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Part 2

My body slumped against the wall like a bag of laundry. The sound of distant rushing water roared in my ears. A sharp, searing pain resonated from the back of my head, and as I reached back I could feel a chalky substance fall from my hair. Somewhere, perhaps far away, perhaps closer, I heard a male voice yelling at me. A dull throbbing ache ran through my body, as I reached for the handle of the door.

"And that's all you remember?"

The husky voice of Doctor Brooks was something I wished I could forget. I peered past the intrusive light being flashed across my eyes. A pair of misty gray eyes gazed back at me; framed by wrinkles and cheap looking wire glasses. His eyebrows, peppered with gray like his hair, raised in a curious gesture. It was hard to hide my disdain, as my eyes sluggishly moved back to look at Tom.

"Then he brought me here," I said, deliberately trying to express my disapproval at coming back to this office.

"I thought it might be the medication," Tom said, running a hand over his brown burr-cut hair.

"Well it might be," Dr. Brooks said, standing over me now. "Especially considering it's happened twice now." His hands started gently combing away the hair at the spot I hit my head on the wall. "It's been known to cause drowsiness, fatigue, and sometimes dizziness."

"I don't remember being tired at all," I mumbled.

"Did you feel any pain beforehand?" Dr. Brooks asked, placing one hand firmly on my shoulder. "Soreness in your neck?"

His hand began to slowly massage my shoulder, making me shift uncomfortably. "No," I said quietly. "I don't remember anything." I looked at Tom with pleading eyes, but he seemed oblivious.

Doctor Brooks moved back around to sit across from me. "Are you having any other issues?" His hand now rested firmly over my knee, and I could feel his fingers start to drum at my thigh. "Moodiness? Loss of appetite?"

"None of that," I said, jerking my knee slightly.

Doctor Brooks smiled, and patted my thigh before he got back up. "Well we can adjust the dosage," he said, grabbing a clipboard. "I don't want to see this becoming worse."

I looked directly at Tom. "You didn't tell him?"

"Tell me what, dear?" Dr. Brooks asked.

"We've been…" Tom cleared his throat. "We're going to be looking for another specialist."

"Oh," Dr. Brooks said, trying unconvincingly to hide his disappointment. "I see." He started scribbling on the clipboard. "I don't blame you. Doctor Dinesh was good at what he did." He looked up at Tom. "I can send you a few recommendations, if you'd like?"

"That would help," Tom said.

"I'd hate to see you go though," Dr. Brooks said, as he genuinely looked upset at me. "Did you want me to cancel this appointment next week?"

"No," Tom said, much to my chagrin. "We might need to come back here one more time."

"Okay," Dr. Brooks said, smiling now. "I'll make a note here." He looked at me over the top of his glasses. "I don't think you have a concussion, but I suggest you take it easy for awhile." After a few quick scribbles on a pad, he handed me a note. "This will get you out of gym class, or anything strenuous." Then he clicked his pen. "Anything else, just call me at home Tom."

"Thanks," Tom said, nodding. "You ready kiddo?"

I really started to question how hard I hit my head now. Tom never called me "kiddo" before. Usually it was my name, or in the past, one of many insulting terms like "sissy" or "pansy." Sometimes it was simply, "get your ass in here." Lately he had been rather civil towards me, and it started to wear down my preconceptions about him. He no longer had a derogatory comment when he saw me dressed in female attire either.

"Are you hungry?" Tom asked, as we pulled away from the doctor's office.

"I'm starving," I said. "I was actually going to cook something before I passed out."

"Oh yeah?" Tom glanced at me. "Your mom been teaching you?"

"A little," I said.

"You like it?"

"It's fun I guess," I said, reluctantly. I braced myself for the inevitable insults to come flying my way.

"That's good," Tom said. "Better to learn it from her, at any rate. She's a far better cook than me. That's for sure." He glanced over at me again. "How's school?"

