by Justme

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Chapter 1: Opportunity only knocks once

"Fa, a long, long way to run..." Ow. I can't fucking hear myself sing over this lady standing next to me--can't even tell if that's me or her hitting the note flat. Does she have to do that right in my fucking ear? I stop, get this confused/annoyed/apologetic look on my face, shrug and clean out my right ear with my pinky, hoping I'll regain my hearing on that side someday.

"OK, that'll do. You sing better than your dad," the musical director comments to me, glancing over at him with an inscrutable expression. I'm not sure if it's praise for me or a dig at my dad, or maybe both. Or something else.

Whatever it is, it gets a bit of a laugh from the other hopefuls. "Hah. Yes, I guess so," Dad admits. I can't tell if his expression is sheepish, or proud, or maybe both. Or something else.

I'm not sure how to take it, either. I mean, I've never thought of my dad as having an especially good singing voice, but then, he does seem to get a lot of lead roles in musicals so I guess he can't really be all that bad. Maybe other people--people who don't live with him and don't have to listen to him rehearsing over and over and over and over and fucking over, people who can listen to his singing more or less objectively--maybe those people can hear something I can't. Or maybe that was just a dig at my dad's singing. You never can tell. That's the trouble with good actors--you can never be sure what they're really thinking, only what they want you to think they're thinking. Unless you're their offspring, of course; then you learn pretty quick to see right through that shit. Not that I know any of these actors well enough to know if they're really that good anyway, but still, you never can tell.

How the hell did I end up here? I'm kind of shy, introverted, and completely terrified of public humiliation. Stage fright doesn't even begin to cover it--blind panic is more like it. When I stand in front of a crowd of people expecting me to do something my mind goes utterly blank, if I try to speak I only babble incoherently, and all I want to do is run screaming.

On the other hand I really love my dad, and between his work and the theatre, I almost never get to spend any time with him. Once in a while when he directs a children's production he'll have me work backstage, on sets or props or whatever, but even then I won't actually get to spend a lot of time with him. I agreed to come along for these tryouts because I wanted to be more a part of his life and it seemed like a good way to do that, but now in the glare of the fluorescent lamps in the school cafetorium in front of all these fucking weird theatre people the reality of what I'm doing is starting to sink in. I try to remind myself that I wouldn't ever be alone on stage, that the part I'm trying out for only has a couple of lines and no big solos, that I've managed to sing on stage in large groups before without dying of terminal social mortification. I'm not convinced but it helps a little.

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"That was the casting director. He's decided to cast Jack as Kurt. He says you sing better, but they know Jack is a good actor and you've never acted before so it'd be too big a risk. I'm sorry." Dad's hand that was holding the phone a minute ago is now gently gripping my shoulder.

"'Sokay." Part of me is truly disappointed, but mostly I am just immensely relieved not to have to go through with it. "But you got the part of the Captain, right?" I know he did; no one else trying out even remotely looked the part, and even I could tell he was the best singer of the bunch.

"Yeah, I got the part of the Captain. I'm sorry, kiddo. Maybe next time."

Like there'll be a next time. Whew. Close call.

I'm glad he got his part, though. Not that I ever imagined he wouldn't. I'm proud of my dad's talent on the stage and have been as far back as I can remember, which is actually pretty far--my earliest memory of him acting is from before I was two years old. People think I'm some kind of fucking freak for being able to remember shit that far back. Which is cool; I kind of enjoy freaking people out. Anyway Mom told me once that he'd given up dreams of an acting career in New York to start a family with her. Knowing how much the theatre means to Dad, that kind of choked me up.

I think the casting director probably made the right decision about me, though. Acting really is all about lying convincingly, and I'm a lousy liar. I went through a "pathological liar" phase a few years ago and Dad beat it out of me. Well, psychologically rather than physically, but that just means the scars are less visible.

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"What? You're kidding, right? ... No! ... No, absolutely not, and you won't either. ... He's--no, that would be too embarrassing! He's--" Dad glances over when I walk into the kitchen. He gives me a piercing look for about half a second and then glazes over. What the fuck? "No, I mean it. ... All right, see you then. 'Bye." He looks kind of baffled as he hangs up.

"What was that all about? Ask who what?"

"Nothing, just... nothing." He rolls his eyes. "Just Tim being an idiot." He shakes his head and walks out, muttering something I can't quite catch.

What the fuck was that all about? I guess he doesn't want to tell me, but I suspect it involves me somehow. Tim who? Who's Tim?

Oh well, I'm a growing boy and tuna salad on toast is calling my name, which I remember is why I came in here in the first place. That, and a Coke.

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"Mr-r-row?"

"Bonjour, Charbon. Garder vos pattes de mon... tuna." Charbon is my cat. Or maybe I'm his human; it's hard to be sure. Anyway we've been together since we lived in Geneva so I always speak to him in French. No sense making him learn a whole new language now. The French word for tuna escapes me at the moment though, so I just say it with a French accent.

He just looks at me patiently. I give up and drop a forkful of tuna salad in his dish. He accepts his tribute without comment.

I draw the line at sharing my Coke, though.

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"Out, dork!" That's my sister.

"Gladly." I don't let the door hit me in the ass on the way out, but just barely.

"Don't slam doors!" That's Mom's catch-phrase. She says it like a hundred times a day. You'd think she'd get tired of repeating herself. Apparently not, though.

Oblivia and Felicia were in her room hanging out, with the door open I might add so it's not like they had any expectation of privacy, when I walked by, and Felicia saw me and called me in so she could meet me.

Felicia is Oblivia's new friend. Well, her name is Olivia and she prefers to go by Liv, so naturally I call her Oblivia, making sure to enunciate the 'b.' Anyway, we moved here like less than a month ago so clearly they didn't meet at school 'cause it's August, duh, and I think they just met like today or something. Don't ask me where; Oblivia isn't the type to hang out in malls. She doesn't seem to care all that much about clothes and make-up and shit, which is one of the few not-uncool things about her; I hate that superficial bullshit. Other than that, I have no idea what your typical not-quite-fifteen-year-old girls do with their free time. Christ, I'm thirteen and I live to annoy my sister--you think they hang out with me? Think again, Einstein.

But apparently Felicia doesn't have a brother so she doesn't know about thirteen-year-old boys and get this, I think she thinks I'm cute or something. Well, she's not what I'd call a total fox, but she does seem to have a good sense of humor and a sharp wit, and that's definitely worth hanging out with. Oblivia was clearly annoyed at the whole scene but didn't do anything until I started telling Felicia an embarrassing story about her. That's when I got the boot. Literally; that's why I was so concerned about the door hitting my ass on the way out. The toes on those damn things are kinda pointy. Ow.

Anyway it turns out I'm right, 'cause I can hear Felicia saying through the closed door, "But he's so cute!" By the time Oblivia replies I am, thankfully, too far away to make out what she says but it doesn't sound very nice. Heh. Mission accomplished. I high-five myself, which is admittedly kind of lame but I haven't made any friends here yet so there's no one else around to do it.

I'll have to try not to annoy Felicia too much, though. Because, A, she seems pretty cool; B, she thinks I'm cute; and especially C, it will make Oblivia look like an idiot trying to convince her I'm a total loser dweeb when I'm so clearly not. God, how I love to mess with her mind. Trust me though, the feeling is mutual and she's no slouch herself at psychological warfare so I gotta be subtle.

Listen to me, I sound like fucking Rudolph the fucking Red-Nosed Reindeer. "I'b cuuute!!" Blech. Let me be clear here, I do not have the hots for Felicia's bod. Her brain, OK. But it's always pretty cool when an older chick thinks you're cute. Bodes well for the future, you know?

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In a couple of weeks I start at a new school. Van Helsing Junior High. No, not really, but that's much cooler than the real name so I'm gonna go with that. In sixth grade, which is like three years ago now, my teacher read Dracula aloud to the class. Which says something not too flattering about the state of public education in this country today, that he felt it necessary to read aloud to fucking sixth graders. But still, it was pretty damn cool of him to read Dracula, you have to admit.

Seventh, eighth, and ninth grades at Van Helsing. The cool thing is, my old school was only seventh and eighth grades, so I get two years in a row of being an "upperclassman" and lording it over the lower grades.

What's that you say? "Thirteen, and about to start ninth grade? Are you some kind of grade-skipping ultra-nerd or something?" First off, fuck you. Some of my best friends are nerds. But I'm most definitely not one, in spite of what my sister may have told you. Just 'cause I own a soldering iron and a telescope and have a darkroom set up in my closet, jeez. Second off, yeah, I fucking skipped a grade--Kindergarten. We moved to Switzerland just before I started school and I was too fucking old for Kindergarten there because they don't treat kids like retards there just because they're kids, unlike here. Third off, I'm still fucking smarter than nearly everyone in my grade, which sucks a lot because I'm also younger and less physically developed which means, of course, I get the crap beat out of me on a regular basis in spite of how cool I am. Or maybe it's because of how cool I am--yeah, that must be it; they're jealous, the fucking bastards. Which doesn't make it suck any less.

Anyway I'm kind of looking forward to starting at a new school again where nobody knows me. I usually get at least a couple months' grace period before the local Mediocrity Enforcement Squad notices me and the beatings commence. Maybe if I play it right I can avoid their notice entirely this time. I'm not optimistic, but I can dream, can't I?

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"They'll be organizing the crew tonight, sorting out who's doing what. You sure you don't want to come? They're always short-handed. You might meet some friends."

"Nah, I've got some pictures I want to develop." That I took through my telescope last night. Of Jupiter and Mars. OK, so maybe I am a fucking nerd. So fucking what? Shut up.

Anyway, A, most of the people on the crew are not going to be anywhere near my age, and B, people my age that seriously into theatre tend to be weird in ways that are off-putting even to nerds. I've sometimes brought friends with me to work on one of Dad's productions, but I've never met anyone at one that I'd want to be seen associating with in public. Either they're complete theatre dorks, or worse, they're fucking popular. Ugh. Now that's a crowd I just don't care to be a part of. Rampant conformity.

"OK. Well, if you change your mind later I'm sure they'll be able to find something for you to do."

"Yeah. Well, have fun."

"All right, see you when I get back." A funny look crosses his face for a second, like he's concerned about me or something, but then it goes away and he's off.

"See ya." I'm glad I waited until he was out the door to say that, 'cause for some reason it came out sounding kind of nasty. I didn't mean it to.

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The pictures of Jupiter are coming out pretty cool. You can definitely see the cloud bands, and that off-center gray blob might be the Red Spot. It's just black-and-white film, pan-x; I can't afford the chemicals and equipment to do color, are you kidding? You can see all four Galilean moons, too, and they're not even blurry, just nice sharp dots. Really good seeing last night. I might just try blowing this one up to eight-by-ten and see how it looks. The ones of Mars sucked though--just washed-out gray featureless blobs. By the time it cleared the low clouds on the horizon the morning twilight had started to creep in. Oh, well.

There's also a really good one I took of Oblivia through her bedroom window when she wasn't looking the other day. It looks like she's just picked her nose and is intently examining what she found. Actually I think it was a piece of lint she pulled off her dark t-shirt, but that's not what it looks like in the picture. Heh. If and when she ever starts dating, I stand to make a fortune in blackmail.

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I guess I conked out early, what with being up all last night and all, but I'm wide awake now. Dad just got home, seems to have brought someone with him, and they're making a godawful racket considering it's, what, fucking one oh six in the morning? Jeez, they must have stopped off at the pub after or something. Good thing I didn't go; I'd have hated to have cramped Dad's social life. Mom by some miracle seems to be sleeping through it, though--at least I don't hear her screaming for them to keep it down for godssake, people are trying to sleep here. Another of Mom's catch-phrases. I swear we're like our own fucking sit-com.

Well, as long as I'm awake I might as well go join the party. Dad's pretty OK when he's had a few. In fact he can be a fucking downright scream sometimes. 'Course if he's had too many then he's just totally lame and it's kind of sad, really. I hope he hasn't had too many this time.

When I walk into the living room the noise suddenly stops and they get real quiet for a few seconds. The one he's been having the loud conversation with is that guy, whatsisname, the musical director from the show.

"Come in come in, me boyo. Have you met Tim? Oh, a' course you have. What'm I sayin'." Dad sounds kind of borderline on the blood alcohol levels. Plus he's doing his bad fake Irish accent, which is never a good sign.

"Hey, Tim," I acknowledge and nod to him out of courtesy. Wait--Tim? I remember something. "Is this who you were arguing with on the phone the other day? What was that all about, anyway?" Dad's pretty loose-lipped when he's in this state so I figure I'll be able to get it out of him even if he doesn't want to tell me. He looks kind of confused for a second, then annoyed, and gives Tim a dirty look.

"Oh, come on, let me just ask him, OK?" Tim looks a little irritated in return. "It can't hurt to ask, can it?"

Tim seems sharp enough. I don't think he's as plowed as Dad.

"Yes, it can, you..."

"Hey, come on Dad. Whatever it is I can take it like a man," I joke. Dad gives me this really strange look that kind of scares me and I'm almost thinking of backing off, but now I'm dying of curiosity about what it could be that could hurt me even to just ask it. So I calmly hold his stare until he looks down and says "Oh, hell. Ask away."

I look over at Tim expectantly.

"Would you still like to be in the show?"

That's it? What's hurtful about that, unless it's some kind of sick joke and he's just stringing me along? Is Dad thinking I don't really want to go through with this? 'Cause maybe at the time I didn't, OK, but the more I'd thought about it the more bummed out I'd gotten that I wasn't going to be doing it after all.

"Uh, sure. What happened to Jack?"

"Nothing; you wouldn't be playing Kurt."

Something else opened up? "Friedrich?" Well... maybe, but I am kind of young looking for my age. Rolf's definitely out--I'm a few inches shorter than the girl they've got for Liesl.

"No, not Friedrich. We need a..."

"Then what..." I interrupt. Dad looks kind of sick. Jeez, just how many did he have anyway? He's not exactly a lightweight...

"Louisa."

"WHAT?" I was not expecting that. Now I feel just like Dad looks; I see him wince. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears, and I get the metallic taste of fear in the back of my mouth. Adrenalin. I want to run and hide, but I can't move. I just stand there, shaking a little, turning either bright red or white as a sheet, I can't really tell which. Maybe it's both, and they're canceling each other out. He couldn't possibly know, could he? How could he know? Did I slip up somehow?

My scream woke Mom up. "Will you keep it down out there for godssake, people are trying to sleep here!"

That hits me like a bucket of cold water in the face and kind of snaps me out of my panic. I pull what's left of my wits back together and manage to ask again, as a stalling tactic, more quietly this time, "What?" I hope like hell I didn't wake Oblivia up. Oh my god, what would she do if she knew about this? I'd be dead meat. But nobody knows. How could he have found out? How? I've never done anything or said anything to anyone. Does it show somehow? Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. As all this goes through my shellshocked brain I miss most of what Tim says.

"... can sing worth a damn, and your voice is perfect for it, and you're even the perfect height."

Calm down. Maybe he doesn't know anything, in which case for fuck's sake don't do anything to give yourself away now. Thinkthinkthink. What would a normal thirteen-year-old boy say to that? Uh...

"But... I'm a guy." Close enough. I hope. Anyway it's the best I can come up with on short notice. My heart is pounding and I'm starting to hyperventilate and in a minute here I'm going to either pass out or blow chunks. I'm trying desperately to look like I think he's nuts rather than terrified of being exposed, which is actually the case. I can't possibly be succeeding. Focus! Slow, deep breaths....

My point doesn't seem to hold much weight with Tim, judging by his expression. "Wardrobe and make-up will take care of that." He gets up to leave. "Just think about it, OK? I know you two were hoping to do this together. And your voice. It'd be a damn shame to let that go to waste. Just ... think about it? Well, I guess I'd better get going. Tomorrow, Steve?"

That last bit was directed at Dad and anyway I can't think of anything to say, so I don't.

"Tomorrow," Dad manages with a nod. As the door closes behind Tim he looks a little more sober. And a lot sorry. It doesn't look like he has a clue, anyway. And I probably don't have to worry too much about him noticing some subtle thing and catching on, in the state he's in.

I relax just enough to be able to think a little more clearly. I'm still terrified of being found out; as if I don't take enough grief already for being who I am even without people knowing my deep dark secret. Crap, that would just multiply it by a hundred. No, a million.

But... what if I wasn't found out? What if there was a way to do it with relatively low risk? Shit, this is the perfect excuse, this could be the opportunity of a lifetime; I might never have another chance like this. Before I can talk myself out of it, I jump at it.

"Dad? ..."

"Jus' forget about it, he's lost..."

"... D'you think I could pull it off?"

"..." Dad makes a funny little noise in the back of his throat but he isn't saying anything, he's just staring at me goggle-eyed with his mouth hanging open. Apparently whatever kind of reaction he was expecting from me, it wasn't this.

I think a little rationalization is in order. Luckily I'm good at that. "I want to do it, Dad. I don't want anyone to find out. Not even Mom and especially not Obli- uh, not Livy." That's what our parents call her. "She'd make sure everyone knew and I'd never live it down." Actually I'd never live to see my fourteenth birthday, is what I'm thinking, but he'd think I was being overly dramatic so I don't say that. "But I really want to be in the show with you. Can you help me pull it off?"

Jeez, I wish he'd stop staring like that and fucking answer me.

I see the gears starting to turn. One expression after another crosses his face as his ethanol-impaired synapses try to decide what to make of me. Finally, after what seems like forfuckingever though in reality it's probably just a few seconds, he's worked it out; the corners of his mouth twitch up and his eyes get kind of watery. "That's my boy. I love you too, son." He stands up surprisingly steadily and holds out his arms for a hug. "Don't you worry, we'll find a way to pull it off without embarrassing you. It's a brave, brave thing you're doin' and don't think I don't appreciate it."

Yeah, he's had one too many tonight. God, that fake brogue is so lame. OK, he is half Irish, but his mom was born here and I'm pretty sure his grandparents were born here too so it's not even something he could've picked up from them; it's just out-and-out fake. I give him his hug and roll my eyes where he can't see.

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I'm lying in bed when it finally hits me. Oh dear god, what have I fucking gotten myself into?

###

 

Chapter 2: Be careful what you wish for

"Well, I don't see how we can get around it. They're going to be coming to see the play."

Oh. Why didn't I think of that? Duh. ...Damn. It'll never work.

"Livy will ruin me." I shove the last spoonful of Cheerios with milk and lots of sugar into my mouth. Mom won't buy us anything good that comes with sugar already in it, like Froot Loops or Cap'n Crunch, so I'm forced to add my own. "She'll tell everyone and I'll never be able to show my face in public again." At least that's what I'm trying to say; it's kind of hard to form the words without dribbling milk down my chin. Look at me, I'm Eliza fucking Doolittle--the rine in Spine sties minely in the pline.

"Look, I understand"--oh good, then I won't have to repeat myself--"but if you want to do this we don't have a choice. We'll just have to find some way to make sure she keeps it quiet. I have an idea about that. Now let's go talk to your mother about it."

"Yeah, well, she's going to freak out." This is not just a guess, it's based on experience. Just one incident, half a lifetime ago, but indelibly etched in memory. Luckily it had been Livy's idea; not that I'd resisted or anything, but at least I could act all innocent when we got caught.

"No she won't; she's very open minded. Trust me."

About most things yes; about me wearing girls' clothes, nuh-uh, I don't say. Instead I just roll my eyes and shrug. His problem this time. "Yeah. Well, what about the rest of the cast? Won't they remember your son from the tryouts?" Especially since I was singled out in front of everyone by Tim, I don't think I need to add...

"They won't care. They're theatre people; they're used to that sort of thing. Most of them probably won't even think it's weird. Actually it's not any weirder than most of them...."

"All well and good, but I still don't want them blabbing it all over town."

"I can see where that might be a tad embarrassing. ... If you really don't want to do this, I'll understand. If you want to back out, now would be a good time, before we tell anyone else."

Frankly, I'm starting to get scared kind of shitless about it in the cold light of day. But I can't imagine ever having another opportunity like this, to have a chance to be myself (OK, myself in a costume and playing a role, shut up, you know what I mean) in public, in front of hundreds of people, with none of them thinking I'm a freak. Even if I wasn't looking forward to that, I'd still want to do it just for the chance to spend more time with Dad. "No, I'll still go through with it." I hesitate before answering and try not to sound too enthusiastic so he doesn't start wondering about my real motives.

"Well, I'll talk to Tim about it, and he can make sure everyone knows not to say anything. I should probably have a word with Bob about it too, just to be sure."

"Bob?"

"... The director?"

"I thought Tim--"

"Music director. Bob's directing the play."

I give him a blank look.

"Tall, thin, graying hair?" Nothing. "I think he was standing on Tim's left when you were singing."

Tim's left, let's see, that would be my right... "Oh, Bob." I'd wondered who that guy was, actually.

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"Well, I don't see why not. He does have a beautiful voice, and it hasn't changed yet so I can see why they want him." She's smiling as she turns from Dad to look at me.

Wait, now I'm confused. Is this the same Mom who went apeshit over me in a dress when I was six?

"And playing a girl is nothing to be ashamed about. I don't see why you want to go to all this trouble to hide it."

Now that I think of it, I remember the last time she was kind of freaking out about what Dad would think if he found out. I guess she realizes that won't be a problem this time. ...Wait, what was that about not hiding it? And how can she say that, after how she handled it? Maybe she feels guilty about it or something.

"Uh... oh, I'm not ashamed, Mom." Which is true; it's not shame that motivates me, but fear. "I just, well... you know, school? Being different? Getting beat up for being a 'fag?'" I don't know what Pollyanna school Mom went to, where nobody kicked the shit out of 'fags' for amusement, but I go to school in the real world, you know? And the technicality that I'm not actually gay doesn't change anything. You're a guy, you dress like a girl for any reason (or do pretty much anything else 'unmanly'), you're automatically a 'fag.' Unless you're big and mean enough to beat the crap out of anyone who dares suggest such a thing, which I'm not. On either count. "Um, so, I'd just rather it didn't get around, before I even start at my new school, OK?" Skinny, unathletic smartasses like me are automatic targets for bullies anyway, but the 'fag' label seems to crank their enthusiasm level up a notch or two, as well as turning some people who might otherwise be sympathetic against you--guilt by association, and all. I can do without that.

"I just don't understand why they tolerate that sort of thing in the public schools." Ooh, she sounds angry about it. Well, you shove a bunch of same-aged kids together for six-and-a-half hours a day and give them plenty of opportunities to be out of the direct line of sight of the jackbooted thugs known as the staff, it's not like you have to tolerate it for this sort of shit to happen. I mean, didn't these people ever read Lord of the Flies? Or at least see the movie? It's more like, you couldn't stop it if you tried. Which is why they don't, I guess. Try, I mean. "Oh, well, all right, I guess I see your point. I don't want you being picked on in school."

Picked on, she says. Yeah, that would be horrible. Yeesh. I roll my eyes at Dad, where Mom can't see of course, and he grins back. He knows what it's like.

One down.

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I can't believe Mom's being so cool about this.

Have I been keeping this from her all these years for no good reason? Should I take a chance and open up to her about it now?

Whoa, let's not be hasty. She did freak out about it once upon a time and I'm not really sure yet why that time and not this time. I'll have to think about it though.

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"Because, I don't trust her."

"What's this family coming to, when you can't trust your own sister?" I almost laugh at the irony dripping from his voice, until I realize it's directed at me so I keep my mouth shut. "Well, if it's kept us and the Soviets from blowing each other up for thirty years, it should be good enough for you two." M.A.D.--Mutually Assured Destruction. Trouble with that strategy is, it assumes both opponents are sane and rational. I'm not as sure about this as Dad seems to be. Plus, how the hell did he find out about the little dossier I've been putting together on her? The one he's holding in his hand now and waving at me as we head for her room?

----------

Two down. Sort of. I hope...

Well, she did go a little pale when she saw some of the pictures, so that's a good sign.

"Before you ask, you're not really getting these back if she breaks her word. That was just for motivation."

Damn.

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"You know, if you got on her good side, she might be willing to help."

"How? It's not like she knows anything about acting like a normal teenage girl. And anyway I don't think she has a good side." She was actually kind of OK, sometimes, until she hit thirteen and turned into a psychopathic fire-breathing harpy, like overnight.

Dad rolls his eyes. I can tell this sibling rivalry shit is getting kind of old for him. "You could try sometime. You might be surprised."

At what? That she had a good side, or that she could help me get into the character of a 1930's Austrian girl? Yeah, admittedly either way I'd be pretty surprised.

I roll my eyes back at him. This parental Pollyanna shit is getting kind of old for me.

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"Where did all these cars come from?" The school parking lot's gate was padlocked, apparently for the summer. We passed it a block back and haven't seen an open spot on the street yet.

"Must be a big wedding or funeral or something." I point out the packed parking lot of the church as we pass it.

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"Finally."

"Oh, man. We have to walk from here?"

----------

"Ah, the Captain and Louisa have decided to grace us with their presence, everyone! You made it just in time. We were about to give your parts to someone else." I guess you have to expect actors to be a little overly dramatic at times, but it's still kind of annoying. If this lady wasn't cast as the Baroness someone missed a trick.

Well, I see a couple of 'knowing' smiles but otherwise, except what you'd expect from showing up late, no one's looking at me too funny. So I guess Tim explained things and Dad was right about these people after all. We take the scripts they hand us, find a spot to sit down and start thumbing through to find our first lines.

----------

Wow, that was pretty lame, especially without the music. I guess that's why we meet to rehearse every Saturday and Sunday for the next two months. Huh, if they all suck that bad at this stage, reading from the fucking script, maybe I can do this.

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"Hi, you must be Joy. I'm Linda Thorsen, I'm playing Liesl?"

Yeah, I kinda figured that out when you read her lines in the read-through, I want to say, but unfortunately my parents raised me to have better manners than that so instead I just smile and nod. "I figured they'd pick you 'cause you sang so well at the tryouts."

She gets this funny look on her face, like she appreciates the compliment but maybe she's not sure I'm being sincere. After a second it kind of melds into this look of puzzlement or curiosity. "Tim told us he talked you into taking Louisa instead of Kurt, right?"

"Uh, right." Wait, why did she call me Joey? Nobody outside the family ever calls me that. My name is Laurence, but I usually go by Larry. Joey is just a weird nickname I got saddled with, that everyone in the family but me seems to like--Livy's fault, now that I think of it. It's a long story.

"So, uh... Joy, do you mind if I ask you a, a personal question?" The way she asks it, sort of sotto voce (having a theatre nerd for a dad gives you an unusual vocabulary), makes it sound like she thinks I'm not going to like it. And why is she pronouncing it like that? If you're going to use my family nickname, at least get it right--Jo-ey. Jeez.

"You can ask; I might not answer." My standard response to that question anyway, but it seems especially appropriate today.

"So, why did you want to..." Oh man, I thought Dad said these people wouldn't blink at stuff like this. I guess I look kind of annoyed, 'cause she rushes the rest of it: "... try out for Kurt?" My facial expression is now, and I'm guessing 'cause I can't actually see it of course, one of puzzlement. I'm not sure what she's asking, or why, and can't come up with a response so after a brief but awkward pause she continues: "I mean, I can see how you could easily pull it off; I mean, dressed like that," she gestures at me, and a confused look flits across her face for an instant, "you really do look the part, and you're obviously a good enough actor because at the tryouts, at least until you started singing anyway, I actually thought you were... well, but I mean, Kurt's not an especially meaty role, at least, not any more so than Louisa. So I was just sort of wondering why you did it. Was it, I mean, was it for the challenge? Or to make a point about equality or something? Or..." She seems to change her mind about going on, shrugs, and looks questioningly at me.

"Uh--what do you mean, until I started singing?" I'm stalling to avoid acknowledging to myself what I'm starting to think she might be going on about, because it's just too ... weird.

She gives me an apologetic smile. "Well, I mean, you really had me up until then. It wasn't just the clothes. Your walk, posture, mannerisms--even the way you talked--I mean, you're good. You've clearly worked on it. I think you had us all fooled. But when you opened your mouth to sing--oh my God, you have the sweetest voice. No boy could sing like that." Um, excuse me? I think my brain may have just blown a fuse... "It was a dead giveaway. I mean, even that kid from the Jackson Five, what's his name, you know, the little cute one?"

"Michael," I supply, on autopilot.

"Yeah, I mean, he's like only a little kid and I mean he does have a fantastic voice, but I mean, he still sounds like a boy when he sings, you know? You, I mean, you just, you don't." Again with the apologetic smile.

"Uhhhhhmmmm, huh. Hang on, I need to talk to my dad about something. DAAAD!" Liesl, or Linda or whatever her name is, looks confused and maybe a little upset by my reaction. So our expressions probably match at the moment.

He's talking to Bob a few yards away and his head snaps around. Bob looks really annoyed at the interruption, and so does Dad, a bit. Well, tough shit. This is important.

"Need to talk. Alone. Now."

----------

"What, exactly, did you have Tim tell these people? About me?" I'm whispering--well, actually it's kind of a stage whisper, appropriately enough, 'cause it has to be loud enough for Dad to hear over all the other conversations going on, even though we've found a relatively quiet corner. Actors project when they speak.

His face tells me I need to elaborate. "Liesl, Linda thingy whatsername, her, over there," I point, but not too emphatically so she hopefully won't notice we're talking about her, "seems to think I'm some kind of weird girl who tried out for a boy's part. And she keeps calling me Joey, only it sounds more like Joy when she says it." OK, now I'm getting the kind of reaction I want to see. Eyes wide, mouth narrow, you know--the 'oh shit' expression. "And, she said I, I ..."--now I'm really whispering, right in Dad's ear, and I can feel my face getting red--"I sing like a girl. Whatthehelldoesshemeanbythat?" OK, not what I was expecting; now he looks kind of guilty or something.

"I didn't... we'd better go find Tim and beat a confession out of him." He starts to get up so I do, too.

"But what about the other thing? Do I? Sing, like..." My voice sort of fades out.

His look and his silence tell me what I need to know. Or rather, what I really, really don't need to know.

"But--how come no one ever..."

"Said anything?" I nod. "You have a beautiful singing voice. We didn't want you to be self-conscious about it."

"But--" That seems to be my favorite way to start a sentence at the moment--"if it's that obvious..."

"It's not, really, especially when you're singing in a group."

"But she said it was like a dead giveaway at the tryouts." Like no matter how convincing as a boy I might have been before, that had been enough to remove any doubt as to my real sex. I don't say that part out loud. It scares me to even think it, to tell you the truth.

He gets this kind of "Hm, yeah" look on his face. "Not usually, but that time I guess it was. You sounded just like a younger version of Julie Andrews." Now he's smiling apologetically. This is getting old already.

Sadly, that sort of makes sense, though. We have the movie soundtrack album, and I learned to sing all the songs by listening to it when I was little. And I have an embarrassing tendency to unconsciously mimic the accent and speech patterns of whoever I happen to be talking to--well, when you've lived as many weird places as I have, it helps a lot if you pick up the local dialect quickly--so maybe I do the same thing with singing.

Now where the hell is Tim hiding?

----------

Apparently Tim left shortly after we got here since he wasn't really needed; the sing-through isn't until tomorrow.

I figure I'd better find Linda--I'm pretty sure she said her name was Linda--if she hasn't left already too, and apologize for rudely leaving in the middle of our conversation. I'm not sure I really want to continue it, but if I'm going to be working with her for the next eight or however many weekends it is, I can't just blow her off. I don't see her right away, which is OK, because I need time to think.

Where did she get Joy from? Dad has an annoying habit of calling me that--I mean, Joey--in public, which usually leads to tedious explanations. I hate when he does that. So, probably Tim heard him calling me that at the tryouts and assumed it was actually my name, like a reasonable person might.

But where did she get the idea I was a girl in the first place? Oh yeah, the singing. How embarrassing. Why didn't anyone ever fucking tell me before I humiliated myself in public? And then, if Tim told everyone my name was Joey, in his quaint Kentucky drawl that stretches all one-syllable words into two anyway, and neglected to mention I was Dad's son, well... I guess it seems a lot less unlikely for a teenaged girl to try out for a boy's role than the other way around, and since I apparently sing like Shirley fucking Temple or something I guess one might just naturally assume.

So, is it just Linda, or does everyone here now think I'm a girl?

----------

"Oops! Wrong door. The girls' room is at the other end." Rolf--I mean the guy playing Rolf; I have no idea what his real name is--anyway whoever he is he's smiling at my embarrassment, but in a sympathetic way, as he pushes out past me.

Well, fuck, I guess that answers that question.

Not sure what to do about the restroom so as not to freak anyone out, myself included, I decide I can hold it for now. If I get truly desperate I think I saw some bushes out back.

This is just getting too fucking weird for me.

Oh, look, there's Linda now. Just perfect.

----------

"If you didn't want to answer my question, all you had to do was say so!" She has her hands on her hips but she's grinning, so I assume I'm being teased and not really berated. I give her back an embarrassed smile, and no, I'm not acting.

"Sorry, I just..."

"No, don't explain, private family stuff, right?" Well, close enough. I nod and my relief that she's not going to dig further probably shows. "I know. My dad can be an idiot sometimes too."

I guess that's what our little discussion looked like from the outside. I laugh at the thought. I guess she thinks I'm laughing at what she said 'cause her grin turns into a genuine smile.

"I'm outta here. See you tomorrow, 'kay?" She gives me a little pat on the arm as she continues on to the door.

"'Kay, see ya." Ack. Could I have sounded more like a girl? I'm doing that damned mimic thing again.

Ack, I'm even standing like a girl! Do I unconsciously mimic postures now, too? Quick, before anyone sees--oh, fuck it, they already all think I'm a girl anyway; it'd just confuse 'em.

Oh, great, Dad sees me. He looks ... 'confused' doesn't quite cover it.

----------

"I'll tell you in the car, OK?"

The thing is, embarrassment over the failure of my apparently all-too-thin veneer of masculinity aside, it feels good, I mean it feels right, to be thought of as a girl by other people. Since I've always thought of myself that way. I mean, since I got old enough for it to matter and to give it any thought. You know, in a way, Linda was right. I mean, about the whole boy thing being just an act. And I have worked on it--for years, in fact. As a matter of self-preservation.

Anyway, it's not the same as actually having the girl body I feel like I'm supposed to have, but it feels kind of nice to at least have other people treating me as if I do for once. I don't think I want to give that up.

I'm not ready to explain any of this to Dad, though. He frequently lets me know how proud he is of his "number one son" and I don't want to let him down.

----------

"...so at this point I don't know which would be more embarrassing--trying to continue to pass myself off as a girl to these people, or trying to convince them I'm really not one."

"The first option could turn out badly if you were ever found out. People don't like being lied to." And I know you're not real keen on the idea of lying to them in the first place, Dad. But they started it! I don't say any of that out loud of course.

"On the other hand," I counter, "if I go back tomorrow and tell them I'm really a boy, they'll all be as embarrassed as me, maybe more." I'm kind of pissed about it; it'd serve them right. But... "I guess it would make it incredibly awkward and uncomfortable for everyone unless I left the show. So, I guess the answer is, if I want to go through with this, I have to go with plan A. And make sure I don't get caught."

It's like Dad's skull is transparent or something; I can see the wheels turning as he ponders this.

"I really don't like the idea of lying to them." See? Told ya. "But they all seem to have made an unjustified assumption, jumped to conclusions, and in a way it would serve them right." Huh? Didn't see that coming. And he seems kind of pissed about it.

I can see the wheels turning some more so I sit quietly, patiently, staring out the window at the houses going by while he figures out what he wants to say next.

It turns out to be a question. "Do you want to go through with this?"

I think about it for a few seconds, just to be sure. "Yeah."

"OK, then here's how we're going to handle it. We'll let them continue to believe you're what they assume you are. Try not to do anything that would make them question that, but avoid coming out and directly saying you're a girl, either in words or by your actions. That way if the truth comes out, they'll have been hoist with their own petards." Some literary reference he's fond of. I'm not sure where it's from--knowing Dad, probably Shakespeare. What the hell is a petard, anyway? Sounds kind of painful. But I get what he means--they'll have no one but themselves to blame. They'll feel stupid and embarrassed, rather than deceived and angry. Hopefully.

Actually this plan sounds pretty reasonable. Mostly people see what they expect to see anyway. Except--"Restrooms?"

He looks at me.

"Which restroom do I use?"

He thinks for a minute.

"We'll try to find a restroom somewhere away from the rehearsal area that you can use if you need to."

It might just be crazy enough to work, as they say in the cartoons.

----------

Wait a minute. Now I have to pass myself off as a girl not just on stage in front of complete strangers for a few nights, but also up close and personal in a big group of chatty people who will be trying to get to really know me for a couple of hours every Saturday and Sunday for the next two months. Without getting caught. Without actually outright lying about my sex with words or actions, or even doing anything that could be taken as trying to deliberately fool anyone. Without letting anyone from Van Helsing Junior High find out, and by the way school starts next month (I don't like to think about the actual date; it's too depressing). And without letting on to anyone "in the know"--so far just my immediate family, Tim, and presumably Bob--that I'm totally comfortable with being taken for a girl and actually enjoying it.

What have I fucking gotten myself into?

###

 

Chapter 3: Confession is good for the soul

I guess Dad's going to wind up telling Mom anyway, if he hasn't already, so I might as well have her on my side in this. "I have a problem and I need your help."

"Of course, sweetie. What is it?" Normally I cringe when she calls me stuff like that, but I actually am kind of scared about how I'm going to survive the next couple of months and it's strangely comforting.

"Um, well, apparently when Tim told everyone about me playing Louisa, I don't know what he said but--now they all think I am a girl, not just a boy who's going to play one."

"And you didn't want to embarrass Tim by correcting him?"

"Uh--something like that."

"I'm sure if you mention it to Tim he'll be willing to straighten it out for you."

"Well..." This part is a little tricky; Mom's kind of touchy on the subject of sexism and stereotypes and rigid gender roles in our society. But she's my mom; I think I know which buttons to push by now. "I don't exactly want him to do that."

I can see she wasn't expecting that. I don't usually pay too much attention to what society expects of me in general, 'cause fuck 'em, who are they to tell me who I have to be or what I have to like? But I do tend to get bent out of shape if someone openly mistakes me for a girl, just on account of the risk of being labeled a 'fag' and the physical dangers that go along with that. So this is a little out of character for me.

"You don't?"

Good, she's off balance. Now for a gentle nudge in the right direction... "No, well, like I said we don't know for sure what Tim told everyone, but near as I can figure, I don't think it's his fault. I think I kind of unconsciously did a Julie Andrews impression when I sang at the tryouts," again with the apologetic smile, all right already, "and then he told people my name was Joey, which sounds kind of like Joy--at least it does the way he'd pronounce it..."

"...And they couldn't imagine a boy ever willingly taking a girl's role, and with his father's blessing, so they all assumed..." And down she goes, under her own momentum. She's annoyed, almost mad, and on my side. And now the coup de grace.

"Right. So Dad and I thought we'd have some fun with them, and without coming out and actually lying to them, just let them keep believing what they want to believe. If they want to let themselves be blinded by their own preconceptions, serves 'em right." I can see by the wicked gleam in her eye she approves.

"So then, what's the problem?"

"Well, it occurred to me that if they ever do catch on, it would all be too embarrassing and awkward for everyone and I might have to quit the show. Well, I wouldn't want to ruin it for everyone else."

She starts to object, but sees my point. "I suppose you're right. It would be awkward."

"But we can't actually come out and say I'm a girl, or do anything that would be like deliberate deception, 'cause then if anyone ever caught on they'd be mad about being lied to and it would be like our fault instead of their own stupid prejudices. I just want your help coming up with ways to kind of steer their thoughts in the right direction, you know, keep them from catching on without actually lying." Here's another tricky part. "You know, stuff that wouldn't be totally unexpected from a boy but that fits their preconceived notions of how a girl should look and act?"

"Well, I don't like the idea of reinforcing stereotypes." That's why I said it was tricky. "But this is more like subverting them, and I'm all for that." Good, I don't have to explain that to her.

Now she's a woman on a mission--my mission. "Hmmm. Well, luckily this is 1975, not 1955"--she says it like it was the Dark Ages or something--"so clothes shouldn't be too much of a problem. Livy and her friends wear mostly jeans and t-shirts too; some of them are cut a little differently to fit a girl's body, but a thirteen-year-old girl's body isn't that different from a boy's yet so you should be able to get away with your own clothes." For a second there I thought she was going to have me borrowing Livy's. "Your hair is longer than mine, so you don't have to worry about that. It has been a while since you had it cut, hasn't it?" She's playing with it, combing her fingers through it. Normally I'd act annoyed and make her stop but now I just let her keep doing it. "We might want to trim it so it's not so uneven, and a girl would be expected to comb or brush it more often, and more neatly. You're young enough--and except for your height, you look even younger than you really are--I don't mean to embarrass you, but it's true." Grrr. She's right, though. "Anyway it wouldn't be that unusual for a girl your age not to need a bra yet, and a lot of them don't wear one anyway these days. And no one's going to see your underwear. So you should be able to get by with your own wardrobe. No need to worry about make-up, either--that's another thing girls aren't wearing a lot of anymore. Livy doesn't wear any, and you can always just say I won't let you. Besides, you're pretty enough without it."

Hey! I am not... um, in this situation, that's actually not a bad thing for a change. I'm confused. Should I be trying to cover up that I liked hearing that, or not? I bite my tongue and hope she doesn't notice me blushing. Oh good, she's looking down at my feet.

"We'll have to get you some new tennies, though." That's what she calls sneakers for some reason. Like you'd only ever wear them to play tennis or something. Weird, huh? "Lots of girls wear that style too"--Converse Jack Purcells; the flat, gum-rubber soles grip good on polished hardwood or linoleum for quick getaways, plus they don't collect so much mud and track it into the house all over Mom's clean floors--"but a girl would be expected to take better care of her shoes than that. You certainly need a new pair before school starts anyway."

"But these are comfortable!"

"They're filthy, and they have holes in them. And the rubber's hanging off the toe on that one. They practically shout 'boy.'" Which is kind of the point, usually. But I guess that's exactly the kind of thing I'm trying to avoid at rehearsals.

Looks like we're going shoe shopping this morning. Oh joy.

Shut up.

----------

"Are you guys going to the mall? 'Cause I need to get some stuff for school."

"Oh, that's a good idea. We can get your back-to-school shopping out of the way too, Joey."

Great! Not only do I get to shop with my sister and my mom, I get to spend all morning looking forward to starting school again! Life doesn't get any fucking better than this.

----------

I can't believe mom just told her.

"Ha! No way!" Yeah, laugh it up, Livy. Just don't forget our deal. A little reminder wouldn't hurt...

"Two words, Oblivia. Manila. Folder." Gotcha.

"What does that mean?" Uh-oh, Mom sounds suspicious.

"Nothing!" Livy shouts it at the same time as me. Like a fucking sitcom, I tell ya. All we need's a goddamn laugh track.

"Mm-hmm." Mom's not buying it, but she's not going to pursue it--for now. Yes, I can hear all that in a nonverbal grunt. It's the way she says it.

"But you? A girl?" Well, that derisive snort you just let out wasn't terribly feminine either, Oblivia. "I can't believe anyone would buy that." See? I am too macho to be mistaken for a girl. "I mean OK, you have kinda long hair and no muscles." Hey! It's all muscle; I'm just wiry. "But... you just are so not a girl."

OK, well, I'm all confused now. Do I argue with this? 'Cause I know I really am a girl, on the inside, but I also know I've put a lot of effort into hiding it. And I'm glad to know it's been working, at least on her. But then what happened with all those people last night?

"What do you mean?" Mom saves me the trouble of deciding whether to ask. There's a hint of an accusation or a trap behind the way she asks it--what she really means is "what unfair and artificial gender stereotype are you basing that judgment on?" Which I'm kind of wondering about myself.

"Oh, just... I don't know, I never really thought about it. He's just not. I mean... look at him. He looks like a little juvenile delinquent." Why, thank you, Sis. I never knew you cared.

"Girls can be juvenile delinquents, too." She has a point. Sitting right next to me, in fact.

"Mom! You know what I mean. Of course boys and girls can be anything they want to be nowadays. But people still judge you based on how you dress and act. And he dresses, and acts, like most people expect boys to, and like they don't expect girls to. Everything about him, I mean, it's almost like he's going out of his way to say 'look everyone, I'm not a girl, I'm a boy!'" Oh, jeez, let's don't follow that thought to its logical conclusion. Redirect, quick....

"Hey, I just do what comes naturally." Second nature, anyway, after so much practice.

"Yeah, because you're naturally a pig. I just don't get how anyone could look at that"--she's looking at me like I'm something distasteful--you know, like she usually does--"and think 'girl.' Let alone a whole roomful of people. It's like, an insult to girls."

"That's because you weren't there to hear my angelic singing voice." I don't think she notices the slight bitterness beneath the Bugs Bunny impression. Why didn't anyone tell me? Why? Why?

"Yeah, right. Like your squeaky pre-pubescent voice is enough to get people to overlook that."

I guess it's been a long time since I've sung by myself in front of her. Well, let's see what she thinks when she hears it.

----------

"...bring us back to Doe..."

"Enough!" She's looking at me like I've sprouted a second head or something. "You are a freak of nature."

"Don't be mean, Livy. That was beautiful, Joey."

"Yeah, but... euuhrhgh. That was just creepy. Kind of like that episode of Gilligan's Island where they all switch bodies and like Maryanne's voice is coming out of the Professor's mouth or something. How do you do that? Why would you even want to?"

I don't know what to say. I hide it pretty well but I am a freak. I know that. It's not like she's never called me one before, either. I don't know why it bothers me so much this time. Maybe because for once she's actually hitting close to home. "I didn't even know I was doing it. Nobody told me."

"Oh god, you're not going to cry are you? You little wuss. Maybe you are a girl."

I'm on the verge, but that makes me mad enough to fight it back. "Just, fuck you."

"Joey! Livy, will you just stop?"

----------

"I take back what I said before."

"About me being a freak?"

"No, not that, freak. About nobody buying you as a girl because of how you look. After hearing you sing like that, I'm having a hard time buying you as a boy. But--man, looking like that, and singing like that, it just doesn't go together. It's creeping me out just thinking about it. You definitely need to tone down the 'boy' thing around those people if you don't want to give them all the heebie-jeebies."

That's what I love about Livy--always looking out for me. They didn't seem to have the heebie-jeebies too bad last night though. Maybe Dad was right about theatre people after all.

----------

Damn, these shoes feel so stiff after my old ones. And they're so fucking white. Oh, well. That can't last.

----------

"Oh good, they take drop-ins. Livy and I can go do her shopping while you're getting a trim, so you won't have to be dragged around with us."

"Uh, OK." This ain't no barber shop. But I do see a guy getting his hair cut, so I guess it's OK. Or maybe he's getting a perm. I hope not. Afros are cool but on white guys they just look stupid, if you ask me.

