A Boy Called Brook: Autumn 1 by Clara Copyright© 2022, 2024 Clara Schuman   As summer comes to an end, Brook returns home to his (hopefully rehabilitated) father and prepares to return to school for his senior year. Lots of concerns about how he will be received by his classmates.

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Author's Note: I would like to thank EllieJo Jayne, Lucy Perkins, Joanne Barbarella, NoName1, Intrigue75, Suzi Auchentiber, Andrea Lena, Kymmie Lorain,and Stacy for your wonderful reviews so far of my story A Boy named Brook! I do hope that you enjoy the next few chapters of Brook's life as I detail how he starts his new life in school. I truly would love for you to let me know what you think about my story. Please! Leave a review, it can be good or bad (not too harsh please!)
I am always willing to learn! This isn't over - not by a long shot! ~Clara.
 
 
Autumn 1
 

I have to admit, when I got home with my dad I was really surprised to find the house pretty clean. No dirty dishes in the sink - some were still in the strainer, but they were clean. The floors were swept and the rugs vacuumed. Maybe not quite as spic and span as I'd keep it, but clean and picked up. Cleaner than my dad's usual standards of clean, that's for sure.

Being back in my own home was a strange mixture of comfortable and weird. It was nice to be back in my own bedroom and with my dad, but it was impossible to forget that, not long ago, I had been the victim of a pretty brutal assault in this kitchen, the space that I loved so much.

"Sooooo...." my dad asked, trying to act nonchalantly around me. "How do we move forward from here?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, dad. Maybe we should start with a nice supper."

He chuckled. "Yeah, well... I haven't been shopping in a while, so the cupboards are bare. I figured we could go shopping tomorrow. How about some Chinese or Thai food? We could have it delivered and just... you know... talk a bit. What do you say?"

I nodded. "Chinese sounds good. Want me to call Yang's?"

Dad smiled. "Sure. I'll have sesame chicken."

"Mind if I share that?" I asked.

"Perfect." Dad smiled and walked away.

I was sharing dad's sesame chicken for two reasons. One, because I liked it and two, because I wanted to keep the cost down. After nearly a month with the Kerr's, I was used to their rather thoughtless spending and I wanted to be sure that I got myself back into some more appropriate spending habits.

While we waited for the food to arrive, I pulled the few pieces of male clothing I had in my closet out and piled them on my bed so I could drop them off in a donation bin. I spread my collection of dresses that Brooke had given me out on my closet rod so I could access them and then I added in the dresses that Elena had given me. When I was done, I had more clothing than I'd ever owned before, but not a single pair of trousers among them.

Then I cleared out my bureau drawers and threw away my socks and boxers, replacing them with bras and panties, still nothing sexy, just what Mrs Kerr had bought for me. I kept a few tee shirts in case I needed them for any reason, but everything else went into a pile to be brought to the local second hand shop where I might get a couple of bucks for them.

"Food's here, Chef," my dad called from the kitchen. So, I left things as they were and I joined him on the deck where he'd brought a couple of glasses of iced tea and some paper plates and silverware. Nothing fancy, but nice.

After I was seated and had a plate of sesame chicken in front of me, dad smiled and said, "It's nice to have you back home, Chef."

"It's nice to be here."

There was a strange awkwardness between us that had never existed before.

"Umm... so... I... ummm... did..." my dad stuttered against the silence, trying to find a way to start a conversation.

"You can ask me anything you'd like, dad," I finally said. "I've thought about what I'm doing a lot and I am happy to talk about it."

He let out a nervous laugh and said, "Ok... thanks." He nibbled on his chicken a bit, then asked, "So... why? I mean... do you just like the way the clothes feel or something like that?"

I smiled at the simplicity of the question. "Well, to be honest, yes, I love the way the clothes feel, but that's not the reason." I took a moment to get my thoughts together. "There's kind of a lot to it, really. Dad... I've never really felt... right... in my own skin. It's like... I never felt like I was presenting myself as... myself. Does that make any sense?"

He nodded and listened.

I continued. "I always felt like I was someone else, but I was stuck in the ugly little body of Brook Chapin and there was no way out. Then Brooke came along and all she did was brush my hair out and I saw myself - the real me - looking back at me from the mirror for the very first time. I know how weird that sounds to someone like you, dad, but that's the truth. I think I always knew that there was a girlish side to me, but, dad, once it came out... I just knew that that was the real me. Do you get that?"

He smiled and nodded, again as he took that in.

"There's more too." It seemed like I couldn't stop talking now that I'd started. "Dad... if you had to go out into the world everyday and everywhere you went, people looked at you like you were weird - like... too small, or maybe too fat, or too ugly... whatever... you wouldn't like it very much, would you?"

"No, I guess I wouldn't," he said.

I sighed. "Dad... for eighteen years, every time I went anywhere... I was always the smallest guy... always the weirdest looking guy... always the weakest guy. I knew it and so did everyone else. There was no way to avoid it. Every time I entered a room, I looked for the safest place to go. The place where no one would see me and make my life miserable. Now... when I go out like this... Either people think I'm pretty or they just notice that I'm there and they smile and move on. That's a lot better than feeling their contempt or feeling like you're invisible. Think about how I used to look, dad, and then look at me now. Don't you think that this is an improvement?"

He thought and he gave me a sad smile. "Chef... I'm sorry if I ever made you feel that way. I never meant to."

I shrugged. "It wasn't just you, dad. It was the whole world. This is a lot better. I'm much happier now. Really I am... and I hope you can be happy for me."

Dad nodded. "Ok, Chef. That's what really matters, I guess. I want you to be happy." He began eating his dinner in earnest and so did I.

Eventually, dad spoke again. "Umm, we probably should talk about your clothes, pal."

"My clothes?" I asked.

He nodded and chewed. "Look, buddy, I have had to take a little time off lately because of visits with therapists and all the court stuff, and I'm going to honest... money is tighter than usual. I'm not sure how much I can help you with clothes."

"I understand." I smiled. "I have plenty for right now. I'm kind of hoping to find a job, too."

That seemed to surprise him. "A job? What kind of a job are you thinking about?"

"Well, cooking would be best, of course. There's a job assistance office at school. I thought I might talk to them about finding something."

Dad thought about that for a few moments. "Look...umm... Chef... I'm not trying to discourage you, but I just want to remind you that we only have the one car and there's only a couple of restaurants in town. If the school places you in a job that's a long way away... I just don't know how we could handle that."

I nodded. "Yeah, ok. I understand, but... look, Dad, I know that college is out of the question for now so I need to do something. I need a job."

