Chemystery, by Karin Bishop

Part 3

June 19

I spent the last two days pretty much on the toilet. Mom said one more day and we’d call the doctor, but I told her it must have been something I ate at a friend’s house–not from her cooking–and so I did a lot of reading (thank goodness I’d gone to the library a couple of days ago!) as I squirted my guts out.

And I know it’s gross, and that guys sort of like talking about icky body junk, but this is factually accurate, I think. I’m pretty sure that’s kind of what I’ve been doing–squirting my guts out. At first I thought my cover story was true, although I hadn’t eaten at anybody’s house or at the mall or anywhere else. But the night of the 18th when there was no letup in the thing, I began seriously checking the toilet’s contents and I think that I was …well, this morning it struck me …I was dumping parts of me. No other way to put it. It wasn’t the usual stuff of poop and it wasn’t the usual stuff of the flu. It was yellowish liquid with …all I can say is, chunks of skin. Or flesh. Chunks of me. When the idea struck me, it was only because of something that Craig had said, about the Ebola virus, and I remembered reading about people ‘bleeding out’ as their tissue sort of liquefied and they died.

I was freaked at first except for two reasons. First, I felt fine. No fever, no other symptoms, nothing–just a periodic cramping below my belt and then another half-hour of more reading time. And thank God for the bathroom deodorant spray! Second, I was pretty sure that Craig was right. We’d been ‘tested’ with Intellia’s ‘girl-bomb’ so we were changing, not dying. If they’d wanted us dead it would have been a straight, undetectable and time-delayed poison so there was no connection with our Intellia night. Or they could do it quick and just toss our bodies in a dumpster. No; for whatever reasons, Intellia wanted to see what their little mixture could do. So I wasn’t worried about death.

It was kind of unfair to keep using the word ‘Intellia’ as the source, since we were pretty sure that Bearded Guy was Intellia and wasn’t part of the girl-bomb testing, because he was going to let us go right away, and because he was scared to death of Military Guy.

***

I got to discuss that with Craig, because yesterday I got an email that looked like spam but had the words ‘M. Rules’ in the subject line. It turned out to be Craig using an anonymizer that would hide our email signatures. It had instructions for me with contact times and how to anonymize. So we had a quick flurry of very lengthy emails with the agreement that he’d use a different anonymizer type and contact me again with the subject code word ‘Lisa’. He said–and of course he didn’t ‘say’, he ‘wrote’, but it’s just easier to think of it as ‘talking’–he’d explain then, and I had a hunch that Craig was becoming Lisa. It was the kind of name his family would choose, like Teresa, his sister.

The upshot of our emails was that he wasn’t cramping and pooping like me, but he said that he’d had cramps but a lot of what he was calling ‘bone pain’. Like the arthritis commercials on TV, he said. His chest was developing and his brain, well …he just said there was no doubt he was getting ‘more girly’ in his thinking. I figured he was too embarrassed, even with our vow to be totally truthful, so I told him how I’d found myself thinking very sexually about cute guys in magazines, and then he confessed to that, too.

We talked about that a little, and about how different the three of us were, physically. Craig said that if we went ‘all the way’–by which we meant that the girl-bomb made us complete girls–then I’d be the luckiest because I was short for a boy but normal-sized for a girl, and because I already had long hair. I pointed out that he’d probably be okay, tallish for a girl, and after wigs, his own hair would probably be really pretty if he took after Teresa–she could do shampoo commercials–and he seemed to agree. But we both worried about Tommy because he was big. Would the girl-bomb shrink us, too? That would help Tommy but I couldn’t afford to shrink too much or I’d have to get a job in the circus. Craig gave me an ‘LOL’ on that one.

Finally, the biggest development. Craig told his sister. He swore her to secrecy up one side and down the other, and found that after her skepticism at this story–she was sure he was playing a joke–he just stripped naked and said she just about had a heart attack! But she took him by surprise and immediately accepted him as her soon-to-be little sister and got all protective. So they were working out a plan for telling their parents, and in the meantime he’d started wearing a bra–he was a full A cup now–and panties, because his ‘boy-bits’ were shrinking. Mine, too, I said, and I thought about Craig in a bra, panties, and his miniskirt, and I didn’t laugh–I found I was jealous! It was probably the way my brain is changing, but I wanted to start dressing like a girl, too.

So we set it up for me to wait for the ‘Lisa’ email.