----------

"Joey?"

I hate when they use that name outside the house. But I guess they don't know my real name here so at least I don't have to explain anything. "That's me."

"Here you go. Put this on and go sit in the chair on the end by the sinks. I'll be there in a minute."

"OK." What she gave me is something like one of those smock things they give you to wear at the doctor's office when they have you take your clothes off, only in pinky-orange instead of greeny-blue. I kind of nonchalantly look around at other people to figure out what I'm supposed to do with it. Luckily it doesn't look like I'm supposed to take off my clothes first, and I guess I wear it like a bathrobe, so it ties in front. Why all this fuss just for a haircut? Just sit me down in the chair, tie the sheet around my neck, and start cutting. Jeez.

----------

Wow. They don't wash your hair first in the barber shop.

"So, are you going somewhere special this evening?"

Huh? Oh, because I'm getting my hair cut. "No, just rehearsing for a play."

"How nice." She squirts something into her hands and starts rubbing them together. Shampoo I guess. "What's the play?"

"Sound of Music." Definitely chattier than the barber I used to go to, but she seems OK.

"Oh, I loved that movie! I must have seen it at least a dozen times." Mmm, now she's massaging the shampoo into my hair. That feels nice. Smells nice, too. I could get used to getting haircuts here.

"Yeah. I only saw it twice though."

"Where will your play be? And when? I'd love to come see it. Close your eyes."

I have to speak up a little to hear myself over the spray as she rinses my hair. "Um, it's gonna be at the Royal Playhouse, down in Kingswood? We just started rehearsals so I think it's gonna be opening in October or something."

She puts a towel over my head and pats my hair dry. "OK, now let's go over to my chair and have a look."

----------

"Um, I want to keep it this long, just sort of evened up a bit so it doesn't look so sloppy, I guess. It's been ages since I've had it cut."

"Hmm, I can see that." She spins me to face away from the mirror. I guess they do that so you don't freak out at how it looks when they're in the middle of cutting it. "So who're you going to be?" She has one hand on top of my head and is staring intently at my forehead from arm's length as she asks that. She pulls up a lock of hair with a comb and the scissors start snip-snipping.

"Um--what?" I'm all relaxed from the hair-washing and it takes me a second to figure out what she's asking. "Oh--you mean in the play?"

"Uh-huh." More combing, more snippety-snipping.

"Louisa." Then I realize what I've just said. Oh, shit. The snipping stops--because of what I said, or because I tensed right after?

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" Phew.

"Uh. No, I just got a hair in my nose and it itches," I lie. I scrunch my nose around a bit for effect.

"Well, just take your hand out from under there and scratch it if you need to. I'll wait until you're done."

"Thanks, it's better now."

"All righty, then. So, Louisa you said?" The snipping starts again.

"Uh-huh." Sounds like she's gonna come see it anyway, so no use trying to cover my slip-up.

"She's the one who lies about who she is, right? Well, you should have fun with that."

"I hope so." Was that just something to keep the conversation going or is she trying to tell me something? "I'm looking forward to spending lots of time with my dad. He's playing the Captain."

"Oh, how fun for you!" Well, that's the theory anyway. We'll see.

----------

She turns off the blow-dryer, runs a brush through my hair a few more times, and spins me around to face the mirror.

Holy crap! I look like a girl. Oh, I am going to get the living shit kicked out of me the first day if I go to school looking like this.

"Is something wrong? You don't like it." She sounds dejected.

I can't tell her why I don't like it, and it's not really like I can totally blame her anyway; our conversation did kind of lead her in this direction. The polite thing to do is lie through my teeth so I can get the hell out of here and figure out what to do next.

"No, no, it's... it's very pretty." It really is. That's the problem. "I'm just, uh, not used to having such a ... feminine hairstyle." Also completely true. Well, except for the part about not being happy with it, I didn't even have to lie.

"You don't like it. You wanted something more unisex, like you had before. Oh, I'm sorry. I should have asked before making this big a change when you just asked me to neaten it up. I just thought, for your role as Louisa, you'd want something more..."

Oh. Then... this really is pretty much my fault. I should have watched what I said. I feel bad for her; she seems honestly upset about it. I don't have the heart to do that to her.

"Oh, I hadn't really thought of that. You're right, it's... perfect. For Louisa. Thank you." I smile at her and try really hard to make it look sincere. She seems willing to buy it, anyway. God, maybe it won't look so girly if I don't brush or comb it after washing it. Or maybe it's long enough to pull it back in a low ponytail, like some of the older stoner dudes wear. That'd actually be kinda cool. Or maybe I could get a crew cut and wear a wig for the play. You know, you think of that as kind of a traditional 'good boy' haircut, but a ninth grader with a crew cut would actually be pretty non-conformist in this day and age. Nah, that'd give me away to the rest of the cast. Well, I have a couple of weeks to figure something out.

----------

I keep seeing my reflection in the storefronts as I look in each one for Mom and Livy. I mean, my reflection always looks weird right after I get a haircut, like that's somebody else, but there's something extra weird about it this time, you know? I mean, for a second I was checking out some cute chick in the jewelry store window until I realized it was me. Now that kind of fucks with your head. I try messing my hair up a little but it keeps falling back neatly into place.

"Larry?" That voice is familiar. "... it is you. Oh my god!" Oh, it's Felicia.

Oh, crap, it's Felicia.

Fuck.

"Um... hi?" So, maybe she won't notice?

"Hi. What's with your hair?" No such luck. She's looking at me like she doesn't know whether to be mad at me, or at whoever did this to me.

"Uh, I just had it cut." Her eyes get big, like you did that on purpose? Oh god, now she's going to point and laugh and tell everyone and my life will be over. I feel my stomach twist in a knot and get the familiar taste of adrenalin. I'm tense and shaky and starting to hyperventilate a little. I think I need to puke.

Apparently she sees the look of panic on my face. "You OK?" No, can't you see I'm fucking not? I can't get any words out; I just shake my head and try to hold down my breakfast. My instinct is to run away and hide but I can't seem to move. "Come with me. We'll sit and talk, OK? It's going to be OK. Just come on." She takes my hand and starts gently pulling me.

----------

I'm getting pretty good at explaining this, I've done it so many times now. Felicia just seems to accept it, not like Livy. I guess the haircut makes it more believable. Maybe the new shoes help a little too. Anyway, she's been sitting there across the table from me thinking for a minute, so I've been patiently sipping the Coke she bought me. You wouldn't think Coke would settle a nervous stomach, but it seems to help.

"So can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

Well, she's ruined my punchline so I just say "OK."

She takes a sip from her Dr. Pepper--I hate that stuff, but to each her own--I think to give herself time to carefully phrase what she wants to ask.

"Well.... I didn't recognize you at first, you look so different like that. I only noticed you because you kept checking out your reflection. I was thinking, 'well somebody's into herself.'" I look up at her face, trying to keep my expression neutral. "I thought you looked a little familiar but I couldn't place you. Then I noticed your t-shirt. It's the same one you were wearing when I was over the other day." I don't really even like Kiss that much, but their t-shirts are cool and they project a certain image.

She takes another long sip, gathering herself for the final assault, I guess.

"So, you didn't seem self-conscious at all. About looking like that, I mean. Until you saw me anyway. Do you... do you do this a lot?"

"Do what?"

"Go out as a girl."

"What? No! I've never--I'm not--no!"

"OK, OK. You just seemed ... kind of comfortable with it. More than most guys would be I think."

"Look, I just know who I am and I don't much care what other people think, OK? The haircut wasn't my idea, but it works for what I need for now so I wasn't going to freak about it."

"Yeah. But then how come you freaked when I recognized you?"

Uh. I did, didn't I.

"So are you... I mean, are you gay? It doesn't bother me if you are and I won't tell anyone," she hastens to add.

"No. No, I don't go for boys. I'm into girls."

"But you like to dress like one?"

"No, not particularly." Never tried it, really. Well, once, and yeah--I did like it, but that was different. That was a game.

"But ..." She looks baffled, like she believes me but she's not hearing what she expected. Back to sipping her drink.

It's like something snaps in my head. I'm completely vulnerable to her now; but I'm getting a really strong feeling that I can trust her. My instincts about people are usually pretty accurate. Before I can really think through the possible consequences, I find myself confiding what I've never told anyone. "I am a girl." There, it's out. I feel a little light-headed.

Her eyes bug out. "But--no, you're not. Are you? Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, not on the outside. I have a, you know, a penis," I whisper the last bit. She snorts.

"Then what do you mean--like you have girl parts on the inside?"

"No, I mean, not as far as I know. It's just, I don't know, all I know is I'm supposed to be a girl. It's my body that's wrong. I don't know if that makes sense."

"But--huh." She clearly has no idea what to think about this.

I've never had to try to explain this to anyone before, but I have an idea. "So, when you think of yourself, if you think of your sex at all you think of yourself as female, right?"

"Uh, well, yeah."

"Yeah. Me, too. I mean, I make an effort to think of myself as male so I don't, you know, slip up and give myself away but it doesn't come naturally. I have to work at it. And when you think of people like you, or people you want to be like, you think of mostly girls, right? And women?"

"Uh huh. And you...?"

"Yeah. I mean, I think it would be cool to do all the stuff James Bond does--"

"Well, yeah, who wouldn't--"

"--but I never wanted to be him. I wanted to be Emma Peel. You know, from The Avengers? Did you ever see that show?"

"Oh, yeah, she was so cool. Wow. You really wanted to be her?"

"Oh yeah. So cool." Sometimes thinking about it makes me kind of sad 'cause when I really think about it I know it can't ever really happen. Not that it would be much more likely if I was a girl, physically, but at least then it would be sort of possible. I can't help a resigned sigh.

"Yeah, me too." You know, I knew she was cool. "So, wait. If you're a girl, but you like girls--does that make you, like, a--you know--a lesbian? Or something?"

"I dunno. Never really thought about that." Huh. Am I? Good question.

"You haven't?"

"I mean, it's not about sex. Uh, sexual intercourse--I mean, it's not about who I want to fuck." She snickers. "Or, really, about anything else I want to do. It's just about what sex I am, mentally, as opposed to what sex I am physically."

"Oh. I guess I didn't realize that wasn't the same thing."

"Trust me, it's not. Um. Can I ask you a big favor?"

"Sure."

"Livy and my mom know all about the theatre stuff, but can the rest of this conversation stay just between you and me?"

"Of course. My lips are sealed." She mimes the obligatory zipper.

"Thanks. For letting me talk about it, and listening, and not judging me, and not freaking out. I've never told anyone before. I don't know why but I feel like I can trust you."

"Oh, I'm so honored." She says it with dramatically exaggerated formality, in a Scarlett O'Hara voice, but I can tell by her eyes she's sincere.

----------

"Shit, Mom's gonna be wondering where I went."

"Where were you supposed to meet her?"

"Um, she didn't say, but they were going back-to-school shopping for Livy."

"Livy's here? Mind if I tag along? I can help you look for them."

"Sure, thanks. Ohhhh, fuck."

"What?"

"I don't feel like taking shit from Oblivia about looking like this. I can't deal with it right now."

"Well, maybe we can do something to make it look less girly." She digs around in her purse and pulls something out. "Turn around."

"Huh?"

"Turn your back to me." I do and she starts pulling my hair back. Aha, a ponytail. Cool, it is long enough. I can feel her putting on the rubber band. "There."

I look at my reflection in the chrome on the napkin holder. Still less scruffy than my usual look, but definitely not so blatantly girly. "Thanks. Hey, can you show me how to do that so I can do it at home?"

"Sure."

----------

I just thought of something. "Hey, um... is my, you know, my dick," I mouth the last word without actually saying it, "um, is it noticeable?"

"What?" She looks embarrassed, glances briefly downward. "Uh, yeah, I guess. I mean, if you look for it, you can tell it's there. Why? Worried about your manhood?" She tries to cover up her embarrassment by making a joke a my expense, but it doesn't get a rise out of me; I've got other concerns on my mind.

"No, worried about it blowing my cover, you know? At rehearsal?" I'm leaning in close and talking low so we're not overheard.

"I don't think anyone's going to be staring at your crotch, looking for signs of a dick."

"You'd be surprised. Guys spend a lot of time checking out girls' pants, especially right there."

"Oh. Really?" She seems a little shocked. She didn't know this? I thought everybody knew this.

"Yeah, really."

"Do you?" She's looking at me like she thinks this is a bit perverted.

"Yeah, only... I think it's a little different for me."

"How?"

"I start out fantasizing about getting in there, like every other guy, and end up wishing I could look like that, down there, myself. Like I'm supposed to."

"That's ... confusing."

"Tell me about it."

She gets thoughtful, leaving me to work out how to keep the guys at rehearsal from noticing I have parts a girl isn't supposed to have. Everybody with any sense of style wears tight pants that leave little room for guessing as to sex. Only total dorks and old people--like really old, over thirty--wear baggy pants. I don't want to look like a total dork if I don't have to.

"Larry?"

"Yeah?"

"Is this... something you always knew, or did you figure it out at some point?"

I think about it for a minute. "Both, I guess. I mean I guess I always knew on some level, but I don't remember really caring much one way or the other until I was like five, or maybe six."

"Wow. That long ago?"

"Yeah."

She goes all quiet again for a while. So, if I try to arrange things down there so it looks female in tight jeans, that would definitely fall into the "deliberate deception" category. So would wearing dresses or skirts. Baggy pants would just be too dorky, and anyway there could still be telltale signs, like say if I got a boner or something, which seems to happen like every five minutes or so these days. Hm, my untucked t-shirt only hangs down to my pockets, but if I wore one a couple of sizes too big...

"In here."

"What? Did you find them?"

"No, I want to try something."

----------

"X-Large. Yeah, that'll do the trick." I'm holding the tops of the sleeves up to my shoulders and it's hanging down well past my crotch.

"Yeah, I guess that'll solve your little problem." She giggles.

"Hey!"

"Sorry, I didn't think you'd be sensitive about that."

"Uh. Conditioned reflex. I still have to keep up the guy thing outside of rehearsals. So I can survive school, if nothing else."

"Yeah." She sounds a little sad about it. Well, so am I, but such is life.

----------

"There you are. We've been looking all over for you."

"'We?' Oh, hi, Felicia! Nice haircut, dork."

"Fuck you too, Oblivia."

"No, I'm serious, you twit. It's a definite improvement. Of course anything would be." She ducks as I try to smack the top of her head so I get nothing but air. "Gonna hafta be faster than tha-OW!" While she was gloating I snuck my left hand over and poked her in the ribs. She smacks my hand away and rubs her side. That kinda stings, but I hold in my reaction so as not to give her the satisfaction.

"None of that now, you two."

"None of what, Mom?" I ask all innocently.

"Look who he brought with him!" Livy says. Nice diversion, Sis! I mentally high-five her as I give her an appreciative glance. Hey, we may act like we hate each other's guts, and mostly we kinda do, but we always stand united against the common enemy of parental authority.

"Hi, Miz L!"

"Oh, hi, Felicia. Were you keeping Joey out of trouble for me?"

"Who?"

Groan. Not again. "That's me."

"Wha... Joey? I thought Larry..."

"That too. It's a long story. Later, OK?"

"Oh-kayyyy...."

"Hey, Mom, can I have some money to buy some t-shirts?"

"Don't you have any left from what I gave you for the haircut? Oh, it looks very nice. They did a good job. And I think it'll work for tonight. It'd look fine on a gir... oh, shi-oot." She puts her hand over her mouth, her eyes get big and she looks at Felicia, then me.

"It's OK, Mom, she knows. Everything." More than you, in fact, I refrain from saying aloud. She looks very relieved. Felicia looks amused. Mom is kind of a nut case, and I mean it, she really does belong on a sitcom. "No, I left a big tip. I've only got two bucks left." Felicia's glaring at me--for making her pay for my Coke, I guess. Well, it's not my money. And Mom's glaring at me, 'cause she's what you might call a cheapskate. She has a lot of trouble paying more than the legal minimum, even for good service. Now Livy looks amused. "Well, you said yourself, they did a good job."

"Oh, all right, here. Just shirts, and bring back the receipt and the change." She hands me a couple of bills.

"Thanks! Back in a flash." I turn and run back to the shirt store before she changes her mind.

----------

Five shirts ought to be enough. It had better be; that's all I have money for.

Let's see. I need shirts that at least suggest 'girl' without saying 'not a boy, nuh-uh, nossir, no way.' Probably rules out anything pink, or anything with unicorns or butterflies or fairies. Hm....

----------

This is trickier than I thought. There doesn't seem to be anything that fits what I'm looking for. It's either totally 'guy,' completely neutral with not even a hint one way or the other, or totally 'girl' that no self-respecting guy would be caught dead in. I guess I could grab some of the neutral ones, but I'm going through the 'girl' ones again first to see if there isn't something a normal red-blooded boy wouldn't be afraid to wear in public.

Hm, this fairy is mostly naked, and she's pretty hot. It's kinda sparkly and flowery, though. I dunno--am I just being overly sensitive about it, or...

"Hey, check out the fairy lookin' at the fairy shirt."

Uh-oh. Asshole at six o'clock.

"You sure that's a fairy, dude? Could be a chick." Asshole number two says it kind of quietly, like what he really means is "Don't embarrass me in front of a girl, asshole." I turn just enough to see them out of the corner of my eye; they look like the type who usually kick the shit out of people like me. God, I hope they don't go to Van Helsing.

Why I think of doing this, I don't know; I should be trying not to panic and trying to come up with a cover, some reason I'd be legitimately looking at a girly shirt. Instead, I nonchalantly turn toward a mirror, reach up...

"Nah, that ain't no chick..." ...pull off the rubber band and shake out my hair, then hold up the shirt like I'm seeing what it would look like on me. "...oh." I glance over and give them a dirty look.

"See, I told ya." He shoves the other one. Kinda hard. Out the door of the shop.

"Sorry, dude. She just looked...." He's rubbing his shoulder where he got shoved. Heh.

Yeah, definitely a 'girly' haircut.

----------

"Will that be all today, Miss?"

"Yeah." I don't think I'll be getting the fairy one, thanks. "Um, you wouldn't happen to have a rubber band I could have? Mine broke when I pulled it out."

"I must have one here somewhere... ah, here you go."

"Thanks." I do that thing Felicia showed me, a little awkwardly, but I manage to get my hair back in a decent ponytail.

"You know, it's so much prettier down. You look a little boyish when you pull it back like that." Only a little? That's disturbing. She looks at my clothes. "But I guess you're a bit of a tomboy anyway, aren't you?" She smiles at me.

"I guess." Or something. I smile back automatically, to be polite.

----------

"So, they were going to get school supplies and I already got what I need, and I'm out of money now anyway. So I told them I'd go find you."

"You didn't want to hang out with Oblivia while she shopped?"

"Yeah, but I didn't know if maybe you wanted to talk some more about... stuff. And she hates it when you call her that."

"Cool."

"Well, she's my friend so I'd rather you didn't."

"Oh. OK, I'll try to remember." Well, I don't want Felicia to think I'm a jerk.

"So what's the story with Joey, anyway?"

Sigh. "I hate when they call me that. It's a stupid nickname."

"It's not stupid, I just don't get why they call you that."

"It's stupid because nobody gets it and I always have to explain it. I hate that."

"Oh. Then I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry."

"No, no, I can't leave you hanging like that. It's--well, it's Livy's fault."

"Oh." She says it like clearly, that must be the real reason I hate it.

"When I was born she could just barely talk, and when she tried to say 'Larry' it came out like 'Yowie' or something."

She snorts. "Well, at least that's not your nickname."

"Yeah, well. At the time we lived in Australia, and the nanny or housekeeper or whatever decided it sounded like she was saying Joey, which is a baby kangaroo, and she thought that was cute so she started calling me that. And my parents thought it was cute too, and it just sort of stuck."

"Wait, so you're an Aussie?"

"No. Yeah. Sort of. I was born there, but my folks are Americans so I am too. Anyway Livy was born here in the States and we moved back here before I was a year old so I don't remember any of it."

"Wow, that's so cool!"

"I guess." I don't get why people are impressed by that. It's not like I had anything to do with picking where I was born. But if it somehow makes me cool, hey, I'm not complaining.

"So, did you get some shirts?" I pull one out of the bag to show her. "Ooh, put it on, I want to see!"

----------

"You did not!"

"Did."

"And it worked?"

"Yeah, I mean it was almost spooky, how that one little thing got them so convinced I couldn't possibly be boy, even a fag, I had to be a girl."

"Yeah. Weird. I still can't believe you did that. I mean what if it hadn't worked?"

"I dunno, I didn't think about it. It just popped into my head and I was sure it would."

"Why? I mean, how did you know?"

"I dunno, I just knew."

"Oh, c'mon."

"I guess I can try to reason it out and put it in words." I talk slowly so I have more time to think as I go. This is a trick I learned from Dad. "I mean as a nerdy, kind of underdeveloped guy, 'cause I'm a year younger than everyone else in my grade, it's like I have to go to great lengths to act macho enough not to get picked on and beat up, you know? And I just can't take any risk of being labeled a fag 'cause that would make it impossible. And even then it doesn't always work. It's like, you can do all the guy-type stuff you want day in and day out, but if you mess up and do anything that's considered girly just one time, that wipes it all out. So, there I was, this guy was already labeling me a fag; for a guy like me that's like a death warrant. It was like, I had nothing left to lose, you know? And I also knew they would realize that no guy would ever risk doing what I did openly, fag or not, 'cause it's such a girl thing to do and you could never come back from something like that. I mean, obviously I didn't think it out like that at the time, but this stuff is all such a part of my life every day that I didn't have to think about it; I just knew it would work as soon as I thought of it."

"Wow. So, guys are like, totally afraid of being thought of as girly..."

"Yeah."

"But you're not."

"What? Yeah. No--what?"

"Is it because you are a girl so it wouldn't bother you to have that pinned on you?"

"No, I mean, I am afraid of being labeled 'girly;' that would make my life hell. More than already, I mean."

"Your life as a guy, you mean?"

"Well yeah; that's the only life I have."

"Is it? I mean..."

"Oh yeah, like I'm going to start living as a girl all the time. What happens when I have to shower after P.E.? What happens when my voice changes and I start to get hair on my chest and stuff? Not to mention the boobs I don't grow when everyone else does?"

"You've thought about this a lot, huh?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's frustrating but all I can come up with is, this is the life I have; I might as well make the best of it."

"Couldn't you have The Operation? You know, like whatsername, Christine something-or-other?"

"Jorgensen." She nods. "Yeah, I guess, but I mean, I'm the same height my dad was at this age and I wouldn't want to be a woman built like him. At six-foot-two I think I'd, you know, kind of stand out. Kind of look like a freak."

"Well, maybe if you did it now, before puberty really kicks in..."

"Gee thanks, I'm not sensitive about being underdeveloped or anything." She looks guilty. I wave my hand to brush it off; it's not that big a deal. "I'm not sure it works that way. Anyway, it wouldn't really be real; I mean I might be able to look female but I wouldn't be really."

"Oh. So, you want to have kids someday?" I nod. "Couldn't you adopt?"

"I guess I don't just want to raise kids, I want to reproduce. I've always kind of unconsciously pictured myself growing up to be a mom, but since that's not possible I suppose being a dad wouldn't be so bad. Better than nothing anyway."

"So then, why are you doing this, with the play, and now in the shirt store? You just want to enjoy a small taste of the life you wish you had, while you can?"

"I don't know. I haven't really sat down and thought about what I'm doing or why. I just saw a chance I might never get again, and went for it without thinking too much about it. Both times, really. Whoops! In here." I pull her into the shop we're passing.

"Why, see something you want to try on?"

I look around. It's a dress shop. "Very funny. The assholes I was telling you about? That's them. Over there." I turn away and gesture with my eyes so they don't see me staring and pointing.

"Oh." She follows my glance. "Oh, those assholes."

"You know them?"

"The bane of my existence at school. They're starting at Addams this year too." Morticia Addams High School, again much cooler than the real name. Where Livy and Felicia will be going. And next year, me. Shit. Well, a year is a long time; they'll have probably forgotten me by then. Why is Felicia looking like that?

"Uh, hi?" Shit, it's the voice of Asshole Number Two. I turn to look, and sure enough it's him.

I'm about to piss myself. I can't think of anything to say, so I don't.

"Hello, Dick. What brings you here?" Felicia doesn't make any attempt to sound friendly, but she doesn't sound exactly hateful either.

"Hey, Leash." As in Fe-Leash-a? As in dog leash? Now that's just mean. But it sounds more teasing than nasty. "I came over to apologize to your little friend." Hey, who you callin' little? I'm almost as tall as you are. Taller than Felicia, anyway. "Dave was kinda rude to her earlier. So how 'bout it?" He turns to me. "Can you ever forgive me for not pounding his sorry ass into the dirt then and there?" He's smiling at me? What the fuck?

A, I'm just relieved he's not over here to pound my sorry ass into the dirt, and B, I can't help myself; when someone smiles at me I want to smile back. So I do. "I'll think about it," pops out of my mouth before I can think about it. Don't look at me like that, Felicia.

"Dick's" smile brightens a bit. What, he actually meant it? Did I just rush to judgment on him because of his Neanderthal friend? But no, Felicia agreed he was an asshole...

"I'm Richard. My friends call me Rich." He extends his hand as he looks daggers at Felicia. But they're just toy rubber ones, I can tell. Is there something going on there? She has kind of a funny look on her face.

I accept his offered hand and remember just in time not to try to do a 'manly' firm grip. He gives it a brief shake and doesn't let go right away but I quickly pull my hand back out of his. "Niceta meetcha, Dick." Out of the corner of my eye I can see Felicia flash a satisfied grin. Rich is giving her a dirty look. "I'm Lee. My friends usually call me things that aren't nice to repeat in mixed company." OK, now she's giving me a really funny look. Maybe kind of mad, even.

He laughs at my little joke, probably out of politeness. "Niceta meetcha, Lee. Listen, don't mind Dave, OK? He's kinda backward in the manners department, and he talks big but he really wouldn't hurt a fly."

"If you say so, Dick." Was that a wince? I'm not trying to be nasty so I flash him a grin to let him know I'm just yanking his chain. He looks relieved when he smiles. I'm starting to wonder from the 'vibes' Felicia is giving me if I've crossed some kind of line somewhere. What? I ask her with my eyes. Like you don't know, her eyes answer. No, really, I don't, I reply. Yeah, right, comes her rejoinder. It's like facial telepathy or something. I didn't know I could do this with anyone outside my family.

"Cool. Well, I gotta go, so ... see ya 'round, OK?"

"'Kay. See ya." I sound like such a girl. And I'm standing like one too. Well, this time at least I'm doing it intentionally.

When he's out of sight Felicia whacks me on the back of the head. "Ow! What was that for?" She stalks out of the dress shop. I almost have to run to catch up.

----------

"'Lee?'" She says it low, practically hissing it out of the side of her mouth as we're walking.

I respond the same way. "It's my middle name. I was on the spot and it popped into my head. ...Well, I couldn't very well tell him my real first name."

"What about Joey?"

"I hate that name. Plus I didn't think of it."

----------

The bench is somewhat secluded. I gesture for us to sit.

"Look, I said I'm sorry, OK? And I mean it. I didn't know you liked him liked him. I mean I kind of picked up that you didn't actually hate him. But you called him an asshole and told me he was the bane of your existence."

"Yeah, well, that should have been your first clue, Lee." She wields that name like a deadly insult.

"Sorry. And I was most definitely not flirting with him." Eeughh. The very thought. I need to go home and take a long hot shower now. With lots of soap.

"Were too."

"Was not. I was just trying to be polite."

"Yeah, well, being polite like that is going to get you in some serious trouble, girl."

"Shit. Sorry. I really didn't know. And I really wasn't trying to flirt." Shudder. "I may have been a girl my whole life, but I'm still completely new to acting like one." I guess I really was born yesterday.

"Yeah, well you seem to be picking it up pretty damn quickly." She looks at me and her anger kind of slowly deflates into ... sadness? What did I do now?

"What's the matter?" I make an effort to switch from defensive to concerned.

"Nothing, never mind." She looks away and takes a deep breath.

I look at her and something clicks. She turns back and I guess she sees the look of dawning comprehension on my face 'cause she seems a little panicked that I've figured out her deep dark secret. "He doesn't know, does he?" I can be slow sometimes, but eventually I get there.

"No. And don't go telling him, OK?"

"OK." I put my hand on her arm to reassure her. She puts her other hand on top of mine and squeezes a little.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have gotten mad at you."

"No, it's understandable. I was just being a clueless idiot."

"Well, yeah."

"Hey, you're not supposed to agree!" That gets a smile out of her. "...Ooooh, nooooo. Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"What?"

"I am so screwed."

"What?"

"I was counting on them not remembering me by the time I start at Addams next year."

"Oh, my god. You are screwed. No way he's going to forget you now."

"Fuck. Maybe I'll get lucky and we'll move again before then."

"You can always hope."

How do I keep doing this to myself?

---

 
To Be Continued...

by Justme

---

 

Chapter 4: Always be true to yourself

"Sorry you had to babysit the little runt so long. I just could not find a cool backpack."

"No problem; he's kinda fun. And cute!" Felicia puts an arm around my shoulders and gives me a lecherous look, which I return, just to fuck with Livy's head. Which appears to be Felicia's intention too. Something about Livy just seems to make you want to do that, you know?

"Oh, gross--don't tell me you've got the hots for my brother. That's disgusting. Anyway he's way too young for you."

"Well if our friendship is at stake I'll try to keep my hands off him." She takes her arm off my shoulders, puts the back of her hand to her forehead and lets out a melodramatic sigh. Livy rolls her eyes at us and we both crack up.

----------

"What?" I never like it when Livy looks at me that closely, especially not when I'm within arm's reach and strapped in place with a seatbelt. I scooch as far away as I can but it's not going to be enough. I consider undoing the seatbelt just in case.

"Nothing. You just... you look good like that. Better than usual, anyway."

"What?" Who are you and what have you done with my real sister?

"No, I'm serious. New shirt, new shoes, clean hair pulled back out of your face--you're still my gross little brother, but I guess I can kinda see where someone might think you were cute, all cleaned up like that. Or at least not totally disgusting. You should try it more often--maybe you wouldn't be such an outcast."

"Yeah, but..." I did all this trying to look more believable as a girl, not to attract one. "Don't I look kinda--I dunno--faggy like this?"

"Not really--I mean, as long as you don't go around acting all faggy. You just look kinda in-between, you know? Unisex. Like lots of kids your age do." Yeah, 'cause you're so much older. "Like Lori." She's our cousin, a few months younger than me and a total jock. I mean, she can kick my butt at just about any sport, except tennis 'cause I had lessons earlier this summer and I actually don't totally suck at it like I do at everything else athletic. And maybe soccer, just 'cause I grew up in places that take it seriously and she didn't. "Kinda the David Bowie look, you know? I mean, if you're confident about who you are it comes through, no matter what you're dressed like." Yeah, easy for you to say. No one would want to beat the crap out of you or get you psychiatric treatment just for trying to be your true self.

I don't say all that though--just, "Oh." She means well, and I can't very well explain why she's wrong, can I? "So do you think it will work for tonight too, at the rehearsal I mean?"

Her eyes narrow a bit. "I think so. As long as you can avoid acting like the little shit you are, and try to pretend to be human for a change, at least you won't change anyone's minds about what they already think you are."

"So, no more heebie-jeebies then?"

"No more heebie-jeebies. You're still a freak for doing this, though." OK, it really is Livy and not some impostor. That's a relief.

----------

Boy, Dad sure is being quiet tonight.

----------

Really quiet. And he's not looking at me.

----------

"You mad at me, Dad?"

"What?" OK, he's looking at me now. Eyes on the road, Dad. "No. Why... no."

"Well, something's eatin' ya. You haven't said a word since we got in the car."

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye and seems to be considering an answer. "Well..."

Long pause. I'll just have to out-wait him. He's committed now and will have to say something sooner or later....

----------

"I don't want you to think I'm 'square' or anything"--in which case you've defeated your purpose already by using that term--"but I don't know what to think about how you look. On the one hand, I know that androgynous, so-called 'unisex' look is 'in' and as far as that goes, you look pretty sharp tonight. If I didn't know better I'd think you were hoping to get some action with one of the girls in the cast or crew." I know it's a father-son bonding thing but somehow it's still always a little creepy when he talks to me like that. Parents aren't supposed to know about that kind of stuff.

"But the problem is, you do know better, and as simple as it seemed last night, now that I'm going through with it you find the reality kind of disturbing?"

"Well... yes. I'm sorry, but it is a little--disturbing--to actually see my son changing his style in the hope of passing for a girl."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Guess I won't be letting him in on my little secret any time soon. I have an idea how to maybe make it a little more palatable for him though. "If it helps, I'm trying to look at it as research for my role. I mean, if I can manage to walk the line the next couple of months and have a bunch of people I work with every week believing I'm a girl, after that playing one on stage in front of a few hundred strangers should be a piece of cake."

He looks like he's digesting this. "Yes. Yes, that does help." He starts parallel-parking the car in front of the school. "And it might help in another way, too. I should have thought of it before." Has he thought of something I haven't? "If you do get found out, it's the perfect alibi for this crowd; the actors, at least, will respect your dedication to your craft and won't fault you for fooling them. In fact they may applaud you for it."

Hah! This is so cool! I was worried about having to walk the razor-thin line between boy and girl and tap dance around any direct questions that might come up about my sex, but he's just given me carte blanche to 'girl it up' as much as necessary to pull it off. It's research for my role, after all! If I'd known that would go over so well, I'd have suggested it in the first place. Live and learn.

I have a thought. Should I? Oh, what the fuck. "That's good, 'cause now I have an excuse for this." I pull the rubber band out of my ponytail and shake out my hair. The look on his face! Man, I wish I had my camera.

----------

"...and she seemed so upset when she saw my reaction to it, I just didn't have the heart to tell her." He's laughing so hard he has tears in his eyes. Good thing I waited until we were parked to do this. "But she was right--it is perfect for the part; and if I pull it back in a ponytail it doesn't look totally girly, so I figured I'd just keep it this way until the show's over."

"Did your mom or Livy help you with the ponytail?" He asks when he's able to catch his breath.

"No, I did it before I caught up with them."

"So they haven't seen it like this yet?"

"Nope."

"Oh, I can't wait to see their faces when they do!"

"Uh. I was kind of hoping they wouldn't."

"Don't be silly, son. You can't hide something like this for long." Maybe not, but I was going to at least try. "Best to get it out in the open and deal with it right away." OK, but forgive me if I don't look forward to it the way you do, all right? I just roll my eyes at him.

Another thought occurs to me. Make lemonade, and all that crap. "Can we at least make sure I have my camera ready when they do see it?"

"Hah! Of course, of course! Beautiful!"

----------

I'm kind of expecting Tim to react the way Dad did, but he just smiles and gives me a little conspiratorial wink when he sees me. I guess he's pretty quick on the uptake. Wait, now he's coming over here. Wonder what he wants.

"Hi, Joey! I'm so glad you decided to join our cast after all. Listen, I forgot to ask you--we're a couple of nuns short for the choir in the opening number so do you think you could help us fill it out?"

Me, a nun? Oh, the irony. Dad looks like he appreciates it too. I look at him questioningly for his opinion, but he just shrugs so I guess it's up to me. "Um, sure, OK. I guess." Not like anyone would recognize me in a habit anyway. And there should be plenty of time for a costume change before Louisa has to make an appearance.

"Oh, good. Thanks so much. Now if I can talk Linda into it when she gets here we'll be all set for nuns." He spots some people coming in and heads off to accost them.

----------

Speak of the devil...

"Hi, Joy! Ooh, I love your hair."

She thinks I'm a major tomboy, so I'd best stay in character. Should be easy enough too; it's not that far from the truth. I give her an unenthusiastic "Thanks, I guess."

"You don't like it?"

"Well, when I told the lady at the salon I was going to be doing this role she just decided to cut it this way for me. I guess it's all right for that, but..."

"Better than all right, it's perfect! We should get her to do all our hair for the show."

"Yeah, great, but I have to go around with it like this every day."

"What? I think it's adorable. And very flattering on you."

"You think?" I sound unconvinced. "I mean, it's just so..."

"Feminine?"

I was going to say girly, but close enough; I shrug.

"Oh come on, it won't kill you to look pretty for a while." Little do you know. Under certain circumstances, it could. "Who knows, you might even enjoy it. Are you interested in boys yet?"

"Most of my friends are boys."

"I'm not surprised. But that's not what I meant."

"I know. No, not really." Not at all actually. I'm interested in girls. But I don't think that would go over real big so I leave it at that.

"I thought not. I was a late bloomer too." Wait, did I just see her eyes flick down to my undeveloped chest? Too funny. My first time being checked out there, and it's by a girl. "Well, I'm sure you will be soon enough." Yeah, don't hold your breath. "And trust me, they'll be a lot more interested in you looking like this." Great, I hadn't thought of that. At least I know a few good brush-off lines, from personal experience. With a little luck maybe I won't need to use them....

And here comes Tim now, no doubt looking to complete his nun collection.

----------

"You've done this before," Linda accuses me.

"Huh? Done what?"

"This. Played a nun in The Sound of Music."

"Nuh-uh. I've never even been in a play before."

"Then where did you learn these songs? Do you sing them in the choir at St. Andrew's or something?"

"Huh? No! I've never even been inside that place. We just have the soundtrack record from the movie at home." Doesn't everyone like to listen to showtunes?

"And you sing along with those songs?"

"He-ck, no." Did I just stop myself from swearing? What, am I turning into Mom now? "I guess I must've just kind of absorbed them."

"Wow. You must have a photographic memory."

"I dunno, I've only heard 'em like a bazillion times." Now that she mentions it, no one else here seemed to know the words and a lot were having trouble with the tunes. Huh.

----------

Shit. I kinda need to pee but we forgot to scope out an inconspicuous men's room for me to use. Hope I can hold it until we get home.

----------

"Wow. You know all the words to all the songs already?" Linda seems truly amazed.

"Uh, yeah...." The ones I need to, anyway. Seems there are a couple of songs in the play that aren't in the movie, or they left them off the soundtrack album for some reason. But Louisa doesn't sing any of those.

"Amazing. You're like a little musical prodigy or something." I'm not little! Well, not as tall as you maybe, but still.

"Nah, just really into showtunes, I guess. You didn't do too bad yourself."

"I hope not. I've been practicing every day since a week before the tryouts." Probably wouldn't be polite to mention that I haven't. I just smile.

Ngh. I should not have had that Coke just before we came.

----------

"Listen up, everybody." Tim's not quite yelling but still manages to be heard above the general din. "Grab a copy of the rehearsal schedule on your way out, and you'll be getting measured for costumes next Saturday so remember to wear clothes that are easy to get on and off. And don't forget, the renovations are done so we get to rehearse in the theatre from now on." Several people cheer and clap at this.

"OK kiddo, your mom's holding up dinner for us so let's not keep her waiting."

"In a sec. I really need to hit the bathroom first." I'm hoping I can find one away from prying eyes in time.

As I turn to go I almost bump into Linda, who says, "Good idea. I think I'd better join you." Oh, crap. Now what do I do? I look back at Dad in panic. He just looks bemused and gives a subtle shrug. I turn back to Linda, who's looking at me like well, are you coming or not? Crap, crap, crap. No time to mess around here--I need to go, now. It's either go with Linda or wet myself. No real choice there. OK, just think of it as in-depth research for my role....

----------

No urinals--what was I expecting?--and only one stall. Thankfully Linda sees my need and lets me go first. I unzip and start whipping 'it' out, anticipating impending relief, when I realize where I am and who I'm supposed to be. A few more precious seconds tick by while I fumble with the snap on my jeans, pull them down (along with my Fruit of the Looms--hope they're not visible under the stall door!), pull the tail of my shirt up and sit, pointing things downward so I don't piss all over the stall.

Ahhhhhh. That was close. Good thing the seat was down already.

----------

Linda startles me while I'm washing my hands by asking from the stall, "So Joy, how old are you?" OK, this is unexpected; I haven't had anyone talk to me in the bathroom since, like, fourth grade. Let alone while going. Is this something girls do, or is Linda just weird?

"Thirteen." The less I lie, the less chance I have of tripping myself up later.

"Oh." She sounds like she's trying not to sound surprised. Did she think I was older 'cause I'm a little taller than most girls my age? Or younger because I'm so underdeveloped?

"How 'bout you?"

"Sixteen." Flush.

"Going on seventeen?" That gets a chuckle out of her.

"Yeah, but I don't need anyone telling me what to do." She comes out of the stall and joins me at the sink as I dry my hands.

"I hear ya." Hey, they have mirrors in here. Working ones. In the boys' room there are just slightly less dingy areas on the wall suggesting where mirrors might once have been. Noticing my hair, I decide now would be a good time to pull it back into a ponytail, so I can wait to 'reveal' to Mom and Livy when I'm good and ready.

"But it's so much prettier down." She looks and sounds disapproving, or disappointed, or something.

"It gets in the way when I'm doing stuff." It did even before it got cut like this, and I never pulled it back then, but it sounds like a good excuse.

"Uh huh." Not that good, apparently; she's not buying it. "You know, wanting to be treated as an equal of boys doesn't mean you have to look or act like one."

"And how you act doesn't have to be decided by what sex you are," I counter. "Just 'cause you're a girl doesn't mean you have to like playing with Barbies and Easy-Bake Ovens and wearing make-up and dresses and stuff."

"I guess not. But--I don't know, don't you like the way it feels when someone tells you you're pretty?"

"Uh." Why does that question scare me? Well, the less I lie... "Yeah, I do." When I'm not trying to be a boy. I can feel my face flushing a little. "But..." I dunno, admitting that makes me feel kind of vain or something. "I don't want to be defined by that. You know? I wouldn't want people to see that and think that's all I am, and overlook everything else about me." Like I do to pretty girls I see all the fucking time. Shit. I never thought about it from this point of view before.

"Yeah, I guess some people do that. Especially boys," she says, rolling her eyes. Boys like me. I'm not feeling real good about myself right now, to tell you the truth. "And I guess some people get so wrapped up in looking good that really is all they are." Well, no one could ever accuse me of that, anyway. "But you are what you are, inside, you know? And no one can ever take that away from you, even if they can't see it."

That's what I've always told myself, but for some reason it blindsides me like a baseball bat to the back of the head to hear her saying it. And she has no idea she's just exposed my very soul. I squeeze my eyes closed to hold back tears, and nod in fervent agreement. I can't help it, though--I start to cry. Good thing I'm supposed to be a girl right now, or I'd be dying of shame and humiliation on top of the embarrassment I'm already feeling. She looks alarmed; she wasn't expecting this any more than I was. She wraps her arms around me gently and holds my head against her shoulder, stroking my hair. It's oddly comforting. "Oh, baby, it's OK. Shh. It's OK. What's the matter, honey? Was it something I said?"

I pull back from her shoulder, partly to make it easier to talk, partly to avoid getting snot all over it, and let out a sniffly, mucusy "Uh-huh." She looks like she might get upset about this so I head her off. "No, you just--what you said, about what you are inside, and not being able to take that away--just..." Words fail me so I make a clutching motion toward my heart to illustrate. "I don't know why it affected me like that. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me. You didn't make me cry." She rummages in her purse for something. "Here you go." She hands me a tissue.

"Thanks." I take it and blow my nose. She hands me another one; I wipe my eyes and cheeks with it. She has a third one ready but I wave it off. I lean over the sink and splash cold water over my face, then dry off with paper towels. I have to try not to shake 'cause what just happened kinda scares the shit out of me. Why couldn't I hold it together? What if I did something like that when I was supposed to be a guy? Like, at school or something? Shit, I'd be dead meat. I try to put it out of my mind.

"Anyway, I was just trying to say you're a very pretty girl and I don't understand why you try to hide it. When you've got an advantage like that you should make the most of it."

I'm blushing again--all over this time. "Thanks, but... I wouldn't even know where to start." I'm not real excited about the prospect of turning myself into a guy magnet, if you know what I mean. But--being looked at as a girl, having people finally be able to see me as I see myself--it just feels so right. I don't know why it makes a difference. It shouldn't, but it does.

"I'd love to help you with it. Would you like to get together, maybe tomorrow? And try a few things?"

Are you kidding? Hang out with a total fox? Hell yeah - where do I sign up? Wait, but... spend the whole time practicing looking and acting pretty? I dunno about that. I mean, girls my age are supposed to know that shit, I guess. And be interested in it. I'm just ... not. It's like, totally vain and superficial and just rubs me the wrong way. But I kinda wonder how much of that is, like, a defense mechanism, you know? And how much is a smoke screen I've been putting up so long I can't see through it myself anymore. Still, the thought of doing it is a little nauseating. As we exit the bathroom I put a dubious expression on my face and say, "Well..."

"Oh, c'mon. It'll be fun. And it won't hurt a bit."

"I'll think about it, OK?"

"OK. Wait." She pulls a scrap of paper and a pen out of her purse and writes something. "Here's my phone number, so you can let me know. Or if you just want to talk."

"Oh. Thanks." I put it in my pocket. "There's Dad. Gotta go. Later!"

"Bye! Call me!"

"'Kay!" I say and wave as I run across the room to where Dad is giving me a funny look.

----------

"What took you so long? Or do I not want to know?" He kinda sounds like maybe he doesn't.

"Just 'girl talk.' Apparently going to the bathroom is a big social occasion for female types. Or at least for Linda, anyway." That's enough detail; the rest is mostly stuff he doesn't want to know.

He considers this for a moment. "No, I don't think it's just Linda. They seem to always go at least two at a time when they're out in a group."

"Huh. Who knew."

"Vive la difference, eh?"

"Yeah, certainly keeps things interesting." I ponder for a moment as Dad unlocks his door and gets in, then reaches across to open my side. "I guess I wasn't just blowing smoke out my ass, about this being research for my role. I mean, not like there's a bathroom scene in the play or anything, but... knowing all this kinda sh-tuff"--there I go again, it's not like I never swear in front of Dad; what am I doing?--"will give me a lot more confidence about playing a girl on stage in front of a bunch of people, I think."

"Well, that's the key; it's much easier to play a role if you can draw on something you know. That, and lots and lots of rehearsal." That damned work ethic of his. Well, I suppose he might know what he's talking about in this field.

"Yeah. Plus, I'm already learning stuff about girls I never suspected--you never know, it might come in handy when I'm tryin' to get some action." This is an angle I know will appeal to him on a lot of levels. He's always been a real ladies' man. Mom sometimes gets pretty jealous of some of the actresses he works with. I'd worry too if I didn't know he's too in love with her to be fooling around, 'cause he enjoys the game and they seem to go for him like bees to honey. I've always wished he'd pass on his secrets to me but I suspect it has mostly to do with his outgoing, confident personality and not anything I could benefit from anyway.

"Wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more," he says in his best Eric Idle voice. Which is actually pretty lame--he sounds more like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins. "So what was that I saw Linda writing down for you?"

"Just her phone number," I say with exaggerated innocence.

"Oho, taking after your old man, I see." Can't tell if he's prouder of me or himself here.

"I wish. She thinks I'm a girl, remember? And I don't think she swings that way."

"I know; I just couldn't resist pulling your leg." Nor I, yours. "Why did she give it to you?"

"I dunno, I think she sees me as a big tomboy and wants to open my eyes to the joys of femininity or something."

"So were you planning to take her up on it?"

"Eh. The thought kinda turns my stomach. And maybe scares me a little, too. I've never gotten why girls go in for that stuff anyway. On the other hand, I hate to pass up the chance to hang out with a fox and maybe learn a thing or two about what makes them tick. Even if she is too old for me."

"There's no such thing, son. A fox is a fox. An older one is all the better for having experience."

"I mean, she would think she's too old for me. I mean I'm too young for her. You know what I mean--she wouldn't want anything to do with me if she knew I was a thirteen-year-old boy."

"You may have a point there. Well, if you think you can stomach it, I don't see any harm--and it would be a shame to pass up the opportunity for reconnaissance behind enemy lines. If you learn anything useful, be sure to share it with me." He gives me a broad wink and a nudge with his right elbow. I force a grin onto my face and refrain from rolling my eyes. Like I said, it's just a little creepy when he does that.

----------

Flash. I couldn't work the camera and let my hair down at the same time so I had to let Dad take the picture. I guess he can handle it, though. I learned the art of photography from him after all. Hah! The looks on their faces! I think I may have to stay up late tonight and develop this one. Flash. Guess he took a second one for insurance.

Huh. Now Livy's kind of staring at me like she knows me, but she doesn't know me. And Mom--what's with her? She has a hand on her mouth and looks like she might start crying any second now. You'd think I'd just confessed to some heinous crime or something. I better explain.

----------

"It sounds like a wonderful learning experience. In fact I wish every man could do something like this." She looks pointedly at Dad. "Maybe then they'd be more sympathetic to women's issues and more sensitive to their needs." When Mom looks away from him Dad rolls his eyes at me. Mom's a dyed-in-the-wool feminist and insists that apart from body development, all the differences between men and women are due to upbringing. Dad agrees on equality in principle but firmly believes in the practical benefits of specialization and the traditional division of labor. It's always been the one major sore spot between them.

"Just do not let me catch you 'borrowing' any of my clothes, freak." Jeez, Livy, what's your problem?

"Like I would. I might catch something. Besides," I continue in an exaggerated stuck-up-girl manner, just to fuck with her head, "you have no sense of style." Which, by the way, is pretty much true--even I can tell that. "I wouldn't be caught dead wearing anything you own." Mom looks briefly alarmed, until Dad chuckles, which clues her in that I'm joking. She's not stupid or anything but she can be a little slow on the uptake sometimes with humor. Especially when she's on her high horse like now. Livy just glares at me.

----------

Whoa. Nice shot, Dad. But--unh.

In the red glow of the safelight I can see Mom and Livy all right, looking somewhere between concerned and confused, but they're kind of in the background, in shadow and soft focus. In the foreground off center to the right is me, hair spread wide as I shake it out after pulling out the rubber band. It's a moment in time frozen by the flash. I mean, it's a beautiful shot, very artistic--but looking at it you'd never guess in a million years that I'm not a girl. In fact if someone told you, you probably wouldn't believe them. My eyes are kind of closed, and I have this calm, almost serene expression on my face. And the pose he caught me in, arms slightly out from the sides and back a little, bent upward at the elbows and wrists as I was pulling them away from my newly-released ponytail, is about as feminine as you can get. Not all overtly girly-girly like I was trying to sell it or anything, just naturally, unselfconsciously feminine.

As I pull it out of the tray and hang it up with clothespins to dry I can't take my eyes off it.

That's me. The real me.

----------

The second picture is more like what I was expecting. Not nearly so artistic, but still well-composed. There's me to one side in soft focus looking like a boy with a girl's haircut and a "gotcha!" expression on my face, and Mom and Livy in sharp relief goggling at me like I've sprouted a second head or something.

That's the me everyone else sees. The persona I've created.

----------

I put the pictures in my dresser drawer, lie down in bed and turn off the light. I'm still stunned by the first one--I mean, I love it; I think it's the best picture anyone's ever taken of me. I'm afraid to let anyone see it though. It's a humiliating picture for a guy, and worse yet, someone might guess the truth behind it. But Dad took it--did he notice anything, was it intentional, or was it just a passing moment he captured purely by accident?

I can't seem to stop thinking about it. I have a feeling it's going to take me a long time to get to sleep tonight.

Life wasn't exactly easy before, but at least I kind of had the hang of it and had it mostly under control. But this... it's all upside-down now. How can I keep going on this path without fucking everything up? Could I even turn back now if I wanted to? Do I want to? What do I want?

What the fuck was I thinking?

###

 

Chapter 5: Believing is seeing

"I dunno, I mean, what kind of stuff did you have in mind?" I'm kind of preemptively cringing, and holding the phone slightly away from my ear, like I'm worried it might bite or something.

"Oh, there are lots of possibilities. I could show you some things you could do with your hair to make it pretty for, like, special occasions, or help you practice your makeup, or give you fashion advice; whatever you want."

"Eh... OK, I guess." I have to consciously remind myself, as long as people think I'm a girl, doing this stuff won't get me shunned or beat up. I'm probably OK with Mom and Dad too, as long as I don't appear to be enjoying it too much--which shouldn't be hard; the whole idea of makeup and fashion seems kinda lame and phony to me. Livy's the only one I have to worry about wanting to use this against me, and hopefully that's already covered.

"Oh, come on, show a little enthusiasm. It's not like torture or anything."

The great thing is, I can say what I really think and still be in character. "It kind of is to me. I guess it could be worse though--you could be taking me shopping." I hate shopping. Especially trying stuff on.

"How can you not like shopping? Are you sure you're a girl?" Whoops, did I go too far? No, she's laughing, just teasing me. Almost had a heart attack there, though.

"I just don't enjoy it, OK? I don't see what's supposed to be fun about it."

"Well, you must just be doing it wrong, then. But I guess I won't take you shopping. This time." She likes to tease. Or so I hope. "All right, do you want to come over, or should I come there?"

"Um, there, I guess." Too many possible complications here. "Hang on, let me make sure I can get a ride." I cover the mouthpiece with my hand. "Mo-o-om!"

----------

"Thanks, Mom. I'll call when I need a ride back." Slam! I don't wait for a reply as I run up the walk and ring Linda's doorbell. While I'm waiting I notice how big this house is with its two story faux-Colonial facade compared to our little ranch-style place. I think our yard's a little bigger, though.

"Hi, Joy! Come on in. Dad's at work and Mom left to run some errands, so it's just us." I hear Mom pulling out of the driveway as I close the door behind me.

"Nice place." The ground floor is at least as big as our whole house. Plus the upstairs, and I think it has a basement too. If ours holds the four of us comfortably, this place could probably handle at least a dozen, I figure. "No brothers or sisters?"

"Three older brothers and a sister, but they've all moved out on their own. My sister Kirstin's starting college this year. She moved into her dorm this weekend. Want something to drink? We have milk and Coke that's cold, and a bunch of other kinds of pop in the pantry."

We've wandered into the kitchen. It's huge but the thing I notice right off is they have a dishwasher. An automatic one; I qualify it like that because whenever I beg my folks to get one they say "Why do we need a dishwasher? We already have two," meaning me and Livy. Slave labor, that's what we are. Anyway I'm not too impressed with the size of their house--we have all the space we need--but I am pretty envious of that dishwasher.

"A Coke would be nice, thanks. Must be nice to have 'em all out of your hair, huh?"

"Yeah, they can be a big pain. Especially brothers." Hey! "But you tend to forget about that after they've been gone a while and believe it or not, you actually start to miss 'em. I think it's gonna take a little longer with Kirstin though. My ABBA albums are missing and I'm pretty sure she took 'em." I would never admit it publicly, but I do kinda like ABBA.

"Bummer. Thanks." She's gotten two Cokes out of the fridge and hands me one. I open it and take a sip. "Sounds like she's as big a B-I-you-know-what as my sister."

"Yeah. So how many sibs do you have?"

"Just the one."

"Older or younger?"

"Older, by just over a year. I'm taller for my age so we've always been about the same height--well, except for last year when she had a growth spurt, but I've caught up again. People always assume we're twins." I've heard people call us Irish twins. One time Aunt Kathy said that, kind of jokingly I thought, but Dad gave her a dirty look so I guess he saw it as somehow insulting or rude or something. So I don't use that term.

"Oh, cool. So do you, like, share clothes a lot and stuff?"

"Not very often." Just that one time actually. "We have very different tastes in clothing." Even if I dressed as a girl that would probably still be true. She has no sense of style. Not that I'm a fashion plate or anything, but at least I can tell what looks good on me and what doesn't.

"What, does she wear a lot of dresses and skirts?"

"Ha! You're funny. No, only on Christmas and Easter, if then. She wears mostly jeans and t-shirts too, just"--shrug--"different ones. Ones I wouldn't be caught dead in." I might be dead if I were ever caught in them, but that's not what I mean. I can't put my finger on it, exactly--her choices just don't work somehow.

"Well, it's good that you have some kind of a sense of style, I guess, even if it's for dressing like a boy." She's giving me an appraising look with just a hint of dismay. "At least what you're wearing goes together, and the colors are right for your complexion. I think there may be hope for you yet." Huh. I just picked the colors 'cause they looked right and I liked 'em. I didn't, like, try to match my complexion or anything. "I guess that's a good place to start. My room's upstairs. C'mon!"

----------

"No, I am not going to try on any skirts or dresses." Actually, surprisingly, I kind of want to, 'cause unlike Livy she has some clothes of the type I like seeing girls in and I'm curious how I'd look in them. But I don't think it's a good idea--I can probably convince her to give me a little privacy while changing, but there'd be too much chance of her getting a glimpse of my Jockeys, which would be a major disaster. Like Ragnarok major.

"Have you ever even worn one?"

"Not since I was like six, and there were tears involved." Livy's, when she got in trouble for dressing me up. It's kinda fun saying things that are perfectly true but completely misleading. "Look, maybe some other time I'll give it a try, but I'm just not ready for it today, all right?" See? I mean one thing, she thinks something completely different. Fun.

"OK. I just wish I knew what your hang-up was." It's that I don't want you to find out I have a dick, OK? That would be bad. She rummages through her closet for a while, muttering to herself, then heads for her dresser before going, "Oh, I know. There's bags and bags of my old clothes in the attic." This place has an attic, too? Jeez. "I bet there'll be some stuff that'll fit you. Wait here."

----------

"These are from when I was thirteen. They should be about the right size."

The bag is huge. She dumps the entire contents out on her bed and digs through the pile.

"Some of these were Kirstin's hand-me-downs, so they're like totally out of style." From time to time she flings one of the offending garments into a small but growing heap in the corner as she sorts through the mess on her bed. Suddenly she gets a big smile on her face. "Oh, here you go. These were my favorite jeans ever. Here, try 'em on." She tosses them to me and waits expectantly. I just stand there holding them. "Well, what are you waiting for? Oh. Don't tell me you're shy about your body?" Thank you, perfect excuse. I nod sheepishly. "I'm sorry. You can change in the bathroom across the hall. I forgot how self-conscious I was when I started to... well. Oh, here, put this on too and we'll get the whole effect." She hands me a bit of pale lime green cloth with some stringy things dangling off it. I turn it around, trying to make heads or tails of it. "It's a halter top, silly. Look, you just put it on like this and tie it here and here." Oh.

I head into the bathroom, close the door, and strip to my skivvies. In case she decides to barge in I quickly pull on the jeans, which turn out to be hip huggers so I have to kind of scrunch down the tops of my Jockeys to keep them from showing--shit, that doesn't work, they keep popping back up. I try rolling the waistband down a couple of times--OK, better. Now if I can... just... arrange things down there so--ow, ugh, did something just go sproing? That can't be good--well, it doesn't seem to actually hurt anywhere, so--OK, not real comfortable, but it looks OK I hope. I put on the halter top like Linda showed me--not as easy as she made it look, but I eventually manage. Now to check myself out in the mirror to make sure nothing's showing that shouldn't be--

Gasp.

That's me looking back out of the mirror, but it's like for the first time in my life I see on the outside the same me that's on the inside.

The real me. The one in the picture.

Only way better dressed.

----------

"How're you doing in there? Everything OK?"

I guess I've been staring at myself for a while. Better turn around, make sure everything looks OK in the back too--OK, safe to open the door.

"Yeah, fine."

"C'mon out, let me see... Wow. Those jeans fit you perfectly. They look great on you."

"Yeah, they do." It pops out before I can stop myself. I blush. Well, they do.

"You can keep them if you want."

"I--really?"

"Sure, it's not like they'll ever fit me again. I think Mom just saved them out of habit; there's no one left to hand them down to."

"Uh. Wow. Thanks!" These are now officially my favorite pair of jeans ever.

"Hmm. The top is a good color for you--it sets off the red highlights in your hair. But... you really just haven't started developing at all, have you?" No, and the thought that I won't, ever, brings me sickeningly back down to earth. I somehow manage not to cry or puke, but I must look miserably dejected. "Don't worry, you will." I realize I need to stay in character so I just give a small, resigned nod instead of laughing psychotically in her face. "In the meantime there's stuff we can do to make up for it--but not, I'm afraid, in that top." She's rummaging through the pile on her bed again. "Here, take it off and put this on." She's offering me what appears to be a training bra, like Livy used to wear. I take it from her and again, just stand there. "I won't watch, OK? But I'm going to need to see you with your top off if I'm going to help you with this." She turns around and looks away. "Go ahead."

I get the halter top off, put my arms through the bra straps and try to figure out how to get it hooked. I'm taking too long 'cause eventually Linda peeks and sees me having trouble with it.

"Silly me--you've never worn one before, have you?" I shake my head in frustration. "Of course not. Sorry. Here, let me help." She shows me how it's done. "OK, now..." She grabs a box of Kleenex off her bedside table, pulls out a few tissues and stuffs them into my right bra cup.

"Aaah!" She has cold hands!

"Hold still!" She repeats for the left side but this time I'm expecting it so it's not such a shock. "There. Much better. OK, now try this on."

She hands me something about the same color as the halter top. I put it on. It has no sleeves, and like a mini-turtleneck. It fits kind of snugly and only comes down to my ribs, leaving my bellybutton showing. Oh cool, a crop top. I remember when they banned girls from wearing these and halter tops in my old junior high. It was a dark day indeed.

"Nice. Here, have a look." She pulls her closet door open wide; there's a full length mirror on the back side. I look.

The mix of feelings is kind of confusing and almost overwhelming. I don't know whether to grin like an idiot or cry my eyes out. I settle on giggling.

"What?"

"I have boobies!"

She rolls her eyes. "But what do you think?"

"I like it." Now that I've suppressed some of the scarier strong emotions I ponder something. "I really like it. I don't know why I was so afraid of doing this." I kind of do know, and I kind of still am afraid but I don't want to think about that right now; I just want to savor the moment. I look at her and my smile is genuine, and heart-felt. "Thanks for doing this with me."

"No problem! See? I told you this would be fun. Are you sure you don't want to see what you'd look like in a dress now?"

"No! Um, no. I think I've had all the fashion I can take for one day. Can I just stay in this and we'll do something else?" Underwear issues aside, this just feels right and I don't want to take any chance of losing that feeling.

"Oh." She seems disappointed. I guess she was just getting started. "OK. Tell you what, let's put the rest of this stuff back in the bag so you can take it with you when you go home. That way you can try it on when you feel like it."

"Really? Cool. And I can bring them back to you at rehearsal next weekend." There must be more clothes here than I own, not that I have that much beyond jeans and t-shirts.

"Nah, don't bother--just keep 'em. None of it fits me anymore and it was all just going to sit in the attic forever anyway."

"Wow. ...Thanks!" I have an impulse to hug her, which normally I'd suppress not wanting to freak her out 'cause most guys just don't do that kind of stuff and I don't know her well enough, but I'm a girl today so I go ahead and do it. And she doesn't freak out; she just smiles big and hugs me back.

----------

"It's just when you slouch like that, you look all, I dunno, kinda limp and shapeless, and like you're trying to hide or something. A good straight posture gives you an air of confidence and strength, and makes people want to get to know you." She's doing something to the back of my hair as she talks; I think she called it a French braid. It feels kinda like she's braiding my hair inside-out or something.

"Mom keeps telling me that. I guess I've just had too many people being mean to me in school to want to attract a lot of attention to myself. Ow."

"Sorry, there was a knot or something. Why on earth would people want to be mean to you?"

"Just 'cause I'm different. That seems to be all the reason they ever need." She makes a sympathetic noise, like she's been there. No way--she's a total Marcia Brady type. "But I'd rather be true to who I am than be popular, if that's the choice." As I say this I'm aware of the irony, which will fortunately go right over her head. But there are limits to how far even I'm willing to go in the name of defiance; going too far could wind up getting me seriously hurt or worse. That's always kept me from being anything like true to my real self.

Up until now. Huh.

"I guess that's right, but does that have to be the choice? Can't you be both? There, all done."

I turn around and just look at her intently for a while, thinking about it, then finally look back away and shrug. "It's never worked out that way before." I've never been able to even consider it before. Something is different about the situation this time, but I can't quite put my finger on what it is. Different enough though? Highly doubtful. What I am seems to be just too weird for most people to take.

She just says, "Go have a look in the mirror and see what you think."

----------

"Wow." I didn't think my hair could look any more feminine, but it does. But not in some frilly, sickeningly-sweet hearts-and-rainbows way. This is--elegant. It makes me look somehow older and more mature, like a young woman and not just a girl. "I had no idea I could look like that. Can I do this on myself? Can you show me how?"

"Sure. It takes some practice, but it's not that hard."

----------

"It just seems kinda like, I dunno, cheating."

"How is it cheating?"

"Like, you know, covering up what you really look like. Like wearing a mask only pretending you're not." I'm not sure I'm explaining myself clearly. I'm not sure I'm quite clear on what I'm trying to say, for that matter.

"Nuh-uh. It's more like, um, like wearing clothes that show off your assets and hide your flaws."

"Yeah but that's kind of like cheating too."

"Hm. Well that would explain your fashion choices." What's she implying here? And why do I suddenly feel all defensive about what I usually wear? "...Think of it like using deodorant. Everyone sweats, you know? But no one wants to smell it. You're not really trying to pretend you don't sweat, you're just trying to keep from offending people with your B.O. It's like, the polite thing to do."

"So, makeup is like, a way not to offend people with your ugliness?" I love twisting people's own arguments against them. It's like verbal jiu-jitsu. I can't entirely suppress a wicked grin.

"Oh, you know that's not what I meant." Ah, the sweet sound of exasperation. My grin grows. "It's just, it's not like no one can tell you're wearing makeup, you know? It's just like a way to say look, I care, I care what you think of me enough to go to this trouble. I care enough to spend some time trying to look nice for you. It's just, you know, good manners."

Huh. I never thought of it that way before. It kinda does make sense, I guess.

----------

"You really don't need that much. You've got a great complexion. I wish I had freckles; they're so cute." Who is she kidding? They make me look like I have a permanent case of chicken pox. "And you have nice full lips"--I've always thought they looked puffy or swollen--"and such beautiful long eyelashes." OK, now I'm getting embarrassed. "Anyway you're too young for heavy makeup; it wouldn't look right on you. Here, start with this."

She hands me something that looks like Chapstick but the label says Lip Smacker. I put it on like I would Chapstick and it makes my lips sort of shiny without really changing their color much. Mmm, strawberry!

"Try not to get it outside your lip area. Here, wipe off the extra." She hands me a Kleenex. "Let me guess--you've never done this before either?" I shake my head. She gives me a look that's kind of annoyed and sympathetic at the same time. "All right then, watch me and do what I do. It won't do you any good if you can't do this yourself later."

----------

Lip gloss, mascara to "thicken" the lashes, and a hint of blue eyeshadow to "bring out the color of your eyes" which by the way are gray, but never mind; it's relatively subtle but it all adds up to a big difference. Somehow seeing myself like this makes me want to sit up straight and not slouch. Which only makes the difference more pronounced. Before I thought I looked kinda cute as a girl, if a bit mousy. The girl looking back at me out of the mirror now, though--she's poised, and pretty, and confident; all the things I've never been. And happy. Well, who wouldn't be, looking like that? Behind me in the mirror I can see Linda's look of satisfaction. I smile at her.

----------

"You can hang on to this." It's the tube of lip gloss.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I don't really wear it much anymore. Now that I'm sixteen Mom lets me wear real lipstick. Anyway that's my spare tube. I have a whole 'nother one in my purse."

"OK, thanks." I've been saying that a lot today. "Just don't give me anything else, OK? I feel kinda guilty taking all this stuff when I don't have anything to give you."

"Don't worry about it. I get a kick out of seeing you having so much fun, and I like knowing my old stuff is going to a good home where it'll be appreciated."

My smile of gratitude turns to puzzlement as I realize these jeans have no pockets in which to put the lip gloss. "Um, where do I..."

Linda realizes my dilemma. "I bet you don't even own a purse." I shake my head, she rolls her eyes and grins. "Follow me." We go back across the hall to her room.

----------

"Uh, thanks..."

"Don't worry, I'm not giving it to you; I want it back when you get your own." 'It' being a small white canvas purse with a zipper and a shoulder strap that clips to metal rings on the ends.

"OK." I sit on her bed to open it and drop the lip gloss in. "Thanks for letting me borrow it, then." I put the strap over my shoulder, kind of trying it on. The strap's adjustable, but it's already at about the right length to let me get into it without taking it off first.

R-r-ring. It's the pink princess phone on her bedside table. I hadn't noticed it before. I thought they only had those on TV.

Linda answers. "Hello? ... Yes, it is ... Oh, sure, she's right here." She extends the handset toward me. "It's for you. Your mom."

As I reach for the phone I kind of see myself from outside my body for an instant, dressed like this, with the hair, makeup and purse, about to talk on a pink princess phone while sitting cross-legged on a teenage girl's bed. The image is so absurdly, stereotypically girly I have to fight to keep from laughing out loud. Apparently Linda really is Marcia freakin' Brady, and I'm her new best friend. This is so not me, but I have to admit it's kinda fun, if only in a sort of oh my god, I can't believe I'm actually doing this way. Linda looks at me funny but I get it under control and take the phone.

"Hello?"

"Joey? Is that you?"

"Hi, Mom. What's up?"

"Oh. I didn't recognize your voice at first. I need to come pick you up early. Steve's just informed me we're having company for dinner tonight"--she sounds exasperated; gee, I wonder why--"and I won't have time later. I really don't have time now." From the sound of her voice Dad's gonna be in some hot water over this. "Can you be ready to go right when I get there? I'll be about ten minutes."

"Sure. See you then."

----------

"Here she is now. Thanks again, for everything!" I give Linda a big hug, then grab the bag of clothes and bolt out the door. "See ya!"

"'Bye!"

Mom's car has barely come to a full stop in the driveway when I yank the door open, toss the bag in the back and jump in. I can see Linda waving from the doorway looking bemused as I slam the car door, set my purse on the floor and belt myself in. "OK, ready!"

Mom's just staring at me. Gaping, actually.

"What? You said you were in a hurry. Let's go!"

She theatrically uses her hand to push her apparently unhinged jaw closed. Without saying a word, she puts the car in gear and backs out of the driveway.

----------

She keeps looking at me out of the corner of her eye, but she still hasn't said anything. You'd think she'd never seen a girl wearing stylish clothes and makeup before, or something.

Oh.

Mom doesn't see a well-groomed girl sitting here. She sees a boy, one who usually devotes a lot of his energy to avoiding being seen as unmasculine, sitting here looking way more girly than his sister usually does. To her I must just look comical or pathetic.

My self-confidence evaporates, and I feel a cold knot of dread form in the pit of my stomach. Livy's going to see me like this when I get home. And maybe the neighbors. And what must Mom be thinking?

Fuck. What am I gonna do now?

---

 
To Be Continued...

by Justme

---

 

Chapter 6: Seeing is believing

The clothes I wore here are in the bag, in the back seat. I can climb back there and change, and fix my hair and maybe somehow wipe off the makeup with a shirt or something before we get home, if I hurry. Fighting back incipient tears and nausea, I reach to unbuckle my seat belt.

No! I stop. Something in me recoils at the idea. This is who I am and I'm sick of having to hide it. Now I'm feeling more mad than afraid.

But the reactions--ridicule, anger, misguided concern, ostracism, a complete lack of understanding, lectures, and that's just from my own family--I don't want that either. Sigh. If I want to keep being myself I'll just have to keep making excuses. But what excuse can I come up with now? We're going home--nobody who already believes I'm a girl will be seeing me. Obviously I can't just come out and say I want to stay like this.

Hmm. Maybe....

"Does it bother you?"

"What?"

"You keep looking at me funny. Does it weird you out seeing me like this?"

"No! I ...well, maybe a little," she admits.

"Why?" This may seem obvious to you and me, but remember, she's an adamant feminist and deeply opposed to double standards--intellectually, at least. I figure she'll have some trouble with it.

"Well, it's just a little disconcerting to see my son padding his bra." Oh. I forgot about that. "And even if you were my daughter and not my son"--glad to see you can be open minded about that possibility, Mom--"I wouldn't approve of you trying to look older. It's not appropriate."

"But I'm not trying to look older--just trying to look my age. I'm kinda underdeveloped in that area for a thirteen-year-old, in case you hadn't noticed."

I can see her struggling to wrap her brain around this. "Still weirds you out, huh?" Better get this conversation back on track. Time to take the offensive. "If it would make you more comfortable, I could climb in the back seat and change." But admitting this would shake the foundations of your whole philosophy. If toys and games and careers shouldn't be sex-specific, why should clothes or hair or make-up?

"No, you don't have to change on my account." Knew it! "But wouldn't you be more comfortable dressed as ... yourself?" I am, Mom. For the first time in my life I really am. If I seriously thought for one minute you might understand that I'd just tell you. Instead...

"I'm fine. It's kind of interesting to see how differently people treat me like this," I give Mom a sidelong glance and she looks a little guilty, "and I'm learning stuff I didn't even realize I didn't know." I know she's happy about me learning first hand what it's like for the other half; I wonder how far she is from wanting me not to change back just yet, and whether it would be possible to gently nudge her across the line.

"Really? What kinds of 'stuff?'"

"Like, I always thought wearing makeup and stuff was just pure vanity, but apparently women don't see it that way--at least Linda doesn't. To her it's kind of, I dunno, like common courtesy to make the effort to look your best for other people." I figure if she thinks I'll finally learn something about the importance of personal grooming and maybe even improve my manners by doing this, it can only help my cause.

"Interesting." She's secretly delighted by this but trying hard to sound neutral. I know her too well to be fooled. But I don't think she'd be as excited about me learning that this color goes with my complexion and brings out the highlights in my hair, or how to hook a bra or put on lip gloss and mascara and eyeshadow, so I just leave it at that. I figure I've got until Livy sees me to come up with another excuse not to change back yet.

----------

At least the neighbors weren't out when we got home. As I walk by Livy's room dragging the bag of clothes I see her and Felicia chatting away barely noticing me, then practically getting whiplash when they do the most comical double-takes I've ever seen in real life. Felicia literally falls off the bed. I hope she's not hurt, but damn that was funny!

----------

I heave the bag onto my bed and head back toward the kitchen. Time to put my plan into action. Livy and Felicia are waiting right outside my door, staring at me. Felicia looks shocked but also highly amused; Livy looks like she's about to have a brain aneurysm.

Before either one of them can say anything, I jump in. "C'mon, Mom's gonna need our help if she's gonna get dinner done in time." Volunteering like this is so not like me, I think Livy's head is going to start spinning around like that Linda Blair chick in The Exorcist. Well, so I heard anyway--Mom wouldn't let me see it. Felicia doesn't know it's totally out of character so she just nods and follows. Livy finally decides to go along and brings up the rear. If we're busy helping Mom, I just won't have time to get changed. Darn.

----------

"You want to what?" Mom's as surprised by my offer of our assistance as Livy was.

"Help. You've got too much to do and not enough time so we want to help."

I think she's wondering what the catch is, or maybe whether I've lost my mind, from the way she's looking at me. "Uh, all right; I could certainly use it." She sounds flustered. "Felicia, you're welcome to stay for dinner, but you're our guest and you don't need to help."

"That's all right Miz L. It'll be fun, and I wouldn't want to mooch without pulling my weight." Mom looks at her appraisingly, then at Livy and me in turn, as if she's wondering what's gotten into us.

"All right, thank you. If one of you can get the vacuum out and run it over the living room and dining room carpets, and the other two can get this morning's dishes washed and put away while I run to the supermarket, that would be a huge help."

Livy finally speaks up. "I'll vacuum!" She runs off to get it. Shit, I hate washing dishes. Oh well, I can tell Felicia's dying to ask me what the hell I'm up to.

----------

"So let me get this straight. You're not gonna just let them think you're a girl anymore, you're actually gonna pretend to be one when you're around them?" She's washing, I'm drying and putting away, since I know where stuff goes.

I'm not pretending, damn it; this is the real me. Me being a boy, that was pretending. But Livy just shut off the vacuum and I don't want to give myself away so I keep it to myself for now, except for a brief exasperated look which I don't think Felicia gets. "Yeah, pretty much. Dad says if I get caught, as actors they'll only respect me for going to such lengths to get into the role."

"OK, but what were you doing out looking like that?"

"Well, see, Linda--she's the girl playing Liesl? She thought I was too much of a tomboy and invited me over to give me some fashion tips. I figured I couldn't pass up an excuse to spend a couple hours with a foxy sixteen-year-old." Funny, I never even thought about that the whole time I was over there. Nerves, I guess.

She giggles. "Looks like it was one hot date!"

"Yeah, yeah." I roll my eyes.

"But, so, that's over--how come you don't change back? I thought you said you didn't like dressing like a girl."

She says that last part in a low voice. I'd rather not talk about it at all when Livy might overhear but I respond in kind. "Honestly, I didn't think I would. And I kinda looked down on the whole fashion-hair-and-makeup thing as totally superficial and like, you know, to be sneered at. But Linda had some interesting perspectives on that, and ..." Crap, here comes the Evil One now. Have to finish this conversation some other time. I give Felicia a quick regretful look as I cut myself off; she responds with a you've got to be kidding, you can't stop now expression which she replaces with who, us? We weren't talking about anything interesting as Livy comes into her field of view.

"All right, freak, I'll take over here. You go change." Oh, this makes you uncomfortable, does it? All the more reason not to--

I hear a car door slam. Perfect timing! "Mom's back--you wanna help her bring in the groceries or should I?"

She makes a little frustrated growling noise, then mutters "I'll do it" and goes.

"Jeez, what's her problem?"

Felicia shrugs, and gives me an appraising look. "Well she might just be weirded out by you looking like that, but I think there's more to it than that."

"Like what?"

"I dunno, but I think maybe she's jealous."

"What?"

"I know I would be, if had a brother who came home looking like you."

Oh, no. Did I hear some resentment there? How can I--oh, crap, here comes Mom.

"Are you two almost done? We'll need the sink to wash the vegetables." She sets a couple of bags on the kitchen table.

"Yeah, just about." And here comes Livy, with the rest of the groceries.

"All right, twerp. Now get out and go change." I can't think of another excuse at the moment so I hand her the dish towel and start to head to my room.

Mom gives me a momentary reprieve. "Before you go, can you get down the pressure cooker for me? It should be in the back of that cabinet above the fridge." Livy looks, well, livid, but she doesn't say anything, just glares.

As I pull up a chair and climb up on it to reach above the fridge, Livy's giving me venomous looks instead of paying attention to what she's doing. Felicia doesn't notice this as she holds out a freshly-washed carving knife for her to dry. Livy reaches for it, eyes still on me, and as her hand starts to close around the blade I try to warn her but all I manage to do is wave my arms and scream "Aaah! No!" Which, as it turns out, is exactly the wrong thing to do 'cause it startles her and she grabs it really hard just as Felicia tries to pull it away and we all just stand there frozen for a second and then blood starts going everywhere.

----------

"I'm really sorry, Liv. I didn't mean to scare you, I just didn't want you to get hurt and..."

"And I just was trying to get it away before you grabbed the wrong end..."

"Just leave me alone, OK? It hurts so bad." Livy's in the front seat next to Mom. She's pale and shaking and kind of moaning from time to time but surprisingly not crying. I think I would be. She's got a bloody dishtowel wrapped tightly around her hand. Grandfather Sorensen is a doctor so Mom knows how to handle stuff like this.

----------

"I just feel so bad. It was my fault and I should be in there, like, holding her hand or something. Her other hand." I'm not trying to make light of the situation; it just comes out before I can stop it.

"No, it wasn't. It was my fault. If I hadn't tried to pull the knife away...." Felicia looks even more upset than me, if that's possible. And a little sick. "Anyway it's not like we could do anything. We'd just be in the way. And your mom's with her."

"Yeah but...." Sigh. She's right. All we can do is wait out here while they stitch her hand back together.

----------

"Oh no, look, the North Vietnamese are closing in on Saigon." Yeesh, don't they have any more recent magazines? "And Aristotle Onassis died. Oh, that poor Jackie. Whatever will she do now?" Being Irish, the Kennedys are practically family to us, or at least you'd think so from the way Dad's relatives tell it. So that was kind of big news around our house. Like, last spring. Which was before we moved, so it feels more like last year. "I'm gonna ask if they have anything newer to read."

----------

No one's come in for a while so the receptionist seems grateful to have something to do. She digs through the "in" box on the floor next to the desk and comes up with a pair of magazines. "These just came today."

Great. People Weekly and Tiger Beat--a veritable intellectual smorgasbord. Why don't these places ever have, like, Mad Magazine or anything good? "Thanks." I smile at her and try not to roll my eyes but they just seem to have minds of their own. On the way up they catch the cover of People. Man, Jaws was awesome. I've seen it three times and I'm always still worried at the end that Brody isn't going to shoot the air tank in time to blow up the shark. And I nearly wet my pants the first time that half-eaten face popped out of the hole in the bottom of that boat.

Wait, August 25, 1975? Whatthefuck, that means school starts in just over one week. As if I didn't have enough to worry about.

----------

"There you are. Come on, let's go home." Mom's voice startles me and I hastily slap the magazine shut and put it down before she can see me reading about what the cast of Laugh-In are doing now. Look, I was bored and I just kind of got sucked in, OK?

"How's your hand?" It's all wrapped in bandages, like a mummy with the thumb and fingers sticking out. Felicia sounds like she's afraid to hear the answer. Livy looks less pale, and like maybe she cried a bit after all.

"Five stitches, but they said I didn't cut any tendons or nerves or anything so it'll be OK once it heals."

"Oh, good." Felicia sounds very relieved. I am too, to tell you the truth.

"Did they say how long it would take?"

She looks at me with this kind of mildly irritated expression. "They said I should try not to use it for a couple of weeks so I don't tear anything."

"Oh." This is all my fault. "Once school starts I'll write out your homework for you until it heals."

The irritated look fades, replaced by puzzlement, and... something else. "Um, thanks. That'll help a lot." Her emotional reactions seem kind of dulled. I wonder what kind of drugs they gave her. Mom leans over and gives me a quick hug but she's looking at me like she's not sure whether to have me committed.

----------

Livy's on the sofa with pillows watching a Star Trek rerun with a glazed-over look on her face. Not like she needs to pay attention, 'cause we've seen 'em all so many times anyway. I hand her the Fresca she asked for and she mumbles "thanks" and kind of smiles a little. I think she likes having me waiting on her.

----------

"Da-arn. It has to cook for at least an hour and they'll be here any minute." Mom sounds really stressed. Well, at least we managed to get it started cooking before the guests arrived, which all things considered is kind of a small miracle in itself.

"We'll just tell them we had an emergency. I'm sure they'll understand."

"I know. I'd just rather be making a better impression the first time we meet Steve's boss and his family."

I see a strange car pulling into our driveway. "Speaking of which, looks like they're here. Where's Dad?" I watch as they park and four people start to get out.

"I don't know, maybe he got caught in traffic or something. Hadn't you better go and get changed?"

"Oh, yeah." I start to go but as I see who's in our driveway I stop. "Uh. Shit."

"Sweetie, go quick and get changed, before they see you!"

"No need."

"What? Why not?"

Felicia sees me staring out the window like a deer in headlights. She follows my gaze and sees what I see, then looks at me like oh my god, what are you going to do? with her mouth hanging open and everything.

It's Rich. Apparently Rich's dad is Dad's boss. What are the odds?

"That guy. I had a run-in with him at the mall yesterday. He--" How do I say this? I start to blush. "Um, he thinks I'm a girl." Now Mom's mouth is hanging open. Even Livy has torn her eyes from the tube and is staring at me. Face burning, I look at my still-far-too-white shoes. "Named Lee." My voice kind of squeaks as I say it. I hear a choking noise from Livy's direction that might or might not be a stifled laugh.

I look back up cautiously to see what the reaction is. Mom looks like her brain has seized up for a minute, then it's like a light goes on. "Go to your room." I'm being punished? "Now! And close the door, and don't come out and don't make a sound." Ah, OK, I'm hiding. Bing-bong--the doorbell. Shit! "Scoot!" OK, I'm just not used to Mom being a step ahead of me. I peel out down the hall, bounce off the wall at the end and through my door, which I can't slam 'cause they'll hear but I manage to click it quietly shut just as I hear the front door open and greetings being made.

----------

There's Dad now. I can see the street from my bedroom window and I can see him get out of his car with a brown paper bag. As he comes in the front door I hear clinking noises, so I deduce he's stopped and picked up a couple of bottles of wine.

Damn, I'm going to miss out--they usually let me have a little taste with dinner on special occasions, and I think this might qualify. I mostly don't like it all that much, but it makes me feel kind of grown up, and a couple of kinds are actually pretty good. My favorite is Châteauneuf-du-Pape. All right, that's the only kind I can remember the name of, but it really is pretty good. Which is why I can remember the name. And we made Sauerbraten, which is like one of my all-time favorite meals; it'd be just my luck if that's what he got to go with it, with me stuck in here all night.

I'm sitting on my bed feeling sorry for myself when I hear footsteps and muffled voices coming down the hall. I hear the door to my parents' bedroom open and close. I press my ear against the wall. There are pros and cons to sharing a wall with your parents' room; this is one of the pros.

"...parading around all day in make-up and a stuffed bra, like it was perfectly natural. I think he was doing it mostly to annoy Livy"--no, that was only a nice bonus--"and if he was trying to get a rise out of me it didn't work, but I think it contributed to Livy's accident." Jeez, I know it's my fault, Mom. I feel bad enough already.

"I'm sure he never intended anything like that to happen. But I trust him to take responsibility for the unintended consequences of his behavior." Thanks, Dad.

"He already has; he's promised to help her with writing for school until it heals."

"Good, good. Now why's he hiding in his room?"

"If you'd let me finish, I was getting to that. When he saw them coming up the drive he recognized Dick's son. Apparently they ran into each other at the mall yesterday and he for some reason thinks Joey's a girl named Lee. I didn't have time to get an explanation--I just sent him to hide in his room until we could figure something out."

"Hmm. Veddy interesting." He says it like Arte Johnson's German soldier character used to on Laugh-In. I wonder if he gets People magazine at his office and read the same story 'cause he hasn't done that voice in ages. "I'd better go have a talk with him and get this sorted out. Can you keep the Weisses entertained for a few minutes?"

"I'll try."

----------

As tricky as I thought it would have been to walk the tightrope of reinforcing the belief that I was a girl while not doing anything I couldn't later explain away, this is going to be harder--spending as much time as possible as a girl without letting on how important it really is to me. I wonder if I shouldn't just throw in the towel and get it out in the open now, but I know how they'll react and I don't want to deal with all that shit. Anyway I think I've negotiated the mine field of explaining the "mall incident" to Dad without either lying or giving myself away. He gave me a couple of sharp looks while I was narrating, but he seems satisfied now.

"All right, let's lay out the pertinent facts and see if they point to a solution. First, Rich has met you. If he sees you again are you sure he'll recognize you?"

"Yes."

"All right. Second, he believes you are a girl named Lee, and knows you are a friend of Felicia's. Does he have any way to connect you to this family?"

"Not that I know of. No." I don't think he saw me with Mom and Livy, anyway. I'm not sure if he knows Livy's a friend of hers.

"OK, then. Third, Dick has seen the photos on my desk, and knows I have two children. He'll be wondering where the other one is. I think the photos of you are ambiguous enough that you could be a tomboy though, and we haven't talked much about our families." He ponders for a minute, then says, slowly and carefully, "I see three options. One, you continue to hide in here and we make up some story about why you're not available tonight. Two, you come join us and we try to explain why you lied to Rich at the mall. Or three, you come join us and I introduce you as Livy's little sister, Lee."

OK, screw those first two options. I ain't missing my favorite dinner that I helped make, and I ain't tellin' Rich I really am a fairy, not to mention that I want to keep being a girl as long as I can. So it's gotta be number three. But how can I sell that to Dad? Wait, he's not quite done.

"Now, the first and last options involve lies, and I don't like starting down that road." C'mon, Dad. Anyway number three isn't really much of a lie. "But I'm not insensitive to how difficult the second option would be for you. Also it would require a lot of long-winded explanations. And I'm not sure the Weisses are collectively bright enough to understand, let alone open-minded enough to accept the truth anyway. So we're left with choosing the lesser of two evils." OK. Hey, my odds just improved to fifty-fifty. "Now, hiding in here would probably be the easiest thing for everyone." He sees the look of disappointment on my face and adds, "We can save you a plate so you won't even have to miss out on your favorite dinner." Oh, well, that might not be so bad. "But if you're up for the challenge, playing the part of the second-oldest daughter for the evening might be good preparation for your role." I have to restrain my head from snapping around to stare at him. Is he trying to sell it to me? "Judging from the fact that you've made no effort to change since you got home--"

"Are you kidding? I haven't had time to even think about--"

"You've had opportunities; you've just made other choices. I'm not arguing with your choices," he cuts me off before I can challenge this, "I just think it says something about how comfortable you are with looking like that, and being comfortable in your role is a big step toward a successful performance."

"Um, would it make things easier, like down the road, if you introduced me as a friend of Livy and Felicia's?"

"No, it just adds needless complexity--we'd still have to make up a story about where Larry is, on top of everything else, and think of a plausible reason for you to be staying for dinner. Not to mention all the things you'd have to make up about yourself in the course of dinner conversation. If we have to lie, we should keep it as close to the truth as possible. We'll just drop your first name and switch your gender from masculine to feminine for the evening." And as much beyond that as I can drag it out. Thank you, Dad. I couldn't have asked for better support.

I have a sudden urge to mess with his mind a bit. I give him an affectionate hug and an innocent smile and say "OK, Daddy, I'll be your little girl for tonight."

"Thanks, punkin. I knew I could count on you." Wha-? Oh, he's onto me and playing along. Judging from the proud twinkle in his eyes I've just shown him something he's been hoping to see for a long time--a hidden gift for improv, I guess.

I have a brainstorm. "One thing, though. Don't tell anyone 'cause she doesn't want everyone to know, but Felicia kind of has a thing for Rich"--OK, yeah, understatement--"and she was jealous of the attention he was giving me in the mall, you know? If you could, like, subtly let him know I'm strictly off limits? Like, I dunno, cleaning your shotgun while discussing statutory rape laws or something?" He laughs. "I'm sure Felicia would appreciate it, and so would I."

"Don't worry, sugar. I'll hose him down with cold water for you." Why does it feel so nice to hear him call me stuff like that? He looks at me thoughtfully. "You might want to let down your hair and wash off your makeup before your big entrance, though."

"Huh? Why?"

"You don't want to upstage your sister. She's had a hard enough day already."

"Oh." Well, at least he didn't ask me to change my clothes, and I still get to be a girl. "OK."

To tell you the truth, the braid is starting to give me a bit of a headache anyway.

----------

Knock, knock. "You all right in there, sweetie?" Mom sounds concerned.

Sigh. "Yeah, just gimme a minute, OK?" I try to sound annoyed to hide what I'm really feeling.

"OK." She's not convinced but she'll leave me alone. She must have heard me. I don't know why but I couldn't help it. I took out the French braid and scrubbed the makeup off my face, which by the way took a lot more scrubbing than I expected. Then I pulled my pants down to sit on the toilet and pee, and looking at it and seeing my rolled-down Jockeys made me realize what I was doing and now instead of feeling right it all suddenly somehow feels all wrong, like I'm living in some fucking delusional fantasy world, like I'm pathetically trying to make believe I'm something I'm not, something I can never be, and in a way it's even more phony than all those years of pretending I was a boy because at least that would stand up to more than a casual inspection. I know I'm not really a boy but good luck trying to convince anyone else of that, and clearly I'm not a girl either except in my own head. I'm nothing, a freak; I hate my body and I hate the lie I'm forced to live because of it and it made me cry a little thinking about all that, OK?

But I'm done with that now, and they know I'm in here so I have to go through with the whole charade. I get up and do my best to hide it and I wish I could just chop the goddamned thing off and be done with it once and for all, but not really 'cause that would really hurt and all the blood would make a huge mess; I just wish I was a girl like I'm supposed to be 'cause everything would be better then. But even I don't really believe that either 'cause life seems to suck for everyone one way or another, but this is mostly how it seems to suck for me.

Guess I have to live with that.

Now tuck it in, zip the damned pants and get out there. Your public awaits.

----------

Fuck. If only I hadn't had to pee, I might be sitting here feeling comfortable about who I am, confident in my role as myself, my real self, and happily joining in the dinner conversation. And enjoying my food. Instead I'm so nervous I think I'm gonna upchuck and afraid to open my mouth for fear of giving myself away and my mouth is so dry I can barely swallow. It was all I could do to get out here and survive the introductions and the sitting around just talking waiting for dinner to be ready without hyperventilating or throwing up. Felicia looks really worried; I can tell she wants to ask me what's wrong but knows better than to just come out and ask in front of everyone. I keep seeing flashes of sadness or maybe guilt on Dad's face when he looks at me, which is only making it worse, and Mom I think wants to murder him for talking me into this which I'm sure she thinks is what happened and I guess he does, too. Even Livy looks uncharacteristically concerned about me. Whatever she had at the hospital must be wearing off a little, 'cause she looks actually concerned, not just vaguely interested.

