which is needed for some of the tighter-fitting garments.”

I could see mom growing a bit more satisfied with the situation, even though I knew she would continue worry about my safety.

Stephanie explained that my next step would be to visit the studio of the photographer where I’d meet the head seamstress for measurements and the art director for the photo shoot. The three of them would have the final say about whether I was fit to audition for the shoot, she said.

“Now before I direct you to the photo studio, let me ask you one more question,” she said.

“What’s that?” mom asked.

“How committed are to the name Theodora?” Stephanie turned to look directly at me.

“Why?”

“Well, it’s an awkward name to use should we put on a runway show, which we’re planning in March. I like something a little shorter, that’s all. It’s not important if it bothers you to change.”

I looked at mom and she muttered, “It’s up to you, dear.”

“It was just a name my friends gave me at the spur of the moment. I didn’t really choose Theodora,” I said.

“Have you had any ideas about another name?” she asked.

I thought for a moment. I had always admired Emma Watson who played Hermione in the Harry Potter series; in fact, I had sometimes fantasized that if I was a girl I wanted to be like her.

“Emma?” I said, not certain that was an ideal name for a fashion model.

“Perfect,” Stephanie said with a smile.

I was almost giddy with excitement as mom and I left Stephanie’s office, carrying a package with several gaffs. I spied Melodie and her mother, still in the store; they were awaiting us, since the both of us were scheduled to go to the photo studio for our final approvals.

“You’re in?” Melodie asked, coming up to hug me.

“Yes, I think so,” I said as she again lifted me partly off the floor. She’s strong, that girl is!

“And, I said, call me Emma.”

*****
We spent the rest of the morning in the studio, first being measured by the head seamstress, who muttered the word “lovely” as she ran the tape on my body, covering virtually every possible angle. She otherwise said nothing as she worked. Each of us were asked to try on two outfits and then we stood to pose for several shots. The photographer, a long-haired, goateed young man, seemed particularly enamored as I posed, so much so that he asked if her could take a few “glamour” shots of me. He promised to send me some prints.

The art director was more critical, however, and yelled harshly that I should reposition my head or to take what she called my “sickly smirk” off my face. I found it impossible to please the woman who was most unpleasant, even though she was not too old and truly quite attractive. I feared I might be cut.

Melodie also agreed that the art director was mean, going even to the point of saying she looked like a cow waiting to be milked. “I wanted to belt her one,” Melodie said. “But the others seemed to like me.”

The following day, Melodie and I both received calls from Stephanie telling us we were accepted as models and that our first assignment would be soon.

*****
The local Lions Club, along with several of the city’s banks, sponsored an annual New Year’s Eve party specifically for teens. For entry, kids were supposed to bring a piece of clean clothing as a donation to homeless children in the area. After that, everything was free, the soda and punch, hot dogs, pizza and a cake that was to be ignited at ten o’clock, two hours before the midnight time of the Central Time Zone. It was a necessity due to the city’s curfew for teens sixteen and under. As was the custom, a giant screen was set up to view a network television broadcast of the midnight celebration of the New Year in San Juan, Puerto Rico.

To keep the party alcohol and drug free, Lions Club volunteers policed the dance heavily. They’d beefed up security after the 1999 party in which a half gallon of vodka was dumped surreptitiously into the fruit punch. The prank almost caused the Lions to consider ending the event.

Since then, there’d been no major incidents and for the most part bored the senses of the juniors and seniors. The Lions tried to entice the older students by booking top local entertainers, but the event now was attended almost exclusively by freshman and sophomore high schoolers.

As Theodore Rushing, I would never have attempted to attend such a social event; I knew I was too wimpy a boy and that no girl would look twice at me. Plus, I had no boys who would want to go with me. “I just wasn’t cool enough,” I figured.

It was Heather who suggested that we go to the New Year’s Party when us four girls got together at our house on the day after Melodie and I had both been accepted to model for Suzie’s Teen Fashions. My sister Mitzi was just ecstatic over the fact that her little sister had been fully accepted by the three final judges as a girl; they had not been informed that pretty little Emma Rushing was in fact a boy.

“That photographer called Emma the daintiest girl of the ten who auditioned,” Melodie gushed. “He said little Emma would sell lots of clothes for Suzie’s.”

We spent much of the afternoon in Mitzi’s bedroom giggling about their new girlfriend, Emma. They forced me to try on all sorts of outfits and then do a mock runway showing; I think I did a pretty good imitation of models strutting their stuff. Heather made much of my new breasts, smallish and perfect for a late developing fourteen-year-old girl. She was small-breasted as well and was somewhat shamed to be in the company of the more buxom Melodie and my amply endowed sister.