"Fine, I guess."

"You ever patch things up with… oh… what's her name…"

"Tiffany?"

"Yeah," Tom said. "How's Tiffany?"

"We're just friends now," I said. "Awkward friends…"

"I know what that's like," Tom said. "Listen… I need to go by the shop for something. Do you think you can hang in there if we grab something to eat?" He looked over at me. "You can stay in the truck. It won't take long."

"I feel fine, really."

"Alright," Tom said. "I feel like some tacos. That sound good to you?"

"Sure," I said.

Nearly a half hour later we pulled into Tom's shop. Actually it wasn't entirely his shop, but a significant portion of the building belonged to his business. While his semi truck detailing business had never been a gold mine, it had earned him a steady income over the years. Recently he had formed a rather lucrative business deal with Trevor James. I never knew all the details about it, but the deal had opened up his business to clean semi trailers as well. This brought a lot more income to the table.

The orange glow of streetlights seemed like unwelcome guests along the outskirts of downtown. Tom's shop seemed rather busy for this time of night. I could see light pouring from one of the bays where they pulled in the trucks. Tom pulled into a rather dark area of the parking lot, and grabbed the bag of food next to him. After producing a taco from the bag, he leaned over me and locked my door.

"Just stay in here, and keep the doors locked. Alright?"

I nodded quietly. Then watched as Tom opened his door and slid out of the truck. He strolled across the parking lot toward the lit up bay. As he neared the door, another man stepped out of the bay. His motions seemed spastic, like he was tightly strung. Tom appeared to be calming him down, when another man walked out. This one wore a cowboy hat.

For a lengthy while the three of them conversed. Every so often they would point at the back of the trailer sitting in the bay. Then the man with the hat looked directly at Tom's truck, and lifted his hand to motion at it. He seemed irate now, and motioned at the first guy to close the back door on the trailer. Afterwards he stormed off back into the building.

Tom hurried across the parking lot. I reached across to unlock his door. He yanked the door open, hopped in, and then slammed the door hard. For a moment I sat and watched him, afraid to say anything. My body had subconsciously scooted to the other side of the cab. After a short while passed, Tom reached up and started the truck.

"What was that about?" I asked quietly.

"Huh?!" Tom looked over at me, as if surprised to see me sitting there. Then he looked back at the building. "That? Nothing…"

"They seemed pretty pissed."

He turned to me again. "Watch your language," he said, raising a finger to point at me. Turning back to face the building, he put his truck in gear.

"Sorry," I said, pulling my seatbelt on.

We pulled out of the parking lot, and started heading home. For several minutes I stared out my window in silence. I never saw downtown much. It wasn't as big as something like New York City, or anything, but it seemed huge at my age. In the distance I could see the busier areas, with clubs and shops. One day I wanted to explore it all.

"We took on too much work…" Tom finally said.

I turned to look at him. "And they were mad about that?"

Tom chuckled. "No… They were mad I wasn't there helping out."

"Oh…"

"They were even less happy when I told them you were with me, and had to get you home."

"I could've stayed there," I said quietly. "Helped you out a little."

Tom glanced at me and smiled. "You're supposed to be taking it easy. Besides… I don't want you around those guys. They're a bad influence." He rested his elbow against the window, and his hand against his head. "You really had me worried today."

"I'm still not even sure what happened," I said, looking back out the window.

"From what I gather," Tom said, "you passed out at the sink, and hit your head on the wall."

"Did I ruin the wall?"

Tom chuckled again. "Nothing that can't be fixed. You can watch how to fix it if you want." He glanced over at me again, and let out a sigh. "Bet you were pretty scared though, huh?"

"Apparently it's far worse standing up," I said.

"Yeah…" Tom said. "We'll take it easy tonight, and keep an eye on you."

I spent the rest of that night on the couch with my mother. We stayed up watching old movies on cable. At least my mother stayed up. Every so often I would doze off, curled up under a blanket with my head on her lap. She woke me every so often, in case I really did have a concussion.