Luckily the Weisses seem mostly oblivious to all this. Especially Mrs. Weiss, who's on her third glass of wine. And it's not even good wine--it's Gallo Hearty Zinfandel in the big screw-top bottles. I guess Dad doesn't care about impressing his boss--not that Mr. Weiss would know the difference but I sure as hell do; I didn't even bother asking for a taste. Anyway I suppose they probably just see me as a shy, awkward, plain girl to be pitied for having to live in the shadow of such a pretty and graceful older sister. Even if I do have better fashion sense. Honestly I kind of wish that were the truth; at least then I'd be a girl. But I'm kind of worried that's not what they see, that they see right through me and are just being polite and not saying anything. Also Rich keeps checking me out which is just gross 'cause he's fifteen and what's he doing leering at a thirteen-year-old when there's two girls his own age at the table, and his little sister, Maria I think she said her name was, who looks like she's maybe ten or eleven, seems to think Livy is like the coolest thing ever and keeps looking annoyed at me like I'm ruining the party or something. Which I guess I kind of am.

Finally Mrs. Weiss, who's sitting next to me, looks at me with sympathy, leans over and says in a real low voice so no one else will hear, "Rough period, dear? I know what that can be like." This really knocks me for a loop and not just because of all the alcohol on her breath, and I look at her like what the fuck are you talking about but apparently what she sees in my face is how on Earth did you know 'cause she leans in closer and whispers, "I could see your pad," then pulls back a bit and looks at me and when I look puzzled leans back in and whispers some more, "Those jeans are kind of tight; you might want to use a tampon or wear something less form-fitting this time of the month." My pad? What's she going on about? Then I remember an ad I saw in Tiger Beat at the hospital--I wasn't really reading it I was just sort of thumbing through it out of sheer boredom, OK? But it had this ad for tampons where this girl was talking about pads showing under a leotard or something and OK, I was just sort of curious, I'd never seen a tampon ad before, all right? At least not one that didn't act all mysterious about what they were for and why you'd want one. And that must be what Mrs. Weiss is talking about, but why would she think....

Oh my god. Oh, no way, that's just too funny for words.

I must not have tucked it away well enough, and that's what she saw, and thought it was... a pad. Bursting out laughing, which I desperately want to do, would not be an appropriate reaction, but I have an idea what to do, from how Karen Hardy reacted in Social Studies last year when she wasn't expecting to get her period and was wearing white shorts. I'm still worked up enough that it's not too hard to turn the laughter that's trying to come out into hysterical tears; I sob "Excuse me, please," run back to the bathroom and slam the door, locking myself in.

Here I was, all worried that if anyone saw anything fishy down there I'd be found out, and instead it's just confirmed beyond any possible doubt I'm a girl. Tears are streaming down my face; I just hope my stifled laughter sounds enough like muffled sobs from out there.

I hear Mom say, "I'd better go see what's the matter," and then Felicia saying, "No, Miz L, I'll go," and a few seconds later a gentle knocking on the door and "You OK, um, Lee?"

I figure I'd better assume they can all hear me so between guffaws or sobs or whatever you want to call them I squeak out "No!"

"Can I come in?"

"Um, oh, all right." I unlock the door and let her in, then close and lock it behind her.

----------

My bedroom door's not all the way closed so I can hear the dinner table conversation.

"The poor dear. Does she need a Midol? I have one in my purse." That's Mrs. Weiss.

"I already gave her one of mine. I told her to just go lie down and hug her pillow until it kicks in." Felicia's not a bad actor. You'd never guess from her voice that just a minute ago I'd had to clamp my hand over her mouth to stop her from laughing out loud when I explained what happened. I just wish I could be there to see the looks that must be passing back and forth between her and Mom. Not to mention the look on Livy's face.

It occurs to me that because I have this male body I'll never be subjected to the misery I'm supposed to be going through right now, or the embarrassment of having my menstrual pad visible through my clothes, 'cause even though that's what Mrs. Weiss thought she saw I knew it wasn't really and it was pretty funny so I wasn't embarrassed about it at all, and I ought to be feeling relieved or even smug about all this but for some reason I just find the thought horribly depressing, I guess 'cause it just drives home really hard how I'm not really a girl and I never will be no matter what. And if I don't stop thinking about this I'm gonna start crying again.

----------

I figure they'll understand if I don't come back out before the Weisses leave, but just in case I do need to go back out I figure it wouldn't do for me to still be in tight hip huggers with my "pad" showing 'cause that's what I was supposed to be all distraught about. So I dig through the bag of Linda's old clothes for something appropriate and find a Franklin Junior High maroon-and-gray cheerleading warmup suit, which looks comfy and kind of loose so I change into that, and a white tank top 'cause the crop top I had on doesn't go and the jacket from the warmup suit would be way too hot. Of course I keep the bra on 'cause it would be odd if my boobs just disappeared suddenly. Since the sweatpants aren't tight in the crotch, which is pretty much the whole point of wearing them, I kind of have to give myself a wedgie with my Jockeys to keep things in place.

As long as I'm stuck in here for a while I might as well dump the bag out on my bed and fold and put everything away. I've got plenty of room in my dresser and closet if I just re-organize my stuff a little bit. To make it easy to keep it all straight I'll move all my old boy clothes to the left-hand drawers of the dresser and the left side of the closet, and put all my new girl clothes on the right.

----------

It's official; I now have more girl clothes than boy clothes. Including a fair number of skirts and dresses, and yes, even a Franklin cheerleading uniform. I have to admit I'm kind of curious to see what I'd look like in that; not that I'd ever be caught dead in it in public 'cause cheerleaders are like the poster girls for everything that's wrong with school and society in general but, you know, they're foxes, pretty much automatically as soon as they put on that uniform. I can't imagine what possible excuse I could have to wear it around the house either, so I guess that's not gonna happen.

I seem to have acquired, in one blow, a fairly complete wardrobe for a thirteen-year-old girl, with the exception of socks of which there only seems to be one pair, and panties of which there are thankfully none 'cause who wants someone else's used underpants, yuck. The socks are little footie things that would just come up to the ankle with little fuzzy maroon-and-gray pom-poms at the cuff or whatever you call the part at the other end from the toe, so I guess they go with the cheerleading outfit. My feet are kind of cold so I put them on.

It's a good thing wire hangers reproduce in dark closets; otherwise I'd never have had enough to hang up all my new clothes.

----------

OK, putting those things away was a good way to keep myself mindlessly occupied for a while, but now that I'm done with that my thoughts keep turning to what I'm doing, and what it means, and what I want, and whether I'm really a girl or a boy or both or neither, and whether I'm being true to myself by doing this or just deluded, and I really don't want to think about this shit right now. I've still got a headache and that's just making it worse. In fact I think I'd rather go back out and see what the Weisses are saying about me behind my back.

----------

She looks momentarily shocked to see me, but gets it together before anyone else notices. "Hi, sweetie. Feeling better?" Nice save, Mom.

"A little. The Midol helped. Thanks, Felicia." She grins and looks like she's holding back a giggle fit. What the hell is Midol, anyway? And how's it supposed to help? I'll have to ask about that later. "And sorry 'bout freaking out on you like that, Mrs. Weiss. I know you just wanted to help."

"Oh, don't worry. I know how it is. You're still new at this, aren't you?" She giggles. Ever the diplomat. And pretty tipsy too, I think. I go ahead and roll my eyes, 'cause I know from watching Livy that's a perfectly normal response for a thirteen-year-old girl to just about anything.

"Yes; in fact she'd never had one before today."

Mom! I look at her, shocked, mouth open. That was unexpected. I start to try to figure out how to cover up my reaction when it occurs to me that it's actually probably pretty appropriate for the situation.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, sweetie. You should be proud. It means you're a young woman now." Whoa, Mom! Don't you think that's a little over the top? I don't know whether I want to laugh uncontrollably, or run and hide. Probably both. I can feel my face getting hot, which luckily is still an appropriate reaction. How the hell are Felicia and Livy holding it together? Good thing Dad's moved into the family room with Rich and Mr. Weiss; I think this conversation would make them pretty uncomfortable. I know it's doing that to me.

OK, Livy and Felicia are pointedly not looking at me, and they do seem about to explode. Maria is looking at me, though. And she looks impressed, as opposed to the contempt she was showing me before. What, that I've gotten my period for godssake?

"Are you really a cheerleader?" Oh, that.

Before I can answer, Livy sort of snorts and says "Yeah, she is. Why don't you do a cheer for her, Lee?" Felicia kicks her in the ankle for me, hard--thanks, Felicia--but still looks like she thinks this is abso-fucking-lutely hilarious.

Again before I can say anything Mom jumps in with, "Now, Livy, you know she's not feeling well right now."

Thank you, Mom! Maria, who appears to be in awe of me now, looks disappointed. "Oh. Um, maybe, could I--could you, I mean, when you're feeling better, maybe--" She looks embarrassed and looks down at her feet.

"What?" I'm feeling strong empathy for her embarrassment right now, so I say it gently and encouragingly.

She just looks more unsure of herself and doesn't say anything, so Mrs. Weiss jumps in. "She's trying out for the cheerleading squad this year and I think she's hoping you'll coach her. Isn't that it, honey?"

Maria nods and looks up at me, hopefully. Those eyes. That face. How can I possibly say no?

Whoa. I don't know fuck about cheerleading. How can I say yes? I'm starting to freak out now. Everyone is looking at me intently, wondering what I'll say. Staring at me. I hate being on the spot like this. What do I do? I didn't even know they had cheerleading in grade school. She's not old enough for junior high, is she?

As if she's reading my mind or something Mrs. Weiss mentions, "We went to the informational meeting at Van Helsing this morning. She's starting seventh grade there this year." WHAT? Ohhhhh, fuck. Here comes the adrenalin rush, and it's a major one--my ears start ringing, the light in the room seems suddenly brighter and harsher, and all I know is I need to sit down so I do, on the floor, and Mom says "Are you feeling all right, sweetie?" And the ringing in my ears is really loud now, accompanied by a large swarm of angry bees, and my vision is all gray and speckly, which is odd 'cause my eyes are closed, and I'm lying down and I'm drenched in cold sweat and shivering, and someone's rubbing my hand and a voice from far away in a tin can or something is slowly coming nearer and saying "Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?" So I do, and it's Dad. And I'm in bed. And I need to throw up. So I do. On Dad.

----------

"They're not here anymore, sweetie. After you fainted they said we needed to concentrate on taking care of you and Livy, said their goodbyes and went home."

"I'm sorry, Mom. I guess I ruined the evening for everyone." I sip on the glass of apple cider she's brought me. I'm still a little shaky but starting to feel a little better. Less nauseated, anyway.

"No, no, we're more worried about you than any silly old dinner party."

Dad decides it's time to put in his two cents' worth. "You didn't ruin the party at all--in fact until you fainted you were the evening's entertainment." Is he making fun of my misery? That's not like him. "At first I was worried about you, you seemed so nervous and anxious. But then when you ran to the bathroom in hysterics, and then went and hid in your room, and Felicia came back to tell us why--it took me a minute to figure out what she was alluding to but then I had all I could do to keep from laughing out loud. It was brilliant. Inspired. Your mother says you put on quite a show when you came back out, too. If it hadn't ended with you fainting--"

"--and throwing up all over you--"

"--it only got on my shoes. Well, other than those two things I think it was probably the most entertaining party we've ever thrown. For us, anyway. I'm afraid the Weisses missed out on most of the fun."

"Um, yeah. Actually at first I was kinda freaked out, kinda wondering why I thought I could pull it off, you know? And I was all worried about being caught, and having really bad stage fright and just trying really hard not to do anything stupid and blow it, and then--well, the thing I was afraid would expose me turned out to be what made sure I wouldn't be caught." That's got them curious, so I explain about tucking myself back after I peed, but apparently not well enough, and Mrs. Weiss mistaking the slight bulge for a pad, and how her inebriated well-meaning tactlessness gave me the inspiration for the rest of my evening's performance, and by the time I get to the part about Mom telling the Weisses this is my first period and telling me how I should be proud 'cause now I'm a young woman, she and Dad are in hysterics and Livy and Felicia are too--I hadn't noticed them hanging out in my doorway listening in--so I have to ask: "What the hell is Midol, anyway?" Which only gets them laughing harder, so I don't get an answer.

Then I remember why I freaked out and fainted in the first place. "Um, guys, I have a serious problem." I wait while they finish laughing and calm themselves down before going on. "Maria. She's going to Van Helsing. She's seen me like this." I remember something else, too. "Um, two problems." I'm telling this mostly to Dad 'cause everyone else here already knows. "She thinks I'm a cheerleader and wants me to coach her before the tryouts." Mom and Livy are looking pretty guilty about this, but I take responsibility even for unintended consequences of my choices, like Dad said. "I guess that's what I get for wearing these sweatpants." Yeah, well, don't look too relieved, you two; responsibility can be shared, you know.

"So, what the expletive-deleted am I gonna do?"

---

 
To Be Continued...

by Justme

---

 

Chapter 7: A burden shared is a burden halved

"Well, I know what we can do about that problem. Livy and I will just call and explain to Maria that you're not really a cheerleader, we were just teasing you, and apologize for making her think you were." Livy's looking like speak for yourself, Mom, but Mom's looking back like he had your help getting into this mess, he's going to have your help getting out of it. Mom's face can be downright eloquent sometimes.

"Thanks." That's a relief. And I don't even have to do anything. "So, but, what about the other problem?" I'm kinda feeling cornered lying in my bed with all these people in here so I get up and sit on the edge of it.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Livy has the answer? "You'll just have to go to school as a girl from now on." Ah. I should have known. I don't hear the scorn in her voice I would have expected, though--it sounds almost playful, like a dare. Maybe the drugs haven't worn off yet after all.

"That's one option." Say what, Dad? And he said it with a straight face.

"Not really." As much as I'd like to. I try not to sound disappointed, but I'm not sure I succeed.

"Yeah, it'd never work." Huh. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Felicia. "Like, people would probably notice something different about him, you know, in the locker room and the showers?" Oh, right, we had this conversation before.

"There are ways to avoid that. Valid reasons to be excused from taking Phys. Ed." Dad's just playing Devil's Advocate. Or teasing me. I think.

"That's right; in fact you had enough P.E. credits from your old junior high to fulfill your requirements so I didn't even have to sign you up for any this year." What, Mom's in on it too? I don't know whether to be getting my hopes up, or just really, really scared. What's going on here? Are they just teasing me? Or is this some kind of trap? I look back and forth between their faces, trying to read their expressions, but they're both totally deadpan. My heart is pounding in my chest and it's so loud they must be able to hear it.

Whenever the digital alarm clock on my dresser gets to the next hour and the numbers all flip at once it makes a kind of loud "thwap" noise which I'm so used to I don't notice it anymore, but everyone else jumps and looks at it, which makes me jump about out of my skin. Luckily no one's looking at me. Ten o'clock.

Felicia looks, appropriately enough, alarmed. "Uh-oh. I was supposed to call Mom to come pick me up by now, 'cause she didn't want me riding my bike home after dark. Can I use your phone?"

"Sure, it's in the kitchen. C'mon, I'll show you." Livy leads her out.

As they're leaving I watch Mom and Dad and decide they must have been teasing. Mom does tend to get kind of a weird sense of humor after a glass or two of wine. And I mean, why would they try to trap me into admitting something like that anyway? I was just being paranoid.

So why do I feel more disappointed than relieved?

When Livy and Felicia are out of earshot I ask, "So, what's another option? To do about school, and Maria, and everything?" 'Cause I can't really think of anything else offhand, other than having her killed or faking my own death, neither of which seems really realistic or desirable. Although if I was supposed to be dead they couldn't very well send me to school, so that wouldn't be so bad. But somehow I don't think they'd go for that so I don't suggest it.

"Well, I know it sounds absurd but we could always tell the truth and face the music." OK, Dad, there's integrity and then there's insanity. "All kidding aside, it's really the only choice we have."

"But wouldn't Mr. Weiss be pretty pissed about, you know, being made a fool of and all? And, I mean, with everything that went on here tonight it would be kind of hard to convince him that wasn't what we were trying to do, you know?"

"You never know for sure what someone's reaction will be until you see it, but that does seem like a strong possibility."

"So, wouldn't you have to, like, look for another job? I mean, even if he didn't fire you, wouldn't it suck to have to work for him after that?"

"I don't want that to be your concern. I have to live with the consequences of my choices, but I won't let them affect you if I can help it."

"So that's the only option? 'Fess up and go to school with everyone knowing all about this?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't think of anything else. I don't have anything to blackmail the Weisses with to keep them quiet." Mom looks like she's about to say something about this but apparently decides he's kidding.

I can't let this happen--there must be another choice. "Could I maybe go to a different school?"

"They don't allow you to switch schools within the district. We looked into that. And the other schools don't measure up anyway--it's why we bought our house in this neighborhood even though we could've afforded something bigger across town."

"A private school, then?"

"I wish we could afford that for you and Livy, but I'm sorry, no."

"Why can't I just stay home and read books and have you and Mom teach me? That's how I learn everything anyway."

"The laws in this state are pretty strict about school attendance until you're sixteen."

"Then maybe we could just tell everyone I'm your nephew or something, and that's why I look so much like Lee, and I dunno, maybe I came to live here 'cause my parents died in a car crash, and Lee had to go away 'cause, um, 'cause her fainting spell was caused by a brain tumor, and..."

Dad's laughing.

"All right, all right." I just can't go to school with everyone knowing, though. I don't think Dad understands my life would be in danger. "Are you sure I couldn't just go as a girl?"

"I know you're worried about what people will think, but it's not a good idea to try to fool people like that over the long run. Look how much trouble it's gotten us into in just one evening."

"But, I mean, if this gets out...."

"Well, if you think it's something to be ashamed of you shouldn't have done it in the first place, but I don't think you feel that way. And if it's not something to be ashamed of, you can hold your head high and just let the slings and arrows bounce off you."

Yeah, easy for you to say--I don't think the 'slings and arrows' will be metaphorical in this case. "I'm not ashamed, Dad; I just don't think people will understand." I don't like where this is going at all.

"Probably not, but it isn't like you to put so much stock in what other people think of you. You've always stood your ground and insisted people accept you for who you are, or go screw themselves. I'm sure you can do that now."

I feel like I'm being crushed between Dad's expectations on one side and cold reality on the other. And I can't even talk to him about how I'll get the crap beat outta me 'cause he'll just tell me to stand up to the bullies or they'll never respect me, and offer to teach me how to defend myself, and I've tried all that crap before and it never works and I'm hopeless at fighting; the best his self-defense lessons have ever done is bought me enough time for a teacher to show up so I get in trouble for fighting on top of getting beat up. The more I think about it the more I just want to scream, to run away, far away, or just die right here and now...

...and suddenly I see what I need to do. Insist people accept you for who you are. Thinking about actually doing it is terrifying though, and it can't be undone. But I don't see any other way. It's this, or be crushed.

Maybe I can pluck up my courage by getting mad, like I did earlier in the car. Only I'm not sure what to be mad about 'cause I'm not being forced to hide who I am anymore; in fact I'm being forced into revealing it when I wasn't planning to--like, ever. I guess I can be mad about that. And maybe about Dad not getting it on the whole getting beat up thing, as long as I don't think too much about the actual getting beat up part which just makes me more scared. And I'm thinking about it too much and I need to just do this before I lose what little nerve I have.

"OK, Dad, have it your way. You want me to stand my ground, insist on people accepting me for who I am, OK. Fine! Then I'm going to school as a girl. That's who I am. This," indicating how I'm dressed, "is who I am." Only somehow, it still comes out sounding more scared than angry. I think the word is petulant.

They look confused. Stunned actually. Like they're trying to find a way to convince themselves I'm joking, 'cause I can't possibly be serious. I feel a little wobbly and sick to my stomach again but I just glare at them, daring them to challenge me.

Mom speaks up first. "Oh, Joey. You're gay?"

"NO!" Why does everybody think that? I know she's trying to be sympathetic and understanding, but she's just not getting it. "I'M ... NOT ... GAY. I'm a GIRL. G-I-R-L. I don't care what my body looks like, it's wrong. I'm a girl. I've always been a girl. Don't ask me what I mean. I just know, OK? I've always known." This time I really do sound angry. Mom looks a little scared. Dad--his face is a mask. I can't read him at all. "And I'm tired of pretending to be a boy. I won't do it anymore. I won't."

"I always knew you were a little freak." Huh? I must have missed the part where Livy and Felicia come back. I'm too wrung out right now to be hurt by her little barbs, but I think I actually hear sympathy in her voice, not contempt.

Felicia is looking at me with tears streaming down her cheeks, but there's a trace of a smile on her lips. What's that all about? She sees me looking at her, marches over and locks me in a hug, burying my face in her shoulder. Knowing at least someone in this room understands kind of drains all the fight out of me, and I can't help it; I just go limp in her arms and start shaking with uncontrollable sobs.

And I feel another set of arms around me, and a voice in my ear is saying, "Shh, it's OK, it's gonna be OK, we're here and it's gonna be OK," and it's Livy, and the shock is almost enough to make me stop crying, but I only pause for a second and then go back to sobbing. And a pair of hands gently turn my face away from Felicia's shoulder, which is now glistening with my snot and drool and damp with my tears, and it's Mom, and she kisses me on the forehead and looks reassuringly in my eyes, and I still don't know if she really gets it but at least she's going to be supportive. And Dad, I still can't read the expression on his face, I have no idea what he's thinking, but he sees me looking at him and his expression gets sort of warm and comforting and he holds out his arms, and I pull away from the knot of people surrounding me and wrap my arms around him and bury myself in him and I'm still crying and I don't know what's going to happen when this is all over but I know it's going to be all right. "I love you, Dad." Funny, I can't remember the last time I said that.

"I love you too, so-" He stops himself, tenses for a second, then relaxes and starts over. "I love you too, punkin." I can hear his smile at the private joke. I smile too.

----------

I'm lying here in the dark, but not totally dark 'cause the neighbors left their porch light on and it's shining through a gap between my curtains, and Felicia went home like an hour ago and everyone else went to bed and part of me feels like that's good 'cause I'm just so tired and part of me feels really alone and like, how can they sleep now? 'Cause I know I can't.

So I'm just lying here, staring at the slash of light on the wall from the neighbor's porch light, thinking of all the problems I'm gonna have now that everyone knows, like once the shock and the drugs wear off is Livy going to make my life even more miserable than she tried to before 'cause she sees me as competition or something, and how am I gonna be able to hide the fact that I have a boy body all day, every day, for the rest of my life, especially when it starts to really change which from what they've been telling us in health class the last couple of years could happen any day now, and how am I gonna face Grandmother and Grandfather Sorensen and all the cousins at Christmas, especially Lori--no, she might be OK with it, and Lisa won't care. It's Ken I should worry about. He'll probably feel like I'm a traitor or something; we were always outnumbered by the girls already whenever our families got together. And oh god I don't even want to think about what Dad's side of the family will do to me. Uncle Vic might be able to accept it but the rest of them will no doubt disown me, even Grandma Frances, bless her bigoted Irish heart. And that's the adults; hell, some of those kids have beaten the crap out of me before just because they could. Maybe we could just tell them I died or something--but I know Dad will never go for that.

Only apparently just 'cause everyone went to bed doesn't mean they went to sleep, 'cause I hear faint voices coming through the wall, so I stick my ear against it and it's kind of muffled 'cause Mom and Dad are trying to be quiet but I can still make out what they're saying, mostly.

"...confused, and if I'd realized I wouldn't have encouraged him like that." She's not saying her. I guess I didn't get through after all.

"I don't know. I think that just brought it out in the open. It sounds like it's been bothering him for a long time, and maybe it's best that we found out about it now. Maybe we can help him somehow." Et tu, Dad? Well, I guess I should expect this to be kind of hard for people to accept, especially my parents. And, I mean, I have spent a lot more time talking with Felicia about it than with them. But I shudder to think what their idea of help will be in this situation.

"Do you think maybe a therapist would be able to help?" Dad's not likely to go for this, at least. He works at an ad agency; I'm not quite clear on what exactly he does there but advertising is all about convincing people to buy stuff they don't really need, and then to feel good about having been suckered into it so they'll do it again. Anyway he's of the opinion therapists just use the same bag of tricks to convince you you're happier than you were before you started supporting their extravagant lifestyle.

"I don't know. Maybe." What? No, you are not going to convince me I'd be happier as a boy. I've been trying to convince myself for years. Besides, you've taught me too well; I'm on to all those tricks and they don't work on me.

I'm not going to let this discussion go any further without me. It's my fucking life they're talking about here.

----------

Knock, knock, knock. I'm kinda steamed about them plotting behind my back and I'm not worrying too much about waking Livy up right now so I'm kinda pounding on their door.

"Come in?" Mom sounds like I've caught her doing something naughty. Like she did that time I heard muffled voices and giggling just before knocking on their door. I try not to think too hard about what that was all about but I'm glad she at least has the decency to feel guilty about what they're doing now.

I shove the door open, stomp in and close it behind me. Arms crossed, I give them my best look of righteous indignation. "A, I can hear you guys, and 2," I figure an oblique Archie Bunker reference might serve both to lighten the mood a bit and shame them, if they get it, "I'm not confused. Well maybe just that I know I'm a girl and my body disagrees; I admit that's kind of confusing. But I know what I am and that's a girl and I don't need some fucking headshrinker trying to convince me I'm better off being a boy 'cause I've tried telling myself that for thirteen fucking years now and it's not working. This is not something that just occurred to me. I've been a girl my whole fucking life but you all were so convinced I was a boy and I just didn't know how to tell you so you'd understand. Clearly I still didn't do it right 'cause you still don't get it, do you?"

"No, sweetie, I guess we don't." I noticed Mom wincing every time I dropped 'fucking' into my little tirade but she sounds at least apologetic, if not understanding, so now I kind of feel bad about doing that.

Dad looks tired, and kind of--old. I mean yeah, he's my dad, of course he's old--but I never saw him look so worn down before. It kind of scares me.

He speaks slowly and deliberately. "You've had years to work this all out, but it's new for us. You'll have to forgive us if we're a little slow on the uptake. I know I for one will be more on the ball after a good night's sleep, and"--he looks thoughtful for a moment--"I think I can promise to sit down with you after dinner tomorrow better prepared to hear and understand what you have to say." Great, I get to spend an entire day worrying about how to do this. "In the meantime, we'll respect what you're telling us and treat you accordingly." He gives Mom a pointed look; she looks resigned, then nods first to him and then to me.

"All right. Thank you." I guess that's all I really wanted. I turn to go. "G'night."

"Good night, sweetie. No matter what, we love you."

"I know, Mom. Me too." I guess I usually take that shit for granted, like it's just a recorded message they play back that doesn't really mean anything, but it's kind of reassuring to hear it this time.

"Sleep tight, punkin. We'll talk tomorrow, I promise." Cut it out, Dad, you're gonna make me cry.

"'Kay. 'Night."

----------

Tap, tap. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary--OK, I should have been asleep a long time ago, I realize. Before I can say "What?" the door quietly opens and Livy sticks her head in.

"Can I come in?" She's whispering.

I shrug, and wave her in. She sits on the bed next to me and starts stroking my hair. This is kind of freaking me out; she's never done this before. Pull my hair, sure. Stroke, never.

"Poor little freak." She says it with affection though. "I heard what you were saying to Mom and Dad just now. They can be so dense sometimes."

I stare at her. "You... understand?"

She nods. "I dunno, but it just makes sense to me somehow, what you were saying about knowing. I mean, I know I'm a girl, and if I woke up one morning with a boy body and even if everyone acted like I'd always been like that I'd still know. I mean, you don't need to peek down the front of your pants to know what you are, you know? And if you did and it wasn't what you were expecting to find, it wouldn't mean you were wrong. You know? You just know."

I'm glad it makes sense to her 'cause I'm not sure I followed that at all. But right now I'm just grateful someone in this family doesn't think I need a padded room. Even if it is Livy. "Yeah. Thanks." I sit up and give her a big hug and a few tears of relief.

"You know, I always kind of wished I had a little sister. Turns out I had one, in disguise." She looks me in the eyes and smiles. "We'll just have to figure out a way to straighten Mom and Dad out tomorrow. Well, sweet dreams, Sis. Welcome to the life you were s'posed to have. Anything I can do to help you make up for lost time, let me know." She hugs me back and gives me a kiss on top of my head before going back to bed.

And of all the weird, surreal shit that's happened today, I think that takes the cake.

###

Chapter 8: A joy shared is a joy doubled

I don't usually wake up at the crack of dawn, at least not in the summer, but I'm kind of nervous and a little excited about today. For the first time I don't have to pretend to be a boy around my family. I can just be me. I already had my shower, and went ahead and shaved off the dark fuzz that was starting to grow under my arms, 'cause as a girl that's what I'm supposed to do and no one will give me crap about it. Hopefully Mom won't give me too much crap about using her razor. Or maybe it was Livy's--well, maybe whoever it belongs to won't even notice. Nothing much else about me is hairy, at least not that wouldn't be hairy on a girl anyway so it was just the pits but I guess I'll be needing my own razor--gee, won't Dad be proud. Also I 'borrowed' some of Livy's shampoo 'cause I've always liked the way it smells, and no one's gonna give a girl crap about smelling like flowers.

Trouble is, now I don't know what to wear. I don't usually bother much about that but today it seems like it's going to matter and I'm having trouble figuring it out. I mean, I want to look obviously female, as a constant reminder to Mom and Dad that I'm their daughter, not their son, 'cause I figure they'll need that at least for a while; old habits are hard to break. But I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard, you know? 'Cause that'd just look like I was desperate to convince everybody and not sure of myself, which I am. Sure, I mean--not desperate. So I think skirts and dresses are out, at least for today.

Also, I'm kinda stuck with boy stuff as far as socks and underpants go. Nobody else is even up yet, so maybe I can sneak off to the mall on my bike and be back before anyone even knows I've gone. Damn, no, that won't work--the mall won't be open yet and Mom and Dad will be up long before it is.

Wait, what am I thinking? I don't have to sneak around! I'll just get Mom to take me to the mall once Dad's off to work. I guess I'll offer to pay with my own money if she balks at the expense or tries to claim it's unnecessary. Not that she doesn't love me, but did I mention she's a freakin' tightwad?

So, what'll I wear to the mall? Maybe I should just start trying stuff on and see what grabs me. Damn. I need a full-length mirror in here like Linda has. I wonder how much they are. I doubt I could talk Mom into springing for that.

All right, I'm over-thinking this--the jeans from yesterday are still clean enough; I guess I can just find a different top I like and go with that.

----------

I guess I got lucky that first time at Linda's; in these jeans it's kind of tricky to get things arranged so nothing shows or looks funny. Once done, though, the result is definitely "obviously female." And the white rib-knit top is tight enough to emphasize my little fake boobs, adding to the overall effect. It's not quite a crop-top but if I raise my arms just a little it shows my bellybutton. And something about it--I don't know, the little sleeves or the shape of the neck opening or the way it fits or something--just says 'girl.'

How did Linda put it? Clothes that show off your assets and hide your flaws. Well, I don't know what assets I'm showing off but I'm definitely hiding my two main flaws--what's missing up top and what shouldn't be there down below.

----------

Hm, that's something I didn't notice missing from my wardrobe before--shoes. I mean, my new white sneakers work fine with these jeans and stuff, but someday I'm gonna want to try wearing one of those dresses and I can tell you right now these sneakers are not going to cut it. I don't really know what I need in that department though, 'cause I haven't really spent a whole hell of a lot of time checking out girls' shoes, if you know what I mean. No point in asking Livy 'cause like I told Linda, she almost never wears dresses. Mom does once in a while when we go out but I don't want to dress like a mom. Well, hopefully Linda will be willing to help me out there--though she'll probably want to take me shoe shopping, which is even worse than regular clothes shopping 'cause some lame loser who couldn't get a better job than shoe salesman has to help you try on every pair.

----------

Looking in the bathroom mirror there's something that seems to be off, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Like, this outfit just needs something but I have no idea what. It's not that it's wrong or anything, just--I dunno, not quite finished somehow.

I just know this is gonna bug me until I figure it out.

All right, I feel really lame for caring so much about clothes and how I look all of a sudden, but how you dress and look really does affect how people see you--yeah, even people like me who like to think they're not influenced by such superficial bullshit. And like I said, today of all days that's going to matter. I want to get it right.

----------

"'Morning, Sis." I finish rinsing out my cereal bowl and turn to look; it's Livy, in flannel jammies and hair that looks slept in. I can't help grinning. She called me Sis. I know, she did last night, but I wasn't at all sure she'd still feel the same way this morning.

"'Morning!"

"My, aren't we perky today. Couldn't wait to get started in your new life, huh? You look good. Not my style but it suits you." I blush a little; I'm not used to getting compliments from Livy. "How long you been up, anyway?"

"I dunno, an hour? Maybe two. Since before sunrise anyway."

"Yeah, I can never sleep in when I'm excited about a big day either." She looks me over and sees my bare feet. "No socks in that big bag of clothes, huh?"

"No, just the cheerleader ones I wore last night." She winces at the mention of cheerleader, no doubt anticipating having to confess to Maria.

"So, what all was in there?"

"Oh, some of everything, I guess. Except socks and shoes. And underpants."

"Ewww, thank god; that would be gross." Her expression shifts from disgusted to something else I can't quite figure out. "Wait, so you're like wearing boys' underpants under those jeans?"

"Um--yeah? Like what choice do I have?"

"I guess, but"--she doesn't look happy with the idea--"just go to the mall and get some, like today, OK?"

"Yeah, I was gonna ask Mom to take me after Dad leaves for work."

"Good. I dunno, there's just something a little sick about a girl wearing boys' underwear."

"Oh." I'm getting all self-conscious now. "I just, I mean--I've been doing it so long...."

"Yeah, but that's different--you were a boy then. Or--no, you weren't. But you had to--uh. This is so confusing." She apparently sees my face fall 'cause she goes suddenly from exasperated to sympathetic. "How did you ever handle it all those years? I'd have gone nuts or killed myself or something. But you don't have to pretend anymore now, so go get yourself some panties and stop wearing those stupid things, OK? Just get rid of 'em all. The sooner, the better. I wouldn't want it getting around that my sister wears boys' underwear, you know?"

"OK." I still don't get why she's so hung up about the Jockeys, but at least I know there's no question in her mind about what I really am.

I gotta admit though, I wasn't expecting this kind of acceptance from her, of all people. I almost hate to take a chance of spoiling a good thing, but I gotta ask.

"Livy?"

"Yeah?"

"Um, you do realize I'm the same person I was yesterday, right?"

She gives me a funny look for a second, then laughs. "Yeah, of course. It's just, I guess there was something I didn't know about you yesterday, you know? Something kind of major?"

"Yeah, but...."

"What?"

"I dunno, I mean, does it really make that big a difference?"

She frowns and ponders for a minute. "Yeah. I'm sorry, but yeah. It's like, there was a bunch of stuff about you that just always bugged me for some reason, and... knowing what you really are puts it in a whole new light, I guess." She looks a little upset with herself. "Does that make me a bad person? Like, narrow-minded or something?"

"Hey, don't worry about it too much, OK? It's not like I haven't gone out of my way to bug you. I kind of felt it was my duty as your little brother."

She gives me a sour look. "Yeah, well, you don't have that excuse anymore."

"No, now I'm your little sister, which opens up whole new opportunities for ways to get on your nerves." I put an evil grin on my face and rub my hands together.

She grins back. "Take it easy, all right? You just got me liking you. Don't blow it your first day."

"Awwww, you're no fun." I do a fake pout and act all disappointed. Don't ask why this pops into my head now, but--"Hey, I never got an answer last night. What is Midol, anyway?"

----------

"'Morning, Mom!" For once it's nice to be bright and chipper when she's the one who's not fully awake yet.

"'Morning, Jo- ...ey." She was already looking at me but it's like now she sees me. She stands there for a minute looking all put out or something. "Is it OK if I still call you Joey?"

"Sure." What the he-ck, Linda already thinks that's my name. Sort of. What, now I'm cleaning up my own thoughts?

"Good, then I won't have to think too hard about it." Jeez, thanks for being so sensitive about it, Mom. Well, I guess it is kind of early in the morning to be dealing with something like that. I suppose I can cut her some slack.

I figure it couldn't hurt to give her her morning 'fix.' "Here, I made coffee." I pour a cup from the percolator. "Real coffee, not instant." I've never made it before, but I've watched Dad do it. It's not rocket science.

"You made coffee?" Now she looks sure I've lost my mind.

Well, I was bored. And nervous. And, you know, wanted to make a good impression. I'm not sure why; it's not like I'm exactly new to this family, but I guess in a way I kind of am. I just nod and hand her the cup.

"Thanks." She sounds dubious. She stirs in a spoonful of sugar and takes a sip, then tries really hard not to make a face and puts in another spoonful. She gets the milk out of the fridge, pours some in her coffee to water it down I guess, and asks casually, "So how long did you let it perk?"

As she's taking a sip I tell her, "Um, I dunno, twenty minutes? Isn't that long enough?"

She makes a face as she swallows. "Is twenty minutes long enough, she says. I should think so. Thanks for the thought sweetie, but next time you make it take it off the heat a minute or two after it starts perking." All at once I'm crestfallen that my coffee sucks and elated that Mom referred to me as she. "You could use this stuff to unclog drains." Yeah, yeah, very funny. She said she!

Anyway, it can't be that bad--she's still drinking it.

----------

I always like to read the morning paper back-to-front, 'cause that way if I get interrupted I've already read all the best parts. The funnies are on the back two pages. My favorite is Doonesbury. When there's stuff like that available I don't know why they bother printing crap like Marmaduke and Family Circus and Nancy--I mean, if there are people out there who actually think those are funny, we need to get like Jerry Lewis or someone to hold a telethon to find a cure 'cause that's just sad.

I guess I was absorbed in it or something 'cause I didn't notice Dad sit down at the kitchen table across from me. Luckily he hasn't figured out the right way to read the paper yet and likes to start from the front page, which is in a whole separate section so we never have to fight over it. Anyway the first I'm aware of his presence is when Mom puts his ham-and-eggs and a cup of coffee in front of him and says "Here you go," with a sly wink to me. I guess I'm supposed to be in on the joke when he gags on my horrible coffee, but I don't think it's the least bit funny so I give Mom a sour thanks a lot look from behind the comics section which she responds to with oh, come on, it's funny and I reply with no, it's not just as Dad takes a sip--and shocks us both with "Mmm, just the way I like it--nice and strong. Thanks, honey."

Mom's aghast, but manages "Don't thank me, thank your daughter," gesturing in my direction.

Dad lowers the paper and says, sounding rather impressed, "Livy made this?"

"No, your other daughter." Well, I guess I've got Mom in the habit.

"My other daughter--?" I peek over my half of the paper, feeling a little awkward and a little hurt that he's forgotten already, but he sees me, catches on and barely missing a beat continues, "--can make me coffee any time. Thanks, punkin." Yeah, he's pretty smooth; no wonder he does so well with the ladies. I smile at him; Mom just rolls her eyes at both of us.

----------

"Hi, Linda?" I hope she goes for this--it might make things a little easier on Maria when Livy and Mom confess. Which might make things a little easier on Livy and Mom, not that they deserve it after pulling that on me.

"Yeah?"

"Hi, it's me, Joey."

"Oh, hi." Pause. "Um, did you say Jo-ey?"

"Um, yeah." I can almost hear her cringing on the other end of the line.

"So, I've been saying it wrong this whole time? I feel like an idiot."

"Don't sweat it. It's no big deal."

"Sorry. You should've said something."

"If it mattered, I would have." Still, her feeling a little guilty right now can't hurt. "So, I have a favor to ask you, as if you hadn't done enough for me already."

"OK, what is it?"

"You're a cheerleader, right?"

"Yeah, at Addams." Huh. So, Franklin must be the junior high she went to. I guess that makes sense if that stuff fits me now.

"Well, there's this girl I know, Maria; she's starting seventh grade at my new school this year and she desperately wants to make the cheerleading squad. And, well, yesterday she saw me wearing your old Franklin warm-up suit and before I could explain, Mom and Livy--that's my sister--they were making out like I really was a cheerleader and now she wants me to coach her for the tryouts."

"Oh." Hey, stop giggling; it's not that funny.

"So, um, I got them to agree to confess to Maria that they were playing a joke on me, and her, but I just know she's gonna be crushed when she finds out. So I was wondering if I could somehow talk you into doing it--coaching her, I mean."

"Sure, I'd love to. But I want you to do me a favor in return."

Fair enough. "Sure, what?"

"I want to coach you, too. I want you to try out for the squad."

"What?" No way. I can't even do a frikkin' cartwheel, fer cryin' out loud.

"Come on, it'll be good for you. You might even like it." She keeps saying stuff like that. The worst part is, she's been right so far.

Well, I don't want to let poor little Maria down. She'll probably see how hopeless I am and give up on me pretty quick anyway. "Oh, all right. I'll do it."

"That's the old school spirit!"

I hate school spirit.

----------

"That was a very thoughtful thing to do, sweetie." How can Mom sound proud of me and worried about my sanity at the same time? "Are you sure you don't still want us to call and tell her?"

"No, I think it'll be better if I do it myself. Um, Linda asked me a favor in return."

"Oh? What?" Now the worry comes to the forefront.

"She wants to coach me too. She wants me to try out for cheerleading. Apparently I'm like, her pet project now and this is part of her evil plot to indoctrinate me into the traditional subservient female role."

Mom goes a little cross-eyed at this, which is something she does sometimes when she's trying too hard not to laugh out loud. "I see. And you're going to go along with it?"

"Well, for Maria's sake, you know? I figure there's not much danger of me actually making the team."

"Squad, dear."

"Uh, right, squad. What, were you a cheerleader?"

"Me? Heavens, no. Your Aunt Kathy was for a year, though. God, she was insufferable." She says the last part under her breath, like I won't hear or something.

----------

"Hi, Maria?" I'm kind of wishing I'd let Mom and Livy handle this after all.

"Hi, Lee! How are you feeling today?"

"Much better, thanks. Um, how'd you like to get together with me tomorrow for some cheerleader practice?"

"Yes! I'd love to!" Yikes. That's OK, I've always got the other eardrum....

"Only, I won't be the one running it. We'll go over to my friend Linda's house and do it there."

"OK. Is she a cheerleader too?"

"She is, but, um, actually I'm not. She just gave me her old warmup suit 'cause it didn't fit her anymore."

"Oh. But your sister said--"

"She was playing a mean joke on me, and for some reason Mom went along with it. I'm really sorry about that. I have such a weird family."

"Oh, that's OK. It was really cool of you to set up a practice with your friend." See, it's all about how you present it. "So, you're gonna try out too? You'll be in eighth grade, right?" I suspect she wants reassurance that I won't be competing directly against her.

"Ninth, but they'll never pick me anyway 'cause I'm totally uncoordinated."

"Well, you'll sure never get picked with that attitude." Now she sounds enthusiastic. And kinda like Mom. "If you're going to try at all, you should at least give it your best shot." Yeah, definitely like Mom.

"I guess so. It's just, with tryouts starting in two weeks, it would kind of take a miracle." Like, for starters, I'd miraculously have to actually want to be a cheerleader.

"You'll see, we'll work hard from now until the tryouts and we'll both get picked. I can hardly wait until tomorrow!" Well, I'm glad someone's looking forward to it, anyway.

----------

"I'll need a ride over to Linda's tomorrow morning at ten. And we'll be picking up Maria on the way."

"What do I look like, a taxi driver?"

"Mo-om! Whose fault is it I have to do this, anyway? And I didn't make you confess to Maria yourself, so you owe me."

"All right, all right." Guilt--it works every time.

"And I need to go to the mall for socks and underwear and stuff."

"I repeat, do I look like a taxi driver? Take your bike."

"I would, but one of the things I need to get I won't be able to carry on my bike."

"What do you need to get?"

"A mirror for my closet door." I realize as I'm saying this it sounds kind of vain. "Well, you're always on my case about looking like a slob. How'm I s'posed to know what I look like without a mirror?"

Mom looked strangely disturbed for a second there; now she looks sort of skeptical, but at the same time relieved. What's that all about? "All right; you do need new underwear--you're supposed to throw them away when they get holes in them or the elastic wears out. I suppose I could take you now if you're ready to go." She sounds exasperated, but when doesn't she?

----------

I'm finding the prospect of shopping in the girls' underwear department at J.C. Penney a bit daunting. I am a girl as far as anyone here knows, but still--"I mean, I don't even know what size I need, or what kinds are comfortable, or what. I don't want to go in there and look like I've never worn them before and don't know what I'm doing." I'm speaking kind of under my breath so no one else hears. Particularly not Mom; I figure the less reminders she has of how I used to be the sooner she'll get used to how I am.

"Yeah, sure, I'll do it. You want me to just pick up a bunch of socks for you too, while I'm at it?"

"Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks, Liv." She likes it when I call her that. "While you're doing that I'll go get a mirror." I head for the home furnishings department, still slightly stunned that Mom actually gave me money for this and hoping it will be enough.

As I'm going she calls after me, kinda loudly, "You're OK for bras, right?"

I'm feeling totally embarrassed as I call back, "Yeah, I think so." Mom looks highly amused, or maybe the word is bemused.

----------

I notice I'm looking at the store displays a little differently. I mean, instead of looking at mannequins and thinking she'd be a total fox if she were real and stuff like that that sounds really lame and stupid now that I think about it, I find myself looking at the clothes and wondering how I'd look in them, and more importantly, how I'd feel about looking like that, and whether or not that's how I'd want people to see me, you know? 'Cause those are clothes I could wear now. I don't know why, but I never looked at displays of boys' clothes like that. I just kind of developed my "pay no attention to me" look and refined it over the years; I wasn't really interested in clothes beyond that.

Before I have a chance to think about it too much, I see a mannequin wearing an outfit kind of like what I've got on. Only the mannequin has this really cool white macramé belt that doesn't have a buckle, it kind of ties to one side and has these long tassels that hang down with big wooden beads on the ends. And a kind of matching bracelet. That's what's missing. I've got to see what that would look like on me!

----------

Damn. I've gotta have this belt, but the price. I brought my own money but I don't have enough, and if I use some of the money Mom gave me I don't think I'll have enough left for a mirror. Besides, she'll get mad if I don't bring her the change. Anyway it still wouldn't be enough for the bracelet too. Guess I'll just have to save up. Sigh. Back you go, belt--maybe next time.

----------

Did I really just do that?

----------

I do need to get myself a purse so I can give this one back to Linda. And this one's kinda cool--it looks like it's made out of an old pair of jeans, with a back pocket on the side. But once I buy it, I won't have anything left to put in it. Well, except for the lip gloss. I guess I don't have much choice though. Sigh. By the time I can save up enough for that belt, who knows if they'll even have it anymore. I had no idea being a girl was so expensive.

----------

Jeez, the mirrors here are way too expensive. Anyway I don't need anything fancy--just a plain mirror, no frame, no stand, no decorations; as long as it has a reflection I'm all set. I guess I'll go see if they have something cheaper at Meijer's Thrifty Acres next to the mall.