June 20

First of all, I haven’t been able to reach Tommy. I’ve called a bunch of times and at first whoever answered said he was out, and then his brother one time kind of sniggered when he said his name, and the last time his father said Tommy could not speak and for me to not call again. I told Mom my concern–not the cause of his family’s weirdness, of course–and Mom suggested a round-about. Tommy’s mother was a meek, mild woman totally under the thumb of the males in her family. Mom and some other ladies had tried to get her involved in things outside the Donohue family but she’d retreated, but Mom had learned a couple of things.

She told me that Mrs. Donohue did the family food shopping once a week, alone, every Wednesday at the Food 4 Less on Edison. I figured I’d ride over there on my bicycle with a book and sit and wait how many hours it took until I saw her and then try to talk with her.

My toilet adventures seem to be over for the moment, although I went into the Food 4 Less to use their restroom so I knew where it was. I got a funny look from a guy when I left and I realized it wasn’t long before I wouldn’t look like I should be using the Men’s room! Then I found a good spot for my bike with some grass under some trees on the far side of the parking lot, spread out a little blanket, and waited. I knew the van that she drove and it took about two hours but then she pulled in. My bike was already locked; I threw the book in my backpack and stuffed the blanket in as I ran across the lot to catch her before she went in. I didn’t want to try talking to her after she’d shopped because she could use the excuse of food spoiling to cut it short. And maybe it was because I was carrying the backpack, but running felt different somehow, and I flashed on Craig talking about ‘bone pain’.

I caught her just as she chirped the van locked. She was a small woman with reddish hair, cut short and pulled back into a tiny stub of a ponytail, and a simple blue blouse and ‘mom jeans’. She was really very pretty, but there was something …squeezed down about her, repressed or suppressed. ‘Screwed down tightly’ came to mind. I stopped running so I didn’t scare her, and I called ‘Mrs. Donohue’ and knew for a moment she didn’t recognize me.

She looked scared. “I’m sorry, Chris, I didn’t recognize you.”

“How’s Tommy?”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, “But I can’t talk to you about Tommy.”

“Please, Mrs. Donohue. It’s a lot more important than you know. I haven’t talked to Tommy for three or four days and I’m kinda concerned.”

“Well, he …” She stopped and looked around the parking lot.

I had an idea. “Maybe we could talk in the van? You know, sitting down?”

She agreed and we got in. There was this awkward silence and I suddenly remembered something I’d heard in a movie where cops interrogated a guy–so I didn’t say anything, just letting the silence wear on her.

Finally, she ‘broke’. “Tommy’s …well, he’s kind of sick right now. He’s home, sick,” she said with more conviction, and I realized she was trying to convince herself that her cover story was sound.

I asked gently, “Has he been …punished?”

“Punished?” She was so startled that I knew I was right.

“Like …beaten, or something?”

“Nonsense. Beaten? No!” She was flustered. “We’d never …he’s not been beaten. Ever.”

“Mrs. Donohue,” I said softly, and put a hand on her forearm. “I know he gets beaten at home. It’s okay.”

Quickly, she said, “No! No! I don’t know what he’s telling you at school, more lies, but …no, he’s not beaten.”

“Ma’am, we’ve seen the bruises. And the black eyes.”

“Those are just things he gets from the scuffles at school. You know, all those fights he gets in.”

I was shocked but not as much as I realized that she would be. “Mrs. Donohue …there are no scuffles. Tommy doesn’t get in fights at school.”

“Of course he does! All those bruises …”

“Ma’am, Tommy hasn’t gotten in a fight since he rescued me from big kids five years ago. He truly hasn’t. I mean, who’d fight him? He’s so big!”

“Oh, God …” Her lips started trembling.

I said, “I hate to have to say this, but you need to know. Tommy’s dad and brother have hit him for years. He doesn’t like to talk about it and never uses it as an excuse. But we know.”

“Oh, God,” she said again, grabbing a tissue. “I’ve tried to do my best …”

“It’s a tough situation that you’re in, ma’am, if you don’t mind my saying so. You’re doing your best to keep your family together the best you know how.”

“Thank you, Chris,” she said, dabbing her eyes.

“So I’ve got to ask you, because it’s really, really important. Is Tommy …recovering from a beating? Or really truly sick? And sick, how?”

She sniffed and folded and re-folded the tissue. “God, it’s sad to say but it actually feels good to be able to admit it. All these years I’ve turned away and denied, denied …denied …” She looked out the window. “Ah, sweet Mary, mother of God, what I’ve done to my baby!”

I let the silence go on again.