"I know," he said, then quieter, "I know." He thought for a bit longer. "Hey... it never hurts to ask, right. See what they have available and we'll see what happens from there, ok?"

"Ok." I smiled. That was a huge compromise for my dad. In the past, there was never a gray area. It washes or no and if it inconvenienced him, then the answer was definitely 'no.' "Thanks, Dad."

It was about ten days before school was starting again and Brooke had to go in to meet with the principal and her guidance counselor. As an incoming new student, they had to review her transcripts and make sure her schedule had everything she'd need to meet graduation requirements. Knowing that I would need to talk to the school about the somewhat modified status of my sexuality, I tagged along.

It was a brutally hot August day, so I wore a very light, pale pink, summer dress that had a modest boat neckline, cap sleeves and hung nice and loose with just a little bit of a waist. It only came to mid-thigh on me. It was cool and cute.

Brooke went in first and was in Principal Kemp's office for about a half an hour while I waited in a chair by the front desk. When she finally emerged, Mr Kemp asked the head secretary to take Brooke to another office to pick up some paperwork.

"Certainly," the woman said. "There's a Miss Chapin waiting to see you and Ms Olsen."

"Oh," Mr Kemp said, looking in my direction. "Miss Chapin? Come right in, please?"

I stood and came around the counter. "Are you transferring in, Miss Chapin?" my principal for the last three years asked.

"No," I said, passing into his office where Ms Olsen, my guidance counselor stood and behaved as if she'd never met me before as well. "I've been here for three years, Mr Kemp. I'm going to be a senior. And it's not 'Miss Chapin,' it's 'Mister.'"

Both Mr Kemp and Ms Olsen stopped and looked at me, then at each other. "Mister?" Mr Kemp asked. "And you're already a student here?"

"Yes," I assured them.

Ms Olsen was typing into her laptop. "The only Chapin we have here is a Brook and she is... oh... I apologize... HE is a going to be a senior. In the Cuisine Academy, I see."

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"Well, take a seat, Brook," Mr Kemp said. "I apologize, but... I must say, you do not look at all like a MISTER Chapin." He looked a bit confused.

"No need to apologize, sir. I am presenting myself in this manner from now on and I thought that I should talk to you and Ms Olsen about it before school started."

"Indeed," he said. Then he stared at me and continued to mutter as he mulled, "Indeed. Indeed. Indeed..."

"So," Ms Olsen took over, "are you transitioning, Brook? Becoming a woman, I mean?"

"No, ma'am, I am not. I am living my life as a male, but presenting as a woman."

Both of the older people in the room let out a long, frustrated breath.

"Well, that does pose some problems, Brook," Mr Kemp said. "For the school, I mean."

I crossed my legs at my knees and folded my hands in my lap. "How so, sir?"

"Well," he leaned back in his seat a bit, "we have had a couple of boys who decided to become girls and several girls who decided to become boys, but they were a bit easier to deal with. See, if they needed to use a restroom, they just used the restroom that was assigned to the sex they chose to become. Same thing with the Phys Ed changing rooms. If you're still a boy, but just dressing up as a girl, that's a different thing. What lavatory do we allow you to use?"

"If you don't mind me saying, Mr Kemp," I said, remaining as poised as possible, which is what I promised Brooke I would do, "that statement you just made reflects a rather ignorant and old fashioned view of sexuality and I found it rather offensive."

Mr Kemp smirked at me. "Well, if you don't mind me saying, MISTER Chapin, I find your last statement very offensive as well. You see, I am responsible for nearly twelve hundred students in this building and I cannot focus on the needs of just one who decided that he was going to wear a dress and makeup to school."

I nodded. Maybe it was from living with Brooke for a while or maybe I was just tired of being pushed around, but I had heard enough. "Perhaps I should call my lawyer, Mr Kemp. Your first statement was just ignorant and insulting. Your last statement violated my civil rights." I pulled my cell phone out of my pocketbook and called up Uncle Mark's phone number. I pushed the number and put the phone to my ear.

"Now, now, now," Ms Olsen said, standing and touching my arm. "Let's talk a bit before we get lawyers involved." I disconnected my call and looked to her. She sat back down and looked at her computer screen.

"Ok, Brook, I apologize for Mr Kemp's lack of tact, but let's see what's happening here and how we can work things out. Ok?"

"Ok," I said.

Mr Kemp just grunted.

"Alright, well, Brook, it appears that Phys Ed isn't going to be a problem. You have all the Phys Ed credits you need for graduation. We'll return to the rest room issue later. Now, I'm looking at your grades and I'm seeing an 'A/B Student' with no problems up to this point. Have we ever met in person before, Brook?"

"Yes, ma'am," I nodded. "At the end of freshman, sophomore and Junior years so I could do my schedule for the following years."

"Really!?" She seemed surprised. "Hmm.... I'm looking at your ID photo from last year and you look very different now. I'm sorry if I am a bit confused."

"That's ok," I said. "This is how I plan on looking from now on, though."

"I see," Ms Olsen nodded. "Well, I assume that you have considered the social ramifications of showing up to school looking completely different, then?"

"I have."

"And your friends are aware of your decision to change sexes... I'm sorry... to change your... physical presentation?"

"I don't have any friends at Tech, Ms Olsen," I assured her. "Brooke Kerr, the girl who was just in here, is pretty much the only person who will be at Tech who even knows who I am."

"How do you know her?" Mr Kemp asked.

"She's my next door neighbor."

That seemed satisfy him.

"Well, this isn't going to be easy for you," Ms Olsen continued. "Kids can be pretty mean to students that behave differently. Of course the staff will help all that we can, but there are going to be
uncomfortable, maybe even dangerous situations if you choose to come to school like this."

"Are you suggesting that I not live as myself, Ms Olsen?" I asked.

She smirked at me. She wasn't about to get caught in the trap Mr Kemp had wandered into. "I am suggesting that there are social norms and you are not going to be living within those norms and that you are expecting a lot of other teenagers to just accept you as you are. Acceptance of new ideas is not normal behavior for a high school student, Brook. That's all I am suggesting."

"Again, no offense, but those norms have changed in other school systems. Just because they haven't changed in this school doesn't mean that I need to deny who I am just because this school's concept of society is twenty years behind the larger school systems."

"It doesn't mean that we have to leap twenty years into the future just to accommodate one self indulgent student, either," Mr Kemp said, still leaning back in his chair.

"I think you'll find that the laws of the United States of America and The Commonwealth of Massachusetts may disagree with you, Mr Kemp," I said with way more confidence than I actually felt. "I can forward the laws regarding people like me to you, if you'd like - OR, as I mentioned before, my lawyer, Attorney Mark Kerr, could do that for you, if you'd prefer."