By the next day, everything seemed to have returned to normal. At least I thought it had. Given the choice to return to school, or stay home, I had foolishly chosen school. I felt sluggish, and slightly out of it halfway through the day. There were times where I simply tuned out what was going on. One of my teachers tried to call me out on it, but luckily my answer to her question was enough to please her.

I even tuned out Carla and Nancy at lunch. When they prodded me about it, I explained what had happened. In my opinion, that made it worse. Not only did it garner unwanted sympathy, but they also changed their whole conversation to make me feel involved. All day long I had simply just wanted to be left alone. Yet people kept finding ways to include me.

The one time of the day where I finally felt I would be isolated was in gym class. After showing my coach the note from the doctor, he gave me a cross look. Then he gave me a brief lecture about not wanting anyone slacking off in his class, and handed me a clipboard. Clipped to it was a sheet of fifteen questions. Each question had something to do with sports, and a blank area to write in answers. Then he handed me a pen, and told me to stay on the bleachers.

Luckily I hadn't missed anything special. We were inside that day, playing coed dodge ball. Though it seemed more like a game of the girls hiding behind things, while the boys threw the balls as hard as they could. I purposely sat behind the coaches. My thought was if anyone was brave enough to target me there, then they really had it out for me.

I found myself fascinated, however, at watching everyone play from the outside. Usually you were too concerned with your own safety to even watch the chaotic nature of the game. At the start of each match, it was almost always the same kids running up to grab the balls. They were what I would consider the rowdy types, who threw caution to the wind. Then there seemed to be a small group who always stayed well clear of that group, but would participate once the crowd had been thinned out. The last group of kids found themselves hanging around the back, or trying to hide. They were either terrified of the game, or simply didn't want to be a part of it.

Thinking back, I had always been in that first group. I had always rushed in. Sometimes it failed, and sometimes I found success. Anymore, though, I felt I would be somewhere in the middle. I felt I'd fit in somewhere amongst the chaos, but would be waiting for my moment. It seemed like my life in a lot of ways; chaotic, yet I'd learned to take a step back to reevaluate things.

As I thought about this, and gazed over the line of "out" people along the wall, a loud thump sounded from the middle of the gym floor. My eyes shot over to the source of the sound. There, sprawled out on the floor near the half court line, lay a dark-haired girl. Most of the movement near her had ceased, yet kids continued to play on the far side of the gym. I watched as she was slowly helped up and brought over to the bleachers.

The girls' coach stood between us, as she looked over the girl. For a moment they conversed, and finally her coach pointed back towards me. As soon as they parted, I instantly recognized the girl. She slowly walked up the steps of the bleachers with a slight limp. I shuffled nervously as she drew closer to me. Finally she eased herself down on the seat in front of me, pulling her left leg up onto the seat to study it.

"Are you okay?" I said, underneath the roar of the gymnasium.

The girl rubbed her hip for a moment in silence. Then she looked up at me. Her hazel eyes were laced with a glimmer of defiance. "I'm fine," she said.

"I didn't see what happened."

"Some jerk hit my leg out from under me while I was jumping," she said. "I landed on my hip."

"Sorry," I offered.

"For what?" Her eyes shot up again to look me in the eyes. "You didn't do anything."

My eyes dropped from her gaze, and back to my list of questions. I had barely started on my assignment. It was probably a good time to continue working on it. Obviously the girl next to me was in no mood to talk. Though I still couldn't help taking quick glances at her. I felt concerned for her safety. Eventually she got up with a huff, and started to walk back to the gym floor.

"Tiffany," I said, drawing her attention.

"What?"

I looked at her face for a moment. She had this look of determination, mixed with slight pain and tiny hint of expectation. My lips curled slightly into a friendly smile. "Be careful."