“You don’t seem to have any trouble attracting boys, Heather,” Melodie said. “That Barry guy seems enamored with you.”

Heather blushed. “He asked if we were going to the Lions Club party. I said I wasn’t sure. It depends on my girlfriends, I told him.”

“We should go girls,” My sister said enthusiastically. I giggled at the suggestion and they all looked at me.

“She thinks that Leo will be there,” I tattled on her. Mitzi stuck her tongue out at me as if to show she was mad, but I knew secretly she liked being sought-after by the tall, slender boy.

“Oh, he’s cute,” Heather gushed.

“That’s such a boring party,” Melodie said, obviously hoping to stifle the enthusiasm of the other girls, largely because she feared no boy would seek her out.

“Maybe Jeremy will be there,” I volunteered.

“Why would he? He’s a junior and juniors don’t show up at such a boring party with us kids,” she retorted.

“Some juniors do show up,” I said. Jeremy Sparks was a husky kid who played on the offensive line of the football team; despite his formidable size and athletic ability, Jeremy was painfully shy around girls. He and Melodie had been longtime neighborhood chums, having attended grade school, middle school and now high school together. The two had never dated formally, but Melodie had confessed to me that she would be open to doing so.

“He’ll show up if he knows you’ll be there, Melodie,” my sister added.

We finally convinced Melodie to text Jeremy, indicating she might be at the Lions Club party. We forced her to do it while we were still there. Almost instantly, she burst into a smile; she passed her phone around for all to see the words, “If u there, I will be 2 – Jere”

“Jere? You two must be chummy,” Heather said, laughing. We all hugged Melodie and a lot of giggles followed.

“Aren’t we forgetting Emma?” Melodie said finally.

“Oh, she won’t have any trouble attracting a boy,” Mitzi said.

It was then I realized the absurdity of me going to the party as a girl. A lot of kids who knew me as Ted Rushing at school would certainly figure out my charade.

“I can’t go, somebody recognize me,” I protested.

“No don’t worry, you can go as my cousin Emma from Grover Cleveland High across town,” Mitzi suggested.

I smiled at the prospect, but still didn’t think it was a good idea. “You girls can go. I’ll stay home and watch the ball come down on Times Square with mom.”

“Mom won’t be home on New Year’s Eve. She’ll be out with her new boyfriend,” Mitzi said.

“No, you’re coming with us, Emma,” Heather pressed. “Barry texted me and said he’d be there. And, Emma, his friend Curtis will be coming, too. He really wants to hook up with you.”

Now I knew why Heather wanted us to go to the party so badly; she was eager to link up with her Barry.

“How about it, sis?” Mitzi asked.

“Come on, Emma. The future Miss America can’t stay at home on New Years’ Eve,” Heather added.

How could a girl refuse such an invitation? I was going to the party, regardless of the consequences. I couldn’t disappoint Curtis, could I?

*****
About 10 a.m. on the morning of December 31, I got a call from Stephanie Usher, telling me to plan on doing a photo shoot on the second weekend in January. “Plan to work a full eight hours on Saturday, beginning at 9 a.m.,” she said. “You’ll be modeling at least 20 different outfits and it’ll be exhausting so make sure you get lots of sleep the night before. And, if we don’t finish, we’ll have to work Sunday afternoon.”

“Wheeee!,” I exclaimed, pleased that I’d actually be modeling.

“Don’t get too excited, Emma. You’ll be worn out at the end of the day and sometimes our photographer and art director can get pretty nasty if you’re not at the top of your form.”

“OK, thanks for warning me, Stephanie.”

I hung up the phone, truly anxious to begin my modeling career. Ever since being accepted a few days earlier, I had been rehearsing how I’d walk, pose and smile before the camera, using the full-length mirror in mom’s bedroom. Of course, I had practiced poses in each one of my outfits and a few of Mitzi’s as well.

When Mitzi or mom were around, they helped coach me. I couldn’t help but be impressed with how girlish I had become.

*****
Mitzi fussed over what I was to wear for the Lions Club party, almost to neglecting her own preparation.

“I want my little sister to be the prettiest girl at the party,” she said.

“Mitzi,” I protested. “You’re prettier than me. Really, you are.”

“False modesty, my dear. Now, let’s try on that gypsy skirt of yours,” she said, holding up a multi-colored fluffy skirt that ended in mid-thigh.

I was already in my navy-blue tights; they were of a heavy material necessary to protect my legs against the frigid temperatures of the mid-winter evening.