Finally, he sat forward. "I'm not sure why you think you're someone special, MISTER Chapin," he said with controlled annoyance, "but I have been the principal of this school for twenty three years and you don't scare me. Wear your dresses and makeup to school if you want and see what happens. I won't stop you. You can use the boys' lavatories, the same as any other boy. I think this ends our meeting."

Ms Olsen cleared her throat. "Well... let's be reasonable, Jack. Brook would not be safe in the boys' lavatory. Brook, there is a single person lavatory in the kitchen area of the Cuisine Academy. You can use that. As for your choice of clothing, if you run into any problems, please feel free to come see me to discuss any issues that you encounter."

At that point, she passed her computer over to Mr Kemp. He looked at whatever she indicated on his screen and grumbled a bit. I think it might have been Uncle Mark's law firm's website. Then he shook his head and looked at me, a fake, frustrated smile on his face. "Yes, absolutely. As you know, my door is always open. Please feel free to come to me with any problems. Thank you for coming in today, Mister Chapin."

I stood, trying to project more confidence than I felt. "Thank you both for seeing me. I'm looking forward to my senior year." I headed out the door and I could hear the two of them griping about me quietly as I left.

Well, my first encounter with my high school had not gone well at all. This didn't bode well.

Brooke's Jeep was unlocked, so I headed out to it and I sent her a text to tell her where I'd be waiting for her. As I walked down the sidewalk towards the parking lot, Mrs Simpson, one of my advanced cooking teachers, was walking towards me. I had her second semester last year and learned more from her than I'd learned from all of my previous teachers put together. She looked at me and smiled and said, "Good morning."

"Hi, Mrs Simpson," I said, as I passed and kept walking, but almost immediately, I heard her call me from behind.

"Brook!? Oh, my God, Brook Chapin, is that you? Brook, honey, you look amazing! Come here!" She came towards me and hugged me, which was odd, since up until that moment she'd only ever said hello to me or commented on my work.

After the hug, she held me at arms' length. "I cannot believe how great you look, Brook! Tell me what brought about this metamorphosis, honey. Oh, my heavens, I always knew there was a beautiful rose waiting to bloom under all that shyness."

Well, this was different! Support from the school. Holy cow!

I was about to speak when something she said hit me. "Mrs Simpson... you think I'm a girl, don't you?"

"Well, of course I think..." She stopped and her smile wavered. "... I mean... you... umm..." Finally she gave a nervous laugh. "Yes, honey, I always thought you were a girl. I guess I should pay more attention to the class roster stats." Her smile came back full force at that point, "But what difference does it make. Obviously I was right. You are gorgeous, honey. And it's even more amazing since you were born a boy. Tell me how this came about."

I gave her a brief summary of my summer and how Brooke and I had worked together to find my new look. She was truly amazed by everything and offered as much support as possible at the school. That was a great thing to hear.

"So, you're not going all the way and transitioning, then?" Mrs Simpson asked, seeming surprised. "I know it's a very personal question, but might I ask why?"

I shrugged. "Because I don't want to be a woman," I said as if that made perfect sense, which it did to me. "I am very happy to remain a man and have a relationship with my girlfriend. I have no interest in losing the part of me that makes me a man."

She nodded and gave me a bit of a knowing smile. "I think you need to talk to a profession fairly soon, Brook. A physician or a psychologist or someone who has more experience in things like this than you or I do."

I was a bit offended, but Mrs Simpson was speaking in a very friendly manner, so I pushed my offense aside. "Why is that?"

"Well... for an eighteen year old, you're lucky. You're more of a boy than a man right now. Most of your male classmates couldn't pull off what you're pulling off. They have out grown their female classmates, or filled out their frames and they have facial and body hair that you don't seem to have to deal with. But all of that will change at some point. And I am speaking from experience."

I looked at Mrs Simpson and my eyes grew wide. "You mean... you?"

She laughed. "No, no, no, but thank you for being surprised if it had been me. No, I did have a close friend, though, and he chose a similar route to you. Things didn't go well in the long run, though. Once his biology caught up with him, he had to make some radical choices and... well, just get to a councilor right away, ok?"

I nodded. "Ok. I will, Mrs Simpson. Thank you."

Brooke arrived at that point and I introduced her to Mrs Simpson, who complimented on helping me find myself. "So, how do you like our school?" She asked Brooke.

"I think I'll get along great here," Brooke said with a big smile. "I met one of my shop teachers and showed her my portfolio and she said I could work in the salon for outside customers right away. How cool is that?"

"Very cool," Mrs Simpson laughed.

"Oh, that reminds me," I said. "Mrs Simpson, I need to find a job and, unfortunately, it kind of has to be nearby because I don't have a car. Do you think that school's job finder might have something for me?"

Mrs Simpson shrugged. "I'll take a look, Brook, but I'm not sure I can guarantee a cooking job right away. You don’t have any experience, just yet. Of course, you’ll be cooking for the school’s restaurant this year..."

"I will!?" I asked, surprised. This was something only the best students were invited to do.

"Yes, of course," she smiled. "I’m surprised that you didn’t expect that. In fact, I’m hoping that you might try to get one of the sous chef positions, but we’ll talk about that in class. Anyway, working in our restaurant will give you some experience, so if things go well, I may be able to recommend you for a kitchen position after the first semester, but I may be able to find you something locally for now. It may not be in a kitchen, but it’ll be in a restaurant. Give me some time and I’ll see what I can find, ok?"

"That would be great. Thank you." I was elated that I was going to be on the kitchen staff for the school restaurant. I knew I didn’t stand a chance of getting one of the sous chef positions, but it was nice of her to say that. The possibility of getting a job was now just icing on the cake.

We said our goodbyes and got into Brooke’s Jeep and headed out of the school’s parking lot. I was so happy about my unexpected meeting with Mrs Simpson that I wasn’t even upset about Mr Kemp and Ms Olsen any more. I was floating on cloud nine as we rode along and it was a good long while before I realized that we were not headed home, but rather we were headed into the city.

"Where are we going?" I asked Brooke.

She smiled. "I have a surprise for you. A girls’ day out."

"Shopping?" I asked. "I told you that I’m broke."

"Not shopping," she giggled. "Much better than shopping."

She pulled up in front of a columned building that looked as if it had once been a very fancy home, but now had a parking lot beside it that indicated a business, but there was no signage at all.

"What’s this?" I asked.

"This is your surprise. Come on." She smiled.

She got out of the Jeep, so I did as well and took her hand as we walked to the front of the building and into the front door. Inside, there was a beautiful double staircase with a reception desk at the center of the space. At that desk sat a beautiful woman in her twenties who greeted us. "Hello. Welcome to St Onge Salon. How may I help you?"