Tiffany's brow twitched in unison with her lips. Her mouth parted slightly. Then she simply returned the smile. "Thanks," she said, before scurrying back down the bleachers.

"Stupid…" I muttered under my breath, as I returned to my worksheet.

"How about this one?"

Jillian Wilcox reached across my bed, slapping a catalog down. She had it opened to a page featuring a young girl, close to our age, modeling a light blue summer dress. It featured a stitch of floral decoration close to the hem, and a ribbon of the same design tied in the back. The sleeves were slightly ruffled and barely extended, from the simple portrait neckline, over the girl's shoulders. Suddenly the image was blocked completely by silky black hair.

"Looks a bit too dressy," Tawny Simmons said, looking up at Jillian. "No pun intended."

"Well that's the point," Jillian said. "It's for a stupid business get together."

"I kind of like it," I said. "Not so much the bow in the back, but I like the rest of it."

"Well that can easily be altered," Tawny said, holding up two fingers in the motion of scissors.

"I'll just go with the yellow one," Jillian said.

She started to pull the catalog away, but I stopped her. "What about this one?"

My finger rested on another dress two pages over. The smiling blonde looked delighted to be in the light green frock. Another portrait neckline, though sleeveless, this dress darted in at the waist, and then quickly back out into a full skirt. Unlike the previous dresses, this one had a few layers of chiffon beneath the skirt. It made the entire skirt sort of shimmer as the different layers blended above her knees.

Jillian spun the catalog around. "That's not bad," she said after a moment.

"I think you'd look good in it," Tawny added.

Jillian circled the corresponding letter with a red marker. Then she flipped a few more pages. "What about this one?"

This had been going on for nearly an hour. We had combed through about ten catalogs, and had even revisited a few. Jillian definitely gave me an entirely new perspective on how girls shop. I had never had the privilege of catalog shopping, or had the opportunity to browse extensively in the mall, for that matter. Surprisingly enough, Tawny, of all people, was right in there with us.

Jillian and Tawny knew each other from art club. I wouldn't exactly say they were friends. Jillian was in eighth grade, while Tawny was in seventh with me. So I took a chance having them both over at the same time. Fortunately we had been drawn together by a common interest. Although I was a little out of my league catalog shopping, the two of them took advantage of every opportunity to include me.

"I don't know," Tawny said. "Purple is a little bold."

"Speaking of bold," Jillian said. "Can you believe Matt wanted to change our end of the year project like that?"

"Oh, I know," Tawny said. "And halfway through it too!"

"What's that?" I asked.

Jillian sat up and looked at me with her turquoise eyes. "It's like this. We have three groups," she said. "Each of us have an end of the year project about school pride."

"They're going to be put in the display case the last week of school," Tawny chimed in.

"Well ours was taking portraits of our group," Jillian said. "And then drawing in what we're all doing on a banner."

"Like the guy I'm drawing," Tawny said, "is running down the hall like he's late for class. So I drew the guy running, with papers trailing behind him from his locker. And then we'll put someone's photo as his face."

"Oh," I said. "That sounds kind of cool."

"Well Matt wanted to scrap it," Jillian said. "He wanted to make like little clay trophies instead." She gestured some obscure figure shape with her hands. "Or some action figure thing."

"Like we have the time to go back and do that," Tawny said, rolling her bright green eyes.

"He's so annoying," Jillian said, sitting back with another catalog.

"Totally," Tawny said. "But he's kind of cute," she added nonchalantly.

"I guess so," Jillian said, flipping another page as if she was frustrated at the combination of those two statements. "If you're into that type of guy."

"Who wouldn't be?" Tawny asked, as if to nobody in particular.

Jillian simply shrugged, though I could recognize a distinct, yet subtle, flushing of her cheeks.

At a loss for words, I gathered up another catalog. For several minutes we all flipped through catalogs. Occasionally getting an opinion on another dress we'd found. Eventually it strayed from finding a new dress for Jillian, to finding new dresses for each of us. The consensus from both girls had me placed in a rather bold summer dress featuring a mixed blue floral print over a light orange background.