“Oh, those tights are adorable on you, Emma. They show off your legs,” Mitzi said.

“You like it, Mitzi?”

“Definitely, Emma. I’m really jealous of those legs of yours. Mine are too muscular and yours are so soft and slender.”

It’s true. My arms and legs showed no definition, while Mitzi, largely because she played lots of sports (she was on the school’s volleyball team), seemed to have developed firm, sinewy arms and legs. She rarely wore sleeveless dresses because she was embarrassed by her muscles.

After some debate, we chose a peach-colored blouse and a colorful vest for me. Mitzi kept my makeup light (after all I was only fourteen) and brushed my hair so that it hung straight with a bob. She had the hair frame my face. I borrowed one of her beige sandals with a two-inch heel to wear for the party. Because there was fresh snow on the ground, I knew I’d have to wear boots to get to and from the car and then change into the sandals that I carried in a tote bag. Ah, the life of a girl!

When I looked at the mirror, I wasn’t sure I liked it. “I look too showy,” I told my sister.

“Maybe a bit, but you are a vibrant girl,” Mitzi said. “It fits your character.”

“Shouldn’t I be a little less noticeable?” I asked. I truly didn’t want to draw attention to myself for obvious reasons.

“Truly, Emma, I can’t imagine anyone thinking you’re anything but a cute girl. Remember, that Pearson boy who saw you at the dance? He had no idea you were Teddy.”

“But it was dark in there that night.”

“And it’ll be dark at the Lions Club party, too, sister.”

In the end, I went along with Mitzi’s suggestion and wore the outfit to the dance. I have to admit that while I flitted about the house in the hour or so before we were to go I grew to like the outfit. I felt like a giddy, happy little girl as the skirt swished about over my legs in their black tights. I found myself examining my image in every single mirror in the house, partly to convince myself that there was no sign of a boy and also to admire how truly cute and lovely I was.

*****
The Lions Club Teen New Year’s Eve Party was held in the aging municipal arena; it was a huge structure that had been recently remodeled, even though it no longer housed the area’s professional basketball and hockey teams. Now it was used for special occasions, such as this one. Students from all of the area’s high schools were welcome to the event; entrants had to show their student IDs while students from out of the city would have to show their own school IDs and register.

Mrs. Kersten, Melodie’s mom, drove all four of us to the event, joining a long line of cars containing parents who were dropping their kids off. I saw school buses that apparently brought groups of kids from places like the Boys and Girls Clubs and the YWCA. The place would be mobbed.

“I’ll pick you all up here at 10:30 when it’s over. Just be patient, since there’ll be a line of cars,” Mrs. Kersten said.

We all joined together in saying, “Thank you, Mrs. Kersten,” acting like a class of first graders. We giggled as we stepped out of the car.

Mrs. Kersten laughed and said, “You girls have fun, but behave, all of you.”

I was pleased to be included in the words, “You girls.”

It took nearly ten minutes to get into the event, since we all had to go through checkpoints where our ID was checked with school roles by computers; then we all had to walked through metal detectors. We were permitted to keep our cellphones.

I frankly was worried about getting into the event, since my ID signified I was “Theodore” and “male.” As my friends kept assuring me, I certainly didn’t look to be male. In anticipation of such obstacles, mom had me see the psychologist two days earlier to begin discussing whether I was possibly transgender. After a forty-five-minute interview, the psychologist said she considered me a potential candidate for transgender status and recommended I dress as often as I could as a girl to test whether I in fact felt I was truly female. She also gave me a letter, attesting to the fact that “Theodore Rushing” occasionally dressed in female clothes as part of “his treatment protocol.”

Two security guards shunted me off to a side room. Mitzi attempted to go with me, telling the security guards that she was my sister, but she was told to “mind her own business.” I was greeted by stern-looking man in a business suit and a woman in a security guard’s uniform with sergeant stripes on her sleeve. They had me sit down in front of her desk, while the man stood behind her, arms folded, looking incredulously at me. She looked at my ID and at the psychologist’s letter, shook her head and handed it to the man.

“Looks like we got a sissy boy here, sergeant,” he said, shaking his head to signify his disgust.

I wanted to cry. I was scared stiff and wanted to turn and run outside and never come back. How humiliated I felt. I sat stiffly in the chair, hands folded on my lap, with my legs together and feet planted flat on the floor. I must have looked like a frightened little girl.

“I guess he or she . . . whatever . . . is one of those trannies, or something,” she said.