I was still getting past the grandeur of the entrance as Brooke stepped forward to the reception desk. "Hi. I’m Brooke Kerr and this is Brook Chapin. We have appointments with colorists and stylists."

The woman checked her tablet then smiled back up at us. "Yes you do. Please come this way."

She led us into another grand area, although this one had been renovated into a more standard salon with maybe eight or ten chairs. She sat Brooke and me side by side and said, "Gail will be with you both in a few moments. Enjoy!" She smiled and she left.

"Sooo," I looked at Brooke, "what’s going to happen?"

"We shall see!" Brooke smiled and giggled.

"Good afternoon, ladies!" A lady in her late thirties said as she approached. Then she stopped and looked at Brooke. "I remember you. I did your makeup for prom in May, didn’t I? Brooke, right?"

Brooke seemed thrilled that the woman remember. "Yes, you did. I can’t believe you remember!"

Honestly, I can’t imagine how anyone could forget Brooke. Sure, there are lots of pretty girls around, but Brooke is someone very special. She isn’t just beautiful – she exudes beauty.

"I remember everyone," the woman smiled. "And you brought me another victim," she laughed, looking at me. "How do you do?" She said to me, extending her hand. "I’m Gail."

"Hi, I’m Brook," I replied, amused by the woman’s ebullience.

She looked surprised and then pointed to each of us as she said our names. "Brooke and Brook. Interesting. And you two are friends?"

"Actually, we’re dating," Brooke said proudly.

"Oh, nice." Gail smiled. "That’s a change since May, right? As I recall, you went to the prom with a boy, didn’t you."

"I did, but there’s been no change," Brooke laughed. "Brook’s a boy, too. He’s just much prettier than the boy I went to prom with."

I was only slightly surprised Brooke was so forthcoming. After all, I needed to get used to telling people I was a guy. It did catch me by surprise, though.

Gail looked at me, her eyes wide. "No. You’re not really a boy, are you?"

"I am," I nodded.

"No," she gave my arm a playful slap. "Tell me the truth."

"That is the truth," I assured her. "I am a boy."

"Well," she gave me a big smile, "when I’m done with you, you are going to be the prettiest boy that ever lived."

I blushed a little. "Ok... thanks."

So, Gail and her assistants went to work on both of us. First came our hair color. Brooke’s hair got blonder and streaked with honey colored highlights. My brown hair got a little darker and gold and red highlights were added.

Then came our hair styling. I didn’t really understand what Brooke and Gail were talking about when they discussed ‘layering’ my hair, but when Gail was done, I was shocked! My hair had so much more body and form to it. It was amazing! Brooke had hers done, too, but her hair already had been layered before, so it just looked refreshed. Mine looked entirely different and I adored it!

Then came makeup. Lots of discussions of colors and seasonal tones that just went right over my head.

"Don’t worry, sweetheart," Gail assured me, "I’ll give you a printout of everything I’m talking about before you leave. I’ll make sure that you can maintain the look I create for you."

"Don’t worry, honey," Brooke said as a girl worked on her face, "I’ll make sure you learn how to do everything that Gail recommends."

The whole procedure of hair coloring, hair styling and makeup took almost three hours. I couldn’t imagine what all of this was going to cost, and to tell you the truth, I never found out. What I did find out, though, was that when I looked into the mirror a much prettier Brook looked back at me. It was shocking, awe inspiring, exciting and wonderful. I was so enthralled with my own reflection that I couldn’t look away from the mirror until Brooke, having paid for everything, came over and kissed my cheek.

"Come on, Snow White. We all know that you’re the fairest in the land. Let’s go home." She teased.

We got into the keep and headed back home, but I lowered the visor and looked at myself again.

"So... you like how you look, then?" Brooke asked.

"I’m kind of amazed, actually," I laughed.

"Really," Brooke smirked at me. "Why? You don’t look all that different."

"Maybe not all that different than I did this morning, Brooke," I explained, "but I’m an entirely different person than I was when summer began. I was just getting used to looking like a girl, but... look at me! She made me look amazing. I’m as pretty as any girl at school except you."

That made Brooke laugh. "Wow, are you the little egomaniac. Yeah, I suppose you are a little more... finished... than you were before, and your hair does look pretty cute, but that’s all, honey. All she did was tweak what you came in with and brought out the best of you. True, I’d love to take you out some place fancy, right now, but isn’t that a good thing?"

"I guess." I shrugged and I would have continued to have the discussion, but my phone rang. "It’s Mrs Simpson," I told Brooke and I answered the phone. My teacher told me that she’d made a couple of calls to local restaurants and because of my lack of actual kitchen experience no one had a cooking job for me, but if I wanted a waitstaff job at a local place called The Wireworks, I could head there for an interview this afternoon. I thanked her and hung up, then explained everything to Brooke.

"Wow," Brooke smiled at me, "that’s great. The Wireworks is only a few miles away from home. That would work out great. Want to go now?"

"Sure."

So we headed that way and arrived at a good time to speak to the manager, during a lull after the lunch rush and before the dinner crowd. Brooke came in with me, but went into the bar and ordered a soft drink while she waited.

The Wireworks was a very trendy place located in an old wire mill in our town. It had been renovated into this restaurant about ten years earlier. I’d never set foot in it, of course, because it was a kind of pricy place, but I’d heard a lot about their food and service from my teachers at school.

The manager, who was the daughter of the owner/chef, was a pretty woman in her early thirties named Amanda. She smiled very broadly and wore a lot of makeup, but wore it well, and she carried herself like she was a dancer. Very poised, straight backed and had an elegance about her.

"You must be Brook," she said, extending a hand as she hustled towards me. "Alice Simpson has told me a lot of great things about you. She tells me that you’re a hard worker and that you’re looking for a job in the restaurant industry."

"I am," I said, nervously. "I’m studying to be a chef, but I’m willing to do anything to get my foot in the door. Working here would be like a dream come true."

Amanda smiled. "Well, let’s see if we can make that happen. Come with me."

We went into the bar and, coincidentally, sat near Brooke. Amanda asked me a lot of questions about myself – my age, my education, my expectations for myself, things like that. Then she handed me an application and told me to fill it out while she dealt with something elsewhere.

"I’ll be right back," she said and she left as I went to work on the form.

"Seems like things are going well," Brooke said without looking as if she was talking to me.

"I think so," I said. "I’m not really sure what job I’m interviewing for, but it feels like things are going well."

"Good." Brooke reached over and squeezed my hand. "Good luck."