----------

The guy in Meijer's was being patronizing and annoying me, treating me like some kind of helpless invalid or something, I guess just 'cause I'm a girl. So I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of helping me out to the car with the mirror, even if I'd had the keys which I didn't. But now I'm kind of regretting it, 'cause it's not all that heavy but it is really awkward to carry and everyone seems intent on crashing into it.

"Hey, Lee. Want some help with that?"

"Huh? Oh. Hi." It's Rich. What, does he hang out here every day? Then again, I should talk. "It's OK, I've got it." Not very well, though; it slips a bit just as I say that.

"You sure?"

I swallow my pride. After all, he's not being patronizing, just courteous. "Um, no. I guess I could use a hand here; thanks."

He grabs it near the middle, by where I'm holding it. "OK, I got it; you can let go now."

He's pulling and I don't want it to break, so I let go, but--"I thought you'd get one end, and I'd get the other."

He hefts it up onto his shoulder. "Yeah, but I didn't think that was a good idea in this crowd." Well, he does seem to be having less trouble managing it than I was. He may not be much taller than me but I guess he's stronger. I feel like that should bother me, but for some reason it doesn't.

"Um, OK. Mom and Liv are waiting for me back at J.C. Penney. In the girls' underwear department." I say that last part just to see if I can make him blush. It works.

----------

He's not saying much. I mean, I'm not normally the type who needs to fill any silence with pointless chatter, but I thought he liked me. Not that I want him to, but, you know. "Um, so, is Maria here too?"

"Nah, I just came to hang out with my buddies at the arcade. I was on my way there."

"Oh, cool. I love pinball. Can I come too? After we put this in the car?" For some reason he looks alarmed. "What?"

"Um, I wouldn't want to get you in trouble."

"Trouble?" What's he going on about?

"With your old man. Shit, I can't believe how strict he is. And kind of scary, too. It must suck for you."

Ah, so Dad must have had a little 'talk' with Rich like I asked him to. "No, he's not so bad, really. Anyway I figure what he doesn't know won't hurt him." I throw in a sly grin for effect. Rich smiles back, but it's a dubious, kind of scared smile. I'll have to remember to ask Dad exactly what he said to him; this is kind of fun.

----------

As he's walking away from the car I call out, "Bye Rich! Thanks!" I think I could have convinced him to let me tag along to the arcade, but it doesn't matter anyway 'cause Mom's impatient and just wants to go. "See ya 'round!"

"Yeah, later." I have to suppress a laugh 'cause he sounds so relieved. As I turn to get in the car I catch Mom looking at me with a really strange expression, like maybe she's kind of worried but also pondering something she can't quite puzzle out, but then she sees me looking at her and smiles blandly to cover it up. I shoot her a look of suspicion but by then she's turned away and doesn't see it, or pretends not to anyway.

----------

"Where are you going with all those?"

I'm guessing she's referring to the armload of Jockeys. You know, just a hunch. "Throwing 'em out, like you said to."

"But--you can't have many left. You don't expect me to wash your underwear every day, do you?"

"No, I got all new ones at the mall, remember?"

Mom furrows her brow and asks, "When? I didn't see you--"

Then Livy pipes in with, "I picked up a couple packs for her when she was getting the mirror, remember? And socks."

Mom looks at her, perplexed. "But--those weren't for you...?" You can see on her face when she makes the connection. "Oh--" She doesn't seem to know what else to say. A variety of expressions, none of them happy, are fighting for control of her face.

"I told you that's why I wanted to go there in the first place." I decide to let her work it out while I head for the kitchen to get a trash bag. I guess I should have gotten it first, but, you know, what fun would that have been?

----------

Knock, knock. "Yeah?"

Mom sticks her head in the door. "Steve just called, and we're having a guest for dinner again tonight." We should just change her middle name to 'exasperated' and be done with it, you know? "At least it's only one person this time, but I can't serve leftovers to company so I need to run to the supermarket again."

"OK. Hey, can you pick me up some of that double-sided foam tape? So I can put up my mirror?" It's leaning against the wall next to the closet door. I found out the hard way, you can't really attach something to a hollow-core door with screws. Luckily I can cover the damage with the mirror. She has a sour look on her face, so I go get the last of my change out of my purse and hand it to her. "Here." I try not to look quite as annoyed as I really am.

"Oh, all right." She sounds a little flustered. "I'll be right back. Don't burn the house down while I'm gone."

"I'll try."

I can't believe I spent all my money on a freakin' purse. It is a pretty cool one, though. And these things sure can hold a lot more than pockets do.

Wait. If Dad's invited a guest for dinner, he must have forgotten about his promise to sit down with me afterward and listen to me explain about being a girl. I'm kind of disappointed in him, but at the same time relieved that I seem to be off the hook for tonight, at least.

----------

When I threw out my old underpants I forgot about the ones I'm wearing, so I take off my jeans to change. Just seeing the Jockeys kind of bums me out and I'm looking forward to being rid of them once and for all. As I take them off and see my thing unfurl between my legs I desperately wish I could do the same with that, and I get even more depressed. How is it that I can be so sure of what I am, who I am, and yet such a stupid little thing makes me feel like a big old fraud, like I'm totally deluding myself to think that anyone will ever really accept me as anything other than what my body says I am? I get a brief mental image of myself ten years from now, looking like Dad in bad drag, but I suppress it with a shudder before it can overwhelm me with despair. I know I don't look anything like that now and I don't want to face that yet.

I get a pair of my new panties out of the drawer where my Jockeys used to be but I feel a little weird putting them on. I mean, I'm a girl and girls wear panties, right? But that's not what I see as I'm pulling them up. I tuck myself away--I'm getting the hang of that so it doesn't take as much fiddling as it used to, and the panties actually seem to do a better job of holding things in place--and I look more like a girl's supposed to down there, but I feel like I'm just a boy playing dress-up or make-believe. At least I know that's how other people would see me, and I guess on some level they'd be kind of right. And it's hard to get what I just saw between my legs out of my head, much as I want to. As I turn around to look for where I dropped my jeans, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, from the chest down because it's resting on the floor. Only it's not myself I see, it's a nearly-naked thirteen-year-old chick with a firm and slender bod, and suddenly I have a boner straining to get out.

Oh dear god, that just looks so wrong. I shudder and pull the panties off as quickly as I can.

And now what I see in the mirror is really weirding me out, so off come the shirt and the stuffed bra.

I don't much like what I see in the mirror now but at least it seems relatively safe and normal. Just, you know, horribly depressing, but at least not somehow twisted.

I curl up on my bed, naked, not sure whether I want to cry or throw up, and try to think.

Like Felicia said, if I'm a girl, and seeing a half-naked chick turns me on, does that make me a lesbian?

I don't know. I wonder about it for a while but finally I decide it's not all that important to figure it out right now, since there aren't actually any half-naked chicks in my bedroom at the moment. Unless you count me, but A, I'm all naked, and B, I don't look much like a chick right now.

Anyway that's not what's really bothering me. It's the way my body reacted. I'd rather forget I even have the stupid thing, but it's kinda hard to do that when it forces itself to my attention like that. And it's really frustrating and in a way kind of scary that I have so little control over it. All the more so because I'm supposed to be a girl and that's not even supposed to happen and it's just one more thing to constantly remind me of what I'm not. And what a freak I am.

I'm starting to wonder if having this mirror in here is such a good idea after all.

---

 
To Be Continued...

by Justme

---

 

Chapter 9: A leopard can't change its spots

Knock, knock.

"Don't come in, I'm not decent."

"Oh. I've got your foam tape. What do you want me to do with it?"

"Just leave it by the door; I'll get it in a little bit. Thanks."

I'm trying to sound cheerful, or at least normal, but I guess it's not working 'cause Mom says, "Are you OK, sweetie?" It's hard to sound happy when your nose is all stuffed up from crying.

I intend to say "Sure, fine" but for some reason it comes out "No, not really."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, not really." Do I? I dunno, but it seems safer not to say anything and try to work it out myself.

"Are you sure? You sound pretty upset about--whatever it is."

"No, not really."

"Not really upset, or not really sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"Um, the second one I guess. Let me get something on." Hey, I tried, but she just wore me down.

"OK, sweetie. I'll be right here; just let me in when you're ready."

All right, let's see if I can do this without weirding myself out this time. Don't look in the mirror, don't look in the mirror, pull on the panties and the jeans quick so I don't have time to think about it, don't look in the freakin' mirror, where'd I throw that bra? Ah, there it is, don't look in the damn mirror crap crap crap I shoulda turned it around don't look don't look hook it in back, find the tissues and stuff 'em back in, pull the top on and OK I gotta look in the mirror now and hey, it's OK, it's me and I just look like me, like I'm supposed to look, and there's nothing to be scared of. I mean yeah, my face is a little scary, all puffy-eyed and blotchy, but at least I'm smiling.

"OK, you can come in now."

The door opens, and Mom looks at me with that look of pure love and concern that only moms can do. "What's the matter, sweetie? What happened?"

"Nothing, I just--it's that stupid mirror. I--" I'm getting myself upset again, tears are welling up in my eyes, and I have to pause to sniffle here. "I was going to change into something else and when I saw myself naked in the mirror--" I can't control it at all anymore; I just start sobbing. Mom holds me and I squeeze my eyes shut to try to stop the flow of tears, without much success. Between sobs I manage to say, "I hate my body."

"But you look fine, sweetie. There's nothing wrong with your body."

What?! I stop sobbing, pull back and look her straight in the eye. "Everything's wrong with it, Mom! It's the wrong sex. I'm supposed to be a girl but I have the body of a boy." I guess I sound kind of angry, but it's frustrating that she still doesn't seem to be getting it.

And from the look in her eyes she still doesn't, though clearly she wants to. "I--oh, honey." She hugs me tight; she may not get what I'm upset about, but she at least seems to get that I'm really, really upset. "It's just that it never seemed to bother you before."

I have to think about this for a minute. "Well, it did, but--I dunno, I mean, I couldn't let it show, you know? I had to kind of hide it even from myself to keep from going nuts or giving myself away. Whenever I'd start to think about it I'd stop myself before I went too far. But it's always bothered me. A lot. I just never let myself think about how much."

I see the beginnings of comprehension on her face, just the bare beginnings mind you, but something else along with it--sorrow. The tears start trickling out of my eyes again, but I'm not sobbing anymore. Mom's eyes are glistening a little now, too. "Oh, Joey, Joey, Joey. How could I not have seen how unhappy you were? Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"I was afraid."

"Afraid? Of what? You know we love you no matter what."

"Afraid you'd laugh at me, or treat me like a freak, or--I don't know what. I just didn't think you'd understand. I mean, why should you? I don't really understand. But at least I know how I feel and can sort of try to explain it." I have a thought that makes me laugh--a bitter laugh, not a happy one. "I'm having enough trouble putting it into words so you guys can understand now. Can you imagine me trying to get it across when I was five or six?"

Mom laughs too, a sympathetic, sad kind of laugh. "No, I guess not." She brushes a stray lock of hair out of my eyes with her fingers. "Five or six? That far back?"

"At least."

Her eyes widen a little. "Do you think--was it that time Livy made you wear one of her dresses? Is that when it started?"

I swear, I feel like I'm explaining this to a simple child. "No, Mom. She didn't make me wear a dress. She suggested it, but I was all for it. I already knew by then."

"Oh." She seems a little disappointed.

"I think I always knew."

"But you never said anything, even when you were little. Wouldn't you have said something?"

"It's just, you always made out like it wasn't all that important, like it didn't make that big of a difference one way or another whether someone was a boy or a girl. You pretty much treated us and dressed us the same, except when it came to getting all dressed up for some big occasion, which has always kind of bugged me but other than that it just didn't seem to be an issue."

"But I still treat you that way, don't I? Why is it an issue now?"

"I don't know, Mom. I just know it matters a lot more than I thought it did. It's not that I much care what anyone else expects of me, 'cause you know me better than that." Well, unless I'd be likely to get the crap beat out of me over it, anyway. "I don't really know how to explain it."

"Please keep trying. I want to understand." She's really bothered about this; I see worry on her face and hear a hint of desperation in her voice.

I take a deep breath and let it out, and after just sitting calmly and quietly for a while and letting thoughts and feelings wash over me, gradually some of them sort of seem to fit together and then suddenly it's like instead of random blobs of shape and color I see a picture and I think I see a way to say it so she'll get it.

"It's just that I'm finally getting old enough to where it really does matter. My body doesn't look like it's supposed to or work like it's supposed to. The differences weren't so much before, especially with clothes on but they're getting more and more important. Every day that goes by I look and feel less and less like me. And it's only going to keep getting worse and worse." And now I'm crying again. "I guess I need people to see me as a girl now 'cause it reassures me that I'm still me."

Mom just holds me. After what seems like ages, she asks, in a calm, gentle voice, "Why do you think--I mean, how do you know you're a girl?"

"I don't know, Mom. I just know."

"I'm sorry, Joey. I'm not trying to be difficult. It's just hard to see my baby hurting so much and not know how to make it better."

"I know. I wish I could explain it better. Now do you see why I never said anything before?"

"Mm-hm. And I have to admit it's a little hard to accept when you've always looked like a perfectly normal boy. Without those clothes on, anyway."

"I know that. It's what makes it so frustrating. Anyone can look at me naked and tell you I'm a boy, but only I know I'm not. My body's wrong."

"But if your mind disagrees with your body, isn't it easier to change your mind?"

"You'd think so, but no. Believe me, I've tried. No matter how hard I try though, I can't convince myself because deep down inside I know I'm a girl."

"Do you think a therapist could help you?"

The thought makes me cringe inside. "No."

"But--"

Apparently I need to be firmer. "No!" I have an idea. "Look, if you and someone else had your brains transplanted into each other's bodies, which one would be you? The one with your brain, or the one with your body?" It's from a book I read a while ago, by Heinlein, and I know Mom read it too 'cause I snagged it off her bedside table. Heinlein's one of our favorite authors.

"Well, the brain, of course. I'd still know I was me, even in a different body."

"See? My mind isn't broken. My mind is me, and my mind knows I'm a girl, and I don't want anyone messing around trying to 'fix' it 'cause that's me."

Mom sighs. "I guess I can understand how you feel. It's just that it seems as if it would be so much simpler if you could change your mind to match your body."

"Yeah, I know. But like I said, I've already tried, and if I can't change my own mind about it I don't want someone else trying. I mean, if they somehow succeeded I wouldn't be me anymore."

Another sigh. "No, I suppose not." And a squeeze. "And after all, it's you we love. Oh, what are we going to do with you, Joey?"

My turn to sigh now. "I don't know. I just know I can't go back to pretending I'm a normal boy."

"I hate to sound harsh, but is it really any easier pretending to be a normal girl?"

It hurts being reminded that I'm neither one nor the other, but she has a point. I think about it. I'm a little surprised at how clear the answer is. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Way easier."

"Well." She seems surprised at how quickly and certainly I answered. I kind of am too. But I am certain.

"I mean, it doesn't even feel like pretending, you know? Just, like, I've still got this secret I can't let anyone find out about. Same as always. But at least this way I don't have to pretend to be someone I'm not."

"Hm." She considers for a minute. "I guess that settles it, then. From now on you're a girl."

Wow. I already was one, Mom, but it's nice to see you're finally coming around.

She lets out yet another sigh, this one verging on a groan. "I worry about you, and I have to admit I'm terrified of what's going to come of this, but the most important thing is that you're happy and that you can be who you need to be."

"I'm afraid too, a little," I admit. "But I am happy--happier than I've ever been." She looks skeptically at my tear-stained face. I can't help laughing. "Well, I am." She just hugs me and sighs again.

----------

OK, the mirror is up and I don't think it can come back down without completely destroying the closet door. Now, do I dare risk changing in front of this thing to try different outfits on? I think at least at first to be safe I'd better do the changing with my back to the mirror, and only turn around to look when I'm fully dressed.

Now, what should I try on first?

----------

I've decided I'm a lot like Linda. At least, we seem to have a pretty similar sense of personal style. I feel totally comfortable and at home in just about every outfit I've tried on. Well, except for that one dress--I guess it's supposed to be what they call a 'peasant dress' only it looks more to me like a pioneer-girl costume. Heck, if I put that on and wore my hair in pigtails I'd look just like Laura from Little House on the Prairie. Just as well I don't have any shoes to wear with it. Then again Laura usually went barefoot, didn't she?

----------

I really like this outfit. To heck with worrying about looking like I'm trying too hard--I'm gonna keep it on. It's a denim mini-dress that's kind of a little like overalls only with a skirt instead of pants at the bottom, and under it I've got on a bright robin's-egg-blue t-shirt with a much bigger neck opening than I'm used to which somehow makes it look pretty girly. Anyway my white "tennies" seem like they go OK with it--not great, but OK. The soles even kind of match the shirt.

Hm, I wonder how it'd look with my hair in a French braid?

----------

Much better. I don't know, somehow it felt like wearing a dress, the rest of me needed to be a little girlier too. Now for some Lip Smacker as a finishing touch.

Perfect!

Well, except for the scars on my knees--too many wipe-outs in gravel on my bike. My elbows too. Hopefully it's not too noticeable from a distance. Anyway, not too big a deal--I am known to be a bit of a tomboy, after all.

----------

"Wow, you look cute!" I blush. I'm still getting used to the idea of Livy not being mean to me, let alone giving me compliments. "Hey, did you do that to your hair yourself?" I smile and nod. "Nice. Could you show me how?"

"Sure, but with your hand like that you'd better let me do it for you."

----------

I have to admit, I'm a bit jealous. With her longer, raven-black hair her French braid looks even more elegant than mine. "You know, it really doesn't take much to turn you into a total fox."

Now it's Liv's turn to blush. I guess she's as unaccustomed to getting compliments from me as I am from her. "Thanks. But, I dunno, I'm just not really that into boys and the attention makes me kind of uncomfortable."

"Really? 'Cause, I mean, I'm not into boys at all but I've still been kind of enjoying all the attention I've been getting from Rich. Only don't tell Felicia--she'd freak."

She's giggling. "No shit she would. You've got a thing for Rich? Isn't he a little old for you?" All right, cut it with the giggling already, will you?

"I don't have a thing for him, and yeah, he's way too old for me--I mean, it was kinda creepy the way he kept checking me out at dinner last night. I'm thirteen, for cripe's sake. He's a sophomore in high school. It's just, I seem to have this strange power over him, and it's kind of fun."

Liv looks all serious. "Yeah, well, be careful, sister of mine. It's fun now but you're still kind of new at this and let me tell you, you're playing with fire."

"Oh, come on. What could happen?" Before the words are all the way out I want to take them back. How about being exposed as a freak and suffering public humiliation? I really should think before I speak.

"How about rape?" Oh god. That hadn't even occurred to me. "I mean, that's the extreme worst case, but you know, not every guy is a gentleman and some of them would get pissed off enough about being cock-teased"--whoa, she's never talked like that around me before--"to hit a girl. That's not even to mention what can happen to your reputation. Oh, don't look at me like that"--what, you mean with utter disdain for what other people think of me?--"you have no fucking idea how miserable other girls can make your life just by saying things about you behind your back when you can't defend yourself." Whoa, her eyes are starting to tear up. She must have first-hand experience with this. I lean over and give her a hug.

"I, uh, I guess I have a lot to learn about being a girl. I'm lucky I have a big sister to teach me and keep me safe." Good, she's smiling and it looks like we've headed off the deluge.

"You're probably all right with Rich. Anyway it'd be nice to see him get some payback for how he's been treating Felicia. Just promise you'll be careful and wait 'til you've got a little more experience before you try any of those games with anyone else, OK?"

"OK, I promise."

"Cross your heart and hope to die?"

"Stick a finger in my eye."

She nods in solemn approval of my oath, looks me over, breaks out in a big grin and squeezes me so hard I can't breathe. "I can't help it, you just look so cute!" Oh, barf. "C'mon, Mom should see you in this. She'll just die. She's always trying to get me to wear a dress."

"Why don't you?"

"I dunno, it's just not me, I guess. People treat you differently when you're in a dress, like you're fragile or something. And you have to be careful about everything you do so your panties don't show, and sit with your knees together, and it's all just a big pain."

"Oh. Well, yeah, I can see how it wouldn't be what you'd want to be wearing all the time, but once in a while it's nice to look nice and have people tell you that, you know?" I don't actually have any prior dress-wearing experience--well, except for that one time--but I do have some recent experience with being told I look pretty and it is nice. And I bet dressed like this I'd get even more of that.

"I guess so. I guess I avoid 'em 'cause they bring on the wrong kind of attention from guys, too."

"Yeah--well, hey, there aren't any guys around here, so how 'bout you put on a dress too and we really give Mom a heart attack? Anyway with your hair like that the rest of you looks kind of underdressed."

"I don't even have a dress except for that one Grandmother sent me for last Easter, and I'm not wearing that around the house." Yeah, I guess that would be rather silly.

"Well, maybe one of mine would fit you. Come on." She's looking at me rebelliously, with her arms crossed, and not moving. I grab her by the elbow and pull. "Come on. It won't hurt a bit, I promise."

----------

"Here, try these on." I hand her a kind of muted orangey-colored peasant blouse with poofy sleeves that don't go all the way to the wrist, with wide gold braid around the sleeves just above the elbow and around the midriff--now that I look at it the color isn't right for me at all, in fact it makes me look kind of ill, but Liv's olive complexion stands up to it well--and an off-white wrap-around skirt with gold braid around the edges. It kind of looks like something Dorothy Lamour might have worn in that Bob Hope-Bing Crosby movie Road To Rio or something. Anyway I think it's kind of cool.

She takes them like they're snakes or something, looks at me like do I have to, I look back like yes you have to, she shrugs, sets them on the bed and starts stripping.

Sigh. Man, I wish I'd start developing like she has. But that's not gonna happen, and it's not fair and I really need to not think about that or I'll just get all depressed. I'm just a late bloomer, and I'm gonna keep telling myself that as long as I can. I should just try to focus on the fun I'm having right now.

Who'd have ever thought I of all people would be able to talk Livy into wearing a skirt?

----------

"You look awesome." She really does. Her hair and skin tone were just made for that Mediterranean style. You'd think she stepped out of a village in Italy or Spain. Or maybe Monaco.

"The top is pretty cool. Could I borrow it sometimes to wear with jeans?"

"Oh, you might as well keep it. I love it too, but it's totally the wrong color for me."

"Really? Thanks!" She turns around and checks herself out in my mirror from all angles. "That mirror is a great idea. I should get one for my room."

"Yeah, I got the idea from Linda."

She's checking out her behind in the mirror now. "On second thought, maybe not. I didn't realize my butt was so huge."

"No, you have a perfect butt. I wish I had a butt like yours."

"Really?"

"Yeah." I'm trying not to sound too sad about it, but I guess not very successfully 'cause she's looking right at me and it feels like she knows what I'm thinking.

She changes the subject. "I think I need to wear sandals with this or something. You wanna borrow these Keds? Your sneaks are fine with jeans but they're a little, I dunno, clunky for a dress. Even a denim jumper." Huh? Oh, I guess that's what this kind of dress is called.

"Oh. OK, thanks." Ugh. Mom just shelled out for new shoes for me--where am I gonna come up with funds for shoe shopping?

----------

My door's open so we can hear Mom yelling from the kitchen. "Joey-y-y!" Aw, crap, what've I done now?

"What, Mom?" I know what she's about to say, but I can't help it; she started it.

"Come here, please; don't make me yell at you across the whole house!"

Exactly as predicted. I roll my eyes at Livy and run to the kitchen. "What?"

"I'm out of--" She turns from the open cupboard and sees me. Her eyes get wide. "Oh. ...My, don't you look adorable. Uh, what was I... oh, right. I didn't realize I was out of lasagna noodles and I don't have time to run back to the store for them--can you go on your bike and pick some up for me?"

"Uh, sure. Just give me some money for it, I'm all out.... Why are you staring at me like that?" As if I didn't know.

"What? Oh, sorry. I just can't get over how perfectly sweet you look in that jumper." I smile; I'm not sure sweet is exactly what I was going for, but it's a compliment and I'm going to enjoy it anyway. "Why can't I ever get your sister to wear a dress or a skirt?"

"I dunno. I didn't have any trouble getting her to." As if on cue, Livy wanders into the kitchen behind me to see what's up. Mom's jaw drops and she looks at me accusingly, as if I must have used black magic, or at least blackmail, to accomplish this nefarious deed. I just smile innocently: Mission accomplished.

----------

OK, Liv's right--the jumper may be 'cute' and 'adorable' and 'sweet' but one thing it sure as heck ain't is 'practical.' No way I can ride my bike in this thing--there's no way to straddle the crossbar without hiking it way up and risking flashing my panties to the world. I guess that's why girls' bikes have the lowered crossbar, though I have first-hand experience as to why that would make more sense anatomically for guys. I often daydream about how my life might have been different if I'd been seriously hurt that time. Anyway I suppose I could borrow Liv's bike, cheap piece of crap though it is, but I'd still be worried the whole time about everyone getting a peek at my underwear. You can't keep your knees together while riding a bike.

Guess I'll have to change first.

----------

All right, let's try this again. This time I'm in denim cutoffs--they're cut off quite a bit shorter than I'm used to, but at least they keep everything covered that needs covering.

Jeez. Being 'tucked' is normally slightly uncomfortable, but you kind of get used to it and don't notice after a while; on a hard bike seat it's verging on painful. Well, I spend most of my time standing on the pedals anyway, so hopefully I'll survive the short trip to Kroger's and back. It's only about two miles each way.

As I'm putting on the backpack I'm bringing to carry the lasagna noodles, I realize I can stick my purse in it and not have it flopping around in front of me the whole way. It's actually more comfortable than having a wallet in my back pocket.

----------

Gasp. The last mile was a slight uphill grade and I haven't been riding my bike much since we moved so I'm kind of out of shape and winded. And sweaty. Especially my back.

I can't wait 'til they finish construction on the new bike paths they're putting in. Then I won't have to choose between ruining my bike on bumpy sidewalks or risking my neck in traffic. If my reflexes weren't so fast, I'd probably have been hit by that car making a right on red without looking.

I lock my bike to the rack out front and go into the nice, cool air-conditioned store. Ah-h-h-h.

Hey, that's our neighbor just on her way out. "Hi, Mrs. Bruegemann!" I smile and wave at her without thinking. Oh-h-h, crap. That may not have been the brightest move I've ever made. What do I do now?

She looks puzzled, then I think I see a flicker of recognition, but she says, "Do I--do I know you?"

Nothing to do but brazen it out, I guess. "It's me, your neighbor. Joey?" I always hate when Mom and Dad introduce me by that name, but now I'm grateful they did it with the Bruegemanns 'cause it gives me an opening I can use.

"Joey Llewellyn?" I nod. She looks sort of sheepish, and speaks in a confidential tone of voice. "I'm sorry, it's just--no offense, but for some reason I thought you were a boy."

I smile, and give a rueful laugh. "That's 'cause that's what I wanted you to think. No offense taken."

She looks like she almost gets why I'd do that, but not quite. "Well, you had me fooled."

"Sorry, I didn't mean it as a trick or to be mean, I just--I don't know, I guess I was trying to be something I'm not. But I'm not doing that anymore. I've decided I'm just going to be me from now on. I'll save my acting for the stage."

"Very wise choice. To tell you the truth, you do seem a lot more comfortable with yourself now that you've given up the pretense."

"Yeah, I guess I am." I smile. Nice to know it's not just me, other people can see it too. Mom and Dad are too wrapped up in their image of the old me, and Livy is just--Livy, you know? You can't use her reactions as a gauge for normal people.

"You really are quite the little actress though, aren't you?" She arches one eyebrow as she says this but I can tell she's just teasing, not really trying to give me a hard time about the boy thing. "So you perform on stage too, do you?"

"Well, I just started rehearsals for my first play this weekend. I'm playing Louisa in The Sound of Music."

Her face lights up. "Oh, wonderful. I love that play." You and everyone else, it seems. "We'll have to come see you in it."

"Dad's in it, too. He's playing the Captain."

"Is he? Well, we certainly can't miss it then. Make sure you let us know how to get tickets!"

"I will. Hey, do you need me to help you load those bags into your car?"

"Thanks, but I can manage. I do need to run before the ice cream melts, though. See you at home!"

"'Kay, bye, Mrs. Bruegemann!"

Well, that went a lot easier than it could have.

Now, where do they keep the pasta in this joint again?

----------

Ugh. Apparently it's uphill both ways--at least, the last half of the ride is. Plus I think it got hotter and more humid while I was in the store. I pull into the driveway and hop off my bike, sweat soaking my back and trickling down my neck and soaking the tissues stuffed into my bra. I laugh to myself as I realize I'm going to need to change my boobs along with my bra and shirt.

Mrs. Bruegemann apparently had enough time to unload her groceries before I got back and is now out watering her roses. She sees me, smiles and waves me over.

I smile back. "I'd ask you to spray me with that hose, but I don't wanna ruin Mom's pasta."

"All right, I'll be good then." She grins. "I've been meaning to ask you a favor. And for some strange reason"--she pastes a look of exaggerated confusion on her face--"it slipped my mind when I saw you in the store."

"Um, OK, what is it?"

"We need a sitter for the boys tomorrow night, and since Livy's not available I wanted to see if you'd be willing to fill in for her."

What, Livy's got a hot date she didn't tell me about? Oh, right, her hand--she needs to coddle it until it heals. "Um, sure, I guess. I've never really sat before but how hard can it be?" She looks like she wants to laugh out loud. Hey, be nice! "Anyway if there's an emergency I know first aid." Grandfather Sorensen's influence again. She looks impressed by that for some reason; maybe Livy never mentioned she knows it too.

"Oh, that's wonderful. Thanks." She smiles, then looks a little sad for a moment.

"What's up?"

"What? Oh, nothing, really. The boys were just excited about the prospect of having a boy sitter for a change." She looks apologetic.

I smile. "I understand. Don't worry, I won't let 'em down. You can tell 'em I may not really be a boy but I sure as heck know how to act like one."

She smiles back. "Yes, you certainly do. All right then, just pop over at six o'clock tomorrow night. We'll pay you the same rate we usually pay your sister."

"Cool. OK, I gotta go inside now before I melt. See ya later!" She waves and smiles as I turn and run for the door and air conditioning.

Hm, I didn't think to ask how much they pay Livy. I'll have to ask her.

----------

"What did Ellen want?"

"Who?"

"The neighbor?"

"Oh, right." Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not polite to spy on people, Mom? "She just wanted to know if I'd fill in for Livy babysitting tomorrow night. I said sure."

"She didn't want to know why you were dressed like that?"

"What, in shorts?"

"As a girl, silly. Don't tell me she didn't notice anything different about you."

"Oh, I ran into her at Kroger's and we got that all straightened out."

"How, may I ask?"

"I just basically apologized for pretending to be something I'm not, told her I was through with that and was just going to be myself from now on. She was pretty cool about it."

"Oh. So you're going to change back now?"

Huh? Non-sequitur much? Typical Mom. Even she looks confused. And, oddly, concerned. "Well, yeah, I got all sweaty and dirty on the ride. So I thought I'd have a quick shower and put the jumper or maybe the jeans back on. So's not to make more laundry." She hates when I get clothes dirty and make extra laundry. One of these days she's going to start making me do my own.

Mom's face looks like her brain is grinding its gears pretty badly right now. "Wait. You said--" Suddenly she gets an oh, duh, I'm an idiot expression on her face. "Oh, right. I get it now. Never mind."

OK, whatever you say, Mom. I just smile and back away slo-o-owly....

----------

Ah-h-h. Nothing like a nice cool shower on a hot, sticky day. Mom's too cheap to turn the air conditioning up so it's really only a little cooler inside than outside. A nice side benefit of the cold water is it makes the unwelcome thing between my legs shrivel up, and I try to imagine it's going to completely retract inside my body as I soap up and rinse off. It doesn't, quite, but it's nice to imagine it.

----------

If I blow-dry my hair I'll just undo all the good the cool shower did, but if I do my hair back up into a French braid while it's still wet it'll take forever to dry. In this humidity that doesn't sound like such a good idea. I guess I'll just leave it down until it dries.

----------

Let's see, jumper or jeans? Decisions, decisions.

The jumper is short and well-ventilated, which is appealing. I'd need to get another shirt dirty, though.

Oh, and Dad saw me in the jeans this morning--if I'm in the jumper when he gets home he probably is going to think I'm trying too hard.

On the other hand, we're having company for dinner so I should look nice.

On the third hand, I looked nice enough in the jeans for the Weisses last night. And I can always put my hair back up and put on a little make-up if I feel the need.

On the fourth hand, Livy's still in the skirt I got her to wear, so I might look underdressed next to her in the jeans.

Oh, hell, I'd feel underdressed in anything I have with her looking like that.

Jeans it is, then.

----------

At the rate I'm going through them I'm gonna need to invest in a carload of tissues, or find something else to stuff my bra with. One more thing to spend money on. I swear, the economy would go right down the toilet if girls didn't have to spend so much just to get through the day.

Which reminds me. "Hey, Liv!" All right, I'm shouting, but at least I'm walking towards her room as I do it.

"What?" She opens her door and sticks her face out, inches from mine.

"No need to shout, I'm right here." She is not amused.

----------

"An hour?"

"Yeah."

"Um, how late do they usually stay out?"

"I dunno, depends. Sometimes only 'til eight or nine, but once they didn't get back until like two a.m. Most often around ten or eleven, though."

I calculate the likely damage in my head. Ka-ching. "Jeez, they must be little monsters if they're that desperate to get away from 'em."

"No, actually compared to some kids I've sat they're pretty easy. They're not really interested in any of the usual games or activities I've tried to plan for them though--they just seem to want to watch TV until bedtime."

"Sounds easy enough."

"It is. I usually just pop up a big bowl of popcorn, turn on the tube and sit down to read a book for an hour or so, then pry their butts off the sofa and get 'em to bed, sweep up the spilled popcorn and go back to reading until the Bruegemanns get home."

"Cool. Easy money." Getting paid to read? It doesn't get any easier than that.

"Yeah, pretty much."

This may just be the answer to my cash flow problems. The only downside I can see is that Liv's gonna want this gig back when she's all healed up.

----------

Seeing myself in the mirror after seeing Livy looking like a total fox is making me feel somehow inadequate, so I at least need to put my hair back up, humidity be damned. It's almost dry now anyway.

----------

Better, but still...

"Mom?"

"Don't shout, sweetie! If you want to talk to me come here!"

Well, I shoulda known better.

----------

"But--why not?" I cannot believe this.

"I told you before, I don't approve of you trying to look older than you are."

"I'm not, I'm just trying to look--nicer. Anyway you seemed fine with it yesterday--it was just the boobs you were complaining about then." She winces a little when I say boobs.

"It was both, but the whole thing kind of threw me for a loop so I didn't pursue it."

"But Mo-o-om! It's just mascara and a little eyeshadow to bring out the blue in my eyes." Her eyes widen briefly when I say this but she recovers pretty quickly. "It's not like I want to look like a, a--prostitute or something." For some reason that seems like a nicer way to say it than hooker or whore. Why are Mom's eyes starting to cross like that?

"Well--things are different from when I was a girl. I suppose at your age it wouldn't hurt for you to wear just a little, like you had on yesterday."

See, I knew she'd see reason--

"But I still don't want you to borrow mine."

No!! The smile that was just starting to form turns into a look of utter disbelief. At least, that's the look I'm going for.

"It's not sanitary to use someone else's eye makeup. Linda shouldn't have let you use hers. You could give each other nasty eye infections. If you want to wear it you'll have to buy your own."

"But I don't have any money left!" I know it's a longshot, but I have to try. "Can I borrow some? I can pay you back tomorrow, after I babysit. Ple-e-ease?"

"Don't count your chickens before they hatch. If it was for something urgent I'd consider it, but it won't hurt you to wait a couple of days to get makeup you don't really need."

"Don't need? Mom, we're having company for dinner tonight, in case you forgot! You're the one who's always on my case to try to make a good impression."

"Oh, you don't need makeup for tonight. You've got a naturally pretty face. Besides, your hair looks wonderful. And you've stopped dressing like a bum all the time, and you just showered so you even smell nice. Honestly, I don't know what's gotten into you that you suddenly think you need to wear makeup. No thirteen-year-old needs to wear makeup."

"But--rrrrrgh!" I don't have an answer for that. My shoulders slump and I stalk off to my room to sulk, muttering evil curses under my breath. I make sure to give the door an extra good slam.

Apparently Mom realizes it would be pointless to say her usual line about not slamming doors, 'cause she doesn't.

----------

Sigh. With my hair up like this, and a little Lip Smacker, you might call me cute or maybe even pretty, depending on how near-sighted you were and what you were comparing me to. I guess no amount of makeup would make me beautiful like Livy anyway. I guess if I try to compete with her on looks I'm just going to wind up getting really depressed. Still, it would be so much better if I could just--you know, make the most of what I've got. I don't know what Mom's deal is anyway with not letting me borrow hers. You'd think I had pus dripping out of my eyes or something.

Well, at least I've got my razor-sharp wit, and my devastating charm, and my superior sense of style. I practice my most winning smile in the mirror. Hmpf, yeah--cute. Cute as a frikkin' button.

Ugh. I never noticed before but those bottom teeth are kinda crooked. I sure hope Dad's new insurance covers braces....

----------

I'm helping Mom clean up and set the table for dinner 'cause I don't want to totally get on her bad side, but I'm giving her dirty looks and attitude and not speaking to her any more than absolutely necessary as I do it. I know I don't really need makeup; it's just insecurity about being compared to Livy. But that doesn't mean I can't resent her for not lending me the money. It's the principle of the thing.

I guess Livy must've overheard our argument earlier, or maybe it's just a matter of presenting a united front to the common enemy, but she's backing me up and refusing to intervene on Mom's behalf. In fact she's being downright frosty to her.

Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be fazing Mom in the least.

----------

Crap. Why didn't I think of this before? I bet Livy would have lent me the money to buy makeup. Argh! Too late now anyway. They'll be here any minute.

----------

Or not.

----------

Only a matter of time now before Mom starts grumbling about dinner getting cold.

----------

This is boring. Maybe I'll go get a book or something....

Hm, the evening light coming in through the living room window is casting some interesting shadows on Livy and Mom reading their magazines on the sofa. I think better than a book would be my camera.

----------

Click. Zip. The trick is always getting the shot before they're aware they're being photographed so they look natural and not posed. This camera used to be Dad's and has a built-in light meter and an automatic exposure setting so with practice it's possible to focus and shoot before anyone has time to notice anything. I got pretty good at that putting together my confiscated--and now worthless anyway--dossier on Livy.

Click. Zip. Sometimes the immediate reaction of becoming aware of the photographer makes a good shot, too. Sometimes it's just funny but sometimes you get lucky and really capture something about the subject you wouldn't otherwise get. Anyway film is cheap; you don't have to make prints of the bad ones.

"Sorry, the lighting was just--" why're they looking past me, out the window?

"They're here. Finally."

As I turn and look out the window Dad pulls into the driveway, and his guest pulls up just behind him and parks in the street. Silhouetted in the setting sun I watch as a tall, striking and impeccably dressed woman gets out and closes the door of one of the most beautiful pieces of machinery I've ever laid eyes on--a gleaming chrome and candy-apple red 1965 Corvette Stingray convertible with the top down. It must have made her cringe to drive that thing up our gravel road. Click. Zip. No good--the reflections on the window are gonna ruin it. I throw the front door open and stride out, camera glued to my face. Click. Zip. Click. Zip. She's pulled out her compact and is checking her makeup now. Oh, man, I wish I had the equipment and know-how for color photography. Dad says artistically it's a whole different ball game but I think I could pick it up. Anyway the stark contrasts of light and shadow will work well in black-and-white too.

"'Ello, I am Michelle." Ooh, she even speaks with a French accent. Not one I'm familiar with, but definitely French. "And you are...?"

"Enchantée, Mademoiselle. Je m'appele Joey." I don't see a ring so I assume it's Mademoiselle. She's stunningly beautiful, but not exactly what you'd call pretty, if you know what I mean--kinda like Katherine Hepburn or Lauren Bacall. Her voice is sort of low and sexy like Miz Bacall's, too. Mom says that's usually an indication of a heavy smoker, but I don't smell anything. She's a couple of inches taller than me even not counting the heels she's wearing, and with a slim build but not skeleton-thin like a model or anything.

"Charmante! Tell me, Joey, 'ow is it your français is so much better than your father's?"

"Just 'cause I grew up speaking it and he didn't. Anyway it's only my accent that's better." And maybe my slang; you learn things on the playground they don't teach you at Berlitz.

"Bien sûr." She looks a little puzzled. "Genevoise? Ou Parisienne?"

"Oui. Uh, I mean, a little of both." I guess without the constant reinforcement of ridicule from my Parisian peers a bit of Geneva is slipping back in. I'm a little embarrassed since I was just basically bragging about my accent but she seems satisfied with my answer. "If you don't mind my asking, what's yours? I don't recognize it."

"Bruges."

"Oh, OK. That's in Belgium, right?" She nods. Never been there myself. "Um, can I ask you a favor? Oh, you don't mind that I've been photographing you, do you?"

"No, of course not. What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if I could get you to just sit up there," I'm indicating the front left fender of her car, "with your legs crossed, and hold up your compact and make like you're fixing your lipstick."

"What an unusual request. Why on Earth should you want me to do that?" She looks mildly suspicious but also amused.

"Um," I didn't think about what it might sound like to her and I'm blushing a little now, "'cause I think it will make an incredible shot in this light." Her expression turns to one of delight. "It'd be even better in color but..." I shrug apologetically.

She arches an eyebrow, still smiling. "Very well, but I shall require a copy of this photo in payment."

"Oui, naturellement. Et les autres aussi. Um, let me just get a towel or something for you to sit on so we don't scratch up that beautiful paint job."

"Oh, 'ere--we can use this." She takes off her headscarf. Well, I kinda wanted her wearing it for the shot, but this works too and saves time while the light is still perfect.

----------

By the time I help Michelle put her top up and we come in, Dad's looking highly amused; Mom, not so much, I guess because we've just delayed dinner another ten minutes.

"Étienne," that's French for Steve, "why didn't you tell me you 'ad such a charming daughter?"

No, I take that back about dinner getting cold; I'm getting the distinct vibe from Mom that she does not approve of Dad bringing Michelle home to dinner. I gotta admit, I'm kinda wondering what he was thinking myself. Mom tends to be the jealous type and Michelle's definitely got that whole je-ne-sais-quoi thing.

"And such a lovely young wife."

Mom smiles a tight-lipped smile--she's not going to be taken in by flattery.

"I can see she is without a doubt the girl's mother. They 'ave the same delicate Nordic features."

Well, maybe Mom isn't going to be taken in, but I sure am. I beam at Michelle.

"And this one," she's turned her attention to Livy, "takes after you. But, I think, rather more beautiful, non?" She gives Livy a wink.

Livy smiles uncertainly; she seems uncomfortable with the compliment and a bit self-conscious, probably because of her skirt--well, OK, my skirt, but she's wearing it. I feel kinda bad that I changed and she didn't.

"That's Livy," Dad makes the formal introduction, "and you've already met Joey. Sandy is their mother, and this," addressing us all, "is Michelle Dumont. She's a friend of Billy's." Billy is one of Dad's theatre friends. He's kind of outrageous, fruitier than Carmen Miranda's hat as Dad likes to say, and one of the funniest, nicest, warmest-hearted people you could ever want to meet. "She's graciously agreed to join us in our family meeting this evening"--what? He invited a total stranger to talk about this? I feel kinda sick all of a sudden. As he says this he's looking right at me, but for some reason she's looking at Livy with an understanding smile, which seems to just be making Livy even more uncomfortable--"and help us understand what you're going through, Joey."

As he says my name I'm still looking at Michelle so I see the brief flashes of expressions as they cross her face--surprise, chagrin, embarrassment--then before anyone else has a chance to notice anything, 'cause even Livy's not looking straight at her at the moment, she collects herself and smoothly turns her gaze from Livy to meet mine.

Oh.

Oh.

She's--no, no way. Not her.

She must be reading my mind, 'cause she smiles and gives an almost imperceptible nod I can tell is meant only for me.

"Are you..."--as sure as I am of my intuition, I can't bring myself to say it out loud, in case I'm wrong.

"Oui. Comme toi." She gives me the warmest smile I think I've ever seen.

"Like... me?" I look at Dad. I'm getting all choked up.

I can see Mom and Livy take a second to catch on, but when they do it's obvious by their looks of shocked incredulity. Livy beats Mom to it by half a second or so.

I turn back to Michelle, feeling a little dazed. "I've... never met anyone like--like me before." I didn't really know there were any. I mean yeah, I've heard of Christine Jorgensen but she had her operation like over twenty years ago and I haven't heard about anyone doing it since then. To have Dad do this for me is just too much. Tears well up in my eyes and I can't hold them back.

"Is it all right, Joey? I thought it would help..." He trails off and doesn't finish the sentence. He's looking kind of lost and unsure of himself. I can't remember ever seeing him before where he didn't look like he was in control at least of himself, if not the situation. I can't help but smile through my tears at his discomposure.

"No, you did good, Dad. Real good." I move over to him, wrap my arms around his middle and squeeze for all I'm worth. "Thank you." I look up at him, then rest my head on his chest and whisper, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," as I squeeze until it almost hurts. I can feel him squeezing back, though thankfully not quite so hard.

What did I ever do to deserve parents like these?

---

 
To Be Continued...

by Justme

---

 

Chapter 10: Good things come to those who wait

Michelle's getting all misty-eyed now so to kind of break the spell of the moment I smile and say, "I'm sorry, everyone must be starving and dinner's getting cold."

That's Mom's cue to snap out of her dazed and confused state and take charge of the proceedings. "Yes, please everyone, have a seat." She starts toward the kitchen.

"Let me help, Mom. It'll go faster."

She looks confused and maybe kind of worried for a second but then sort of seems to decide to just give up and go with it. "Oh, thank you, that would be wonderful." Come on, it's not like I never volunteer. Well, OK, maybe not all that often. But I'm kind of in a hurry to get through dinner. I have a lot I want to ask Michelle about.

----------

"The Decisive Moment. Is this where you learned your photography, Joey? Are you to be the next Henri Cartier-Bresson?" Michelle's looking past me.

Huh? Oh, right, the bookshelf behind me. Most people have those whatchacallems, you know, like dressers only with dishes and stuff in the drawers instead of clothes? Sideboards, that's it. Most people have sideboards in their dining room. Us, we have bookshelves. We don't actually have any fine china but we have more books than you can shake a stick at so they kind of overflow into every room.

Anyway Michelle is looking over my right shoulder at the spine of that book of cool photos Dad showed me when he gave me his old camera. It's by this French photojournalist who I guess Michelle has heard of. I think he's had it since he got out of the Army. The book, not the camera--it's old but not that old.