"I think it would definitely make a statement," Tawny said.

"What do you think, Misses Walker?" Jillian asked, catching my mother walking down the hallway.

"About what?" my mother asked, as she stepped into the doorway.

Jillian bounced from my bed. She stepped over to my mother, and held the catalog up. "We thought Bailey would look good in this," she said, pointing at the dress.

My mother glanced at the catalog, and then at me. After studying my face for a moment, she looked more closely at the catalog. "I don't know…" she said. "I think red is more her color, but I could see her in orange." She looked back at me, smiling. "But I don't think she has shoes to match."

"Oh shoes!" Jillian exclaimed, running back to the bed. "I didn't even think about shoes."

Tawny joined her with another catalog. She already had it flipped to the shoe section. In a matter of seconds they were looking for shoes to match the dresses they had circled. I watched them for a moment and sighed. Then I looked back at my doorway. My mother gave me a wink, making me return her smile.

"I'll be ordering pizza soon," she said. "Anything in particular?"

"I'm fine with whatever," Tawny said.

"Pepperoni?" Jillian asked, looking back and forth between my mother and me.

"Sure," my mother said, turning to walk away. "I'll let you get back to it."

"Your mom's really nice," Jillian said, looking back down at a catalog. "We hardly ever get pizza at my house."

A long while back, I had started to get the impression that Jillian didn't get much of anything, and hardly got to do anything. This became increasingly evident when the majority of her stories consisted of working for 'Tweens, or handing stuff out in the mall. While I'm sure some kids wouldn't mind a job at fourteen, it worried me that Jillian had been helping out her family's business since she was twelve. Granted it wasn't hard labor, or anything, but I'm sure it had it's effects on her social life. Most Fridays she was at the mall handing out coupons and fliers, rather than hanging out at the mall with friends.

"I need to use the restroom," Jillian said, moving off the bed.

"You know where it's at," I replied, watching her scurry off.

Tawny waited a moment, until she heard the door of the bathroom close. Then she turned to face me. "Do you…" She glanced at the door, and then started gathering up the catalogs. "Are you enjoying this at all?"

I tossed a catalog onto the stack. There were probably twenty in all that Jillian had brought with her. "It's different," I finally said. "Most of my clothes are from consignment shops."

"Mine are usually hand-me-downs from Lynne," Tawny admitted. "But I meant the whole girly sisterhood thing."

"Are you upset about it?"

Tawny shook her head. "I'm used to it," she said. "Just wondering if you'd rather be doing something else."

"What else would we do?"

"I don't know!" Tawny exclaimed. "What do you usually do?"

"Read…" I said, trying not to sound too lame.

"Come on…" Tawny said, pushing herself off of the bed.

"Are you bored?" I asked, sliding off of the bed myself. "We can get a movie, or something."

"No," Tawny said. "I'm not bored. I just…"

"She's worried you're bored," Jillian said, walking into the room.

I spun to look at her, and then glanced back at Tawny. "I'm not bored," I said. "This is just all new to me."

"Fair enough," Tawny said. "But you don't have to catalog shop if you don't want to." She flashed me a smile.

"It's just…" I glanced back and forth between the two girls. "I probably would've picked a dress about half an hour ago."

Jillian chuckled. "Truth is," she said, "my mom probably wouldn't let me wear half of that." She gestured toward the catalogs. "Let alone pay for it."

Tawny nodded while smiling. "So true."

"Oh…" I said, easing myself onto the side of the bed. "Then what's the point?"

"It's just fun to look," Tawny said.

"Or imagine how we'd look in something," Jillian added. "I mean, look at me for instance. What I wear." She held her hands out as if presenting her attire. "Mostly polo shirts, and khakis. And if I'm really, really lucky, I get to wear a skirt that comes down past my knees." She pointed back at the catalogs. "You think my mom would ever let me put on that strappy red mini dress we saw, at my age?"