I was finishing up the form as Amanda returned. ‘All done?" She smiled as she took the form and looked it over. She nodded as she reviewed everything. Then she stopped and pointed at a spot on the sheet. "Oops. It looks like you checked the wrong box here. See? You checked ‘male’ by mistake."

I was just a little embarrassed, but I forced a smile and said, "No, actually... that’s not a mistake. I am male... a male... a boy... I mean."

She looked at me really closely. Then she kind of squinted at me and shook her head. "Seriously?"

"Yes, ma’am," I said, with a nervous laugh. "I didn’t want to lie on the application."

"No, no," she laughed, again. "No, you absolutely shouldn’t lie, but... well... I have to admit, I am impressed. I never would have guessed if you hadn’t told me."

She shook her head once more and went back to the application. Finally, she looked at me and smiled, "So... Brook... here’s the situation. My father is the chef and he would not allow you in his kitchen without some experience. That’s not because he’s mean, it’s just important that The Wireworks maintains a standard of professionalism. So, for the time being, I’m afraid that’s not a possibility."

I nodded.

"But, if you’re really interested in learning the business, I can offer you a job. It’s not exactly on the waitstaff, but it is an important component of the waitstaff’s coordination."

She just looked at me and I just waited for a better explanation for a good long moment before I asked, "What exactly is the job?"

"Well, it’s actually the job of receptionist or greeter, as it’s usually called in a restaurant. You would be greeting people at the front door, then seating people evenly throughout the dining room so that all of the waitresses have an equal number of customers throughout the shift. I know that, to the general public, it just looks like a pretty girl saying ‘hi,’ but there’s a lot to the job, and it’s an important part of what we do. It’s also a great way to get your foot in the door and start learning the business. What do you think?"

"What do I think?" I asked, pretty excited. "I think that if you’re offering me a job, then I’m really happy about it and I am accepting it."

Amanda held out her hand and I took it in mine as she said, "I am offering and I am very glad that you’re accepting. I’d like you to come in next Tuesday at four and I’ll train you to do the job. Ok? In the meantime, I’ll email you the employee handbook and you can take a look at that at your leisure. Sound good?"

"Sounds amazing!" I was actually giggling, I was so excited. I couldn’t believe I was getting a job!

Amanda was chuckling at my giggles. "I’m very happy that you’ll be joining us. Hopefully, by Tuesday I’ll find another girl to work with you. We always have two receptionists on at all times and I’m looking for at least one more girl. So if you know someone..."

Amanda was interrupted by Brooke. "Ummm... Hi... Excuse me. I couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying..."

A little while later, Brooke and I got home and found her mother and my dad on the Kerr’s porch. So we hurried out to tell them our good news.

"Oh, my goodness!" Mrs Kerr gushed when she saw us. "Look at you two! Oh, you look absolutely beautiful! Both of you! I love what they did to your hair! Vic, don’t they look gorgeous?"

My dad put down his soda and stood to look at me. "Wow, Chef... I thought I was getting used to the new you, but this is a whole new level of... well... you, I guess. Holy smokes. You look... well... beautiful."

"Thanks, dad," I smiled, "but guess what! I got a job! Right here in town! At The Wireworks!"

That actually made dad pause. "You’re going to be cooking at The Wireworks!?" he asked shocked.

"Well, no... not cooking... not yet..." I said, a little deflated, but still excited. "We’re starting as greeters. You know... when customers come in, we’ll meet them and figure out where they’ll sit, etc. That kind of thing, but the lady the hired us told me that if I’m really interested in the restaurant business, she’d make sure that I learn how they run that place and, maybe if I’m lucky, I can get to at least learn from their chef – maybe even work with him, after I get some kitchen experience."

My father blinked as he processed everything I’d just spewed out at a thousand miles an hour.

"Wow!" he finally said through laughter. "That’s great, Chef! I’m very happy for you. Do you know what your schedule is going to look like?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Mrs Kerr said, waving her hands. "I distinctly heard Brook saying ‘we’ a few times. Who, exactly, is this ‘we’ that he spoke of?"

"Us!" Brooke said, with as much excitement as I felt. "I ended up getting a job there, too!"

"That’s fantastic, honey!" Mrs Kerr said, hugging Brook. "Vic, do you know what this means?"

Dad smiled and looked from Mrs Kerr to Brooke to me, then asked, "What?"

"Discounted take out from The Wireworks, of course! We’ll be eating high off the hog because of these two."

"I had not thought of that," dad laughed. "I’ll have to watch my waistline." He slapped his pretty firm gut.

"Well, we don’t know if we get any kind of a discount, yet," Brooke explained, "but if we do, we’ll let you know."

"Oh, who cares." My dad waved his hand. "I’m just really happy for you, Chef. I hope this turns into something big for you down the road. It’s a good start, anyway, and I’m very proud of you for going out and getting yourself a job."

Geez, talk about a surprise! My dad had never given me a compliment like that before. "Gee, dad... thanks."

"Say," suddenly, my father seemed more animated, "why don’t we head over to our place? I have a surprise for you and I can’t wait for you to see it."

"A surprise for me?" I asked, curious, but a bit suspicious as well.

"What kind of a surprise?" Brooke asked, sounding much more cautious and still not pulling any punches when it came to my dad.

"Oh, I think it’s the kind of surprise you might appreciate, too." My dad gave Brooke a sly smile. "You can come and see it, too, if you want."

Brooke looked at her mother who smiled a smile that said she knew what was waiting for us next door, but she didn’t offer any hints.

"Come on," my dad said. "I can’t wait to show you what I got you."

So, we all headed over to our house with dad leading the way. He opened the kitchen door and we all went in. We stood there for a few moments, looking around, but there was nothing new to be seen anywhere.

I figured he must have been teasing and I went to the refrigerator and opened it.

"What are you doing?" Dad asked.

I pulled my head back out and looked at him. "I’m looking for your surprise. I figured you got some nice big steaks or something for supper."

He laughed at that. "Nope. Go look in your room."

I headed down the hall to my room with Brooke right beside me. We entered together, but she gasped when she saw it before I did.

"Oh, wow! It’s beautiful!" she gushed and I turned to see what she was looking at – and it was beautiful.

It was an Art Deco style, woman’s vanity with a big round mirror on it. It had two sections on each side that almost looked like two matching nightstands, each with two draws and with rounded corners that smoothly transitioned from the sides to the tops. Between those two section, there was a kind of desktop area with a long, shallow draw beneath it. It was all covered in beautiful, reddish, maple veneer and each draw had a long, brass handle on it, with two on the drawer in the center, and each draw pull had a great deal of Art Deco detail in it. The big, round mirror was mounted over the center section of the vanity and was wide enough to reach almost from one end of the piece to the other. It also had a matching piano-stool-style seat that slid under the desk top inbetween the two nightstand-like sides.