She ‘broke’ again. “Oh, you’ve always been such a good friend of his, Chris. And that Craig, the three of you palling around …” She sighed and went back to folding the tissues. “He’s been acting odd lately, our Tommy, and saying and doing odd things.”

When she didn’t go on, I said, “Odd like how? The last time I talked with him he was proud about how he helped you with making dinner.”

“Ah, yes, that was lovely …” she smiled. “But he’s been so …strange of late. Moaning and saying odd things and telling lies.”

“What odd things was he saying?”

“Oh, like how pretty my hair was. I mean, it was a lovely thing to say but so out of place.”

“You do have pretty hair, Mrs. Donohue. No offense, but you don’t do anything with it, because you’re so busy at home. But it is pretty.”

“Why …thank you, Chris,” she said, but there was a waver in her voice.

“Mrs. Donohue, you said Tommy was telling lies. He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, maybe, but he’s honest and loyal and has a really good heart. I’ve never known him to tell lies.”

“Well, maybe he has a different face at home,” she said, but I don’t think she believed it herself.

“You said ‘different at home’ …” I said, feeling my words carefully. “How does he look?”

“Look? Well, after he …”

Gently, I said, “Was beaten?”

She nodded, tearing up again. “Oh, God; it was terrible to hear!” She sniffed. “But after that he’s taken to his room. Not even coming out for meals.”

“How’s he eating?”

“Not like usually, but I’ve been leaving a tray and knocking.” Her voice broke. “Like a hotel! I never thought my family …”

I made a snap decision and said, “Mrs. Donohue, you said Tommy told some big lies. Or was it one big lie?” She shrugged and nodded. I nodded, too. “Mrs. Donohue, I’m going to tell you a story. Remember, I haven’t talked to Tommy for awhile. You know me and you know him. You know him. Not what you’re telling yourself, to keep peace in your family right now. You know Tommy’s a great guy.”

“Yes …yes, he is,” she sniffed. “That’s why it’s so strange that he …is doing the things he’s doing to himself …”

I knew I was on the right track. Taking a deep breath, I said, “I’m going to tell you a story. And it can’t leave this van; it’s very important that you know that up front. This will sound like something out of a movie, but your safety–and your family’s safety–depends on not telling anybody else, okay? And what I’m going to say will sound like something from a movie, too. Please don’t interrupt until I’m done because there are so many ways to get sidetracked but I told you this is really, really important. Okay?”

She agreed, and then I told her. Everything. From Craig coming up with the idea to my last emails from Lisa. Her face went through so many changes, from disbelief at the similarity to what Tommy told her, to details that I knew but Tommy didn’t, all the way up to the end.

I finished up with, “Mrs. Donohue, from all the evidence Craig and I have put together, we have no choice to believe anything else. We’re being turned into girls. Craig found some scientific articles and said it might just be a big hormonal thing, you know, to develop breasts temporarily, but with some of the pains and …other things …he said it’s possible that …Ma’am, do you know anything about genetics? DNA, that sort of thing?”

“I know what it is but nothing scientific.”

“Well, we’re getting into science fiction territory here, but Craig found articles that seem to say that it might be possible that our DNA is being overwritten. Or re-written, maybe. You know how stem-cell researchers say that the cells, once they’re put in the patient, will ‘decide’ to become what cells are needed? Like a liver-transplant guy, the stem-cells are sent in and are convinced to become liver cells, and grow a whole new healthy one?”

“That’s what they say,” she agreed. “And why Christian conservatives don’t like it. Even our Church is leery about it, like playing God.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I knew better than to start discussing that, or pointing out that maybe new scientific discoveries was God’s way of letting us make more of His Children healthy … So I brought her back to the point. “Mrs. Donohue, we think that the three of us are being tested, used as guinea pigs, for something the Department of Defense is looking into to use against terrorists.”

“That’s a terrific stretch and–”

“Not so much, based what we’ve discovered about other weapons they’ve designed. But isn’t it possible? What else would explain the changes to all three of us?”

“All three? You’ve told me what Craig has said happened, but he’s long gone now and could be having you on.”

She didn’t believe it, but I had to kill any doubt. I looked around and then turned in my seat and unbuttoned my shirt. “Mrs. Donohue, do these belong on the chest of a fourteen-year-old boy?” I showed her my breasts. They weren’t bumps anymore; they had swelled in the last 48 hours and I knew a bra was only a few days away for me.

She stared, wide-eyed, and looked away.