"No, that's where Dad learned it, I guess. I learned it from him. Anyway I don't know if I'll ever be that good but you should see some of the stuff Dad's done. In fact," I've finished my lasagna and just remembered something, "hang on a sec; I'll show you what I mean. Excuse me, please." I don't wait for Mom's reply before running off to my room. Now which drawer did I put that in? Oh, yeah, here it is. I run back to the table, resume my seat across from Michelle and hand her the photo Dad took of me the other day. The good one. "Here, see? If you ask me, this one could go alongside anything in that book."

"C'est vrai. C'est magnifique. Étienne, you took this?" She looks pretty impressed as she shows it to Dad.

His eyes get big. "This is the first I've seen of it. Is this the one I took Sunday night?" He's addressing me; I nod. "I didn't know you'd developed it. How come you didn't show me?"

"'Cause I wasn't ready to then. I mean, look at it." Mom and Livy are craning their necks to get a peek now.

"I guess I can see that."

"And then I hid it in my drawer and kind of forgot about it until now."

Mom finally gets a good look at it and puts a hand to her chest with an 'oh, my' expression on her face. "Do you like it?" She asks me.

"Are you kidding? It's the best picture anyone's taken of me, ever. It's the first picture of me that really looks like me to me. You know?" Livy's seen it now too. She's smiling at me; she looks almost as happy about it as I am.

Michelle looks at Dad with a puzzled expression. "But I thought you said she only told you about... who she really was... last night."

"That's right."

"And you took this Sunday night? Did you already suspect, then?"

"No, not then. I hadn't a clue."

"Unconsciously perhaps? One does not take photos like this by accident. Or without noticing."

"Maybe, I suppose, but..."

"But I was still doing my best to convince everyone, even myself I guess, that I was just a boy playing the part of a girl. Don't beat yourself up for not figuring it out, Dad. I didn't want you to. I'm sure you just got that shot 'cause your instincts are so good you couldn't help capturing the real me in spite of my best efforts."

He looks at me searchingly, then back at the picture, then back to me again with a look on his face like a little light has suddenly gone on. There's a great word for that, but I can't think of it right now. He gets a sheepish look and says, with a self-mocking tone, "That must be it. I'm so damned good I caught it on film before I even realized what I was seeing."

"Yeah, well, you caught it on film before I even realized what you were seeing. When I developed it and saw the real me captured on film for the first time, that's when I knew"--I'm getting a little worked up and have to pause and take a deep breath--"that's when I knew what I had to do. That's when I knew I could never go back."

"Your Decisive Moment, n'est-ce pas?" Michelle's smiling knowingly at me, like she's remembering when she figured it out.

Epiphany. That's the word I was trying to remember. Yeah, great word. I smile back at Michelle and nod.

----------

"I do envy you, Joey."

Huh? I was kinda lounging back into the couch cushions but now I'm sitting up straight. "Nuh-uh, you've got it all going for you--confidence, poise, beauty, style. Not to mention that car. You're like--like a movie star. I envy you. I wish I could be just like you."

That gets a big smile out of her. "You flatter me, and you 'ave no idea 'ow I adore to 'ear one such as you say such things about me. But it is you, not I, who 'ave all the real advantages. Non," I'm shaking my head in disagreement but she's holding her hand up to silence me, "bien écoute, Joey. To 'ave been able to be who I was meant to be so young, before undergoing all the terrible changes of adolescence that can never be completely undone--for this alone I would give up all the things you say you so envy. But even that is as nothing next to your incredible good fortune to 'ave two such understanding and supportive parents." She looks wistful and I see a deep sadness behind her eyes. As it starts to dawn on me what she means it must show on my face, 'cause she forces a smile and looks away at Mom and Dad. "She is lucky beyond words to 'ave you both. Depressingly few of us are so blessed as to 'ave one parent who can accept us, let alone two who are so supportive."

"Yours didn't...?" I can't bring myself to say it out loud. Her own parents?

She shakes her head slowly. "My mother still calls on 'olidays, I think to see if I 'ave come to my senses yet even after so long. She calls me by my old name, but at least she still speaks to me. My father, I 'ave 'eard, tells everyone I am dead. 'E 'as not said a word to me in twelve years."

Her own parents?

I'm so stunned I'm not able to even try to hide what's going through my mind. I'm sure Michelle can read my thoughts, my incredulity, all over my face.

"You 'ave many difficult times ahead of you, Joey, but you 'ave two wonderful parents--and a sister"--she bows her head a little to Livy--"who love you to 'elp you through them. That is something rare and precious for which you should thank your lucky stars every day. Promise me you will never take that for granted."

Still wide-eyed and slack-jawed, I shake my head in agreement. Her own parents!

----------

"So, um, you said something about--being able to avoid, you know, turning into a man?" She nods and my heart skips a beat. Yes! Felicia was right about that! I mean, I know about how puberty starts changing your body one way or the other when your 'nads start making hormones and all that; I had Health class, OK? But I wasn't sure you could stop it once it had started, and how much was hormones and how much was chromosomes. The teacher was kind of vague about that, and it's not exactly the kind of thing you can ask about without everyone wondering why you're so interested, you know? "Is it too much to hope I could grow up like a normal girl, I mean, like turn into a woman instead?" Livy's looking at Michelle like she's trying to will her to say 'yes' for me. Mom's looking at me like it's just now dawning on her that this is what I was talking about earlier--how could she not have figured that out? Dad seems impressed that I thought to ask, and appears to be as interested in the answer as I am.

"In theory, it is possible, more or less. You will of course never be able to 'ave babies, I am afraid"--I nod with a resigned look on my face; I already knew that much--"but with the proper 'ormones I know of no reason you shouldn't be able to develop outwardly as a normal girl would. Well, except for one little thing," she smiles knowingly, "and that can be corrected with surgery."

Normally just the thought of surgery makes me queasy and light-headed. This, though--well, yeah, it makes my head spin, but for entirely different reasons. I mean, I've thought about it before kind of intellectually, but the idea that we're actually talking about me doing that makes it suddenly real in a way it never has been before. And the feeling it gives me is so far from anything I've ever felt before I can't even think of how to describe it, which kind of makes it totally unreal at the same time. If that makes any sense. I wonder how soon they could do it if I signed up tomorrow. I wonder if anyone around here even does that operation--it can't be all that common, can it? Out of the corner of my eye I see Livy smiling an I'm-so-happy-for-you smile at me so I smile back, the kind of smile you only get when you find out something you've dreamed about your whole life but always thought was impossible might actually be within reach. But something Michelle said makes me think I shouldn't be getting my hopes up too far just yet.

"What do you mean, 'in theory?'" Dad asks it before I can.

"Well, I 'ave never met anyone who did this as young as Joey, though I believe it 'as been done. The trouble will be finding a doctor who is willing to 'elp 'er."

What? "You mean--they could tell me no? Even if my parents say it's OK?" I look at them with an expression I hope says, 'if you care at all about me, you will say it's OK.'

"Mais oui. For something as drastic as what you propose to do, given that your 'ealth isn't in immediate danger, even with an adult many doctors are reluctant to be a part of it. What if you change your mind later? This cannot be undone."

"I am not gonna change my mind! What do I have to do to convince you people--"

Michelle cuts me off with a wave of her hand. "I need no convincing, Joey. But I am not your doctor, and your doctor, not being like us, will 'ave difficulty understanding this. You must realize that for all but a few in the 'ole world, this is completely outside their experience."

"But...." I got my hopes up a bit in spite of trying not to, and now I just wanna cry I'm so frustrated. I hate being treated like a child who doesn't know what's best for herself. "It's just not fair." I know it's lame, but it's all I can think of to say to that. I'm trying to hold back the tears but it's not working very well.

Dad, ever calm and logical especially when others are getting emotional around him, says, "Then we'll just have to find one of those few. You can help us, can't you, Michelle?" Wow. Dad's always been kind of my hero, but never more than right now. I look pleadingly at Michelle.

"Yes. Yes, I can 'elp. I will 'elp." She looks at me and I see iron determination in her eyes. "I will not allow ignorant or cowardly doctors to squander this rare chance you 'ave."

----------

"Yes, it is a difficult thing, 'iding from one's past. So many things can expose one, and one must be constantly on one's guard. It is a wearying way to live."

"Why try to hide it, then?" OK, Dad can't possibly be so clueless he can't figure this out. He must just want to hear Michelle's perspective on it.

"Because the alternative is to expose oneself from the start, to live openly and accept the ill treatment, the ridicule, the stares--in a word, to live as a circus freak. If you remember what 'appened to Christine Jorgensen when 'er story was made public--well, I think you can easily see why most of us choose the first path. In your case especially, Joey, I would most 'ighly recommend it."

"What's special about Joey's situation?"

I think I know what she's gonna say, at least I know what I'd say, but I still wanna hear her say it, if nothing else so everyone else here gets the message. She must notice my interest 'cause she addresses her answer to me. "On the one side is the fact that with your early start you will avoid many of the problems that make it so difficult for most of us--things such as 'aving to 'ide an entire childhood and adolescence as a boy and invent a replacement as a girl."

Oh. I hadn't thought about that much, but I think I'll be safe if I just switch my sex and my name in all my memories and leave everything else the same, like I've been doing. Like Dad always says, the closer you stick to the truth, the less chance there is of tripping yourself up later. In a lot of my old pictures I'd probably even be believable as a tomboy.

Michelle's not done yet. "And 'aving to disguise a deep voice, 'aving to constantly think about moving and speaking as a woman should, and even if one gets all that right, most will still raise some suspicions with a mannish figure or large hands or feet or simply by being tall. Developing as a woman from the start and growing up as a normal girl you will not 'ave to worry about any of these things. Do you begin to see why I envy you so, Joey?" I nod sympathetically. I still think she's cooler than cool, but apparently it's a lot harder for her than she makes it look. Well, it only makes me admire her more.

"And on the other side is the fact that children of your age are especially cruel to those who are different in any small way; adults are often no more accepting of differences but at least they are usually more civilized about it. I believe blending in with other girls will be much easier for you, and achieving acceptance or toleration if you are open about your past will be even more difficult than for those of us who do this as adults. It is for these reasons that I strongly recommend you try to blend in and keep your past to yourself, at least while you are still in school."

Dad doesn't like deceit, so of course he has to raise some kind of objection. "Don't you think society would learn to be more accepting if more people were open about it?"

Michelle seems a little uncomfortable with the question. "I suspect you are right, and it is a moral dilemma we all face. But even if we all revealed ourselves today, acceptance would not come overnight; it would take many years, perhaps decades. And in the meantime do you really want to subject your own daughter to that?"

"No, of course not." But he needed to see how she'd answer--calibrating her moral compass, as it were. I know his M.O. "That would be asking far too much of her. If she wants to go public when she's older, of course that's her choice. It's our job as her parents to protect her from that sort of thing until she's ready to make that choice. What do you think, Joey? How do you want to handle it?"

Whoa, put me on the spot why don't you, Dad? "Um, I, uh... it's--uh."

"It's OK, take a minute to collect your thoughts."

"No, I, uh, I'm ready. I think. I mean, I feel like being honest about who you are is important, and people ought to accept you for that or go f-screw themselves. You know? But, like, even as slightly 'unconventional'"--I illustrate with 'finger quotes' like my sixth grade teacher used to--"as I was as a boy, a lot of people had trouble dealing with that. I mean, some people might be OK with me even knowing what I really am, but like, how many of those would be willing to admit it publicly and be seen associating with me? Not many, I bet. And yeah, sure, they'd be only the best people and the ones I'd want to hang out with anyway, but I don't know if I could handle having even fewer friends than I usually do, you know? Not to mention the extra vicious attacks I'd be subjected to, 'cause the kind of people who do that wouldn't see me as a girl at all, probably; they'd see me as some kind of ultra-fag who it was their duty to eradicate before the infection spread." I'm starting to get kind of shaky just talking about this; it's starting to sink in how potentially dangerous a thing it is I'm planning to do, going to school and living my life as a girl. "And I'm scaring the crap out of myself just talking about it." As I say that Livy has gotten up and come over to sit next to me on the couch and hold me. I close my eyes and lean on her for a minute. "So if you don't mind, I won't be telling anyone anytime soon. OK?"

"OK. Sometimes standing up for what's right can do more harm than good, and I think this is probably one of those times. In any case you're the one who has to live with the consequences so ultimately it's your decision to make. So, we have a problem to solve and I'm not sure Michelle can help us with this one."

Mom looks at Dad with curiosity for a second, then gets that famous 'oh, my' look on her face. "Oh, damn." Whoa, she didn't even tone herself down in front of company. She must be really upset. "Joey, you're already registered at school as a boy." Dad's nodding; this is what he was talking about. "And all your school records say you're a boy, and your birth certificate, and your passport. Oh, what are we going to do? Damn, damn, damn."

"The public school records, I am afraid I cannot 'elp you with at all. I 'ave no experience with this. It may be possible to correct them once the other records 'ave been corrected, but legally that cannot 'appen until after you 'ave 'ad the surgery to correct your body's sex."

"How soon can I have that? If we can find someone who'll do it this week--" Livy gives me an encouraging squeeze when I say this. Out of the corners of my eyes I can see Mom and Dad both whip their heads around to look at me. I can't really see their expressions but I'm guessing they're surprised I'm not freaking out at the thought of surgery.

Now Michelle's got an 'oh, my' expression and looks like she's trying to stifle an inappropriate laugh. "I am afraid that is completely out of the question, Joey." I give her an honestly puzzled look. Hers is one of bemused but heartfelt sympathy. "Even if an experienced surgeon were available to do it on such short notice, and willing to do it on one so young, there is a long process to go through before surgery can even be considered." She looks to see if this makes it clear for me but if anything, now I'm even more puzzled so she elaborates. "Any reputable surgeon will require at least a psychiatric evaluation endorsing the surgery, of course, just to be certain. That may take a few weeks to schedule and the psychiatrist will probably wish to meet with you more than once to fully evaluate your situation. The surgeon will also want you to 'ave been taking 'ormones for an extended time, to see 'ow you react to them and to see 'ow the physical changes they bring about affect you psychologically, before taking the irrevocable step of surgery."

"An extended time? How long are we talking about?"

"It varies from surgeon to surgeon and sometimes from case to case. For me it was a year. That seems to be fairly usual."

"A year? A whole year?" This time my look of utter disbelief is combined with despair and anguish. Here I thought I was so close, and now she tells me I might have to wait a year. Or more. "I've already waited thirteen! Isn't that torture enough?"

"I am sorry, Joey. I know 'ow frustrating it is. Believe me, I know. But you will get there; you just 'ave to 'ave patience."

Patience? I have plenty of patience. Patience is my middle name. But a whole year? Who do these doctors think they are, anyway, deciding who gets to have the operation and how long they have to wait for it? Did I mention I hate being treated like I don't know what's best for myself? Am I the only one who feels that way?

Livy's squeezing me pretty hard, trying to comfort me I guess. It's comforting but not comfortable, if you know what I mean. Between that, and my anger and frustration, I don't know whether I feel more like spitting or crying. I kind of rudely push Livy away, which I immediately regret. I fold my arms and stare at my knees, taking deep, ragged breaths and pushing them out to try to keep my temper and hold back the tears. Nobody's saying anything so I kind of look up to see if I can tell what they're thinking.

Why are Mom and Dad staring at me like that? I glare at them, but that makes my eyes water so I look back down and squeeze them shut to try to keep from looking like I'm crying. I'm so mad I can't hold it in any more. "I hate being treated like a child!" I practically scream it out. Now I'm so fucking embarrassed I just did that in front of Michelle I can't stand it so I jump up and run to my room and slam the door and I don't fucking care if Mom doesn't like it and I throw myself on my bed and just start crying my fucking eyes out in frustration and shame.

----------

Knock, knock. "Joey? C'est moi, Michelle. May I come in? I want to apologize."

Huh? "For what? I mean yeah, OK, come in."

"For making you feel foolish and naïve. Of course you 'ad no way to know and I should not 'ave expected you to." She closes the door quietly behind her and leans back against it.

"Oh. No, it wasn't that, really. I mean, it didn't help but I'd have gotten over it. I knew you didn't mean anything by it. It was those stupid doctors and their stupid rules. That kind of I-know-what's-best-for-you attitude just burns me up. I mean, what gives them the right to tell us how to live our lives and make our choices?"

"Ah. Well, I'm sure they believe they only 'ave our best interests at 'eart."

"They always do. I bet Hitler and Stalin said that a lot too."

"Hm." Why does she look like she's trying not to look amused? "Joey, the truth is, before Dr. 'Arry Benjamin published 'is groundbreaking work on the subject less than ten years ago, this was considered by most doctors in this country to be a sickness, a mental illness--or worse, a sexual perversion. Comprends-tu? We owe 'im a debt of gratitude for changing all that and making it even possible to get such 'elp 'ere. These doctors are only trying to do the best they can to 'elp us without causing serious 'arm to some out of carelessness and ignorance." Oh. I feel myself blushing a little; I guess I must have sounded pretty ignorant just now. Still, it's maddening. "I understand 'ow you feel; these sorts of rules do seem a bit patronizing, and in a case as clear as yours may do more 'arm than good. But in any case since we cannot get what we need without the 'elp of the medical profession we must play by their rules. N'est-ce pas?"

"I guess so." I don't have to like it though.

"Well, besides apologizing I 'ad another reason for coming in 'ere with you." I look at her with curiosity. "I want to share with you some tricks that will 'elp you keep your secret until such time as the medical profession consents to allow you a more permanent solution." She says the last bit with more than a hint of irony. Or maybe it's sarcasm--sometimes it's hard to keep those two straight.

"Tricks? What kind of tricks?" I'm definitely intrigued.

----------

In hindsight, it seems like maybe I should have been a little creeped out by what she was just doing with me and showing me, but I wasn't at the time 'cause I was so fascinated. And I'm not now, really. It seems like somehow I ought to be; I dunno why, but I'm not.

Let's just say I'll be a lot more confident about wearing short skirts in public now. Well, as much as any girl would be. And I won't have to worry about my pad showing through my clothes, if you get my meaning. I'll leave the details to your imagination, but you probably don't want to try too hard.

Oh, and I won't be spending a fortune on tissues after all, either. She's showing me how to make something a little more durable--not to mention realistic--out of an old pair of nylons and a little birdseed. You know, I've always kind of enjoyed arts and crafts.

----------

"I can't thank you enough for coming tonight, Michelle. We're indebted to you for all your help."

"C'était mon plaisir, Étienne. Vous avez une famille très charmante."

"You'll always be welcome here. After the way you and Joey connected tonight, you're practically family now." Wow Mom, that's quite a turnaround from earlier this evening.

"Thank you, Madame Llewellyn. I am deeply touched." She is, too; you can see in her eyes she's not just saying that to be polite.

"Oh, please, call me Sandy."

"Do you have to go now?"

"Je suis désolée, Joey. I 'ave a job and must be at work early in the morning."

"It's just, I've never had a chance to talk to anyone who really understands before and I don't want it to end." I give her a big hug which I really wish wasn't a goodbye hug.

"We will be seeing each other again soon, I 'ope." She squeezes me back. "And I will find a doctor who will 'elp you."

Despite my frustrations with the process, it makes me happy to think about that. The sooner I can get started, the sooner it will all be done and I'll have the body I was always supposed to have and I won't have to work so hard to hide my freakishness. I smile big and give Michelle another hug. "Thank you." It doesn't begin to cover what I'm feeling but it's all I can think of to say.

----------

Michelle said I should undo what she showed me how to do every night, to let things air out. But I don't want to just yet. I'm sure one night won't hurt.

Sigh. I can't believe it. Now everyone knows how much I want to get rid of this stupid thing, and they even seem OK with it. So why do I still have to wait a whole freakin' year?

###

Chapter 11: Nothing ventured, nothing gained

"Come on, Joey. It won't hurt a bit. I promise!" Where have I heard that before lately? But it turned out to be true, didn't it?

"Well... all right. Just be gentle, OK? I've never done this before."

Rich reaches down and tenderly, with slightly shaky hands, undoes the button on my cheerleader skirt, then the zipper. He gets down on his knees, eyes on a level with my exposed bellybutton, and slowly pulls it down past my hips until it drops to the floor. I step out of it and flick it out of the way with my foot.

Now I'm shaking. With excitement, and anticipation, and fear. I have a pleasant knot in my lower tummy.

His trembling fingers fumble with the elastic of my panties for a second before he's able to get a hold and start pulling them down, too. When they get to my knees he lets them fall and I fling them over by the skirt. With one hand he reaches for my naked crotch as the other goes into his back pocket and comes out with a pair of barber's scissors.

"Now hold still, OK?" With his left hand he frees my penis from its bondage and pulls it out to its full length as his right brings the scissors, open and at the ready, to its base. "If you move I might slip and really mess things up."

"OK." I close my eyes tight and grimace. He said it wouldn't hurt. He promised. But it's got to at least pinch a little, doesn't it?

Snip.

AAAAAHHGHH!!! Aaahhghh... oh. Ack. Whew.

What a fucking weird dream.

----------

OK, now I'm having trouble getting back to sleep. It's that damn dream. You wanna know what's bugging me about it? You'd think it was the snip at the end, but no. I'm kind of OK with that, since it turned out it was only a dream. No, it's Rich.

What's he doing in my wish fulfillment dream with erotic subtext?

No, damn, I wish I hadn't asked that. What's he doing? I'll tell you what he's doing--he's fulfilling my wish, that's what he's doing.

Damn you, Sigmund Freud, and your evil psychoanalytic theories. Damn you to hell.

----------

I mean, I guess it's OK for me to, you know, want Rich. I mean, Dad's friend Billy is gay, and he's a good guy, right? And as a girl I don't even have to worry about not letting it show lest I get the shit kicked outta me, as long as no one finds out my secret. So I'm not upset about that, just kinda surprised. It's just, I never thought about a boy that way before. Ever. Only girls. Always girls. So I just thought I only liked girls that way, OK? Only--thinking about Rich, after that dream, is kinda turning me on. It's kinda confusing.

I mean, if I like boys too, how come I never noticed before? Like in the locker room? 'Cause it's not like I could ever control my dick; if I'm the least bit turned on I get a boner, no matter how embarrassing or inappropriate the situation, and that's all there is to it. And thankfully, I never have in the locker room.

And oddly, I don't now. I mean, the crotch of my panties is a little damp and sticky where the tip of my penis is tucked, and things feel kinda swollen down there, but I'm not like hard or anything. Still, I am definitely turned on.

Guess I like boys after all. Or at least Rich.

Rich. Mmmm. The way he was touching me in the dream--

Oh my god, I do have a 'thing' for Rich.

----------

All right, how the hell am I supposed to get any sleep like this? As soon as I close my eyes I start thinking about that dream, and getting more turned on, and it's to the point now where I can't seem to think of anything else and it feels really good but really, really frustrating at the same time. It's a weird mix of feelings--almost painful, but I don't want it to stop. But I do, so I can get some sleep. But I don't.

Sigh. I wish Rich were really here. We could...

...oh god, no we could not. If he ever really did get me undressed and see that he'd be, like, so totally grossed out and he'd hate me 'cause I'm a total freak and I feel so... disgusted with myself. And ashamed. And kind of sick.

And not turned on anymore. At all.

But I still can't get back to sleep.

----------

Ugh. I'm a wreck this morning. Now I understand that expression about beauty sleep.

Maybe a nice hot shower--no, I'm already sleepy; that'll just put me out and I need to go to Linda's in an hour. Better be a cold one, I guess. Or at least cool. Br-r-r. Even the thought makes me shiver. Cool showers are nice and refreshing when I'm all hot and sticky in the afternoon, but first thing in the morning? It's just masochistic.

----------

Gasp. My heart's pounding a mile a minute, but I don't know if I'm really any more awake. My face looks a little less like Muhammad Ali's been using it for a punching bag, though. I think. If only I had makeup....

I pull my hair back into a ponytail, only higher up the back of my head like girls like to wear them, not down at the nape of the neck to look 'boyish.' Even without makeup it's kind of a cute, fresh all-American girl look. At least, if I let my eyes go kinda blurry so I can't see how tired I look. Which isn't too hard to do because I'm so tired.

Well, it'll have to do.

While I'm still in the bathroom I get the bandage tape out of the first-aid kit and redo that magic Michelle showed me. I left it on all night and it doesn't seem to have done any harm but I had to undo it to get things properly clean in the shower.

I can't tell you how nice it feels to look in the mirror and see what you're supposed to see. I guess most people just take that for granted and don't think twice about it. Now if I only looked thirteen instead of eleven....

----------

What to wear, what to wear--the cheerleader skirt? Aaah! No! I don't want to be reminded of that dream all day! Anyway since it's a Franklin uniform Maria might get a little miffed, and Linda would probably see it as either total lameness or biting sarcasm on my part; I wouldn't want the first and I don't feel up to pulling off the second.

Shorts. I think I remember putting away some cute black cotton shorts--yeah, here they are. Not as tight as the cutoffs, so I should be able to move around better in 'em. And I can wear the white tank top from the other night again--Mom did laundry yesterday.

----------

"'Morning, Mom." Yawn.

"Good morning, Joey. Oh, honey, didn't you sleep well?"

"It shows that bad?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Anything you want to talk about?"

"Nah, just a weird and kinda disturbing dream. You know how sometimes dreams can seem so real and important at the time, and later they just seem silly?" This one doesn't seem silly at all, but I don't want her prying. Just 'cause my big secret is out doesn't mean I don't want any privacy anymore. I mean, come on.

"Uh huh. I'm glad it's nothing serious, then. Oh, you're not going to wear that to go to your friend's house, are you?" She sounds disapproving.

"Huh? Yeah, what's wrong with it?"

"Nice girls don't let their bra straps show, honey."

"Oh." I hadn't noticed that. I tuck them up under the straps of the tank top, but clearly they're not going to stay there when I'm flailing around attempting to do cartwheels and stuff. "Hey, since when am I a nice girl anyway?" Can't pass up the opportunity to tease her a bit. And, you know, I've got an image to maintain. Or create. Or something.

Huh. I never thought much about that. OK, so I'm a girl--but what kind of girl am I? What kind do I want to be, and whatever that is can I pull it off?

"Why, you've always been a nice girl, sweetie. Not once have you ever gone out in public with your bra straps showing."

"Well, you've got me there. But this top is nice and cool and lets me move around. Do I really hafta change?"

"You could always go without the bra."

"Mo-om!" No bra means no boobs, and I kinda feel naked without 'em anymore. Weird, huh? So how do I convince Mom I need boobs? Ah. "Maria saw me with these," I point at my chest with both index fingers; "don't you think she'd wonder where they went?"

"Well--oh, I have an idea. Come here." I follow her to her room, where she rummages around in her jewelry box for a minute and comes out with a couple of tiny safety pins. "These ought to do the trick. Hold still so I don't poke you--there, now the other side." She's pinning the bra straps to the insides of the tank top straps from underneath so the pins don't show. "OK, move your arms around and let's see."

I wave them up and down and swing them around a couple of times.

"All right, they're still peeking out a bit sometimes but I suppose that's good enough."

"Thanks!"

----------

Why's Livy getting in the car with us? "You guys going somewhere without me?"

"Mom's dropping me off at Felicia's first. They live on this little farm out in the boonies." Which isn't necessarily as far as it sounds--the 'boonies' starts just outside our subdivision, about a quarter of a mile from here.

"Oh, cool. Wish I was coming." I did this summer day camp a couple of years ago, where we cleaned duck crap out of the 'cement pond' and slopped the hogs and shoveled cow manure out of the barn and generally worked our butts off doing nasty, dirty shit on a farm all day. It was fun. No, really; I'm not being sarcastic. I guess I just like animals a lot. Livy does too.

"Yeah, they've got chickens and goats and who knows what else. Rabbits I think. And horses."

OK, now I really wish I was going. We took riding lessons when we lived in Europe but haven't had a chance since we moved back to the States. I like all animals but I love horses. Everything about them--even just the way they smell. "Oh, don't tell me you're gonna go riding."

"Yeah, she said we might." She said that way too casually; she's trying to make me jealous. Well, it's working.

"Without me? No fair." Especially since technically it's her fault I have to go do this stupid cheerleader thing. It's almost like she planned it that way. Maybe the initial thrill of having a little sister is wearing off and she's reverting to type.

She laughs. "She said you could come over this afternoon and ride with us if you want."

"You--she--really?"

"Yeah, I told her how much you love horses and how disappointed you'd be if you didn't get to go. So we figured we'd hold off until you could join us. If you want to." As if I wouldn't.

"Wow. Thanks, Liv. You're the best." Having a big sister who looks out for me--it's kinda surreal, you know? I wonder when it'll wear off, or whether she'd have always been like this to me if I'd been born a girl--well, an obvious girl, I mean.

----------

"Hi, Joey! And you must be, um, Maria, right?" Maria nods, but she's giving me a funny look. "I'm Linda. Niceta meetcha." She offers a hand.

"Niceta meetcha." She shakes Linda's hand but she's still looking at me. "Um, did she just call you Joey? Isn't your name Lee?" OK, now Linda's looking at me funny too.

I cover my eyes with my hand and shake my head. "Um, yeah. Lee's my name. Joey's a nickname. It used to be just a family nickname but everyone seems to be using it these days so you might as well too."

"Oh." Maria sounds a little skeptical. Linda looks like she doesn't know what to make of this, which figures--before yesterday she thought my name was Joy. "How is Joey a nickname for Lee? Anyway with a name like Lee what do you need a nickname for? Isn't a nickname supposed to be shorter than your real one?"

Gee, she's almost as tactful as her mother. "Hey, I didn't start calling myself that. Heck, I've never even introduced myself to anyone as Joey." Linda looks like she's about to argue with me but I guess she remembers she called me Joy first 'cause she closes her mouth without saying anything. Better give 'em the condensed version--keep things simple. "When I was a baby our Australian nanny thought it was cute to call me that." They both look more confused than before. "It's what they call a baby kangaroo." Their 'huh?' looks turn to 'ah.' "Unfortunately it stuck."

Linda looks mildly upset now. "Do you not like it? Would you prefer we called you Lee?"

I don't want to be a big pain about it so I try to keep the exasperation out of my voice. "No, it's fine; you can call me Joey. It's not the name I have a problem with, it's having to explain it every time someone hears about it the first time. 'Cause, you know, Maria's right; you wouldn't expect someone named Lee to even have a nickname, let alone that one."

"You're sure you wouldn't rather we call you Lee though?"

"No, look, actually I kinda like it that you call me Joey. You're my first friend that ever called me that and, I dunno, you've been so nice to me, it makes it sorta... special. It's like you're family." I'm blushing a little now 'cause I'm not sure where that came from. "God, I must sound like a total dork."

Maria seems to think so but Linda doesn't look like she does. "Not at all, Joey. I think it's kind of sweet."

Maria looks like she might barf and is all but rolling her eyes at me. "Do you want me to call you Joey, too?" Jeez, what a little see-you-next-Tuesday, if you catch my banter.

"Whatever you like is OK with me."

"Guess I'll stick with Lee then, since I'm used to it already." Suits me fine, bitch. I just smile.

Tell me again--why was I so worried about disappointing this girl?

----------

This is the part I was not looking forward to. Maria's picking it all right up just fine. Me, well--I can do the arm movements, and I can do the steps; I just can't do both at once. I have no coordination whatsoever.

"I'm sorry, Linda. I'm hopeless."

"No, don't give up; you'll get it. Come on, let's start over." Oh, don't look so fucking smug, Maria.

----------

"Go, Vikings, Go!" Gasp. This is harder than it looks. Even in the tank top I'm sweating, and it's not even all that hot today. I'm bent over, hands on my knees, panting for air. Maria and Linda aren't though. Man, I am so out of shape.

"Great job, Joey! I knew you could get through it!"

"Yeah, nice work." OK, Maria doesn't sound like she's being patronizing anyway.

"Thanks. This stuff just doesn't seem to come naturally to me."

"Oh, I don't know about that. I mean, you're gonna need lots of practice before the tryouts"--thanks for the vote of confidence, Linda--"but there were some moments there where you looked positively graceful. I think you've got potential."

Huh. No one's ever called me 'graceful' before. "You're just saying that so I won't quit and you can torture me some more." I straighten up but I'm still breathing kinda hard.

"No, she's right. I think you could be pretty good at it." Huh? What's with the Jekyll and Hyde act, Maria? "Look, don't feel bad, OK? Linda's been a cheerleader for--how many years?"

"Four."

"Four years. And I've always wanted to be a cheerleader. It's like I've been getting ready for it my whole life. I bet you've never even had ballet lessons, have you? Or gymnastics?"

"Uh, no." Does figure skating count? Probably not; I never got as far as jumps and spins.

"See? It's just 'cause you're comparing yourself to us. You're not doing too bad, considering. Give yourself a chance."

I'm not sure if that's good news, or bad.

----------

"Not even a cartwheel?" I shake my head. "Come on, everyone can do a cartwheel." I shake my head again. "Well, it's never too late to learn. Watch closely." OK, Linda, I get it. You can do a cartwheel. And yeah, it looks easy enough, but once again, it requires that coordination thing I lack.

When she's done showing off she comes around behind me. "OK, now you try it. I'll hold you so you don't fall." She puts her hands on my waist. "Keep your body in a plane. Hands straight up. Now, reach out and down with this hand"--she touches my right--"while this leg"--she touches my left--"goes up." See, coordination required. Not my thing. "When that hand gets to the ground, your other one should be almost there too. Yeah, like that. OK, now kick off hard with your other leg and swing this one over--whoa, you need to keep your knees straight while they're in the air. You almost got me in the head."

"Sorry." I'm paused halfway through the cartwheel, basically in a handstand. My arms aren't all that strong and I don't think I can hold this too long. Plus, all the blood's rushing to my head and my ears are pounding and oh my god, my boobs are falling out--shit. Plop. There goes the right one.

"What was that?"

If my face wasn't already red from being upside down it would be now. "Nothing. Put me down, please." Plop. And there's the left.

"There it is again. What--" she lets me down--"what are those?"

Still beet red even though I'm right way up again, I reach down and pick them up. "My boobs." No point trying to hide it now.

"Your what?"

Maria's goggling. And giggling.

"My boobs." Brazen it out. When you're in this deep, that's the only chance you've got. "Well, stuffing my bra with tissues was all well and good but, um, my friend Michelle showed me how to make these instead. They're more convincing and they last longer."

"Let me see. What is that, birdseed?" Maria seems more than casually interested. Well, I guess she's kinda flat-chested too, but that's more normal at her age.

"Yeah, they're made from the feet cut off of an old pair of nylons. See? And if I want to look 'perky' I can turn them so the knots face forward." I demonstrate, holding them up to my chest.

Now they're both giggling. "I never would have thought of doing anything like that. How did your friend ever come up with this?" Linda seems honestly impressed.

"Um, well, she told me she didn't start to develop up top until she was like eighteen. So I guess she had plenty of time to figure something out."

"Eighteen? And I thought I was a late bloomer. How old is your friend?"

"I dunno, pretty old--around thirty, I guess. She's really a friend of Dad's from the theatre but we just kinda seemed to really hit it off when we first met."

Maria's examining one closely with a thoughtful expression. "I bet you could make 'em bigger, too."

"OK, this is all very amusing and everything, but shouldn't we get back to practicing now?" Clearly Linda isn't nearly as fascinated as Maria.

"Oh, yeah, sorry." I start to stuff my birdseed boobs back into my bra.

"Um, you might want to just leave those things out until we're done, don't you think?"

"Good idea." I look around for a place to set them down. "Where should I put 'em?"

"How about over there, on the patio table?"

"OK." It occurs to me I'm going to need to figure out a way to keep them in when I'm upside-down before the tryouts, if I'm going to have boobs in school. Which I intend to.

----------

"...And then my boobs just fell out of my bra, plop, plop. Right in front of everyone."

"Your what?" Yeah, that seems to be how people react to that.

"Her boobs." Livy has a hard time saying it clearly 'cause she's about to fall off her horse, she's laughing so hard.

"Since when do you have boobs?" Felicia's looking at me like I've lost it or something.

"Since Michelle showed me how to make 'em." I pull out the left one to show her. Her eyes get big, and now she's laughing as hard as Livy.

----------

"But you could never do a cartwheel."

"Yeah, I thought I was just too uncoordinated. But I guess it was just that no one ever took the time to show me what I was doing wrong." Livy looks a little guilty now. "Hey, I'm not blaming you. If I'd cared about it enough I might have kept trying, but like doing cartwheels is kind of for girls, you know? I didn't want to seem too interested." Guilt gives way to pity. I'm not looking for pity here. "Anyway I can do it now. Both kinds. And I can almost do a split. Linda says I just need to stretch lots and pretty soon I'll be able to do it. She wants me to come over and practice with her every day until the tryouts."

"Cool."

Felicia looks confused. "There's more than one kind of cartwheel?"

"Yeah, there's the one where you lean to the side to start and face the same way the whole time, and the one where you lean forward to start and end up facing back the way you came from."

"Oh. I've always just done it the second way, I think. Hey, when we get back could you show me how to do the other kind?"

"Um, sure, I guess." I'm in no hurry; I'm enjoying riding for the first time in forever. The scenery's nice, too--apple orchard on the right, corn field on the left. Except for the crunch-crunch of hooves on gravel and the creaking of leather, it's nice and quiet. "We don't have to go back yet though, do we?"

"Nah. As long as we're back in time to get the chickens ready for dinner. Mom said she was gonna let me help this time."

"You have to get chickens ready before you feed them?"

"No, silly. Before you eat them."

"Oh." It takes me a second to figure out what she means, and at first I think Livy and I are saying "Cool!" at the same time, only then I realize what she's saying is "Ewww!"

----------

It was quiet....

"Car coming! Get over to the side."

I look back. It's a beat-up looking black hot rod. It's either kicking up a lot of dust or blowing smoke out the tailpipe--maybe both. I can't tell how fast it's going but I bet it's way over the speed limit. I pull the reins to the right and a little back. "Easy, Coco. Off the road, now." I asked if they named her that from her chocolate-brown color, but Felicia's mom said no, it was 'cause she's a big hairy nut. I dunno, so far she's been fine for me. She does seem a little skittish about the car noise though.

As the car's approaching us the occupants, who appear to be four or possibly five teenage boys, roll down the windows and yell out something I can't quite make out, for which I should probably be grateful. I catch a glimpse of one guy in the back seat shouting whatever presumably rude thing it is they're all shouting at us and something about him looks familiar but I can't get a good look. Just when they get up next to us the jackass behind the wheel decides it would be really funny to honk the horn and scare the horses. Livy's and Felicia's mounts look a little startled and crowd each other further into the roadside ditch. Good ol' Coco, on the other hand, decides this would be a good time to show off and rears way up, whinnying, looking and sounding quite insane. The world starts going in slow motion.

As Coco gets to the top of her arc and waves her front legs around for dramatic effect I keep going upward for a bit, carried by momentum, and my right foot comes out of the stirrup. I grab the saddle horn with both hands and hold on for dear life. As she starts back down and I'm pulled along by the saddle horn my right leg is flung up and over her back until, as she lands, it's on her left side along with most of the rest of me. I, of course, being relatively unsupported and still in the air, continue downward--all but my left foot which is still in the stirrup. Using that leg and my hands on the saddle horn I manage to slow my descent just enough to land lightly on my right foot; in one fluid motion I let go of the saddle, lift my other foot out of the stirrup, and step back from Coco, the reins miraculously still in my left hand. As the world resumes normal speed I go up to her head and pat her gently, making calming noises 'cause she still looks kinda spooked, poor thing. I'm so pissed off at the jerk driving that car right now I could spit nails.

Livy and Felicia just look at me in stunned silence for a few seconds, then burst out in raucous applause and cheering which fortunately doesn't seem to bother Coco a bit. I put a kind of "aw shucks, 'twarn't nothin'" expression on my face, then shrug and give them each a formal bow.

Then it hits me what just happened and what could've happened and I get all weak and shaky. "Uh, suddenly I don't feel so good. Can we go back now?"

"Sure. If we turn up there it's about another half mile up that road. We've been going in a big circle and we're almost back anyway."

"Good."

"You OK, Joey? You're not hurt, are you?" Liv sounds worried.

"I'll be fine. Just a little shook up is all."

I remount Coco--not nearly as smoothly as my dismount; it takes four or five bounces to get my right leg up and over--and give a gentle tap with my heels to get her going. I never thought I'd ever want a ride to end but I've had enough for today.

----------

"Hey, did either of you see who that was? In the car?"

"Not me."

"Me neither. Why?"

"Nothing, I just thought the guy in the back seat looked sorta familiar but I didn't get a good enough look."

"Huh." Felicia looks mad. "If I find out that was someone we know they are so gonna pay for this."

OK, I didn't really see his face so I can't be sure. And maybe I was just, you know, seeing what I wanted to see. But the more I think about it I'd almost swear that was Rich in the back seat.

Thinking about it is making me feel sick again, and kind of empty. I can't believe I wanted that asshole. I can't believe Rich would act like that. Well, yeah, I guess I can, but I don't want to. God, I hope I'm wrong and it wasn't really him. But I'm pretty sure it was.

---

 
To Be Continued...

by Justme

---

 

Chapter 12: Keep your head when all about you are losing theirs

You know, it's rather disturbing how happy the chicken is about laying its neck down on that stump. Cluck, cluck. You'd think it was getting a haircut or something. Thwack! Aah! I wasn't quite ready for that!

Oh my god, the body really does run around without the head. I thought that was just an expression.

This is kind of creepy, really. Maybe I'm just not in the right mood for it but at the moment I can't imagine ever being hungry for chicken again. If I'd had any sense I'd have stayed inside with Livy.

"So Coco reared and threw you off?" Mrs. Van Til, that's Felicia's mom, seems pretty casual about the whole thing, considering she's just murdered an innocent bird in cold blood. She's wiping the axe blade off on a rag. "I knew that horse was going to do something like this someday. You didn't get hurt, did you?"

"Nah, it wasn't like that at all. One foot just came out of the stirrup on the way up and I ended up accidentally dismounting when she came back down, that's all. It was no big deal, really."

"Don't be so modest. You shoulda seen her, Mom. More graceful than Olga Korbut." Olga who? Oh yeah, that Russian gymnast from the last Olympics. And there's that word again--graceful. She can't be talking about me. "And so casual about it--like she calmly dismounts rearing horses every day before lunch." No, actually that was my first. "It was so cool."

I can't tell if Miz Van Til is impressed or just trying not to laugh, but then she gets a more serious look on her face. "Cool or not, Coco shouldn't be doing things like that. Someday someone is going to get hurt. I just don't know what to do with her."

"It's not her fault, really, Miz Van Til. If those stupid boys"--Felicia suddenly seems awfully amused about something--"hadn't been yelling at us and honking and speeding it never would have happened. She's really a sweet horse."

She smiles at me. "Don't worry, I'm not going to beat her or anything. But if we can't figure out a way to get this kind of behavior under control, I may have to sell her."

"But Mom, you can't sell Coco! She's one of the family!"

"It's not my first choice either, but better that than one of your friends getting seriously hurt."

"I guess." Felicia looks as upset about it as I feel. It really wasn't Coco's fault at all.

"Don't worry about it too much. I'm sure we'll figure something out. Why don't the two of you start plucking that one"--she points with the axe at the headless chicken corpse which has by now thankfully run out of steam and is just lying nice and still like dead things are supposed to--"while I slaughter the other one? Are you and Livy staying for dinner, Lee?" That's the name Felicia gave when she introduced me.

"Um, I dunno about Livy but I need to be back by six to babysit for the neighbors."

She looks at her watch. "I can feed you girls a little early then, and drive you home about five-thirty. How's that sound? I'll wait and eat with Bill when he gets home." I'm guessing that would be Mr. Van Til. If that was my name I don't think I'd let people call me Bill--Bill Van Til just sounds silly. Then again, I guess William Van Til isn't much better; everyone'd be asking him to shoot apples off kids' heads with a crossbow. Boy, I bet junior high was fun for him.

Wait, what was she asking about? Oh, right, feeding us early and taking us home. "Um, yeah, that sounds good. Thanks." Oh boy, chicken for dinner. Freshly murdered chicken. My favorite.

----------

OK, I admit it. Now that I've gotten over my squeamishness, this is some pretty darn good chicken. Still, next time I think I'll pass on 'helping.'

----------

OK, how long has it been since I rang the doorbell? Is it too soon to ring it again? Yeah, probably. OK, they wanted a boy sitter and I don't want to disappoint. Think boy, think boy.

I'm reaching for the doorbell to ring it again when the door opens. It's Mrs. Bruegemann.

"Hi, Miz B. I didn't want to be late my first time sitting for you."

"Thank you. This is perfect--you can keep the boys out of our hair while we finish getting ready." She looks me over. "It's uncanny."

"What?"

"How you can be such a pretty girl one minute and look like such a--well, such a boy the next."

"Thanks." Two compliments in one--I give her a big smile. I changed into 'boy' jeans and t-shirt when we got back from Felicia's, and put my hair down in a low ponytail. I've still got on the bra and boobs but the baggy shirt mostly hides that.

"OK, now that's just weird."

"What?"

"When you smiled like that, it was like you turned back into a girl before my very eyes--then back to a boy again when you stopped." She shakes her head. "I can't wait to see what you can do on stage. What's in the bag?"

"Oh, this? Baseball stuff. I figured we'd play out back until it gets too dark."

"Oh, they'll love that. Eric! Tommy! Joey's here--come say hi! Oh, and we've already fed them dinner so you don't need to."

----------

"Hey batta-batta-swing!" I throw the ball overhand but not too hard past Tommy's bat and into Eric's mitt. "Stee-rike one!"

Tommy seems a bit miffed, like I'm cheating or something. "You sure don't throw like a girl." Funny, when I was trying to be a boy I always seemed to hear just the opposite.

"Bye, boys!" Miz B. is calling out the door at the back of the garage. "Be good for Joey! We'll see you in the morning!"

"Bye, Mom!" They both call it out together quickly, then turn their attention back to me.

Eric lobs me the ball, which I casually catch bare-handed since he throws it to the wrong side. "OK, Tommy, keep your eye on the ball!"

----------

"Hey batta-batta-batta-sw-" Crack! I got a good solid piece of that one--oh, fuck.

Crash!

That was our family room window.

Our back door comes flying open. "What happened? Is everyone all right?"

"Yeah, fine, Mom. Um, I guess I'll be buying us a new window." So much for getting makeup or new shoes. Or that belt. Damn.

She looks at me, reassures herself no one's been hurt, looks at the window and says, "I should say so." I grimace. After a moment she shakes her head and goes back inside.

"Nice hit, Joey. Too bad about your window though. You gonna be in trouble?" Eric seems like a pretty mature kid for his age. He's eight, I think.

"Yeah, probably a little."

"Sorry."