“I’m not sure this boy or girl or it should go into the dance. Sets a bad example for other kids,” he said, his look of disgust deepening on his face.

Just then there was a knock, followed by the door springing open and the appearance of a tall, older man who seemed to exude authority. “Let me talk to you, Walter,” the man addressed the man who was mocking me. There followed some whispers between the two, with the man who had been belittling me nodding his head in agreement.

“You’re free to go, young lady,” the man who had been called Walter said. He didn’t seem happy about it.

Just then I burst into tears; I rushed out of the room into the arms of Melodie who gathered me into her. Soon, Mitzi and Heather gathered with us creating a joyful group hug.

“You should have seen Melodie,” my sister said. “She was furious when they carted you away and wouldn’t let me explain things.”

“Yeah, she demanded to see the guy in charge, threatening to go to the ACLU or ‘Contact 12’ to sue them for discrimination,” Heather explained further. Contact 12 was a project of Television Station WOMW (Channel 12) in which people call in to complain against unfair treatment by businesses or the government. It was quite popular and had shamed many arbitrary or dishonest persons for such transgressions.

I looked at Melodie, astonished. She had gotten to the “top guy” who must have been the man who entered the room and brought about my release.

“Thank you, Melodie,” I said, hugging her even harder.

“Your makeup has run,” Melodie said. “Let’s go to the girls’ room to fix it up.”

*****
Barry and his friend, Curtis, had no trouble locating Heather; she had texted him to inform him where to look for her in the massive crowd of teenagers. I noticed Curtis right away; he hung back behind his friend as Barry and Heather greeted each other. The two did not touch, but merely stood awkwardly, both apparently not sure what to say. Heather had told us that the two of them had met at a church camp where they kept the boys and girls strictly segregated, except for group sessions and a staid party on the last day. It was then she got to talk to Barry for the first time.

Heather introduced the rest of us and the two boys nodded. Curtis was a slender, tussle-haired boy a few inches taller than myself. He was not anything special to look at, but her looked sort of cute with a cowlick spoiling his otherwise well-combed blonde hair. Curtis was more neatly dressed than most of the boys in the room; obviously, his mother probably had taken extra care so that he was presentable.

“Hi,” I said, as Curtis moved close to me. It appeared I had to break the silence, since he obviously was too tongue-tied to do so.

“Hi,” he said.

For a moment, I stood there, speechless. How is a girl supposed to speak to a boy she never met before? We looked at each other and I could see Curtis was puzzled over what he was supposed to say to a girl. I relished the moment, knowing that it should be up to the boy to open the conversation. Never had I felt better about being a girl, since I no longer had to lead in a relationship. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for poor Curtis and if the place hadn’t been so dark, I’m sure I would have seen him blush.

“Nice of you to come,” I said, realizing immediately how stupid the remark was.

“I wanted to see you again after that morning at the mall,” he said. “But, I thought your name was Theodora.”

“Oh that. That was just Heather clowning around. My girlfriends call me that sometimes, just teasing, I guess. It’s my middle name.”

“Emma’s a nice name. It was my great-grandma’s name,” he blurted out.

“Thank you, and Curtis is a nice name, too,” I replied.

The boy seemed flustered. “I shouldn’t have said that. Y’know, about being my grant-grandma’s name.”

“Why not?” I asked, smiling back at him. “Nothing wrong with an old-fashioned name, though lots of girls are Emma these days.”

“I go to Grover Cleveland,” he said, trying to salvage the conversation.

“I go to Madison, just a freshman.”

“Oh, I’m sophomore.”

Curtis never left my side the rest of the evening. We didn’t dance much, largely because neither one of us felt comfortable on the dance floor. Our first dance together had been somewhat of a disaster; it was a slow one and he seemed afraid to get too intimate with me, holding me at almost arm’s length as we stumbled together on the floor, bumping into other people with Curtis always being apologetic. After a couple of bumbling dances, I took command of the situation and drew him closer to me so that our bodies touched and soon we began dancing more smoothly together, both gathering confidence on the dance floor.

“That’s the first time I ever danced with a girl, except when we had to in 6th Grade,” Curtis said.

“I never danced much, either, but I think we both did OK after a while,” I said.

“I guess, but I’m sorry I hit your toes so often.”

“You’re sweet. Do you want to sit the next one out?”

Curtis was obviously pleased by my suggestion. I was exhausted from all the exercise. He smiled and took my hand and led me off the floor. For some reason, feeling my small right hand wrapped in his slender but firm hand was intoxicating; we found a spot on the second level balcony where it was quiet and we could look out upon the arena floor to watch the others dance.