I buttoned up quickly and said, “Tommy’s not telling any lies. I think that big diarrhea thing I had was my male innards being ejected. Craig is talking about ‘bone pain’ and it’s his pelvis–I think his bones are reconfiguring to a female pelvis and it hurts like hell, excuse my French. And poor Tommy, because he’s bigger than all of us …he must be in agony.”

Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears. “Oh, my poor child!”

“It’s not his fault, Mrs. Donohue. He didn’t ask for it to happen to him; none of us did. It’s like if he was walking across the street in the middle of the crosswalk, and a car ran the stop light and hit him. It’s not his fault.”

She seemed to sag. “He’s been acting …fruity, my husband called it. Said he was going to beat it out of him. ‘No son of mine is going to be a fairy!’ he shouted. And it went on and on and on …” She winced at the memory. “And I just let it. As much as I loved Tommy helping me in the kitchen, and the nice things he said, my husband’s word is Law, and so …” She crumbled, hiding her face in her hands. “My poor baby! Oh, God. What do I do? What do we do?”

“Tell Tommy–when his father and brother are gone–tell him you know. Tell him Chris and Craig told you everything. Accept that it’s not his fault but you’ve got to accept that he’s turning into a girl. Love him. Support him. You’re going to have to …I can’t tell you what to do, I’m just a kid, but you’re going to have to stand up to your husband and tell him that if Tommy’s a girl, he’s under your care now. And get him to a hospital.”

“No hospital! They’ll …” She was stricken, putting a hand on my arm. “No! No!”

I realized that the hospital would recognize the results of his beating and that they’d be required to press legal charges against the family. God, I wondered, how badly had they beat him? Reluctantly, I nodded. “Okay, no hospital; I understand. Well, tend to him as best you can. Help him understand and I’ll do anything I can for him, okay?”

“Chris, I’m being so selfish …you’re going through the same thing. And Craig.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, “but Craig’s already told his sister, and they’re telling his folks probably tonight. And I’m okay; it’s just Mom and me. Makes it easier. And I’ll be telling her real soon. Look, ma’am, I’ve gotta go. Take care of Tommy. He’s a really good guy and doesn’t deserve any of this.” I opened the door and paused, turning back to her. “But she …she does deserve her mother.” I gave her a direct look; her eyes were wide and startled but I saw that she understood; she nodded once, her mouth trembling.

I got out, feeling guilty that I haven’t told Mom, yet. I left Tommy’s mother sitting in the van, trying to get herself together to do the shopping she needed.

June 21: Morning

This will probably be the longest entry, because so much happened! I’m actually writing all of it on June 22–hey, it’s my journal so I can do what I want! I’m going to break it up into Morning, Afternoon, Evening, and Night, even though the timing isn’t strictly accurate in a chronological sense–I went to the library in the early afternoon, for instance, but included it in the Morning part. But it’ll all make more sense why I divided it into these four parts.

***

I couldn’t talk with Mom last night after leaving Mrs. Donohue, because Mom had a late shift and didn’t get home until about ten and I was so sleepy that I just crashed about then. I had looked up stuff on the internet until I was bleary eyed and then went to bed. I should make a note that it wasn’t like I was sitting there yawning and decided to turn in early; I’m talking about sitting there one minute reading my computer screen and the next minute I’m hitting the screen with my forehead, so groggy and weak that I almost fell out of my chair. I turned into a zombie instantly and collapsed onto my bed.

I woke up really sore today; I hurt generally, but the worst was my butt and pelvic area, and I thought it was from riding my bike all the way to the Food 4 Less yesterday, and maybe the sitting on the grass for two hours. But there was also the possibility that I was starting to go through the ‘bone pain’ that Craig and Tommy seemed to already have. If that was the case, the girl-bomb was treating each of us on a different timetable. Because of the different drinks, different dosages, or just our different body types and genetics, I wondered. I could almost imagine their scientists’ eyes light up with excitement, studying us.

Mom would be home around six, and I had nothing special planned so I went to the library to take back the books I’d finished while I was spending so much time on the toilet. I tossed ‘em in the slot and went in, found some new titles and was browsing for more when I saw Jenny Allen and Miranda Stevenson sitting at one of the computers. Well, Jenny was at the computer and Miranda was checking her nails and her split ends.

Then Jenny looked around, while waiting for a site to load, I guess, and saw me. There was a weird double-take; I saw her eyes go from the impersonal glance, the little startle, and then focus on me. She frowned and then she smiled. I gave her a little half-wave and she did, too. Miranda looked up at her movement, saw me, shrugged, went back to her nails and then back at me, then back to her nails a little slower. She leaned to Jenny and whispered something; Jenny frowned and whispered back to her and then glanced at me again.