"Not your fault. Anyway it's getting kinda dark. How 'bout we go in and make popcorn and see what's on the tube?"

"Yay!! Popcorn! TV!" Jeez, you'd think I'd offered to take 'em for a ride on a fire engine or something.

----------

"Yeah, we had lots of fun. They were great." No need to bring up the window incident--it wasn't their window after all.

"Oh, good. I was hoping you'd feel that way. Are you free to sit again Saturday night?"

"Yeah, sure!" Only this time I'll bring an activity that's not baseball.

----------

I try to get to my room quietly, so's not to wake anyone up, but I keep forgetting about that squeaky spot in the hallway floor by the bathroom door. Cre-e-eak.

"Mmmph Joey? Izzat you?"

"Yeah, it's me, Mom. Go back to sleep."

"Mmmhmm."

I really should develop those pictures I took of Michelle yesterday, but I'm just too tired. I'll do it tomorrow night. I can only do it after dark 'cause my improvised closet darkroom isn't light-tight and with sliding doors there's just no easy way to fix that. In my exhaustion I don't even bother taking my clothes off; I just fall face-down on my bed....

----------

The not-sufficiently-distant drums of what sounds like a high school marching band wake me up with a start and before I can do much more than wonder what the hell they're doing when it's still summer fer cryin' out loud I realize I really, really, really need to pee. I jump up and run to the bathroom and luckily, no one's in there. Jeans down, panties down, seat down--who left that up? Not me--sit down--ahhhh. Relief.

----------

That's two nights in a row I left myself taped, and it feels a little raw and itchy down there. I guess Michelle wasn't kidding about that--I really need to make sure I don't forget to let it air out tonight.

----------

"'Morning, Dad." I grab him from the side and give him a hug.

"'Morning, punkin." He starts to lean down to give me a peck on the cheek, like he sometimes does to Livy, then hesitates, so I turn my cheek up to him and point at it to let him know it's OK and he completes the motion. I give him another quick hug and a warm smile to reassure him I'm happy about this. He smiles back. "How's my little princess this morning?"

Little princess? What, I let him kiss me on the cheek and now I'm Shirley Temple? "Jeez, get a grip, Dad. I'm not that kind of girl."

He looks a little hurt, but maybe it's just an act 'cause he looks kind of amused too. "Sorry, sugar. What kind of girl are you?"

"I dunno, I haven't quite figured it out yet. But not that kind." Wait, maybe I do know. "I guess the kind who wants to grow up to be Emma Peel. Or Michelle Dumont." He looks at me with what I take to be approval. "Speaking of Michelle, you haven't heard from her, have you?"

"As a matter of fact I called her last night to see how she was coming with the search. She hasn't found you a doctor yet"--damn!--"but she's barely gotten started looking so don't despair. Oh, and she said to remind you that you owe her some photos."

"OK. I was gonna develop 'em tonight anyway."

"All right, but keep your evening open. We've been woefully neglecting our preparations for the play and we need to make up for lost time. Plan on rehearsing your lines with me from after dinner until bedtime." He looks thoughtful for a second. "If you still want to do it. With all you're going through, I'd certainly understand if you wanted to back out."

"What? Of course I still want to do it. The whole point was to get to spend more time with you, Dad." If anything I need that more than ever right now. I'm a little upset he'd even think it.

I guess he can tell 'cause he answers in a reassuring voice. "All right, punkin. That's what I wanted too, but I didn't want to hold you to it if it was going to be too much to deal with right now. That's all." He reaches up and musses my hair, which is annoying but strangely also comforting.

----------

"Will this be enough to cover it?" I'm endorsing the check for babysitting over to Mom to pay for the broken window. "Do you think there'll be any left?" I'm trying not to get my hopes up.

"I don't know. If there is I'll withdraw it for you when I deposit this check."

"OK." Sigh. I guess that's all I can ask for. If it ends up costing more, I'll have to do this again after I sit on Saturday. I hope it doesn't come to that.

"Oh, by the way," Mom's got a funny look on her face and a kind of teasing tone in her voice, "you got a call while you were out sitting last night. From a boy." I probably look like a deer caught in headlights right now. "Rich Weiss, as a matter of fact."

I feel a knot forming in my stomach. Not a pleasant one like in the dream--a cold, painful one. "What did he want?" I try to keep my voice neutral but I'm dreading her answer.

"He asked if you'd been out riding horses earlier in the day, and when I said you had, he wanted to know if you were OK."

Unh. The knot in my stomach just tightened a notch. I feel sick and hollow inside. It was him in the car.

Mom's looking at me hard now. Does my heartache show on my face? "I told him you were fine, and he sounded relieved, but when I asked him what he meant he said it was nothing, and just to tell you he called. Do you know what he was talking about?" She's giving me that 'If you know what's good for you you'll 'fess up before you get in real trouble' look.

"Uh, no big deal, my horse kind of shied when he and some jerk friends drove by and thought it would be funny to yell and honk at us." She looks like she thinks this kind of is a big deal so I hasten to add, "But nobody got hurt." Physically, anyway.

She looks like she knows there must be more to it than that, but isn't sure she really wants to know. Since she's not pressing it I guess Livy kept her mouth shut; she has enough sense to know not to tell Mom what really happened if we ever want to go riding with Felicia again. Her face softens and she says, "Well it was very thoughtful of him to call and check on you. He probably feels badly about what they did. I think he's sweet on you."

"Yeah." I try not to look like I've just been punched in the stomach.

Mom gives me a concerned, or possibly confused, smile. "Is that good or bad, sweetie?"

Sigh. "I don't know, Mom. I just--I don't know." I guess I must look or sound as miserable as I feel 'cause she gives me a sympathetic hug.

----------

"I guess that's enough for today." Good, Linda finally noticed that I'm about to collapse from heat exhaustion. "You're doing good, Joey. I do think you have some kind of weird talent for this. It takes you a while to get the hang of a move, but if you just stick with it, once you get it you really seem to get it. It's, I dunno, it's like you fight with it and fight with it and all of a sudden it all snaps into place and it's like you've been doing it your whole life."

Hm. "Yeah, that's kind of how it feels. Like, I suck at this, I'm never gonna get this, why are you making me do this, and then boom, oh that's how you do it. I'd never have gotten this far without you to push me to keep trying and not give up."

"Well, you just have to learn how to push yourself. You know, originally I just wanted you to do this 'cause I thought the experience would be fun and to broaden your horizons a bit, but I'm starting to think there might actually be a chance for you to make the squad. Mostly it'll depend on how good the competition is."

"Oh, god, I don't think I want that. I'd hate to be the cause of keeping some poor girl who actually wants to be a cheerleader from making the cut."

"Well, you can always throw the tryouts if you still feel that way. But I'm going to keep trying to change your mind about it. It is a lot of work but it's fun."

"I can see how much you love it, and I do appreciate all you're doing for me, but I just don't think it's for me."

"Well, we'll see what choice you make when the time comes. In the meantime, how 'bout we go inside and break out the Coke? Hey, as long as you're here maybe we should run lines together."

Whoa. Coke? Lines? I never woulda figured her for the type to--oh, wait, 'run lines'--she's just speaking theatre-ese. She means practice our lines for the play. Duh. "Um, sure, that sounds good." Especially the Coke part. With ice.

----------

"You're sure that's it?" We've gotten to the end of the script. But that can't be it, can it? It seemed like a lot more when we did the read-through at rehearsal.

"No, I don't see any more lines for Louisa. That's it."

"Huh. Aside from the singing, it's not much of a part, is it?" For which in a way I'm kind of grateful, 'cause I've never much liked drawing attention to myself.

"'There are no small parts, only small actors.' You just have to work it over until you find a way to take the role and make it your own."

"Yeah, but I mean..." I shrug.

"Oh, come on. Anyway acting isn't just saying the lines; it's how you deliver them to say something about the character or situation that isn't in the words. It's in your voice, and what you do with your face and body even when you're not speaking. So, come on, let's figure this out. What's Louisa's deal? What makes her tick?"

"I dunno, I mean, Maria even has a line where she says she can't figure Louisa out. She's kind of like filler, you know? Just to bring the count of kids up to seven. Might as well call her 'Girl #2' in the script."

"Hm. Yeah, they don't really give you much to go on, do they? Well, that just means you can let your imagination go wild." She sees the wicked grin forming on my face and looks at me with suspicion. "Within reason." My grin turns sheepish. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing!" She looks dubious. "No, really. I just liked the idea of letting my imagination go totally wild."

"Well, you can, sort of. But you've got to make sure whatever you come up with fits within the world of the play, you know? And doesn't distract from what the main characters are doing. And, you know, you've always got a few overinflated, easily-bruised egos to deal with so you have to be careful who you upstage." She has a look and a tone in her voice that says she's speaking from experience.

"What happened?" She looks puzzled for a second, then mildly embarrassed as she catches on that I saw through her.

"Uh--I'd rather not go into it, OK?" She looks like the memory has left a bitter taste in her mouth. "Let's just say some guys talk big about equality of the sexes but don't really believe in it."

Something about the way she said that--something clicks. "So he broke up with you over it?" Wow, did that ever hit the target. She looks like she might cry. "Oh god, I'm sorry! I need to learn when to keep my big mouth shut."

She smiles, but her eyes are a little shiny. "For someone who's not even interested in boys yet, your intuition about them seems pretty sharp."

"Well..."

Her eyes get big and she gets a wicked grin on her face. "Oho, you are interested, aren't you?" The tables are turned. My turn to look mildly embarrassed. Maybe not so mildly. "When did it happen? Who is he? What's he like? How did you meet? Does he know how you feel about him? Does he feel the same way?"

"Whoa, what is this, the Spanish Inquisition? All right, yeah, I'm interested in boys now." She looks smug, but somehow in a friendly rather than a snooty way, if that makes sense. "One boy, at least." I frown. "Or I was, anyway. Until he acted like a big jerk and ruined it." I'm starting to feel not so good inside again. She leans closer, resting her chin on her hands with her elbows on the floor, her big eyes inviting me to spill it.

Sigh. So much for running lines.

----------

"Why does he have to be so--" I can't think of the perfect word to complete the thought so instead I make an angry, frustrated noise.

Linda's rolling her eyes. "Get used to it, honey. They're all like that."

Nuh-uh, I was never like that, was I? Well, I guess maybe I was sometimes. Now that I think of it, lots of times.

All right, most of the time.

OK, she has a point. Boys can be real jerks. It seems to be part of being a boy.

Listen to me--I've been living as a girl less than a week and I've already practically forgotten what it was like before. And I never thought about it much at the time but my god, I can't tell you what a relief it is not to have to deal with that anymore. Only, I guess I do still have to deal with it, just from a different perspective. But not, like, all the time--just when I want to be around boys.

Like now.

"So, you think I should call him back?"

"Well, that's up to you. Do what feels right. I'm just saying, if you disqualify him for that, you're gonna wind up old and alone. Heck, most guys wouldn't have even bothered calling to check on you. Your mom's right. He must have it bad for you."

"You think?"

"Oh, yeah."

I still can't decide if that's good or bad.

And, I mean, my god. He's fifteen. He'll be sixteen by next summer. What's he doing chasing after a thirteen-year-old? He's almost old enough to drive and I'm still in junior high, fer cryin' out loud.

Hmm, old enough to drive--that could come in handy. My lips start to curl up into a smile of their own accord as I consider the possibilities.

Shudder. What am I thinking? I mentally slap myself.

----------

Ring.

I can't believe I'm doing this. I must have picked up the phone and put it back down five or six times before I got the guts to actually dial.

Ring.

I kinda wish I didn't have such a memory for phone numbers--then I would have had an excuse to put this off. Now if someone will just answer before I lose my nerve and hang up...

Ri-"Hello?"

Gasp. No backing out now.

"Uh, h-hi, may I p-please speak to Rich, please?" Oh god, did I really just say please twice? I'm going to die from humiliation. Linda gives me a squeeze on my shoulders and a reassuring look, and silently mouths it's OK.

"Certainly. May I tell him who's calling?" She sounds so fucking amused. And don't tell me you don't recognize my voice, Mrs. Weiss. You weren't that trashed.

"It's me--Lee. Lee Llewellyn?" You know, the girl with the painful period and the protruding pad? Thinking about it is only getting me even more flustered, 'cause even though it was all in her head that's what she thinks of me.

"All right, Lee. I'll go get him for you." I can actually hear her grinning. As the seconds slo-o-owly tick by waiting for Rich to come to the phone my sense of utter panic grows and it's all Linda can do to keep me from freaking out and hanging up. I'm almost starting to hope maybe he's not home when I hear someone pick the phone back up at the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Hi!" It comes out as more of a squeak than an actual word. I try again. "Um, hi. Rich?"

"Hi, Lee." He sounds a little nervous himself. "I'm, uh, I'm glad you called. I was worried you'd be mad at me."

Hearing him sounding so unsure of himself somehow makes my own nervousness just evaporate. I instinctively take the upper hand. "What makes you think I'm not?"

"Huh?" Ouch, I can hear him wincing. Maybe that was a bit harsh. Even Linda seems to think so, from the look she's giving me. She's standing close enough to hear both ends of the conversation. "Oh god, Lee, I'm sorry we were such assho- um, jerks. I didn't think about what might happen, and you could've gotten hurt and I'd have never forgiven myself. I'm really sorry. Please don't stay mad at me."

He sounds so forlorn I can't bring myself to drag it out. Not too much anyway. After a brief pause I give him my answer. "Well... I guess it says something that you cared enough to call. Since you've apologized I suppose I can forgive you."

He must have been holding his breath 'cause I hear a whoosh at the other end. "Oh, good. I, uh, I'll... well, thanks."

"Sure thing, Rich." Now that that's taken care of, I'm kind of getting nervous again and want to wrap things up quickly. "Well, I just wanted to call and get that cleared up. I guess I should get back to rehearsing with Linda now." She's looking at me like 'after all that you're just going to hang up now?'

"Oh. Uh, OK." He sounds disappointed. "Um, wait, Lee?"

"Yeah?"

"You said you like pinball, right?"

"Yeah...?" He actually remembered that? He really is 'sweet on me,' isn't he?

"Would you like to hang out at the arcade with me sometime? I'll bring a couple rolls of quarters. My treat."

"Um, sure, OK." I'm trying not to sound too excited; I don't want to freak him out.

"I have to go somewhere most of the day tomorrow, but how 'bout Saturday morning? Like about ten o'clock?"

That's after all the good cartoons are over, so it shouldn't be a problem. Anyway I'm getting kind of old for watching cartoons so half the time I don't even bother getting up early on Saturdays anymore. "Cool. Should I just meet you there?" Spending all morning playing pinball, and not even having to pay for it--it doesn't get much better than that.

"Yeah, OK. ...So I guess I'll let you get back to what you were doing, then." Now that that's all set he seems as eager as I am to get this over with.

"'Kay. Bye. See you Saturday!"

"Yeah, see ya then. Bye!"

Click.

Linda's looking at me like the cat that ate the canary. There's a bit of respect in her voice as she says, "You handled that like a pro! It was amazing to watch the way you got over your nerves and just took control." I give her a slightly embarrassed smile. "And the way you got him to ask you out..."

Huh? "It's not like a date or anything; we're just going to hang out and play some pinball Saturday morning." She's looking at me like 'yeah, sure, if that's what you want to believe go right ahead.' "And I didn't get him to--I was just trying to get off the phone before I got nervous again and embarrassed myself."

"Well it did the trick. You've got a date with Rich Saturday morning!" Her voice has a teasing lilt and she keeps poking me with her index finger as she says this. It's kind of annoying.

"It's not a date!"

"What would you call it, then? He's asking you to do something you enjoy, and offering to pay for it. If that's not a date then what is it?"

She's got me there. "Um. A date, I guess." She nods. I probably have that deer-in-the-headlights look again, 'cause she asks, "Have you ever been on a date before?"

"Uhhh..." I think about it, but what is there to think about really? I was always too chicken to ask a girl out on an actual date and I've certainly never been on one with a guy before. "Nope. This would be my first."

Holy crap. I'm going on a date!

###

 

Chapter 13: Expect the unexpected

"What's the matter, Mom?" I didn't know what to expect when I told her Rich asked me out, but it certainly wasn't this.

"I'm sorry, Joey. I don't know what's come over me." She's crying. But why? I thought she might disapprove, or maybe even be excited for me. But crying?

"Was it something I said?" I go back over it in my mind, but I can't think of anything that would have set her off like this.

"No, no. It's just--Oh, I'm so unprepared for all this." She slumps down into a chair and rests her face in her hands, elbows on the table. I pull up a chair next to her and try to think of what I could do to make it better.

I can't think of anything. I figure it might help if I was sure about what was bugging her. "By 'all this' you mean me being a girl, don't you?"

She looks up at me. "I'm sorry. I know you can't help being who you are, and I wouldn't want you to. I just have no idea sometimes how to be a good mother for you. I wish I had an example to follow."

Maybe she just needs it put in perspective for her. "I'm just a girl, Mom. Like any other girl. Like Livy. You know how to handle that, don't you? I'd say you're doing a pretty good job with her." I probably wouldn't have felt that way a week ago, but now, yeah.

"I've been trying to think of it that way and it's been working, mostly. But in some ways it's just not the same and I have no idea how to handle it."

"Like what?"

"Like dating, Joey." Her eyes are boring holes into my soul. I read that expression somewhere once but I think this is the first time I've really understood what it meant.

"We're just going to the arcade to play some pinball, Mom. It's not like--"

"Not like what? Not like you're going to go home with him and have sex on the first date?" She practically barks it at me.

"Mom!" What's gotten into her? She's scaring me.

"I was a teenager once, Joey. I remember what dating is about. It may not happen right away, maybe if I'm lucky not for years, but eventually that's going to come up. Just the fact that you were trying to reassure me it wouldn't, yet, tells me you've thought about it." I'm burning with shame right now under Mom's intense gaze. Her voice softens a little. "It's perfectly normal. It's part of growing up. I understand that. I just"--her voice cracks a bit with emotion--"I don't even know how to talk to you about it. With Livy I could draw on my own experience, and I was letting Steve handle that with you, when you were--when we all thought you were a boy. You're a girl, Joey, but you're not like other girls when it comes to that and I haven't the first clue how to prepare you for what you'll have to deal with. I don't even really know what that will be."

No, I guess she wouldn't. It's not like I do either. "I'm sorry, Mom. I never meant to cause you so much grief."

"I know you didn't, sweetie. Anyway it's not as if Livy hasn't caused us her share of grief. It's just part of being a parent."

"Yeah, but this is kind of above and beyond the call of duty, you know? I just wish there was some way I could make it easier on you."

"It's all right. We'll just have to muddle our way through this as a family and manage as best we can."

Family. I remember something Mom said the other night. "Maybe Michelle can help."

She looks like I've just thrown her a lifeline. "I just bet she can. She gave you her phone number, didn't she?" I nod. "Tell it to me--oh, wait." She looks at the clock on the wall. "She'll still be at work. But I'm going to give her a call right after dinner. Oh, what a relief to know I won't have to do this completely alone." She gives me a big hug.

----------

"You know, Mom, it would have been a lot faster and easier if we had a Radar Range like Aunt Kathy." We're having leftover Sauerbraten. It actually wasn't that hard to reheat it on the stove, but still. Really I just want one 'cause I like the way the bread gets all gooey when you make melted cheese sandwiches in it.

"It's a microwave oven. 'Radar Range' is a brand name." Dad can be a real stickler for that kind of stuff, being in the ad business and all.

"Whatever it's called, it's too expensive and we don't need it." Well, what did you think Mom was going to say? We didn't even have a color TV until last year.

"You just wanna be able to make melted cheese sandwiches all the time. I don't know how you can stand those things--they're all soggy and disgusting."

I stick my tongue out at Livy. "That's why they're good. Philistine!"

"Barbarian!"

"Elitist!"

"Bourgeois pig!"

"Hey, that's a pretty good one. Mind if I use it?"

"Go ahead, you will anyway."

I smile at her in mock-gratitude. We've always played this trading-insults game so we've both gotten pretty good at it over the years but I dunno, somehow this time it seems more playful and less mean-spirited. I guess 'cause we're getting along better these days.

----------

It took, like, maybe ten minutes for me to memorize all my lines and cues. Dad's part is taking a lot longer, obviously. He's in like half the scenes, and I'm reading like half the lines in the play to feed him his cues.

Mom's been on the phone since we finished dinner. With Michelle, I think. I wonder what they could be talking about for so long. Well yeah, me, but I mean like what about me?

"Come on, Joey; we're almost halfway through. I'd like to keep at it and see if we can run through the whole thing once tonight."

"Huh?" Guess I spaced out for a second there trying to overhear Mom's end of the conversation. "Oh, sorry, Dad. Um... 'You've got to hear, you're never home.'"

"'I don't want to hear more!'"

"'I know you don't, but you've got to. Liesl's not a child-'"

"'Not one word-'"

"'Soon she'll be a woman and you won't even know her.'" As I'm reading these lines I'm kind of imagining Maria could be talking to Dad about me. "'Friedrich wants to be a man but you're not here to show-'" Huh. I think maybe Dad's thinking along the same lines 'cause he's kinda wincing. I close my script, keeping my place with a finger. "Um, Dad, it's not your fault."

"What? That's not in my script--"

"No, but I could kinda tell what you were thinking. I didn't turn into a girl because you weren't around to show me how to be a man, Dad."

"Oh." He looks up from his script at me and smiles sheepishly. "No, I wasn't worrying about that specifically, but thanks for the reassurance."

"Then what?" I wasn't imagining his reaction, was I?

"It was just hitting a little close to home, that's all."

"Oh." He feels a bit guilty about not being around more. I feel bad for thinking he damned well should 'cause really that's not fair. "Well, that's why we're doing this together, right?" He smiles his agreement. "Anyway it's something you can use for the scene."

"Ha! I'll make an actor out of you yet!" He ruffles my hair.

----------

I can barely keep my eyes open, but I promised I'd get these pictures developed tonight. Some of them are pretty darned good, if I say so myself. As usual, the best ones are all candid shots; the ones I staged aren't bad, but they look staged, if you know what I mean. I just wish I could put my finger on what it is about them that gives it away.

Yawn. Guess I'll worry about it in the morning. The prints hung up to dry with clothespins, I lie down on my bed to rest for a minute before getting undressed.

----------

A truck or something rumbling by rattles my windows and wakes me up enough to realize I desperately need to pee. It's full daylight which means it must be morning, so that shouldn't be too surprising. As I get up I realize I fell asleep in my clothes, which are all sweaty. I look at the clock. Ten thirty-eight? I must have been exhausted--I never sleep in this late.

----------

Ah! That kind of stings!

Oh, crap. That's three solid days 'taped up' and not airing things out. Better undo it and have a look...

Great. I've got a rash on my penis. I shouldn't even have a penis and now I've got a rash on it. Lovely. Just what I always wanted.

----------

I gingerly dry it off after my shower. It's all raw and itchy.

Hey, Grandfather gave me a sample tube of cortisone cream when I got those hives on my arm last summer--I wonder if there's any left... yeah, here it is. It's a teeny little tube but there should be enough.

Oh-oh-oh-owww! Fuck, that stings! I hope it's OK to be putting this here.

OK, the stinging is subsiding. I guess I better leave it untaped today--not that tape would stick with this cream all over everything anyway.

I wrap my towel around my middle, pulling it high enough to cover up my breasts, or rather my complete lack thereof. I'm really self-conscious about not having any and even though everyone in this house already knows I don't feel like reminding them as I head back to my room.

----------

I really wish I'd been more careful about airing it out every night. I don't think it's a good idea to tuck it too well today so I don't think I can get away with wearing any kind of pants. I am not wearing the Little House on the Prairie dress, and the denim jumper leaves too much exposed for comfort. Which leaves the skirt Livy borrowed the other day, which is still in the laundry hamper and probably all wrinkled and smelly, or--well, I never got around to trying this one on. It's sleeveless and strapless and light and summery and it's kind of cute, and comes down just below my knees, if I can figure out a way to wear my boobs with it.

----------

OK, it's not all that comfortable, but it works. I left my arms out of the bra straps and kind of tucked them down inside the band of the bra. The band and cups hold the 'boobs' in place, and the elastic at the top of the dress that holds it up will keep them from falling out if I bend over.

I put my hair up in a ponytail. Something's missing...

----------

Knock, knock. "C'mon in."

I open Livy's door and stick my head in tentatively, the rest of my body eventually following. She smiles when she sees what I'm wearing.

"Cute sundress! Any particular reason you're wearing it, or just felt like it?"

"Um, I kinda needed to air things out down there." I say it without thinking about it; she gets a funny look on her face and I realize I should maybe have been more discreet and not grossed her out with my unique personal hygiene problems. I can feel the heat rising in my face as my sense of modesty belatedly kicks in. Quick, change the subject. "I, uh, don't suppose there's any chance you have a hair ribbon that would go with this?"

She shakes her head slowly. "Sorry, no. I never wear 'em." Her expression is hard to read--I can't tell if it's puzzled, alarmed, or what.

I decide to just ignore it and press on. "Yeah, I didn't think so."

I'm about to say 'thanks anyway' and leave but before I can she says, "You should, though. You'd be like beyond cute." She glances down at my bare feet. "I do have a pair of white sandals you could borrow."

"Thanks, that would be great." I smile, a little uncertainly 'cause there's still something a little odd about the way she's looking at me. Like she's trying to figure something out, or decide something, or... something.

"Ask Mom about a hair ribbon. Maybe she has something you could use for that." I can't picture Mom wearing ribbons in her hair, but I guess it can't hurt to ask. I nod. "Ummm, what did you mean about airing things out?"

I must be beet red now. I examine my toenails, noting absently that they need cutting, then turn just my eyes upward to look at her face as I reply. "I, uh, I'm s'posed to let it air out every night"--she looks puzzled again, but as I go on I see the light of comprehension begin to dawn on her face--"but I haven't been, and now it's all itchy and kind of raw so I figured, you know, better late than never."

"Itchy and raw? You mean, like a rash or something?"

My humiliation now complete, I feel strangely free to talk about it. "Yeah, I've got a rash on my--um, down there. I put some of that itch cream on it but it stung like crazy. I can't tell if it's helping."

"Huh. Sounds like a yeast infection."

"A what?" I thought yeast was for baking and stuff. I didn't know you could get an infection from it.

"Yeast infection. I had one once." She looks very sympathetic now. "You should tell Mom. If that's what it is you'll probably need to see a doctor and get a prescription for it. It won't go away on its own."

Well, at least it's something normal girls get, and not just freaks like me.

----------

"A hair ribbon? Feeling especially 'girly' today, are we?" Mom looks amused, but not really like she's making fun of me. It seems like she's kind of, I dunno, almost excited about it. Which I guess makes sense, given how hard she's always had to work just to get Livy to wear a dress or skirt.

"Um, yeah, I guess you could say that," I answer ruefully. "That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. I'm all kind of raw and itchy down there and Livy said it might be a yeast infection and I should see a doctor." OK, Mom's eyes are pretty big right now. At least they're not starting to cross.

Oh, wait, there they go.

"I should have a look. Come in the bathroom." I give her a horrified look. She just rolls her eyes at me. "Oh, give me a break. I used to bathe you and change your diapers, for crying out loud. Come on." How many times can I experience abject humiliation in one day?

----------

"Do you have any idea what caused this?"

"Well..." Apparently the answer to my rhetorical question is 'at least three.' I'm at the point where I have no pride left so at least it can't get any worse, can it? "Michelle said I should let it air out every night and I haven't been very good about that." Apparently it can; she gives me one of her patented 'I'm disappointed in you' looks. I get all defensive. "Well the first night I was just enjoying having things right down there for once and didn't want to be reminded about--you know--and I figured one night wouldn't hurt, and the last two nights I've been so exhausted I've just fallen asleep before I could even get undressed. I didn't mean for it to go this long."

"Oh, Joey. You need to be more responsible. This is your body. Your health."

"I know, Mom. I'm sorry." I can't look her in the eye as I say it so I look at the floor tiles instead.

"Don't apologize to me. You've only let yourself down."

"Yeah." Only I can tell she feels let down too. I'm on the verge of tears. Why didn't I take Michelle's warnings more seriously? "So is it? A--a yeast thingy?"

"From what you just told me and from what I can see, it seems pretty likely that's what it is. We'll have to go to the doctor and get you a prescription for some yeast cream."

That doesn't seem so bad, until I realize what it means. "Oh, noooo! He'll want to look at it."

Mom seems confused. "Of course, sweetie. He's a doctor; it's not as if he's never seen a penis before, for heaven's sake."

"On a girl?"

For a second she seems even more confused, then seems to understand the source of my dismay. "Well, we don't have to tell him that part."

"But--you mean I'll have to pretend to be a boy again? In public?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I know that's upsetting, but you did bring this on yourself."

"But I don't even have any boy underwear anymore."

"I was going to K-Mart today anyway. You have enough left over from paying for the window to buy a pack of Fruit-of-the-Looms."

Make that four times in one day. And the day is just starting.

----------

"I thought you'd want to start getting this taken care of before your big day tomorrow so I had them squeeze you in this afternoon."

"Oh. Uh, thanks." I guess. I am not looking forward to this.

"Dr. Cohen didn't have any openings so you'll be seeing someone else in his office--a Dr. Cykuta. I don't think I've met him." Neither have I, so I just smile and shrug. "Do you want to change before we go to K-Mart?"

"Why, did I get something on my dress?" I contort around trying to get a good view of all sides to see what the matter is.

"No, I just thought you might feel a little awkward picking out boy's underwear dressed like that."

"You're gonna make me do it?" She starts to launch into her 'you got yourself into this mess' lecture but I cut her off before she can get started. "All right, all right. I'll go change."

----------

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Mom seems to be getting an awful lot of entertainment value out of me today.

I go through a mental checklist--no bra or boobs, check. Boy T-shirt, check. Boy jeans, check. Not 'tucked,' check. That should be everything. "What now?" I try to sound less exasperated than I feel.

She points at my head. I look up, then reach up with my hands. "Wha- oh." Sheepishly I take the rubber band out and let down my ponytail.

"That's not much better, sweetie."

"I know, but can't I wait until we get there to pull it back? What if someone sees me?"

She just smiles. "All right. Let's go."

----------

Ugh. I'm glad that part's over with. I felt like some kind of weirdo shopping in the boys' department for underpants. I hope the clerk didn't notice how flustered I was.

As soon as we get home I run to my room and change back into the dress. When I come out Mom gives me a funny look.

"I thought you were just going to change your underwear so you'd be ready to go to the doctor."

I don't feel like explaining why the boy clothes are bothering me so much right now; I'm not sure I really could anyway. So I come up with a practical reason to give her. "That's not for hours and hours, Mom. I need to keep airing things out as much as possible. Those pants don't exactly have a lot of ventilation."

"Oh. Good point." I'm not sure she buys that that's my main reason, but at least it's a valid one.

"I'll change back just before we go."

"All right."

I remember something. I'm supposed to be going over to Linda's in about half an hour. But I can't very well do tumbling in a sundress, and I can't tuck myself to put on shorts. "Shoot. I guess I better call Linda and tell her I can't make it today."

I'm a little surprised at how disappointed I am.

----------

"Come sit with me, Joey." Mom pats the seat of the couch. Smiling, I plop down where she indicated and fold my legs up under my skirt. "I had a nice long talk with Michelle last night." I nod but my smile kind of freezes. It's time for The Talk. I have a feeling this is going to be kind of awkward and just, you know, weird; not that parents aren't always kind of weird but you know what I mean.

"Now, I know you don't expect your date with Rich tomorrow to lead to anything more--"

"Oh my god, you have a date with Rich?" Livy's sticking her head out of her bedroom and looking down the hall at us. "Felicia's going to shit!" She looks guiltily at Mom. "Um, pardon my French."

"It's not a date! We're just going to hang out at the arcade and play some pinball."

"Well, is he paying?" I shrug and nod. "And he asked you?" Another nod. "And it's just the two of you?"

"As far as I know." Jeez, I hope so.

"Then it's a date." I roll my eyes. "Sorry, I'm not trying to ruin it for you. But Felicia doesn't know about it yet, does she?"

"No." And she doesn't know Rich was in that car, either, and I'm not sure whether I should say anything.

Mom's looking pretty annoyed now. "Can you two work this out later? I'm trying to have an important talk with Joey right now." She looks pointedly at Livy.

"Yeah, OK. Sorry." Livy looks at me. "As soon as you're done, right?"

I look down at my lap and nod. "Yeah." Shit. I've been avoiding thinking about it. I guess it's time to face up to it.

"Now where were we? Oh, right. The thing is, sweetie, these things don't usually happen when you plan them to. You just get caught up in the moment and your emotions and hormones carry you away." She pauses to collect her thoughts; I just wait patiently. She sighs. "For most girls, now would be the time where I warned you about how getting pregnant at your age could ruin the rest of your life."

"Guess I don't have to worry 'bout that anyway, huh Mom?" I smile but with the mood I'm in now, all I can think of is how unfair it is that I couldn't get pregnant even if I wanted to and my eyes start to tear up.

It's like she's reading my mind 'cause she gently pulls my head onto her shoulder and says, "I know this is even harder for you than it is for me. Life can be so unfair."

I squeeze my eyes shut and nod against her shoulder. "Uh huh." I sniffle. Feeling sorry for yourself doesn't get you anywhere though, so I try to shake it off with a little ironic humor. "And if I was a boy, now would be the part where you tell me how getting my date pregnant at my age could ruin the rest of my life too, right?" I look up and she nods. "But I don't think I have to worry 'bout that either." I smile even though my eyes are moist and she smiles back.

"No, I don't think you have to worry about that."

"So what do I have to worry about, O fount of all parental wisdom?"

She gives me a dirty look, then takes a deep breath and sighs again. "From what Michelle tells me, a lot. The biggest danger is being found out. It seems the most common reaction men have to finding out their date is--well..." She seems to be searching for the right way to phrase it.

"Not all girl?" I suggest.

"That's a good way to put it. Apparently the usual response is violence. Sometimes deadly."

Oh god. Rich wouldn't do that, would he? I mean... shit, what do I really know about him? And my first instinct when I saw him was that he wouldn't hesitate to beat the crap out of me.

I'm suddenly finding I'm a lot more nervous and a lot less excited about my date.

"Now, supposing you've dealt with that, you still have the same thing to worry about as everyone else."

"What?"

"Venereal diseases."

"Oh. Right." We learned about that in health class. Gonorrhea, syphilis, and so forth. "Isn't that curable these days with a shot of penicillin?"

"Some kinds are. Others, like herpes, aren't. You just don't want to take any chances."

"Oh. Well, I won't have to worry about it anyway since there's no chance we'll be doing anything like that."

"How can you be sure?"

"After what you just told me about violent reactions, there's no way I'm gonna let myself get caught up in the moment and take a chance of Rich finding out about me."

Mom looks like she wants to say something but doesn't want to say it at the same time.

"What?"

"Now I'm not suggesting you do this, or even condoning it. But I know I can't control everything you do and I know things can happen in the heat of the moment in spite of your best intentions and I wouldn't want you to get hurt because you didn't know there was a safer choice. If you decided you wanted to 'put out' for a boy there are ways you could do it without risking being found out." OK, she has my attention now. She pauses and takes a deep breath. "For one thing, you could use your hands. You know what masturbation is, right? Or 'heavy petting?'"

I blush and nod. If it went that far--which I'm telling you right here and now it will not, no way, no how--I guess I could do that. I'm not sure how much fun it would be for me though, since I couldn't let him return the favor. "Um, you said 'ways.' What else?"

She looks almost as uncomfortable as I feel. Did I not say this was going to be weird? "Well, you can rub those parts of your bodies against each other through your clothes."

For some reason this brings an image to mind of my cousins' dog humping my leg, which she seems to enjoy. Yes, she. I know, it's weird. Yeah, like I'm not.

Then I get an image of Rich doing it. I have to stifle a laugh and Mom gives me a look like, come on, this is hard enough as it is.

Anyway that does sound more promising than the first option. Again, not that it's going to come to that. We're just playing pinball, for Pete's sake. Still, I can file it away for future reference. Which is the point, I guess.

"And... I'm not sure I want to tell you this, but I suppose I'd better, since you probably would think of it yourself eventually and I want you to be prepared."

I just look at her with curiosity.

She really doesn't want to tell me about this but now I'm dying to know. She gathers up her resolve and pushes on. "Do you know what fellatio is?"

"Huh?" I've heard the word before, I think, but I can't remember what it means.

"Oral sex?" Oh, right. Oral sex. As in--

Oh my god, did my mom just tell me I could give Rich a blow job?!

---

 
To Be Continued...

by Justme

---

 

Chapter 14: Better safe than sorry

"Ewwww!!" I'm kinda gagging just thinking about it. "Don't worry, Mom! I am not gonna let anyone put that in my mouth!"

She looks relieved and yet at the same time dubious. "All the same, if you ever do, don't forget that you can still get V.D. that way. Make sure he uses a condom."

That's the technical term for what's usually referred to as a 'rubber.' I doubt it would taste very good, but somehow it seems maybe slightly less revolting than the idea of sucking on a naked penis. More sanitary, anyway. But still. "All right. I'll keep it in mind." I roll my eyes 'cause it just ain't gonna happen.

----------

"What were you thinking?" I'm too distraught to duck as Livy whacks me across the top of my head.

"Ow! I wasn't, I mean, he just asked if I wanted to meet sometime to play pinball, OK? It never even occurred to me that he was 'asking me out!'" I'm all defensive about it 'cause I know Felicia's gonna be hurt when she finds out. "I woulda said 'no.' I would never do something like that to her on purpose." Part of me realizes I'm trying to convince myself as much as Livy here. After that dream I'm not sure my judgment can be trusted where Rich is concerned. "So what do I do? Should I call her and tell her about it, and offer to call it off?"

Livy ponders this for a moment while I rub my head which is still smarting. "No, that's probably the worst thing you could do. It'll be hard enough for her to hear he asked you out after knowing you less than a week when she's been trying to get him to ask her for like over a year. On top of that you accepted, knowing how hurt she'd be--"

"I didn't know it was a date!"

"Sure, but that won't change how it feels to her. Then if you go and top it all off by offering to cancel the date out of pity for her..." She shrugs in lieu of finishing the thought. Yeah, I guess it wouldn't do much for her self-esteem. "But, I mean, do you even really want to go out with Rich? Just call it off without saying anything to her. She'll never even need to know about it. I know you like pinball but it's a small sacrifice to make for a friend."

Sigh. "Yeah..."

"...but?" She's looking at me suspiciously.

Sigh. Why can't this just be easy? Why can't something in my life just be easy?

"Oh god, you do want to go out with him, don't you?" Her expression is a weird cross between horrified and amused.

I just sigh again and nod.

"Oh, Joey. I told you you were playing with fire." Somehow I don't think this was what she had in mind when she warned me about that, but I'm not gonna argue. I feel burned either way. She sees the tears starting to well up in my eyes and gives me a sympathetic hug.

----------

"Hey Mom, you never did answer me before." She looks up from reading her magazine with a blank stare. "About the hair ribbon?" I just want to do anything to blot out having to think about pretending to be a boy for the doctor, or deciding what to do about The Date.

A smile grows on her face as she puts the magazine down and gets up from the sofa. "I don't have any hair ribbons just lying around, but I might have something in my sewing supplies we could use." Well, we do have a sewing machine--in the garage--and I guess maybe she uses it once or twice a year. So I suppose I shouldn't be surprised she'd have supplies for sewing.

----------

"This will go nicely with that dress." She's holding a roll of satiny Kelly green ribbon and measuring out a length of it.

I look down at the dress. It does have a kind of similar green in the abstract sort of impressionistic pattern of the print. "Yeah, I guess. Do you think it'll be OK with my hair and complexion?"

"Sweetie, you're Irish. Of course it will." I roll my eyes. What's that got to do with anything? Anyway I'm only a quarter Irish, and like Michelle said I kind of look more Nordic. Well, except for my coloration, I guess. That is pretty Irish. I wonder if the Kelly green will bring out the 'red highlights' in my hair the way the pale lime green does. I hope it won't make me look sickly or anything.

"How come you have this, anyway?"

Mom cuts the ribbon and starts tying it around the base of my ponytail. "It was for a costume I made for Livy's dance recital--oh, years ago." I'll say--Livy hasn't had a dance recital since at least second grade. "There. Don't you just look adorable! Let me get my camera. Don't move!" She runs off to find her Instamatic.

I roll my eyes again, but you know, I guess I should give Mom a break--it's not like she's had a lot of chances to get this stuff out of her system with Livy. It must be kind of exciting for her after all these years to finally have a daughter who actually kind of enjoys this girly stuff, or at least isn't opposed to it on principle. So when she gets back with the camera I just go with the flow, smiling and posing for her like it's what I live for.

Boy, she really seems to be getting into it. I mean, I'd rather be doing this kind of stuff with Linda or someone closer to my own age, but it is kind of fun how much she's enjoying it. Why not give her another thrill? "Hey, while we're at it could I get you to show me how to do my nails?" I've been kind of wanting to learn that anyway. Not that I particularly want painted nails for my pinball date tomorrow (shit, I didn't want to think about that right now!) but it seems to be something girls my age are supposed to know how to do.

Mom lowers the camera and smiles. "Sure! Come on." She heads for the bathroom with me in her wake. Then the wind kind of goes out of her sails. "Oh, but you have to be a boy for the doctor later. You can't have painted nails for that."

"Oh." Damn it, I was trying not to think about that, too. "Um, how hard is it to get off? Could we put it on now and take it off just before we go?"

"Well, we could, but it'd be kind of risky. Sometimes the remover doesn't get it all, especially around the edges and the cuticles."

Shoot. "OK." I'm kind of bummed but as I hang my head dejectedly I notice my bare toes and brighten up. "Hey, we could do my toenails and I'll just keep my socks on at the doctor's."

"All right. Won't it make you a little nervous though?"

"Nah, he won't be looking at my feet." A thought occurs to me. "Actually it might help me get through the whole ordeal of, you know, having to pretend to be a boy again."

"Help? How?"

"I dunno, just having that little 'secret' to hold onto, you know? Knowing that at least one part of me still looks girly even if no one else can see it." The more I think about it, the more I like the idea.

Mom's looking at me appraisingly. "Strangely, that makes sense to me. OK, then."

----------

I like looking at my pretty coral pink toenails. Mom's gently blowing on them in an attempt to speed their drying, which kind of tickles. I want to wiggle my toes but she's stuffed cotton balls between them to keep me from accidentally messing up the polish before it dries. The smell is making me a little woozy so I reach over and push the window open a crack. I can't reach to get it all the way open without standing up but it's enough to get some fresh air. "I like that color. When we get back from the doctor can we do my fingernails too?"

She smiles. Then she looks at my hands and it turns into a scowl. "These nails are a mess." What can I say? I bite my nails. It's a nervous habit. Mom looks torn about something for a minute, then says, "I think you need a professional manicure." She says it like she's offering me some big treat but for some reason it makes me nervous, I guess 'cause I have no idea what it involves, and apparently it shows 'cause she sees my face and says, "Don't worry, you'll love it. I'll call and try to make you an appointment for later this afternoon, after we get back."

"OK. Just make sure there's time to come back and change first." She looks at me questioningly. "Well, I don't want to get a manicure dressed as a boy, do I?" Not to mention I don't want to have to stay that way one second longer than I have to.

"Oh. No, I suppose not." Is that a smirk? It looks like a smirk.

----------

Shoot. I've got, like, three hours to kill before the appointment and nothing to do. Well, I can't go out back and practice my tumbling moves dressed like this. Or ride my bike to the mall. I could walk there--it's only a mile--but I don't have any money anyway, so what's the point?

When you're trying to avoid thinking about something there's nothing like a really good book to keep your mind off it. Unfortunately I've got nothing like a really good book, at least not one I haven't already read a couple of times or feel like re-reading yet again.

There's never anything worth watching on the tube this time of day but I can't think of much else to do so I wander out to the living room. Livy's on the sofa watching some corny soap opera. I sit down across from her and watch for a couple of minutes, trying to figure out what the appeal is. The acting is so overdone, and the characters--I mean, they are just so stupid, they don't seem to see the most obvious things coming, and then they totally overreact. And how contrived does the plot have to get before the audience stops buying it altogether? I can't take it anymore so I have to ask. "You actually watch this crap on purpose?"

She looks startled, then embarrassed. "Uh, no no no. I was looking for something to watch and just kinda got sucked in. It's like watching a car wreck, you know? It's gruesome but you just can't seem to take your eyes off it. Umm, go ahead and change the channel if you wanna."

"No, that's OK. Hey, you read any good books lately? I mean ones I haven't already?"

"Oh, sure. I just finished a really good one a couple of days ago, about this girl who rides dragons." I roll my eyes and kind of make a face; I'm just not into that fairytale stuff the way she is. "No, it's not like that. It's actually kinda science-fictiony. And really well-written. I think you'd like it too. You want me to go get it?"

"Sure, I guess." What the heck, it's worth a shot. It can't be any worse than worrying about dates and doctors for three hours, can it?

----------

"Here. Enjoy."

I pull my attention away from the TV. Livy's right--it is like watching a car wreck. She hands me a book: Dragonflight by Anne McCaffrey. I read the jacket blurb. Well, they make it sound pretty interesting anyway. But then that's what jacket blurbs are for, right? "Thanks."

"Felicia loaned it to me so give it back to her when you're done, OK?"

"Sure." I smile even though I'm a little irritated. It's like there's some cosmic conspiracy to not let me not think about stuff. It's a nice day with a bit of a breeze; I decide to take the book out on the sun porch and lie in the chaise.

----------

"There you are." Mom's voice harshly yanks me out of mid-air from my golden dragon's back and into her dull, pointless and depressing plane of reality. "It's time to go."

"But I'm almost finished! It's a really good part!"

"You can read it in the waiting room. Just go hurry and get changed. They're squeezing us in so we don't want to be late."

"Oh, all right!" I get up in a huff and stomp off to my room. I see Mom rolling her eyes at me as I go by. I'd roll mine back at her but I don't think she'd see.

----------

I take off my panties and there's that stupid thing again. I try to pretend it's not there and look past it at my pretty painted toenails. Surprisingly, it helps. A little.

I open the pack of Fruit of the Looms, pull a pair out and hold them gingerly with my index finger and thumb, cringing a bit as I look at them. Sigh. Might as well resign myself to the inevitable and get it over with. As I pull them up I can't help myself--I tuck it down. It just feels wrong to have it sticking out like that.

I take one last wistful look at my toenails before pulling my socks on. They'll still be there the whole time, I tell myself. All I have to do is remember that. After the socks it's the jeans, then pull on the t-shirt. A big baggy one to hide my lack up top. I feel so naked without a bra and just--I dunno, incomplete without the boobs.

I remembered to take out the ponytail this time but like before I want to wait until we get there before I pull it back in a 'boyish' style.