It was in absolutely pristine condition, too! It looked like it had just been manufactured and delivered to our house, even though it could not have been made any later than the start of World War II.

"Dad..." I said, kind of in shock, "... I don’t know what to say... It’s beautiful. Thank you."

He was beaming with contentment. "I’m glad you like it, Chef. I saw it on an online yard sale site and it seemed perfect for you. I’m not going to pretend that I understand why you feel the need to look like you do, but I want you to have someplace to... you know... keep all your stuff, and get ready. You know what I mean."

"What he means," Mrs Kerr explained, "is that he is discovering that having a teenaged daughter is very different than having a teenaged son, and that he wants you to get all of your makeup, hair products, hairdryers, curling irons, etc, out of his bathroom so he can have his sink back."

Dad looked at Mrs Kerr and laughed. "Well... yeah... there’s some of that, too, but... I guess I’m just trying to show my support. I hope it makes you happy."

Dad and I had never been overly touchy-freely, but he had hugged me more lately than ever before, so I let my defenses down and gave my dad a slightly awkward, but very grateful hug. "Thank you, dad. It makes me very happy."

He kissed the crown of my head. "I’m glad, honey."

That was new, too. ‘Honey.’

"Come on," Brooke finally said, bouncing and clapping her hands. "Let’s get your stuff and get everything set up."

About twenty minutes later, my new vanity was set up. Mrs Kerr had gone back to her house and brought me a couple of very pretty, porcelain trays that she said would be good for me to keep anything with fluid in on, and she’d also brought me a lacy placemat kind of thing to put on the middle section of my vanity to protect the beautiful veneer.

"Oh, I’m so jealous!" Brooke said when she looked at the completely set up vanity.

"It is pretty, isn’t it?" I asked, with a wide smile.

"It really is," she said, putting her arm around me. "Now that you have this great work area, I’m going to give you some very intensive makeup lessons. When you leave the house everyday, you had better look your best!"

I ran my hands over my new, very female-centric piece of furniture and said, "I will!" I let out a big, happy sigh. "I like this so much. I can’t believe my dad bought this for me."

"I know." She shook her head. "I admit, he surprised me."

"You think he’s really changed?" I asked.

"I think he’s trying," she shrugged, "and that’s more than I expected."

For the next few days, in the mornings, while dad was at work, I sat at my new vanity and struggled to do my makeup and hair as well as Brooke did it. When she’d come over later in the morning, Brooke would critique my work and teach me to be better. Within a few days, though, she was telling me that I looked really good.

Mrs Kerr took us shopping for our new clothes for work. Our employee guidelines stated that we needed to wear either black skirts with white tops or black dresses that were not too revealing. The dresses could have a pattern or print on them, but must be businesslike. Brooke, of course went crazy at a high-end place. I did buy one skirt and blouse there, although both were on sale, but I convinced them to stop at some second hand places as well and I got everything I needed at those. A couple more skirts and tops, but a bunch of black dresses that all seemed pretty and comfortable. Mrs Kerr also insisted that we each get a pair of nice, ‘sensible’ pumps to wear, which turned out to be a very good idea, since we ended up standing for the entirety of our shifts.

On Tuesday, we returned to The Wireworks for our first day of training. Brooke was excited, while I was kind of apprehensive. I guess that was just my nature.

Amanda showed us the ropes, though. How to clock-in, where to lockup our pocketbooks, and how to do our job. We greeted people at the front door and then used a small whiteboard with a diagram of the restaurant to figure out where to seat them, then we guided them to their seats. We had to make sure that the customers were all well spread out and the all of the waitstaff were getting a steady flow of customers. It wasn’t all that hard, but it did require a lot of attention. We both seemed to catch on fairly quickly and the waitresses were all really helpful.

Some customers just wanted to sit at the bar, which was easy enough. This one guy, who was in his mid to late thirties arrived at about six that first night and seemed to know everyone. Amanda introduced him to us as Mr Davies.

"Mr Davies joins us nearly every night," Amanda said.

"That’s right," the man laughed. "I can’t get enough of this place." Then he leaned over to whisper to us, "The truth is, I can’t cook and I live just down the street, so this is very convenient." Then he looked at me and said, "You look very familiar. Do I know you?"

"I don’t think so," I answered in all honesty.

"Hmm," he said, looking at me more closely. "I guess you remind me of someone. I’ll think of it." Then he went into the bar where everyone seemed to know him and he ordered a beer and sausage with mashed potatoes for his supper.

At the end of that first night, Amanda told us that she was very happy with how we had done and that we made a good team. We had to come back the next night and do it all again, but without as much of Amanda’s supervision.

It went really well that night, too – and every night after that, as well. I also met Amanda’s father and talked to him a little about cooking, but he wasn’t real open to someone as young as me working in his kitchen. That was fine, though. I was learning a lot working in the dining room.

Every night that I worked, Mr Davies came in and every time that he saw Brooke and me, he’d greet us the same way. "Well, look at this! Two brooks that merged in a restaurant," and then he’d laugh at his own fairly lame, but harmless joke. Then he’d tell me how much I reminded him of someone. "I just can’t put my finger on it," he’d laugh. "I’ll figure it out one day, though."

That first weekend was a lot of work. It got really busy and people were more impatient than during the week, but I followed Brooke’s lead and we were able to charm the customers a bit and calm them down and, surprisingly, everything went pretty well!

Which brought me to the next week and the start of my senior year. Now, earlier in the summer I’d been afraid to tell my dad about my new self and, as you know, I had good reason for that, but I was kind of petrified about the first day of school.

On Monday, Melissa and Elena started school at the local high school, not the Tech High School where Brooke and I were going. Since Mel and El were freshmen, they started a day earlier than everyone else in order to get the feel of the school without all of the upperclassmen around. Brooke was driving them, so I went with them too.

"Are you excited?" I asked Elena as we waited by the Jeep for her sisters.

She shrugged. "I guess." She looked back at the house, then, in a quieter voice, she said, "I’m a little scared that they may not be real accepting of people like me."

I snorted out a little laugh at that. "I’m sorry," I said. "I don’t mean to laugh, but I know exactly what you mean. I’m petrified of what’s going to happen tomorrow when I go back to school."

Elena nodded and smiled. "I guess we’ll just have to be strong, huh?"

"I guess," I agreed.

She hugged me. "You send positive thoughts my way today and I’ll do the same for you tomorrow, ok?"

"Ok."

"Alright, let’s get these two to school!" Brooke called as she came out of the house. "Mel has tried on thirty eight different outfits this morning and I had to drag her out the door."