I saw all this because I was at the New Books section, which was a half-shelf. I couldn’t very well disappear back into the stacks, or drop behind the half-shelf to hide, so I was exposed and saw the whole little show. Jenny got up and walked to me so there was no way I could hide now.

“Hey, Chris,” she said pleasantly.

“Hi, Jenny. Doing homework?” I joked. Summer school hasn’t started and they don’t give homework, anyway. It was just something to say.

“Nah. My computer’s in the shop and I needed to check my email. Miranda doesn’t have the internet.”

“Wow. I thought everybody had the internet. Don’t they require it in high school?”

She nodded. “Yeah. She and her brother went through that. They made their parents sign something that said ‘your kid will have a hard time if he can’t get the net at home’ or whatever.”

There was a bit of awkward silence.

I asked, “How’s your summer going?”

“Okay. Yours?”

“Okay.” Boy, I thought, was that a lie!

She looked back at Miranda and said, “Um …Chris …would you …” She looked around and tried again. “I’ve got something to show you; if you’ve got the time, do you want to stop by my house?”

“Um …yeah, I guess, sure. I’m just getting some new books. But aren’t you hanging with Miranda?”

“Well, yeah, now, but she’s got a dance class and her mom’s picking her up here.”

I said okay, I didn’t have anything planned today and I was pretty much done choosing books so I could hang out until she was ready, and at that point I noticed Miranda twitching and pulling out her cell phone. I mentioned that to Jenny, who said she was getting texted. Miranda stood, put her purse over her shoulder, and waved at Jenny, giving me another odd look, and left. Jenny turned back to me.

“I’ve got to go log out. We can go now. If it’s okay with you.”

It was fine, so I walked back with her to her computer and kept walking to the checkout desk, my brain going a mile a minute. What could Jenny Allen have to show me? We were classmates, and towards the end of school we’d gotten friendlier and talked more than we had since …well, ever.

Walking along with her was strange. I knew that anyone driving by would think we were boyfriend and girlfriend, but I didn’t feel anything like that for her; she was just a friend. I was surprised to discover that she lived on the same block as Tommy; all the times I’d been over at his place and I’d never seen her. Maybe it was one of those selective things where little boys didn’t notice little girls until they got older. But then, my mind pointed out that I wasn’t exactly a little boy anymore …or for very much longer, maybe, if this girl-bomb thing went all the way. I had no idea what was on her mind until we got to her house and she offered me drinks. I must have made a face because I suddenly flashed on what happened the last time somebody offered me a drink …

Jenny caught the look. “What?”

“Just thought of something that happened awhile ago. Um …I didn’t know you were on the same street as Tommy Donohue.” Fortunately, she set an unopened can next to a glass of ice. I opened it and poured.

She made a little face. “Oh, yeah. The Donnybrooks …”

I didn’t get it, and she explained that her family could often hear the Donohue family yelling or fighting, and her father said an Irish word for a fight was a ‘donnybrook’. I actually knew that from an old movie, but was embarrassed for Tommy–and now for Mrs. Donohue–that they were known that way in their neighborhood.

I asked, “Have you seen Tommy lately?” She shook her head. I sipped my Diet Coke and said, “So …what did you want to show me?”

Her kitchen had one of those bar things in the middle, with high stools, and she sat, so I sat across from her. Jenny was really a pretty girl, and her long auburn hair was loose and she wore almost no makeup but was still quite pretty. I felt absolutely zero attraction towards her …but I was thinking about the green tank top and white shorts she was wearing, and wondering about how my legs would look in shorts like that.

Jenny looked sheepish. “I …well, I lied. I don’t have anything to show you. I wanted to ask you something and the library wasn’t the right place. Even on the street. But nobody’s home–” She broke off, realizing that what she’d just said might have been taken differently if we were boyfriend and girlfriend, but she made some decision that she was ‘safe’, and went on. “Anyway, nobody’s around so you can tell me, if you want.”

“Tell you …?” I waved my hand in the air and then tucked my hair behind my ear.

“There! See, right there!”

“What?” I had an idea where she was going but decided to make her work for it.

She leaned forward confidentially, even though she knew we couldn’t be overheard. “Chris, can you tell me what’s happening with you?” I paused, and she blew out some air. “Come on, Chris, I’ve known you like forever, and although we’ve only started really talking, I’ve kind of known you for years. You’re making this hard for me so I’ll just go for it. Are you gay?”

