Everyone wants to talk to Kissy. Rory wants a date, Armand wants a game, Marjorie wants....

I rubbed the place where I got the shot until it stopped hurting, then we got out of there with an appointment for the following Thursday to get another shot and a new blood test, plus a visit with a counselor the same day and right in the same building. This would be a continuing set of appointments until I either transitioned or decided not to.

I couldn't imagine not completing the journey I was beginning. Just standing there beside Mom while she made arrangements, I felt a sudden thrill go through me, not quite like anything I'd ever felt before. I made a noise, more of a gurgle than a giggle. Mom looked at me, and I grinned and shrugged. I took it as evidence that the hormone shot was already working. It felt—nice.

They actually did offer me a lollipop—Ms McHenry let me pick out a green one from a big glass jar. In case I haven't mentioned it before, green is my favorite color because mostly it looks terrific on me. Green lollies are usually lime, but this one was different. I decided after a few licks that it must be kiwi fruit. Interesting.

We took the elevator down, and as soon as it began moving, I felt that thrill again. I looked at Mom with a grin.

"You're smirking," she said.

"That's a smirk?" I asked. "I thought a smirk was like this," I made a face at her, and she laughed.

"I don't know what the heck that was!"

When we got to the lobby, Mom greeted the guard. "Hi, Mr Williams, you've had a long day. It's after five."

Mr Williams? How does she learn everyone's name? Oh, he had a name tag all along, and I didn't notice before, duh.

"Hello, ladies," he hurried to open the door for us. "Yes, I work six to six, three days a week, Thursday to Saturday."

"Oh," I said. "Then I'll see you every week on Thursday." I beamed at him, and he grinned back.

"I'll be looking forward to it, miss."

We got out on the sidewalk, and I wanted to skip toward the valet stand. I didn't, but I wanted to.

"You're in a good mood," Mom commented.

"Uh, huh." I did a little dance move, shaking my hips.

"I've never seen you do that before," she said.

"I never tried to do it before. Mom, can I get dance lessons, and, and—y'know things I probably should know? Like, cooking, maybe?" Stereotype much, I sneered at my inner girliness.

She sighed. "We need to find out how much of this medical stuff the insurance will be paying, but sure, we can probably afford some classes for you."

"Acting, maybe," I mused.

She snorted. "Well, there's no shortage of schools for that around here."

"I'm sorry about the expense," I said. "I'll get married in a few years, and my husband will pay you back."

"What!?"

I was joking but saying it had caused another thrill to go through me. Getting married had never been something Davey ever thought about. Now? Hmm, it seemed possible.

Mom snorted. "You're too young to think about getting married."

"Not for thinking, Mom, not for thinking."

I waved at the valet guys, and they waved back, and one of them left for their underground lot to bring Mom's car around. When we got there, the car hadn't arrived yet, but Mom went ahead and started to pay for the parking using the card I got from Marjorie.

Paul, the valet who had kept me from falling twice before, asked, "You need help?" He stood beside the extra step off the too-high curb.

I giggled. "Judging from past experience, evidently I do."

He held out his arm, and I rested one hand on it while I negotiated the steps. Once I was safely down, I looked up into those brown eyes with the curly golden lashes, and I felt all bubbly for a moment. We talked about something until the car came around, but I have no idea what. Then he helped me into the car, holding and closing the door for me.

I waved as we drove away, and everyone waved back. I sighed. Somehow that had been exhilarating, confusing and a little disappointing.

"Did he ask you for a date?" Mom wanted to know.

Oh, was that what I'd been hoping for. "No, darn it," I said.

"Remember, you're on restriction, so no dates without my approval."

"Yes, ma'am," I said meekly. I'd already agreed to those terms; I'd just forgotten.

"In fact," she said. "You're almost eighteen, but with new hormones in your blood, you may be acting more like thirteen. So, in addition to your other restrictions, you've got a curfew."

I groaned.

"Ten p.m., negotiable to midnight," Mom said firmly.

Oh. Well, that wasn't too bad. Crap, I wasn't sure I even trusted myself past midnight. But I said, "Ah, Mo-om!" just because any kid would.

"And you still have to call or text in at least every two hours." She reminded me.

"Okay," I grumped, to keep up appearances. Then we smiled at each other, having completed that necessary bit of theater.

"I'm thinking you can come in with me next Thursday. Your appointments are at nine and eleven, then you can get the bus home, or I'll run you home on my lunch hour." Mom suggested.