I look in the mirror and wince. It's only for an hour or two. You'll survive. You survived thirteen years like this, I tell myself.

Yeah, but I didn't like it, I reply. I just didn't know any better.

----------

"Cheer up, sweetie. It'll be over with soon, and then you're going in for a manicure, remember?" She keeps saying it like that's some big treat.

Maybe this'll take my mind off other stuff. "What exactly is a manicure, anyway? I mean I assume it has something to do with getting my nails done but..." I shrug.

"Well, first they'll clean up your cuticles and hangnails. When that's done they'll file your nails, and since yours are in such bad shape and so short I think we'll have them put on tips. Then they'll polish them in the color of your choice--"

"I want them to match the toenails. I like that color." I'm not sure I get what she means by 'tips' but aside from that it doesn't sound like the kind of thing that's particularly fun to have done by a stranger.

"If that's what you want I'm sure they can do it, sweetie. And after that they'll finish it off with a hand massage."

Now that sounds promising.

----------

As I look up from putting the rubber band in my hair Mom looks--odd. "What?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie. It's just that even dressed like that and with your hair pulled back, you still somehow just look like a girl to me."

I'm really glad to hear that, but I guess it could be a problem. "That's 'cause I am one. Um, how's this?" I think about acting like a boy like I did when I babysat the other night. A rush of old memories of having to put up a false front flows over me.

She looks impressed. "What did you do?"

"Nothing much; just remembered how I used to be." After a week of being myself it's kind of hard to go back to this old persona, but it's not long enough to have forgotten how if I put my mind to it. I don't think I'll do it quite the same, though. Some of what I used to do is pretty embarrassingly stupid and immature when I think about it now. God, how could I have ever thought I was being cool?

"It's a bit strange to see Larry back after so long."

I wince. "Don't call me that, Mom. My name is Joey, or Lee. Larry was just a fictional character I had to create to survive." Larry was kind of a jerk.

"All right." She seems to mourn his passing. I don't; good riddance to the little creep. I admit it--Livy was right about me all those years.

"Can we get this over with? I'm not enjoying it. I want to go back to being me as soon as possible."

"OK."

----------

"Joey Llewellyn?"

"That's us. Come on, Joey."

Damn. Eight pages to go. I have to pry myself out of the book with a crowbar to follow Mom and the nurse into the back rooms. The nurse stops at a scale and says, "Take off your shoes and step on the scale please, Miss." That kind of thing used to really bother me but this time it just makes me happy. As I hand my shoes and book to Mom I return her admonishing look with a sheepish one and try to get my head back in boy territory. This requires me giving the nurse a dirty look, at which she does a double-take and looks at the chart she's holding. "I'm sorry, young man. I don't know what I was thinking."

Mom pipes in with, "I told you you needed a haircut."

It takes me a fraction of a second to catch on and reply with a sullen "Mo-o-om!" and an eyeroll. When the nurse isn't looking Mom winks at me and I grin back at her. Maybe this won't be so bad; it's only for a little while.

----------

Knock, knock. I'm sitting on the edge of the examining table as the door swings open and a woman walks in without waiting for a response. Well, at least she warned us. She's wearing a white coat and a stethoscope. Her light brown hair is pulled back in a tight bun and she's got on a pair of not-terribly-feminine horn rim glasses that kind of make her look like Buddy Holly. Her nametag says "Dr. E. Cykuta MD."

Before she can even introduce herself I smile and say, "Cool!" She looks at me with a puzzled expression on her face. "I don't think I've ever met a woman doctor before." Her expression gets really odd, and it occurs to me she's probably wondering why a boy would think that was cool.

She turns to Mom and says, "I'm Dr. Cykuta. You must be Mrs. Llewellyn, and I take it you"--she turns her attention back to me--"must be, er, Joey is it?"

"Yeah, that's me." She's giving me the oddest looks; she's smiling but looking a little uncomfortable at the same time. What's that all about?

"So, what seems to be the problem, Joey?" Well, she sounds like she genuinely cares. Something about me seems to be bugging her and I wish I knew what it was, 'cause otherwise I kinda like her. She seems nice.

I try not to sound embarrassed or self-conscious. "I noticed a rash on my penis this morning. It itches so I put some cortisone cream on it. That just made it burn for a little while and doesn't seem to have helped the itchiness at all."

"Hm. Yes, topical hydrocortisone is indicated in cases of itching and inflammation. Please take your pants off. Might I ask where you obtained cortisone cream and why you thought to apply it?"

I talk as I'm getting undressed. "Grandfather Sorensen prescribed it for dermatitis on my arm last year."

"I see. So your grandfather is a dermatologist? I think I'll need you to take that shirt off too." Well, it is hanging down low enough to cover my privates.

"No, a urologist."

She smiles. "Then this would seem to be right up his alley. Shouldn't he be looking at this?" I'm naked now except for my socks and she's examining my rash.

"Well it would be kind of inconvenient. He lives in Illinois." Also he retired this year, though I don't suppose that would stop him from treating his own grandkids.

"Ah, I see."

"When I told my sister about it she said it sounded like maybe a yeast infection-"

She looks up at me with surprise. "You discussed this with your sister?"

"Well yeah, we're pretty close. Why?"

"Yes, you must be. I think most boys would be embarrassed to talk about rashes on their penises with their sisters." Well, yeah, I guess most boys would. "I think she's right, by the way. This looks like a typical Candida rash. In boys it's usually called 'jock itch' though." She's looking in nearby nooks and crannies, which is really kind of making me uncomfortable. "It is a little unusual to see it on the shaft of the penis like this. Usually it occurs in folds of skin that stay warm and moist. I see some signs of irritation on the scrotum too." Great, next she's going to ask how I got it there. "Would you remove your socks, please?"

What?! "Um, why? I mean, they don't itch." I try to keep my voice level. Mom looks as alarmed as I feel.

"I want to check for signs of infection there too. A common way to transmit a fungal infection to the groin is from your infected feet brushing against your underwear and pants as you're putting them on. Untreated athlete's foot could lead to the jock itch recurring."

"Oh." Shit. I can feel myself blushing. I look to Mom in desperation but she just shrugs and grimaces. "OK." I take them off.

The doctor coughs but it kind of sounds like she's covering up a laugh. "My, what a lovely color."

Mom comes to my defense with a creative excuse. "His girlfriend talked him into letting her do that. I think she thought it was funny."

"Um, yeah, and I forgot about it or I woulda cleaned it off before we came."

Dr. Cykuta, a true professional, has managed to get her face back to a neutral expression. "I see. Well, I don't see any obvious signs of infection on your feet but just to be safe you should treat them as well. I'll write you a prescription for that too."

"OK. Can I get dressed now?"

"Certainly." She writes out two prescriptions and hands them to Mom. She seems to be watching me get dressed out of the corner of her eye. She gets that puzzled look on her face again, then shifts to one of concern. "Mrs. Llewellyn, could you come out in the hallway for a moment? I'd like to discuss something with you in private."

"Of course." Mom gives me a 'what's this all about?' look as she follows the doctor out. I just shrug. She pulls the door closed behind her.

After a minute of idly looking around at the educational posters, a model of what appears to be a uterus and the usual bizarre implements of torture found in a typical exam room, I'm surprised to hear muffled laughter, followed by shouting, from the hallway. I can't make out any words but it kind of sounds like Mom's voice.

I try pressing my ear up against the door. I can hear two voices now, definitely Mom and the doctor, but I still can't make out what they're talking about. After a minute of this the shouting starts to escalate and I figure it's time to butt in.

As I open the door I hear Mom saying with barely restrained anger, "...breathe one word of this to anyone I will have your license!"

I stick my head out into the hallway. "All right, break it up, guys." I figure someone needs to lighten up the mood here. They both nearly jump out of their skins when I speak. The doctor gets an expression of disgust and loathing on her face when she looks at me--what the fuck? I feel like I've just been punched in the stomach. My heart starts going a mile a minute and I get a metallic taste of fear in the back of my mouth. What did I do?

With a venomous look at the doctor Mom spits out, "Come on, Joey. We're done here." I feel kind of sick and my ears are starting to ring. She grabs my arm and practically drags me out to the car, drawing curious looks from the other patients in the waiting room. Once we get in and close the doors she slumps on the steering wheel and just starts sobbing.

That hits me like a slap in the face; the only other time I've seen her like this was one time a couple of years ago when she had convinced herself Dad was cheating on her. My own worries go out the window for now; Mom needs me. I'm kind of surprised at how quickly I'm able to pull myself together. "What happened, Mom?" I ask it gently as I stroke her hair and back like she sometimes does for me when I'm really upset. It seems to help 'cause the sobbing turns to sniffles.

"That awful, awful woman!" I don't want to upset her more so I don't push for details; I just wait patiently until she's ready to tell me.

After a couple of minutes she calms down a bit and starts talking again. "When we got out in the hallway she broke the news to me that my son was a sexual deviant. I demanded she explain herself and she started listing off things she'd observed about you that she said were dead giveaways--starting with the long hair and the toenail polish, and the fact that you shave your armpits. Do you, by the way?" She looks at me; her eyes are red and puffy.

"Do I what?"

"Shave under your arms."

"Uh, yeah. How'm I supposed to wear stuff like tank tops or that dress I had on earlier if I don't?"

"I'm not upset about it; I just didn't know. And I won't ask whose razor you've been using--we'll get you your own today." I smile sheepishly at her. She seems drained but she's not crying anymore. "Anyway, after giving me a laundry list of so-called signs, most of which seemed perfectly normal for any boy or girl to me, she insisted they all pointed irrefutably to your being, as she called it, an abomination before God--a homosexual." She says it in a parody of that voice television preachers use to scare their viewers into coughing up a big donation. I roll my eyes. "And for a capper, she said your rash was proof that you were 'actively engaging in that perversion.' Well, I just stood there, shellshocked, until she tried to hand me literature for a treatment program provided through her church, guaranteed to put you back on the straight and narrow. I couldn't help myself--I just burst out laughing."

"Yeah, I heard you. I take it she didn't react well to that?"

She snorts. "You could say that. Then--I'm so sorry Joey; I don't know what I could have been thinking, trying to reason with that--that nutcase." She sighs. "I tried to explain the truth to her." The haunted look in her eyes tells me this turned out to be one of the worst mistakes she's made in her life. "The trouble with these religious wackos is they're absolutely impervious to reason. You'd think a doctor of all people would need to be open-minded and rational. In this case you'd be wrong. Well, there's no need to go into details but when she started threatening to go to the police or social services with accusations that I was encouraging my own child to engage in acts of sexual perversion she crossed the line. Let's just say I reminded her of her professional and ethical duty to preserve doctor-patient confidentiality and it's lucky you interrupted when you did or I might be facing jail time for assault with intent to do bodily harm." Lucky for the doctor--you do not want to be up against Mom when she gets this mad. I almost wish I hadn't interrupted.

I give Mom a big hug 'cause she really, really looks like she needs it. "Thanks, Mom. It means a lot to me that when the chips are down you always stand up for me." She smiles. I let go and reach up to take out the rubber band that's holding my hair back. "Now can we go home so I can get out of these things and go back to being me?"

---------

I'm not letting on to Mom but the whole incident has really shaken me up. Especially that look Dr. Cykuta was giving me as we left. That scared the shit out of me. I don't understand it--she seemed so nice, too. What have I ever done to her? How does my being like this hurt her? It's like just my very existence is intolerable. I'm pretty sure she's not the only one who'd feel that way about me if they knew, too. I mean, I kind of already figured that out, but I never really felt it before now. I kind of feel like I need to vomit.

Even with Mom and Dad's total support I'm feeling really alone and scared right now. I can't even imagine going through this without that like Michelle had to.

###

Chapter 15: To do is to be

I'm feeling a little carsick from reading the last few pages on our way home. Reading in the car always does that to me and it didn't help that I was already a little green around the gills but I just couldn't wait to get back to it--which would have been the case even if I hadn't desperately needed something to take my mind off what had just happened. Of course now I have that sort of emptiness, that feeling of loss you get when you come to the end of a really good book you didn't want to ever end. Oh well. I feel so much better being back in my clothes that the carsickness isn't bothering me too much, as long as I keep my eyes on the horizon. "How come Livy's not coming with us?"

"I offered but she said she didn't feel like it. You know, I think she's really grateful you're taking some of the pressure off her to do this sort of thing with me."

I smile. Maybe that's why she's so much nicer to me now. That, or the fact that I'm not acting like an obnoxious jackass boy anymore.

----------

Mom didn't mention the pre-soak. "Isn't this the part where Madge comes in and tells me I'm soaking in Palmolive?" I check the manicurist's name tag just to be sure. Nope, not Madge--Debbie.

She laughs at my little joke but Mom just rolls her eyes. "Just try to relax and enjoy it, Joey." I can hear the unspoken threat that for how much this is costing I'd better enjoy it, or else.

----------

You know, it is kind of nice to have someone else tending to your grooming. I guess it's an instinct that goes back to monkeys picking fleas and ticks off of each other. And eating them. For monkeys, I bet that's the best part. Mm-mm, crunchy.

I don't know if it's just this salon--it's the same place I got my hair cut--or if they're all like this, but the people here seem to just be really chatty with the customers. I'm mostly staying out of it though, letting Mom hold up our end of the conversation and just sort of listening in while I "try to relax and enjoy it." I just don't have the energy for a lot of talking right now.

"Tips" turn out to be these little plastic fingernail extenders they glue on the ends to make them longer before they file and polish them. They look kinda like something I've seen in one of those loud and obnoxious commercials on TV late at night--like one of those K-Tel or Ronco deals. Only I think those are whole fake nails you stick on over your real ones.

----------

Debbie keeps glancing at me out of the corner of her eye while she carefully paints the Pearlescent Coral polish on my nails. "You're being awfully quiet today. Something on your mind?" Jeez, I thought you were a manicurist, not a psychotherapist. I guess it'd be rude not to respond though.

"Sorry. Yeah, I guess."

"Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes talking about it helps." I've got an 'eh, not really' look on my face. "Worried about a big date?" My expression just switched to 'alarmed.' She smiles. "Don't worry, I'm not a mind reader. I've just gotten good at picking up on these things over the years. Why don't you tell Aunt Debbie all about it?"

I look around and notice Mom's not right here anymore. "Um, where'd my mom go?"

Debbie smiles. "My, you must be preoccupied." I give her a sheepish look. "She got up a few minutes ago to schedule a manicure for herself. Doris was free so she's getting it done now." She indicates the other side of the shop with her eyes. I look over and see Mom engrossed in conversation with, I presume, Doris. I catch her eye and smile. She returns the smile and goes back to her conversation.

"Yeah, I guess I was pretty out of it." I think for a minute. What do I want to tell Debbie? I really don't want to think about the date situation, but I really don't have a good solution and I guess I can't avoid it forever. I start talking and it just kind of pours out of me in a flood of words. "I have this date tomorrow, only it's not really a date, he just asked me to meet him at the arcade to play some pinball, you know? 'Cause I just mentioned one time that I love pinball and it was, like, really sweet of him to remember that. But he said he'd bring a roll of quarters and it was his treat, so I guess since he's paying it really is a date. Only the thing is I didn't think about that at the time, you know, when I said yes? And like, I would never have said yes if I'd realized he was, like, asking me out for real."

She finishes the nails on my left hand and sets the bottle of nail polish down, to focus all her attention on the conversation I guess. "Whoa, slow down girl. You're losing me." She gives a little laugh and has a bemused look on her face. I've been getting that look a lot lately; I'm getting kind of used to it. "Do you like this boy?"

"Well, yeah." The intensity of my reply surprises me. I blush.

She smiles knowingly, but looks puzzled at the same time. "So why on Earth wouldn't you have said yes to a real date?"

"Oh. Didn't I say that part?" Her expression says I didn't. "Um, 'cause one of my very best friends is like totally head-over-heels for him and she's been trying to get him to ask her out for, like, forever." I mean, she's as much my friend as Livy's anymore. Maybe more, since she knew about me before anyone else.

"Ah." She says it like somehow now it all makes sense. She picks the bottle back up and starts on my right hand. "Well, it sounds like you have a choice to make. Which is more important to you--a date with this boy, or not hurting your friend?"

I hang my head in shame. When you put it like that, it's pretty obvious. "I don't suppose you could think of a way I could convince my friend to be OK with this...?" She pauses from painting my nails long enough to look me directly in the eyes and shake her head. Sigh. "Then I guess I better call him when I get home and call it off." Finishing up, she closes the bottle and gives my hand a sympathetic squeeze, skillfully avoiding messing up any of the still-wet polish.

"So, tell me about your friend." I smile, welcoming the change of subject.

----------

"Yeah. Bye." Click.

Sigh.

Rich sounded almost as disappointed as I feel. I don't know whether to be happy or sad about that. I feel kinda guilty about lying and blaming it on Dad, too--I told him Dad said I was too young to be dating. But it was all I could come up with that would get him not to ask me out again without making him think I didn't like him.

Now if you'll excuse me, I think I need to go curl up in a ball and cry for a while.

----------

"Uh, hi, Felicia?"

"Yeah?"

"Hi, it's me, Joey."

"Oh, hi! Uh, you OK?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I dunno, you sound like maybe you've been crying or something."

"Oh. You can tell?"

"Yeah." Pause. "You want to talk about it?"

"No, I'm OK now."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, it's stupid anyway. I'm kind of embarrassed about it." Embarrassed that I came so close to hurting my friend over a boy. "Anyway that's not what I called about. You know that dragon book you loaned to Livy?"

"Oh, Dragonflight? Yeah, is she done with it?"

"Yeah. Actually she let me read it when she finished and now I'm done too. So you can have it back any time."

"Oh. OK." Another pause. "You called to tell me that?"

"Uh, no, not exactly. Um, I was wondering if you know, is there a sequel? 'Cause it was soooo good I didn't want it to end."

"Oh. Yeah, it's called Dragonquest. But if you were gonna ask to borrow it, the answer is no."

"Huh? W-why not?" I try not to sound hurt. After what I just went through for her sake--OK, she doesn't know about that, but still.

"Ha! Gotcha! 'Cause I don't have it."

"Why, you little--! I oughta--" I can't help doing a Moe Howard impersonation. Rich Little I ain't but it gets a laugh. "I don't get it. How could you read Dragonflight and not want to run right out and read the sequel?"

"I did. I borrowed it from the library."

"Oh, OK." At least she's not insane. Still, I don't get the whole library thing. If a book is any good, I want to have it so I can read it over and over. And I can read the first few pages of a book to see if it's any good just as easily in the bookstore as at the library. "Guess I'll just have to shell out for it myself then."

"Or check it out at the library."

"Yeah, or that." Right. Good thing she can't see me rolling my eyes through the phone.

----------

"OK. Bye." Click.

Sigh.

Yeah, definitely the right choice.

So how come I still have this hollow, achy place inside?

----------

"Hey, Mom?"

She responds without looking up from separating the laundry she just dumped out of the hamper into piles of darks, lights, and colors. "Hm?"

I keep pulling clothes out of the dryer and folding them into the basket as I talk. If you do it carefully, while they're still warm, you end up with a lot less creases and wrinkles. For stuff you wouldn't iron, like jeans, it's an easy way to make them look sharper and less sloppy when you wear them. "When you talked to Michelle last night did she say anything about finding me a doctor?"

"No. Uh, yes. I mean, she said she hasn't found one yet."

"Oh." Poop. Hasn't enough gone wrong today already?

"Don't give up hope, sweetie. She said she'd find you one and she'll keep her word."

Sigh. "I know. I just... it's so frustrating." She nods and we go back to just quietly doing the laundry. I spend some time trying to work out my thoughts.

After a while I kind of have a vague idea of something I want to say. "It's just, for so long I was just resigned to growing up the wrong way, you know? I didn't think there was anything I could do about it. But now that I know there is, I don't get why I have to wait to start. I don't want to have to go further down the wrong road. I know I can never be normal but I want to at least wind up looking normal, you know?"

"Oh, sweetie, you look fine. You're a very pretty girl."

"Thanks, but you're my mom--you have to say that. Anyway that's not what I see when I look in the mirror in the morning, you know? I'm thirteen and a half but I look, like, eleven."

"Well, so you're a bit of a late bloomer. Lots of girls are."

"I know, but I don't have to be. I could be developing and starting to catch up to where I should be. I could be starting to grow real boobs, and curves and stuff." I illustrate by moving my hands around where my hips should be. "Instead of worrying about my voice breaking and getting all hairy everywhere. It's just frustrating, is all."

"I can understand how you must feel. Until Michelle finds a doctor for you though, I don't know what we can do about it. We just need to be patient."

"Yeah. ...You don't think--nah. Never mind."

"What, sweetie?"

"I was thinking about something that stupid doctor said today and it got me wondering. I was just gonna ask if you thought Grandfather Sorensen would prescribe me something. But he'd never go for that. He'll probably have a heart attack when he finds out. I guess I'm just getting desperate."

Mom looks perturbed about something but she gets all quiet for a while. Finally she says, "I don't know how Daddy will feel about... your change. But I've put off finding out long enough." She seems to be struggling, trying to make up her mind about something. "I want to call him right now. But it would probably be better if Steve and I discuss the best way to handle it before I just go charging in like a bull in a china shop and mess everything up." She's probably right. She does have a tendency to go off half-cocked. I guess I get that from her. Dad's the meticulous planner. "We'll figure it out tonight and I'll call Daddy tomorrow. Will that be all right, sweetie?"

"Yeah, I guess I can wait one more day." To be honest, much as I want to get started with medical treatments to set my body right, I'm kind of terrified of how the rest of the family will react when they find out about me and I don't mind putting that off.

----------

"Ah fink--"

"Livy! You know better than to talk with your mouth full."

Livy rolls her eyes as she pauses for a second to swallow her mouthful of salad. "'Scuse me. I was trying to say, I think you should talk to Grandmother about it first, and let her deal with Grandfather."

"Hm. You know, Sandy, that's not a bad idea. If we could think of a way to get her on Joey's side, and that's a big if, she'd have Pop Sorensen going along with it and thinking it was all his idea in no time." There's a hint of sarcasm in Dad's voice; I've never seen any open hostility between them, but I've always gotten the feeling that Grandmother is kind of the Endora to his Darren. Though I've never really figured out why.

Mom gives him a bit of a dirty look. "All right, but how do you propose to convince her?"

"I don't think she'll need much convincing." I'm not sure why, but something just dawned on me.

They all turn and look at me with curiosity. Mom asks the question on all their minds. "Why do you say that?"

"I dunno, I've always kind of gotten the feeling she was a little disappointed I wasn't a girl."

"How so?" Mom can't seem to decide whether she should be sympathetic about how that must have felt before, or relieved that it will make things easier now. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure whether to resent Grandmother a bit for feeling that way, or look forward to making her happy now that I can finally give her what she's always wanted. I guess I can do both, can't I?

Shrug. "Just a feeling I get from her. She isn't, like, blatant about it or anything." I think for a minute while I chew a bite, then swallow and shrug again. "Anyway all you'd need to do is let on that Dad might not be too happy about it and she'd be moving heaven and Earth to make it happen."

At first it looks like Dad's choking 'cause his face is turning purple, but then I realize he's just trying really hard not to laugh out loud. Mom's glaring at us, but she's not denying the truth of what I said.

I think we have our plan.

----------

After going over all my lines again we only rehearsed one of Dad's scenes--over, and over, and over, and over--until he was satisfied he had it committed to memory. So it didn't really take as long as last night, it just felt a lot longer.

I kind of feel like escaping for a while, exploring distant worlds to take my mind off this one, you know? But none of the planets are out just now and none will be for a couple of hours. And it's not really dark enough to be looking at deep-sky objects yet. So I don't bother lugging out my telescope. I just drag the chaise from the sun porch out to the back yard, lie down in it, wrap myself in a blanket and lose myself in the gradually darkening sky, letting my imagination take me to the other side of the galaxy.

To boldly go where no man has gone before. Heh. Somehow I don't think this is what Captain Kirk meant. Though there was that one episode with the mind-transfer machine....

----------

I wake up shivering uncontrollably. I didn't think I was that tired. Jupiter and Mars and the Moon are up now but all I can think about is getting inside and curling up in my warm, comfy bed. I can feel the checkerboard pattern imprinted in my cheek from the crisscrossing straps of the chaise. I drag it back onto the sun porch and try the back door.

Shit. Locked.

I walk around and try the front door, not expecting the situation there to be any better. I'm not disappointed.

I'm fucking freezing.

In the shrub under my bedroom window I see a pair of glowing green eyes floating in a sea of inky darkness. "Bonsoir, Charbon." It occurs to me I should probably be saying "bonjour" at this point but it's not like he cares anyway. He's a cat; cat's don't care. That's what makes them cats and not dogs.

He blinks at me, then nonchalantly strolls over and rubs up against my legs. He looks up at me and asks, "Mrow?"

I don't know what to say to that so I just shrug. He starts to stroll off. As he goes around the corner of the house he looks back and says, "Mrow."

"Bien sá»r." Whatever you say, kitty. I pull my blanket more tightly around my shoulders against the chill and ponder my predicament. I suppose I could just wake someone up to let me in, but I can picture Emma Peel looking disappointed in me, imploring me not to be so bloody dull. How do you ever expect to make it as a secret agent if you can't break into your own house without leaving a trace? Well, she does have a point.

I walk around the house, quietly trying every window. No luck; they're all closed and locked tonight. Then it occurs to me there's one door I haven't tried.

The garage door is locked too, but the latch that holds it closed doesn't work very well. It takes a couple of good hard yanks, but I manage to get first one side, then the other, to come loose without making too much of a racket. As quietly as I can, I lift it up just enough to duck under it, then carefully pull it closed behind me.

There's only one small window in the garage so it's nearly pitch dark. While waiting for my eyes to adapt I feel something slither past my ankles. "Gaaah!"

"Mrow?"

"Merde! Tu m'avez effrayée, Charbon! Ne pas faire cela!" I hiss it at him, so I think he gets the point. I hear him scamper off in the darkness.

After a minute or so I can see enough shadowy shapes in the gloom that I figure I can make it to the door into the family room without killing myself. After a bit of groping and only a little toe-stubbing I manage to make my way there. I fumble around until I find the doorknob. Holding my breath, I try it, and let out a whoosh of relief when it turns. As I open the door I see, in the moonlight filtering in through the brand-new window, something small and black zip past me into the house. "Mr-r-row!"

"De rien." Because as you know, I exist only to serve you. I roll my eyes and lock the door behind me.

----------

This time I remember to hug the opposite wall of the hallway by the bathroom to avoid the squeaky spot, and manage to get myself to bed without waking anyone up. Emma Peel would be so proud.

----------

I'm awakened by Charbon purring loudly right in my ear. His breath tickles. And smells. "Ugh. Bonjour, fish-breath."

He just looks at me through half-closed eyes and keeps purring. I scritch him behind his ears and on his cheeks as I crawl out of bed.

----------

"...So I was wondering if it'd be OK if I came over to work on my routine with you this morning instead."

"Sure. ...Um, do you mind if I ask why you called it off?" Linda sounds concerned.

Sigh. I just knew she was gonna ask about that. "I'll tell you when I get there, 'k?" I don't like to talk on the phone when I could be doing it face-to-face. You miss, like, half the conversation when you can't see the other person.

"OK. See you in a bit, then."

"Yeah. Bye."

----------

"Just hold it like that and kind of lean into it until it almost hurts. You'll need to do this for about five minutes every day if you want to be able to do the splits by the tryouts. Maybe twice a day."

"I have been. It doesn't seem to be doing much."

"It takes time." Which I'm about to point out is running out fast when she adds, sounding surprised, "Hey, did you do your nails?"

"Oh. Yeah, it was Mom's idea. She treated me to a professional manicure. I guess to try to break me of the habit of chewing on 'em."

"And you went willingly?" She's laughing at me. Well, not really, but I can tell she is on the inside.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, it's one of the signs of the apocalypse. Oh, and I was wearing that sun dress you gave me too." OK, now she is laughing at me. I roll my eyes at her.

After she calms down she gets this look like she just remembered something. "Hey, so what's the deal with you calling off the date with Rich? I thought you wanted to go out with him."

I was wondering when she'd get around to that. "Yeah, I did. But, like, this friend of mine--she's been a really good friend lately, you know? And she's had this huge crush on Rich like forever, you know? And she was getting all mad at me at the mall the other day for flirting with him, and I wasn't, I swear!" She raises an eyebrow at this. "At least, not on purpose. I just met him and was only trying to be polite." Hey, I can do without the skeptical looks, OK? "Anyway at first me playing pinball with him seemed kinda harmless, but the more I thought about it, and the more everybody insisted it was a real date, the more I felt, like, bad about it, you know? And I was talking to Debbie about it, at the salon while she was doing my nails--" She's shaking her head like she still can't believe it, and looks like she's having trouble not laughing again. I pause and give her a dirty look.

She holds up her hands and tries to look innocent. "Sorry! I'll be good."

Yeah, right. "As I was saying, so Debbie at the salon was like, 'What's more important, a date or a friend?' and when she put it like that I finally got the picture so I was like 'oh, duh, guess I'd better call it off then.'"

"Uh huh. So did you tell Rich why you called it off?"

"No way. Felicia--that's my friend with the crush? She doesn't want him to know. Anyway I didn't want to take any chance of it getting back to her. I figure she'll be happier if she never finds out he even asked me out."

"Yeah. So what did you tell him?"

"I told him my dad said I was too young to date. Which isn't totally a lie, 'cause even though he never said it I'm pretty sure he feels that way."

"Yeah, I think mine still feels that way."

"Yeah, dads are weird like that."

"Yeah. Well it's good to know I can trust you around my boyfriends then, 'cause you're turning out to be a little heartbreaker."

"Oh, gimme a break. Like any boy would give me a second look with a fox like you around."

She looks bemused. "Thanks for the compliment. I'm not sure I've ever been called a 'fox' by a girl before--"

"Well, you are. And I'm, I'm just a skinny little kid who you couldn't even tell was a girl if I didn't dress like one. Or at least sing like one," remembering how this all got started. I'm trying not to show it, but this line of thought is kind of making me really upset for some reason. Or maybe I'm still upset from everything that happened yesterday and this is just sort of bringing it out.

"Hey, a lot of guys go for that look. I mean, look at models. Look at Twiggy."

Snort. "Guys don't go for that. Girls think they should look like that 'cause the models do but guys like a girl to have curves. Like you."

"Oh, come on. Anyway how would you know so much about what guys like?"

Guess I'd better not tell her the real reason. "C'mon. Haven't you ever seen Playboy?" My cousin Lisa found some in Uncle Keith's bedroom and showed me once. With three grown brothers I figure she'll have seen one at some point. Her eyes tell me I'm not wrong. "Those centerfolds aren't what you'd call plump but they aren't exactly built like me, either. More like you. That's what guys want. Not this." I indicate my lack of contours. I almost lose my balance in the process but cover up by switching my stretch to the other leg.

"Rich seems to find you attractive enough." I sigh dejectedly; she looks alarmed. "Sorry! Forget I said that."

"Too late. Anyway you're right; I guess I can't argue with that. It's just, I see what I look like, and then I see you, and my sister, and... I dunno, I just feel so..." I can't think of the right word so I just shrug and look at the floor.

"Well you shouldn't. You know what body part guys say is most important for deciding if a girl is attractive?"

"I dunno, big boobs? A cute butt? Sexy legs?" None of which apply to me, in case you weren't aware.

"No, the face. And trust me, you have nothing to feel bad about there."

I roll my eyes. "Psshht. Right, the face. Guys are always going around saying, 'Hey man, check out the face on that chick.'" My over-the-top 'guy' impression gets a laugh. "Where did you read that--Tiger Beat?" My voice is dripping with scorn but I can't help smiling a bit--it does make me feel better about myself to think that.

"Cosmo, actually." She says it like somehow that makes it more credible. I guess maybe it does, a little.

"Oh, Cosmo. Well I guess it must be true then." I have to tease her about it a bit, don't I? But my smile is getting bigger. It occurs to me maybe this is why I was so bummed out about missing our practice session yesterday. Linda has a real knack for making me feel better about myself and cheering me up. I giggle at a sudden thought.

"What?"

"Nothing." I suppress another giggle.

"Fine, be that way."

"Jeez, you don't hafta get all pouty about it. I just realized something about you, is all. Cheerleading isn't just a sport for you, is it? It's like, a way of life." I smile big to let her know I don't mean it as a put-down or anything.

She gets a big smile too and looks skyward. "Finally, someone who really gets me!"

----------

"Well, someone seems to be in a better mood." Mom keeps glancing at me out of the corner of her eye.

"Hmm? Oh. Yeah, I guess so." I lean my head back down on my right arm, which is resting on the car door with the window rolled down. I'm just enjoying the warm wind in my hair and on my face and I guess I must look kinda blissed out. Man, I wish this thing was a convertible.

"Did something in particular make you happy?"

"Not really; it's just kinda hard to stay down around Linda."

"I'm glad you've finally made some friends here. I was starting to worry about you."

"Me too--I mean, I'm glad too. It's good to have friends." I let out a little laugh. "I always thought I was pretty good at it, what with having to make all new friends every time we move. Usually it takes a couple of months once school starts though."

That gets a big sigh out of Mom. Crap, I didn't mean to upset her. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm hoping we can stay longer this time."

"Nah, 's'ok. I've always kinda liked moving every couple of years. New scenery, new people, a fresh start--keeps life from getting boring, y'know?"

We're home; she pulls into the driveway and parks. "I'm glad to hear you feel that way. So do your father and I. We do pay a price though, and sometimes I wonder if it isn't too high." Huh. Well, I've never regretted moving, though at times I've wished we could've moved somewhere... better.

----------

"Oh, I talked to Mother--uh, Grandmother, while you were gone." Mom takes a dish from Liv to put away as I hand her another one to dry. I can see Dad through the window over the sink, mowing the back yard.

"Oh." A wave of fear washes over me and my stomach hurts. "Um, so, how'd she take it?"

"Well, you must have been right about her--she didn't seem too fazed about it."

Phew. "That's good news."

"She even said she thought it was probably for the best."

"I couldn't agree more." Yay!! Grandmother still loves me! I didn't think I was that worried about it, but I am so relieved.

"In fact she's so excited to see her 'new' granddaughter, they're going to drive up for a visit. They'll be here some time tomorrow morning."

"Wow, cool. So wait, she told Grandfather while you were on the phone with her? How'd he take it?"

"No, he was out puttering in the garden. But she said she'd handle him and to tell you not to worry."

"OK." I guess. I'm pretty nervous about how he's gonna react though. But I guess I don't have to deal with that until tomorrow.

----------

"You ready to go to the rehearsal, kiddo?" Dad's Old Spice aftershave is kind of powerful but still a definite improvement on lawnmower exhaust and grass clippings.

"Yeah, just lemme get my shoes on." I think I left 'em under my bed--yeah, here they are. As I sit down to tie them I notice Dad's come into my room and closed the door behind him. "What's up?" He looks a little nervous or something.

"You remember they're going to be measuring for costumes today?"

"Yeah, that's why I'm wearing this." White shorts and the lime-green crop top. "I figure these are thin enough they should be able to get good measurements with 'em on, and if they do need me to take 'em off, well--it should be easy enough." I shrug.

He clears his throat. "Hm. Sure, that makes sense." He's looking everywhere but at me. "I'm just a little worried..."

"'Bout what?"

"If they do need you to take them off..."

"Oh." I get it now--he's worried about me being exposed. More than other people with their clothes off, I mean. "Don't worry, I can handle it."

"Are you sure? I mean, really sure? The consequences if you're wrong--"

"Yeah, like up top with the stuffed bra might be kind of a little embarrassing, but it'll be in private, right? I mean, they wouldn't make me strip in front of everyone, would they?" He shakes his head. "Yeah, so I've already had to deal with that once and like I said, it'd be a little embarrassing maybe, but not a big deal really. Lots of girls my age are still flat up top and bra stuffing is pretty common. Heck, it wasn't even my idea originally; it was Linda's."

"All right. You sound like you know what you're talking about. But what about..." He looks uncomfortable, even awkward, as he gestures vaguely toward my nether regions. "I mean, what if they need you to take off your shorts? Won't they see--won't they be able to... tell?"

"Shouldn't be a problem. It's not like they're gonna make me take off my panties." Like I said, that technique Michelle showed me has really improved my confidence in that department.

"You're sure about that?"

I guess Dad's a little reluctant to trust my judgment on this. Which is irritating enough to overcome my modesty so I think I'll let him judge for himself. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to get a second opinion. What do you think?" I drop my shorts and pirouette.

"Gah!" His eyes bug out briefly before he can get his hand over them. "All right. I'm not sure I needed to see that but you've made your point. Have you got your shorts back on yet?"

Zip. "Yeah." I put a little scorn in my voice to go with the smirk I can't seem to keep off my face. Serves him right, not believing I knew what I was talking about.

He uncovers his eyes but still won't look straight at me. "How... no, never mind. I think I'm happier not knowing."

"Prob'ly." Just when I thought I had that smirk under control, it's back. "OK, can we go now?"

"Uh, right." He shakes his head and rolls his eyes as he opens my door. I can't make out what he's muttering.

----------

"Do I need to get undressed or something?"

The costume lady--I think Dad told me her name but I can't for the life of me remember it--looks me over and feels the fabric of my top and shorts. "No, those won't make enough difference to matter." She pulls the tape measure around my butt. "Hips, thirty-one." Letting go of one end she makes a note in her book.

Putting the pencil back behind her ear, she reaches behind me and pulls the measuring tape around to meet in front again, this time a bit higher up. "Waist, twenty-three and a half." Again she releases the tape and writes in her book.

I kind of zone out, looking around the room at the racks holding an odd assortment of costume bits and pieces from past shows. "Under the bust, twenty-six." I wonder if that hula skirt is from a production of South Pacific. Dad was in that last year, but not at this theatre. He played Luther Billis--the character played by that My Favorite Martian guy in the movie version. In one scene Dad got in drag in a hula skirt and a coconut bra. He camped it up pretty good. Mom and Liv and I laughed our asses off, especially since he had Mom's name in a heart tattooed across his belly big enough to read from the back row. It was way better than the movie.

I feel the tape being pulled against the back of my bra and it occurs to me that she's bound to notice something funny with what's filling it, even with my shirt on. Why I didn't think of this before I don't know. I start to get nervous. Sure enough, when her hands get around to the front she looks momentarily startled, then raises an eyebrow and gives me a look. I respond with a blush and a guilty-as-charged grin.

Her eyes bore into mine for a heartbeat, then she grins back. "Make sure you wear these for the show or your costumes won't fit right." Phew. She had me worried for a second there. She looks at the tape. "Across the bust, thirty-one."

----------

"...So anyway, the costume lady--what's her name? Did you tell me and I forgot?"

"I thought I did. It's Georgia."

Doesn't ring a bell. "OK. Well anyway, Georgia didn't make me take anything off but she did notice my stuffed bra. No big deal, like I said, I just acted embarrassed and she made me promise not to forget to stuff it for the show." OK, so I wasn't actually acting.

"Well it's a relief to have that over with."

If you say so, Dad. If I'm not worried, why should you be? It's my ass on the line after all. I just shrug.

----------

On the way home we pass a big fenced-in parking lot full of yellow and black buses. I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach at the reminder of the hell that lies just a few more days in my future known as the First Day of School. Then I remember something else and really freak out. "Hey, Dad?"

"Hm?"

"Did you and Mom--I mean, what have you guys been able to do about my school situation?"

He doesn't look happy, but then he doesn't look too terribly upset either. Just like he maybe has a touch of indigestion or something. "We're still working on it, kiddo."

"Oh." That tells me nothing. "But I mean, am I gonna go in there Wednesday morning and have all the teachers asking for 'Llewellyn, Laurence' when they call roll? Or what?"

"No, we withdrew Larry's enrollment. He won't be going to school here this fall. How can he? He doesn't exist anymore." Well that's good, I suppose. Dad looks like he's trying hard not to let on that he's got any regrets about this.

"He never did, really. He was just a character I played." I kind of say it quietly to my knees 'cause it bugs me that Dad feels that way even if he's nice enough to try to hide it from me.

He gets a kind of faraway look in his eyes and doesn't say anything for a minute, then starts softly quoting The Bard:

"'All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts...'" There's more to that monologue but his voice kinda fades out there.

Man, I thought we were past all this. It's like that annoying song about the cat who keeps coming back. I'm overcome with a feeling of weariness--the kind of achy tired you feel after a long day at Cedar Point when you went on one too many spinny rides. "Yeah, OK. So Larry's made his final exit and Lee's made her big entrance. But it's the same 'player,' Dad. It's still me." I'm trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice, but I can't seem to keep the tiredness from coming through.

He glances over at me and sighs. "I know, punkin. I know. It's just taking a little getting used to, is all."

Sigh. "Yeah, I guess it would." I just sit there staring at my hands in my lap for a minute. Damn, I've got a chipped nail. How'd that happen? Then I kind of kick myself mentally. Who the fuck cares about a stupid chipped nail? I still don't know what the deal is with school. "So, but then if Larry's not registered, and as Lee I don't have any school records or any records really, then who am I gonna be? What's gonna happen the first day?" I start to hope I won't be able to attend school at all until they get this straightened out.

"We wanted to wait a few days between pulling Larry out and enrolling you, just to reduce the likelihood of someone making the connection. We'll go in on Tuesday and get you enrolled with the understanding that we don't have your legal documents immediately available because of our recent move." Damn. Guess I'm not getting out of school after all. "It'll take a while before they find out there's a problem locating your old school records; we'll try to get something worked out by then. Which reminds me--we--well, you--need to decide what your new name is going to be before we enroll you."

"Huh? It's Lee. Lee Llewellyn."

"Of course. But is Lee your full first name, or a nickname? And what's your middle name? Or is Lee still your middle name but you've decided you prefer it to your first name? Whatever you come up with, it won't be easy to change once you're enrolled."

"Oh. I guess I'll have to give it some thought then." Huh. I'd kinda been thinking I was stuck with Lee now for good or ill. I guess I have a little more leeway than I thought. So to speak. Heh. Oh, stop groaning; it wasn't that bad.

Do I like the name Lee? I never had a choice about my name before. This is kinda weird.

Hey, I never said how it was spelled. So it could be Leigh, like the actress from that Hitchcock movie, Psycho. Anyway Mom always said Liv and I were both named after Dad's favorite actor (think about it; I'm sure you can figure it out). So Leigh kinda makes sense as a replacement. At least it sorta fits the theme.

But that brings up an interesting question. "Dad? If I was born a girl, I mean looking like a girl and everything, what would you guys have named me?"

"Funny you should ask. We had a lot of trouble with that and actually hadn't come up with anything we could both agree on by the time you were born. So we were relieved when you came out a boy." He glances over and apparently notices the not-so-happy expression on my face at this revelation. "Well, you certainly looked like one when you were born." Guess I can't argue with that. "Anyway it saved a lot of arguing."

"Well, what did you want to name me? If you'd known I was a girl, I mean."

"Audrey, as in Hepburn." Yuck. I mean, I wouldn't mind having her looks and her talent, but Audrey? Come on. "But your mother thought it was too old-fashioned and would have none of it." Thank you, Mom! His voice gets conspiratorial. "I think she also suspected I was infatuated with Miss Hepburn and didn't want to encourage it."

I roll my eyes. "Thank god one of you had some sense." Luckily Dad seems to find that funny rather than getting offended. "What did she want to name me?"

"Tammy. After the title character of her favorite movie."

Good lord. My eyes are rolling so far back I think I can see the inside of my skull. "Oh, yeah, that's better." Well, I guess it would explain why she used to sing that song to me at bedtime. "Almost makes me glad I was born looking like a boy. At least this way I get to pick a decent name." Heck, Lee is way better than either of those. "I think I'm gonna stick with Lee for my first name. Only I'll spell it l-e-i-g-h, like Janet Leigh. How's that sound?" Dad chuckles. "What's so funny?"

"You mean you never figured out where your middle name came from?"

"Huh?"

"Your sister's middle name is Vivien..."

"Yeah, so?" It's always sounded kinda silly to me--Olivia Vivien. Then it dawns on me. "Ohhhh. Vivien, Lee.... Hey, so you saddled me with a girl's middle name for all those years?" I reach over and whack him on the arm.

"Ow! What's the problem? It never bothered you before. And now..." He looks amused but confused.

"Yeah but... I mean it's fine now, but... I'm just glad I never knew, is all. It was hard enough keeping up the pretense, without having to worry about that getting out."

"'All's well that ends well.' Have you thought about a middle name at all yet?"

"No, I was about to ask if you had any ideas."

"Well, a few years after you were born we did finally come across a name we could have agreed on for you. I think you might like it. It's from a Beatles song."

"What?" God, I hope it's not Rita. Or Lucy, or Madonna, or...

"Michelle."

"No way. Seriously?" He nods. Oh my god, it's perfect. I've got a big smile on my face now. I try it on for size. "Leigh Michelle Llewellyn. Hm, yes, it has a nice ring to it. Kind of rolls off the tongue." I like it. A lot. Plus it's like somehow it makes it all just a little bit more real. Like I'm not just pretending anymore, that really is my name. I'm a little giddy. "OK, I'll take it."

Dad laughs and gets a twinkle in his eye. "Shall I wrap it up for you then, Miss?" He's doing his best Obsequious Shopkeeper, which is a damn sight better than his Eric Idle.

I decide to play along as the Valued Customer with a haughty "Certainly. And see that it's delivered to my address."

"Your wish is my command, Miss. No sooner said than done." He pulls into our driveway and parks. We both break out laughing.

----------

At least I managed not to use up my babysitting pay before I even got the check this time. 'Course you're a lot less likely to break windows playing poker. Mrs. B didn't look all that thrilled when she saw me pull the cards and the carousel of chips out of my duffel, but the boys had fun learning and I had fun teaching them. And it's not like we played for real money, after all. She'll get over it. Anyway she seemed pretty impressed when I told her they went the whole evening without even asking to watch TV.

I'm having trouble falling asleep though. Worried about tomorrow, I guess. How it's going to go, how Grandfather will treat me, what Grandmother is going to expect of me--she has very definite ideas about how a young lady should behave and they're quite different from Mom's. Then again she's pretty tolerant with Liv so who knows. I guess that's the scary part--the not knowing.

I just try not to think about that, and think about what I'm gonna do with my hard-earned money instead. I should have plenty for that belt and the matching bracelet and some make-up but I don't know if that'll leave me enough for any new shoes. Or should I go for the shoes and hold off on the other stuff for now? We didn't set up another babysitting job so who knows when I'll be getting more money. And--you know, I never really gave a crap about this before, but for some reason it seems really important to make a good impression the first day of school and I haven't given any thought to what I should wear. And it's less than four days away!

OK, now I really can't get to sleep.

---

 
To Be Continued...