"And I HATE this one!" Melissa pouted, looking very pretty in a flowered top with a loose fitting pair of pale lavender shorts.

"I think you look great," I assured her.

"Yeah?" She said as she approached the car. "You don’t think I should wear something more dressy for the first day?"

"I have a tiara in my backpack if you want to borrow it," Elena teased.

Melissa stuck her tongue out at her younger sister. "Not everyone wants to look like an unmade bed."

"Knock it off," Brooke warned. "El looks great. Just get in the car and let’s get going. You’re going to be late if we don’t leave NOW!"

About ten minutes later, we were dropping off the girls at the high school. I gave each of them a hug and a kiss and wished them luck. We stood by the Jeep and watched them as they went into the building. Then Brooke took us to a local coffee shop for a nice breakfast to celebrate our last day of freedom before school started the next day.

After we’d ordered, Brooke looked across the table at me as she stirred the cream into her coffee. "So... nervous about tomorrow?"

"Petrified."

"Don’t be." She smiled. "I’ll be there with you. I think you’ll find more people like Mrs Simpson than Mr Kemp. I bet things will go smoothly."

I shook my head as I played with the tea bags in my cup. "I think you are over estimating the open mindedness of the student body of our school."

She sipped her coffee and smiled. "I think you are going to be pleasantly surprised."

"We shall see."

"Well, look at this," a familiar voice sounded near us, "two brooks merged in another restaurant." It was Mr Davies and a very pretty, blonde woman, both very well dressed in expensive business attire. "So you two don’t just hang out at work?"

"No, we hang out pretty much all the time." Brooke smiled. "Hi, Mr Davies."

"Hi, ladies," he smiled. "Oh, this is my partner... my business partner, that is... Jessica Caulfield. Jess, these are The Brookes. They work at The Wireworks."

"Oh, Lord, The Wireworks," the woman laughed. "I always tell John that he should stop paying the mortgage on his condo and just live at The Wireworks."

We both smiled at that.

"Umm... ladies, look, I hate to be a jerk, but Jess and I are in a bit of a rush and it’s kind of crowded. Would you mind if we join you in your booth?"

"No, not at all," Brooke said, but to tell you the truth, I was caught off guard a bit. I wasn’t great at small talk with strangers.

I think Brooke was going to join me on my side of the booth, but without hesitation, Mr Davies sat beside me and Ms Caulfield sat beside Brooke.

"So," Mr Davies smiled and made eye contact with each of us, "what brings you two girls out so early?"

"We just dropped my sisters off for their first day of high school," Brooke explained. "We figured we’d get some breakfast to celebrate our last day of summer before we start our senior year tomorrow."

"Oh, wow, seniors," Ms Caulfield smiled. We went on to talk about where we went to school and what we we were studying, etc, then Ms Caulfield asked if our families were from the area.

"My mom’s family is from this town," Brooke smiled. "That’s why we moved back here this summer. Right next door to Brook."

"Oh? And what’s your mom’s maiden name?"

"Lachlan," Brooke said.

"Oh, the Lachlans over on Oak Street?"

"Yes, that’s my grandparents." Brooke smiled. "Do you know them?"

"I do." Ms Caulfield nodded and smiled. "They do their retirement investing with us. John, you know the Lachlan."

"Sure. Very nice people." Mr Davies nodded and smiled as he ate his omelette.

Then Ms Caulfield looked at me. "How about you, Brook? Is your family from around here?"

I nodded. "Yes. My dad grew up here. Went to high school in town."

"What’s your last name?"

"Chapin," I said.

That seemed to make Ms Caulfield’s eyes open wider. "Is your dad Victor Chapin?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Oh, my God. I went to school with your dad. How is he?"

"He’s fine," I said with a smile. "He works at the lumber yard by the river."

She looked more closely at me. "You look a little like him, actually."

"Wait!" Mr Davies interrupted. "Who does she look like?"

"Her father. Victor Chapin."

He thought for a moment. "Nope. I don’t know him, but I definitely think she looks like someone I know."

"Well, she looks much more like her mother." She looked back at me. "Your mom is Beverly Ahern, right?"

I must have looked confused, because I certainly was.

"Oh, my God, that’s who she looks like! Of course!" He slapped the table. "Bev!"

"Wait, wait, wait," I said. "My mom wasn’t named Beverly." I only knew a little about my mother, the topic of my mother was strictly off limits at my house, but I did know her name was Karen.

"No, of course not," Ms Caulfield said with a shake of her head. "Beverly changed her name after she flaked out and left your dad. Back in high school her name was Karen."

I looked at Brooke in shock. These people knew my mother? I thought she’d left the area years ago.

I couldn’t even form words, so Brooke asked the question that she knew I wanted to ask. "So... you know Brook’s mom?"

Ms Caulfield laughed. "Know her? Honey, I’ve known her my whole life. That woman is insane – not always in a bad way, mind you, but definitely insane."

"And she lives around here?" Brooke asked.

Ms Caulfield shrugged. "Oh, who knows. Sometimes she does. Usually she lives down south, but she still has a place over by Fulton Park, but..." she looked at me and smiled. "... well... you know how your mom is."

"Actually," I said, "I haven’t the slightest idea how my mom is."

"Oh," Ms Caulfield said, then looked around, a bit sheepishly. "Well... in that case... I suppose I’ve said too much. I’m sorry."

"That’s ok," I assured her. "It’s certainly not your fault. Actually, I’m kind of glad to know that she’s alive and doing ok."

Ms Caulfield looked at me. At first I saw some pity in her, but that changed to a smile. "Actually... that’s very sweet of you, dear. Very sweet."

I didn’t think it was sweet, though. I just thought it was normal.

When we finished our breakfast, Mr Davies insisted on paying for everything. "Consider it reimbursement for us inconveniencing you," he said, with a wink. I wasn’t real comfortable with the idea, but I just followed Brooke’s lead and let him pay.

When we left the restaurant, Brooke asked if I had been upset by the conversation about my mother.

"Not really," I said. "I mean, I was kind of surprised, but I suppose that it’s bound to happen from time to time. It probably just never happened before because I never went out before. Next time, I won’t be as surprised."

I don’t know if it was because of Melissa’s anxiety that morning, or what, but suddenly I was gripped with a great deal of concern about what I was going to wear to school for the first day. After breakfast, we went back to our house and I pulled pretty much everything I owned out of my closet and I tried it on for Brooke, asking for her opinion on everything. Eventually we settled on a pretty, flowered sun dress that I had bought a few weeks earlier. So I took it out of the closet and ironed it so that it looked crisp and fresh for the next day.