"Maybe I'll ride the subway," I mused.

Mom seemed to think about that awhile.

"It's not like the New York Subway, all dirty and smelly, like in the movies," I pointed out.

"There's a difference between a scruffy teenage boy riding mass transit and a beautiful teenage girl doing the same," Mom countered.

When she put it that way, I could see what she meant.

"Did you ever get a chance to look at those messages on your phone?"

"Oh!" I said. We were in the crush of some of the heaviest traffic of the day. "I guess I can do that while we're in the car."

She nodded. "I'm on alert for morons on wheels," she said, meaning bad drivers.

"Mm, hmm." I dug my phone out of my purse and opened up the message app, turning the phone back on to receive calls when I did. Huh? How was it off in the first place? Marjorie again, probably. She wouldn't have wanted anyone to interrupt our fun yesterday. Damn.

I had more messages than before, now: Marjie (2), Rory (2), Marty (3), Armand (5), Dr. Forbes (1) and Dr. Lynch (1). Dr. Lynch was the counselor, I remembered, so I checked the last two first: appointment confirmations, just as I expected. I added the appointments to my calendar, though Mom had already added them to hers. Then I went back to the list.

Armand seemed to really want to talk to me with five messages, so I checked his first. I hadn't heard from Armand since last summer, but it was probably about gaming if he were back in the area. The two earliest were voice mails, and from the length of them, they were likely to be nothing-burgers, so I got them out of the way first, holding the phone to my ear so as not to bother Mom.

The shortest turned out to be Armand saying, "Davey?" in his squeezed baritone voice. Then he hung up. The second was the same, except he added, "Gaming, my house, Friday night?"

Friday was today. Uh—?

Crap. What would the guys do if I showed up as Kissy?

I glanced down at myself. Painted nails, padded curves, tank top and shorts—they would shit purple bricks. I giggled.

Armand may have already seen me. And Rory was of the opinion that he had definitely recognized me, Pachyderm memory and all that. Had he told the rest of the guys? Whatever, the rest of the messages from Armand and Marty were probably about the game unless they were about Armand recognizing me.

I decided not to open those until Mom was uninvolved in traffic and could talk to me. For one thing, Friday night games often went late into the night, like 1 am or 2 am or even later. And if even my negotiated curfew was midnight…. I felt a little conflicted about the curfew and didn't want to examine my feelings at the moment.

I went on to Rory. Both his were text. The earlier one said, "saturday noon, pick you up, game at 5, probably over at 8, crab legs at joes on PCH unless you're allergic, text okay if not."

That confused me. Oh, he meant text okay if not allergic. I sent okay before looking at the next message. I'd never eaten at Joe's, but it was a popular place, so we probably wouldn't sit down to dinner before nine. I'd better negotiate a curfew extension with Mom since we would still be more than 30 miles away after eating.

Crab legs, mmm. Joe's was beach casual; you could dress up or dress down. I'd ask Mom what I should wear, not that I had a lot to choose from. Unless…. Later.

The second message from Rory must have been sent during his afternoon game. Text again, "struck out 3 guys on 11 pitches thinking of you." Huh? I wasn't sure what to think about that. It was either sweet or just weird.

Still skipping the messages that were probably about a game I might not be able to attend, the only ones left were from Marjorie. I hoped at least one was about the packages that had shown up at my door this morning.

I opened the early one, sent yesterday afternoon sometime. She'd used the voice-to-text option, so I could hear her voice and read an auto-transcript of the message at the same time, except—I didn't want mom to hear, and I hadn't brought my earphones. So I muted the voice.

"I spent … … … Amazon buying you a few things you might need or enjoy. Keep them or send them back. … … … meant as an apology. You might be setting packages for a few days."

Kind of what I expected. Knowing Marjorie's attitude toward money, there might be thousands of dollars worth of stuff in those boxes. Probably were, if not more, and no telling what. Clothes, beauty products, jewelry? Mom would have to decide how much, if any, we kept. I was inclined to say 'yes' on the clothing cause I literally had almost nothing to wear.

The next message was sent this morning and, boy, was it different while being kind of the same.

"You'll be getting an envelope from my broker sometime next week. I bought some bonds in your name. Diamonds are for … but securities pay compound interest. … … an engagement gift should be six months' salary. Will you marry me, busy?"

I think I screamed.