"She'd probably strangle you with it first," Tawny laughed, while taking a seat next to me.

"Exactly," Jillian said.

"I guess that makes sense," I said. "My mom was the same way when we were shopping." I looked up at Jillian. "So you'd never actually wear that dress?"

Jillian let out a short burst of laughter. "Maybe when I'm in my twenties," she said. "Besides… I probably already have a dress bought for me, knowing my mom."

"I see," I said. "So this was just for fun?"

"Maybe," Tawny said. "Never know. Your mom could buy you that orange dress." She leaned over into me, pushing me slightly.

I smiled at Tawny, and leaned back into her. "Okay," I said. "That's all well and good." I looked up at Jillian. "But I want to know more about Jill's crush on Matt."

Jillian's mouth dropped. Her face exploded with red. "What?! I… No… I…"

"Busted!" Tawny exclaimed, pointing straight at Jillian.

A couple of weeks passed since Jillian and Tawny had been over. I became restless, having the house to myself most afternoons. Justin was deep into spring training for football. This also meant Nathan was away as well. Tom seemed to be at his shop more and more. My mother, though things had slowed down for her at work, still wouldn't get home until dinner time on most nights. Even Nancy and Carla hadn't been by for some time.

I had slipped into a rather mundane routine. Most days I would come home from school, drop everything off in my room, and shower. Then I would set about painting my nails. Toes and fingers; I painted them all. It was such a small thing in life, but something that instantly gave me a feminine mindset. All day long I had to hide everything I was behind layers of baggy clothes, and carrying myself accordingly. I hated it, and quickly found something to change how I felt.

A set of painted nails seemed to instantly lift my spirits almost every day. Looking back now, it could have been the fumes. Regardless, though, most of the time it would be all I would do. Usually I would set about doing homework after that. Sometimes I would dress as a girl, but I had slowly begun to realize that I didn't need the clothes to make me a girl. It helped with outward appearances, but I had to come to terms that what I felt on the inside mattered more.

Still, that didn't stop me from dressing. Nor did it stop me from rearranging my closet to where two thirds of it was now female attire. Ever since Tom and my mother had casually mentioned my being able to transition that summer, I had secretly made it my goal. We hadn't discussed it fully, but in my mind I had to build a case for it. I figured having feminine things take over my personal space was a pretty good start.

I was young and naïve back then. I had no concept of cost. Things like hormones, surgeries, and the like never factored into the equation for me. For some stupid reason, I thought I would magically change with a special dose of medicine. There really wasn't a reason to think that way either. Almost an entire school year had gone by at that point, and I still showed no signs of changing to anything more masculine from the medication I was on.

There were a few long talks with my mother and Tom. After I'd broken my promise to inform my mother of dressing again, we had a very long talk. Now instead of sneaking around to get clothes, they had all been given back to me. This took a lot of the stress away from thinking I'd be caught dressed. It all seemed like water under the bridge now, and had led to me having girly hangouts like the one with Tawny and Jillian.

I really liked those experiences. They gave me a new rush of sorts. Instead of being worried about hiding a secret all night, I could simply relax and enjoy it. Hanging out with other girls, while feeling like a girl, allowed me to learn some of their social conventions. There were so many subtle differences between hanging with the boys compared to hanging with the girls. Then there were major differences as well, or at least differences I could see personally.

However, for everything I had experienced, life had a funny way of throwing me a curveball. One of those curveballs came on a rather muggy May afternoon. I had just stepped out of the shower, prepared to go about my after school routine, when the doorbell rang. Nearly stumbling out of the bathroom, I managed to just throw my jeans back on, and scurry down the stairs.

At the door I was greeted by bright green eyes as they danced beneath a black bob haircut. "Did I catch you at a bad time?" Tawny asked.