“Oh, there’s Melodie,” I observed. She was hard to miss since her partner was Jeremy. He was a mountain of a boy who towered over the rest. I was so happy for her that Jeremy had shown up.

“And look at Barry with your friend Heather,” Curtis said. The two of them were exhibiting some creative moves on the floor; they appeared to be natural partners.

I saw my sister, Mitzi, standing next to Leo Higgins at the corner of the dance floor; the two seemed to be in a most intimate conversation. It tickled me that Leo showed up and the two were able to link up. I marveled at the thought that all four of us girls had partners for the night.

Once we were settled in the balcony, Curtis began talking, quickly losing the awkwardness that had featured our first hour together. He admitted to never having had a girlfriend, but I told him that wasn’t weird, as he seemed to think it was.

“After all, you’re just fifteen, right?” I asked.

“Yes, and you, fourteen?”

“Mom doesn’t want me to date yet. In fact, if my cousin Mitzi hadn’t insisted on having me come I wouldn’t be here. She’s supposed to keep an eye on me.”

“She’s not doing a very good job of that,” Curtis laughed, looking down on the floor in the direction of where Mitzi and Leo were chatting.

“I’m not going to do anything bad,” I volunteered, followed by giggle.

*****
I felt bad as the conversation continued, since I had to lie to Curtis. He was a sincere, caring boy who deserved the truth about me, but I couldn’t dare tell him the truth. Since he went to a different school there’s a good chance I’d never see him again; I figured I’d let him enjoy the experience of having a girlfriend, even if it was for one night.

Though slim, Curtis was a strong young man. I could feel his sinewy arms as we danced. He had long fingers that were well-manicured, rare among boys his age. His name was Curtis Ericsson and he told me he lived with his single mother and a younger sister; he ran cross country and played the piano in the school orchestra.

After probing, he admitted to taking lessons at the Conservatory in classical piano and that he was to be a featured soloist in the City-wide Youth Orchestra’s concert in February.

“Tell me when. I want to hear you,” I gushed.

“Nah, don’t come. You’ll be bored.”

“I won’t be. I like some classical,” I said truthfully.

“Really? Not many girls I know care much for it,” he said smiling. “Do you have any favorite performers?”

I hesitated. I really did like classical music but I certainly wasn’t an expert on it. Finally, I blurted out, “Vladimir Horowitz.” It was a name I remembered seeing when Grandma Jean pulled out her old vinyl records. She used to play Horowitz a lot and I liked the excitement of his playing.

“Oh, he’s great, maybe the greatest,” Curtis said. When I told him about grandma’s collection of old Deutsche Gramophone albums, he grew excited.

Without thinking, I offered, “Maybe sometime my grandma would invite you and me over to hear some of them.”

“Would she?”

I nodded, knowing that Grandma Jean usually could be counted upon to accede to most of our requests. She spoiled Mitzi and me both rotten; we were her only grandchildren.

“I’ll get tickets for you for our concert,” he said.

“Can I bring my grandma?” I asked, knowing she’d love it.

I expected the Youth Orchestra would have a website and I knew I’d be looking it up when I got home. Curtis was a remarkable young man. Could I be in love?

We returned to the dance floor as the clock neared ten o’clock when the Lions Club Party would celebrate the coming New Year as we watched the New Years Eve revelers in San Juan, Puerto Rico on the two large screens.

“Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . Happy New Year.”

The band on stage broke into “Auld Lang Syne.” Curtis looked down at me, unsure what to do. I grabbed him in a hug and felt his arms surround me. It was an awkward hug at first, but soon Curtis had me engulfed in his long arms. I looked up at him and he down at me. We kissed, my first kiss with a boy. He was delicious.

“Did you make a wish?” Curtis asked me when we finally broke apart.

“Yes. Did you?”

“Of course, I’d like to tell you my wish, but I can’t or else it won’t come true,” he said. “It involves you, Emma.”

“You shouldn’t have, Curtis. I don’t know if we’ll ever see each other again.”

“Don’t say that? You’re special, Emma, really special.”

“Don’t push it Curtis. Please don’t count on me.”

He seemed mystified, but I knew I couldn’t promise him anything. After all I wasn’t real, was I?

“Please,” he pleaded.

“Well, if my wish comes true, maybe we’ll be together some day.”

“Happy New Year,” he said, kissing me again.

At that moment, as we celebrated the start of a brand-new year, something told me that I would be starting a brand-new life, a life that might include the shy, tousle-haired boy who held me in his arms.

When our kiss ended, I yelled out for all to hear, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”