"You don’t have to do this, you know," dad said to me at dinner, sensing my fears about the next day. "You can just put your hair into a pony tail and wear a tee shirt and jeans, if you want."

I chuckled. "Yeah, well, I threw away all of my boy jeans and even if I hadn’t, with my hair cut and conditioned like it is, my eyebrows trimmed, my ears pierced, my lips plumped and my skin smoothed from my lotions, I’d just look like a girl in jeans and a tee shirt."

Dad raised his eyebrows. "I guess you have a point."

I hesitated for a moment before I said, "Umm... dad... I met someone who said she knew you, today."

He looked at me and looked a little surprised. "Oh, yeah? Who was that?"

"Her name is Jessica Caulfield."

He thought for a second and then her identity seemed to dawn on him. "Oh... Jess Caulfield. Ok, I remember her. We went to high school together. She was a friend of your mother’s, actually."

"Yeah, she mentioned that," I nodded.

He was quiet for a few moments, then asked, "Did she say anything else?"

"She said that my mother still lives around here sometimes, but she spends most of her time in the south."

Dad nodded.

"She also said that my mother was insane."

Dad guffawed at that. "Well, that’s an understatement." Then he looked at me and shook his head. "I’m sorry, Chef. I shouldn’t say things like that about your mother. What I mean is... look... we may not have had a perfect life and I’m not exactly Brad Pitt and I’m certainly never going to be rich, but... what kind of a person would leave a kid as great as you? I mean... she must be insane, right?"

I smiled at that, but I could tell that dad was uncomfortable with the topic.

"Look, Chef," he said, "I knew your mother was around. I’ve even seen her a few times. I’ve never told you about it, though, because... well... because she never showed any interest getting involved with your life and... I guess I just figured it was best not to bring her up if there was no chance of reuniting with her."

I nodded, but didn’t say anything.

"Was I wrong?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No. And don’t worry. I’m not going looking for her or anything. Like you said, she left me, so..."

When I left it hanging, dad nodded. Then he came over to me and gave me a hug. "You’ve got me, Chef. For what it’s worth, I’m not going anywhere."

"I know, dad. Thanks."

I didn’t sleep much that night and I got more nervous as the morning approached. I was up at four thirty and I took a good, hot shower. I washed and conditioned my hair and made sure I shaved my legs, pits and face nice and close before I retreated to my vanity and went to work on my hair and makeup.

By the time dad emerged from the shower, I not only had his western omelette, tomato juice and rye toast on the kitchen island waiting for him, but my makeup was done, my hair was wavy and I was wearing the very pretty flowered sundress I’d ironed the previous day, nice, dangling, garnet earrings, a matching garnet necklace and comfortable, one inch, strappy-heeled sandals.

"Well," he smiled and chuckled a bit, "this is certainly a different first day of school than ever before."

I sighed. "I know."

"Are you sure you’re up to it?"

"I guess. I mean, I have Brooke with me, so it should go ok."

"How many classes do you have with her?"

"Only two. English, first period and Civics, last period. We both have third lunch, too."

He nodded. "And the rest of the day?"

I shrugged. "I’m on my own, but... up until now... everyone has pretty much ignored me, so..."

"You think they’re going to ignore you now?"

I shrugged again. "Probably."

He cut up his omelette and thought for a minute. "If anyone gives you a hard time, go see Mrs Simpson, and if you need me... just keep your phone with you. I’ll come to the school as quickly as I can. Ok?"

I nodded. "Ok, but I think I’ll be ok. Besides, you’ve already missed a lot of work. I won’t call you unless it’s absolutely necessary."

He finished his breakfast and stood up, wiping his mouth on a paper napkin. He normally would just turn and say goodbye as he left, but he stopped and looked at me for a long time. Finally, he shook his head and took a deep breath before he spoke.

"Look, Brook... a lot has changed this summer, and... well... I never thought I’d be sending a daughter off to school..."

"Dad, I’m still your son, I’m just..."

"Say whatever you want, Brook, but... I don’t really see you as a son right now. I used to send you out that door and I figured that you’d figure out how to take care of yourself, but now... I have to admit... I’m pretty worried about you."

"I’ll be ok, dad. I promise."

"Honey, it’s not just that you’re facing all those kids looking so differently. It’s that... It’s that you’re a girl now, well, at least you’re a girl in the eyes of the rest of the world, Brook, and I know how I viewed girls when I was in school and, to be honest, it kind of scares me to have boys looking at you that way."

I let out a little laugh at that. "I’m not interested in guys, dad, and once they find out who and what I am, I don’t think they’re going to be interested in me, either."

He shook his head. "Just promise me you’ll be extra careful at all times, ok?"

"Ok," I said and I smiled at his newly found parental concern.

"Ok." Then he looked very awkward. "Come on. Give me a hug."

I was shocked. "Really?"

"Yeah. Really. I want my daughter to give me a hug."

"Dad... I’m still your..."

"Shut up and give me a hug."

I couldn’t help but smile as I sidled up to him and accepted a warm hug.

"Honest to God," he said, "I swear you feel even smaller than you did before." Then he let me go, gave me a kiss on the cheek, grabbed his lunch and left for work.

"You look really cute," Brooke told me as we headed to school.

"Thanks." I smiled, a little embarrassed. "You look gorgeous," I told her, and she did. She was wearing a really beautiful white blouse that was kind of long, with a had a translucent bell sleeves. Below that, she wore a loose, pale blue skirt that came to just above her knees and really sexy, narrow heels. Of course her hair and makeup were both perfect.

She was, as as she always was, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

We pulled into the parking lot and I took a deep breath before getting out of the Jeep.

"You ready?" Brooke asked, as she opened my door for me.

"I guess so." I smiled and climbed down.

"That’s my boy," she said as she straightened my dress and kissed me. "Come on, now. Tits up. Let’s go."

"If only I had tits," I said, walking beside my girlfriend.

"You can get them if you want them," she said, suddenly serious.

I blinked at her. "What are you talking about? I can’t just grow breasts."

"Of course you can," she giggled. "Or you can have them implanted, there’s a lot of ways you can get breasts... if you want them."

I stopped walking and looked at her. "Huh... are you serious. I could do that?"

She shrugged. "Sure. There’s all kinds of options. Is it something you’re interested in?"

I thought for a moment. "Maybe. I’m going to think about it."

We walked up the stairs and into the school, past some people I’d known for years. I could feel them looking at me, but I could also tell that they were looking at me differently than they had before. I don’t think they recognized me, but I think they were trying to figure out who I was.

This was it. I was like a lamb about to be discovered wandering through a huge pack of wolves. God, I suddenly felt so scared.
 
 
To Be Continued...