I almost did a spit take, making the mistake of drinking when she’d asked. I’d expected her to be closer to the truth. Gay? Geez …that was only the tip of the tip of the iceberg …

“Jenny, I think I know the answer to my next question, but I’ve gotta ask. Can I trust you to keep a secret? I mean, really keep it, even if it’s so stupendously weird you feel like you’ve gotta tell somebody or burst? Can’t tell anybody, not your mom, not Miranda, not anybody?”

“Well, first, I wouldn’t tell a secret to Miranda. She’d forget it in half an hour but that was only after texting everybody on the west side,” she grinned. “And I’m close to my mom but, gee, Chris, give me some credit. So, yes. I can keep a secret. I think you know I’m not the type to blab.”

She wasn’t; I knew she was a really good person. And I knew that although I’d told Mrs. Donohue, that was because she was already involved and was aware that something was going on, and Tommy’s condition had brought things in the open. With Jenny, I’d be telling somebody who was completely uninvolved, starting from ground zero, so to speak. I thought it would be a good rehearsal for telling Mom, which I planned to do tonight.

So I told the whole story from start to finish, like I’d told Mrs. Donohue only with a little more than I’d told her, about things Craig and I had speculated. I knew Jenny was smart and open-minded, and when I wound down, after twenty minutes of non-stop talking, she didn’t say anything. She got up, took my glass, and I thought I was going to be thrown out when she tossed the drink in the sink, but then she added fresh ice and topped it off with more Diet Coke before topping her own, and then she sat.

“I think you’re right,” she said calmly, almost matter-of-fact. “I think the …what you call the Black Hats, were piggy-backing Intellia. It’s been done lots of times before.” I was stunned that she wasn’t freaked out, and on my look, she shrugged. “My dad’s totally aware of conspiracies, Men In Black–the real ones, not the movie–the Kennedy assassination, you got it. Not in a crazy way, either; he looks for the proof. I mean, he’s a lawyer so he looks for verified documentation. And he talks about it with me. So, yeah, you guys stumbled into a kind of classic setup.”

“I can’t believe that you believe me!” I felt tremendous relief.

She grinned. “Chris, if you came to me out of the blue, like six weeks ago, and told me this story, I’d think, yeah, it’s possible, but there’s no evidence and it’d be only a so-so movie.”

“Why six weeks ago?”

“Geez, Chris; don’t you have a mirror at your house?”

“Yeah,” I blushed. “There are some …changes …”

She snorted. “Some changes? Chris, when I looked around at the library, I was just bored and looked at the people. I saw a pretty girl that I didn’t know over at the new books and then, whoa! My eyes and brain kind of clicked in and I realized it was you. But because of that lag I knew you didn’t look like the Chris I know. And then talking with you, well, you don’t sound like the Chris I know. Not even the last of school there, when we started talking. Do you have any idea how …how much of a girl you are?”

“How do you mean? I’m not being difficult; I mean, do you mean inside or outside?”

She nodded. “That makes sense. I can’t really know your inside because you haven’t told me. And I don’t know what your body’s doing …inside.” I made no move and she went on. “But your face is very girlish, rounder than it was, softer. Your hair’s in much better condition and doesn’t look like a boy’s dingy ponytail anymore. You walk differently–did you know that you held your books against your chest the way girls do?”

“Sort of. I mean, I’m kind of covering up.”

“Why do you think we do it, silly?” She laughed. “We’ll talk about that later. Anyway, your movements are different, the way you move your hands and your arms, just …” She shrugged. “…just everything. Chris, you’re the evidence that proves your story. I don’t want to be mean, but you know you were never the most macho guy …”

“Duh,” I said, sipping and grinning.

“But the …transformation in such a short time is incredible. So Craig’s doing the same …” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, God, poor Tommy!”

It was so similar to Mrs. Donohue yesterday that I flinched. “I’m really worried about Tommy. And about his father.”

Jenny looked sad. “My dad wanted to call the police on them a couple of times but Mom always says we don’t know the whole story, we have to live on the same block so let’s get along.”

“I’m just worried that one day they’ll go too far and cripple him or worse.”

We stared at our drinks, thinking dark thoughts.

Then Jenny sat up and said, “I just thought of something. I said I had something to show you. I also said it was a lie. So maybe it wasn’t a lie, after all.” She grinned and stood up. “Come on. I want to show you something!”

“What?” I asked as I stood.

Her grin widened. “You’ll just have to find out!”

So I called this part Morning; maybe Act One is more like it.

End of Part 3