"No… I," I stammered as I looked her over. "You're just the last person I expected to be at my door."

Tawny glanced back at a silver car idling in the street. I could barely make out her sister, Lynne, sitting behind the wheel. "Lynne was doing some errands, and we were close by," Tawny said, now facing me. "I thought maybe we could talk for a bit?"

"Um… sure," I said. "Do you want to come in?"

"Are your parents home?"

"No," I said, emphasizing it with a shake of my head.

Tawny looked back at the car and waved. Her sister waved back. In less than a minute Lynne was gone down the street. She turned back to face me. "It's pretty nice out here."

I shrugged as I stepped out of the door, closing it behind me. The concrete of our front porch felt warm beneath my bare feet. For a short moment there was a still silence between us. Tawny looked me over, but tried unconvincingly to be discrete about it. As I put my arms back to lean against the railing, I noticed her glancing at my bare chest. Then she appeared to quiver slightly.

"What's up?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Tawny's eyes drifted down my body to the waist of my jeans. She shifted her body weight to one side. Then she casually moved her hand up to brush her hair away from her ear. "Did you want to get dressed?" she asked, her voice a bit shaky.

My body straightened, causing her eyes to dart up to meet mine. "Does it bother you?"

"I'm… fine," Tawny said. "Maybe we should go inside after all. I could use a drink."

"Sure," I said, opening the door for her.

No sooner had I closed the door, than Tawny had her hand wrapped around my wrist. I barely got my feet under me, as we climbed the stairs. It felt like I was being dragged, more than being led to the top. We bypassed the kitchen. Apparently Tawny wasn't that thirsty. As we neared my bedroom, I had thoughts in my head that would've made a nun pass out.

However, instead of turning left, we suddenly turned right, and I found myself being pushed in front of the mirror in the bathroom. Tawny stood behind me. Her chin rested on my shoulder. We stood there for a long while, both gazing into the mirror. Although I gazed into her eyes, I could see that she was gazing at something else entirely. I don't know how long it took for one of us to speak, but I ran out of patience long before she did.

"What are we doing?" I asked.

Tawny glanced at the reflection of my eyes. "Do you not see it?"

"See what?" I asked, still staring into her eyes.

"Not me," she said, pointing at the mirror.

"What is with you?" I asked, trying to turn to face her.

This was met with some resistance, as Tawny pushed me back to look into the mirror. "I can't believe you can't see it," she said. "I saw it instantly. Just now. Outside."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Can you give me a clue?"

In the mirror I could see Tawny's bright green eyes roll in exasperation. Her hands moved to the waist of my jeans. Glancing back into my eyes, she gave me a peculiar look. Then she casually yanked my jeans down. I nearly jumped out of my skin, as the waist line of my jeans nearly came down far enough to expose my privates. And as I reached down to try and pull them back up, Tawny grabbed my wrists, successfully pulling my hands away.

"Look!" she exclaimed. "I mean, really look."

I stood in silence, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Be it from mere shock, or euphoria to some degree, it felt like I was floating in space now. Tawny moved my arms out to the sides. Then she slowly traced her hands along the bottom of my arms, cupping them under my chest. They continued to move down my sides, first going in toward my waist, and then flowing out at my hips. That's when it finally started to sink in.

"You see it now?" Tawny asked, her chin resting once more on my shoulder. She pulled my hands back in to where they rested on what appeared to be my breasts.

"What is happening to me?" I quietly asked the mirror.

"I don't know," Tawny said. "I really don't know."

Her arms snaked around me. Slowly she began to rock with me side to side. Tears started flowing down my cheeks. I didn't know if they were from happiness, disappointment, or fear of the unknown. Perhaps it was a mixture of the three. Tawny and I stayed in front of that mirror for what seemed like forever. Neither of us said a word for several minutes. We simply stared at the mirror, taking in what appeared to be the start of my new curvy self.

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To Be Continued...