Author's Note: I have a Veronica Mars marathon to blame for this one. I always admired her quick wit and thirst for justice, never letting anything stand in the way of completing her case... no matter how bizarre. Pixie D'Angelo is dedicated to that spirit. This is a self-contained episode, much like a TV show. There might be others if the response is good enough to warrant. However, it has a end, for those that must have them or suffer seizures. Photo Credit: Blane Saunders

S1-01 - Help me Pixie-Wan Kenobi, You're My Only Hope.

Rule One: When beginning hormone treatments, after a year of psychiatric examination to determine whether or not you are serious about becoming a girl, do not, under any circumstances, ask your dad what he and your mom were going to name you if you were born a girl.

It was his last ditch effort to reel me in to remaining masculine.

Being a minor, I was still under his roof and still subject to his law, which I suppose is symmetrical in some way considering he's a cop. He's Chief of Police actually. I'll take what I can get; it keeps the less than serious jerks away from me. Considering we live in a small town, everyone pretty much knows who I am. Having an uncle, my dad's brother, as the principal of my school doesn't hurt either.

You may think that life is a cakewalk with a support system like that. That's where you would be wrong.

I started my hormone regiment eight and a half months ago. Within three months it started to become noticeable in the locker room. There just aren't a lot of guys running around at fifteen with really puffy nipples. Some, yeah, but combining that with a short stature, longer hair, and a rumor that I'm gay, well you see where I'm taking this.

Physical violence was fended off by my dad and uncle. Nobody really wanted to cross them, but that didn't stop everyone treating me like the new social pariah.

Why was I still in the boys locker room at that point? Because I wasn't planning on making the transition official until the beginning of summer. This way I could come back to school, for my junior year, as a girl. The school itself was pretty progressive, the students, about half and half. Some were asses, some would probably be supportive. There were a number of gay and lesbian students attending, but I would be the first transsexual.

~O~

"Ready to go, Pixie?"

See what I mean about not asking your parents about the name thing? I tried to argue with Dad, but his rational was that kids all over the world didn't have a choice in what their name was. If I was supposed to be a girl at birth then I would have to accept the name my mother chose if I was born as such.

Pixie De Angelo. I can already hear the teasing.

"Yeah, Dad."

The school uniform consisted of a Navy colored wide pleat skirt, white Oxford buttondown, white socks and black Mary Janes. At least they weren't the shiny shoes that younger kids wore. Mine were Doc Martins. Jewelry consisted of a single necklace, watch, earring studs, and if I wanted to wear a ring it would have to be a purity ring, no other jewelry was allowed.

It used to be a religious school, but that went to the wayside for the new year in favor of making it a higher end prep school. Private, yes, but considering that my uncle was the principal, I got a free ride. This was good, since dad wasn't really that well off. Sure he was the Chief, but it was a small town and I was looking forward to college in just two years. In other words, any spending money I wanted would have to be earned by me, but I already had a plan for that.

Dad dropped me off at the front door of the school and made sure a number of the students saw him, me, and the big blue and red lights on top of the police issue car he had. A little reinforcement for the people that didn't want to spend the night in a jail cell for assaulting me.

"You've got your phone with you?"

I nodded.

"Leave it on and make sure its on vibrate. Phillip said that he'd let the no cell usage rule slide for you, considering the circumstances."

Phillip is my uncle, the principal, in case you haven't figured that one out. "Yes, sir."

"If anyone gives you any crap today, make sure you report it. I don't care if it makes you look like a rat, or a narc or whatever they're calling it these days. Your safety comes first. If that means I have to make an example in front of the entire school…"

"Dad, I get it." I smiled at him. "Thanks."

He took a little calming breath. I could tell he was worried about me. "Call me at lunch and let me know how things are."

"Yes, sir."

I gave him another few seconds to show me how much he was concerned before I opened the door and made a break for it. While I recognized a few people on the way in, I don't really think anyone figured out who I was. Granted, by the time school was over last year, I looked totally different. I had always worn my just-past-the-shoulder length dark brown hair in a low ponytail and tucked under the collar of my shirt. Now it was dyed a little lighter and had a few highlights added. Ten pounds dropped off somewhere during the summer, mostly out of my face, I assumed, because I was losing those chipmunk cheeks that I really hated. They were almost gone, but not entirely.

Make up, and the new clothes probably didn't hurt matters.

Fooling people wasn't on my priority list. I knew I'd be made before roll call was finished during first period. Growing up with most of the people in my class would see to that. They'd connect my last name with my obvious absence and the name Pixie would stand out as unusual, so that meant everyone would be checking out the new girl, then their brain synapses would start firing.

The last year had pretty much hardened my skin against taunts flung at me by guys. It doesn't get much more worse than that. My plan was to ignore the shlubs and go about my day. I'd keep a list of those that made my life hard and in the end they would get theirs. I'm not a very forgiving person, neither am I a big believer in karma. I've seen too much of my dad's work at the police station.

The bad guys frequently get away, and the good guys don't always win. It rarely pays to tell the truth, because the other guy will lie his ass off as he plants the metaphorical knife as deep as he can into your back, so that you'll take the fall in his place.

My philosophy is to give the people I know one chance. If they screw it up, then destroy them as soon as humanly possible. It may seem like a harsh way to live life, but I've learned my lesson the hard way. You'll probably find out about that soon enough, so I'll leave that little sub-plot hanging for now.

Unless otherwise specified, students keep the same locker year after year. I avoided mine like the plague for the moment. It wasn't like I had fifteen books to drop off or anything. School just started. The thing that took higher priority was to make sure I got the desk I wanted for first period, which was Logic, by the way. Yeah, I'm pretty much finished with the core course load, as are most of the students that attend.

It's a college prep school. The only core classes I'm taking this year are Junior English, and Government. The rest are electives: World history AP, third year Latin, and Study Hall. A light load, I know. But I had better things to do since receiving a pass on Phys Ed. I still had to make sure to get my dad to sign off on self-defense that he was privately teaching me. That was my daily workout and the reason I could blow off that course for this and the following year.

By the time I had made it to class, I knew I'd been spotted by a minimum of three ex-friends who looked at me with curious faces. It was like they knew me from somewhere but couldn't actually figure it out. It might be good for an Oh my God! moment in their own class. Maybe they would get demerits for their sudden outburst in the middle of roll call. Well, I could always hope for the best.

Yeah, we work on the point system here. I was in the running for an academic scholarship against eleven other juniors all within two-tenths of a grade point. Seven of those people I can't stand. The other three are nice enough, but would have to go down if I stood a chance of making Dad's life any easier. He was busting his hump to make sure I had enough money to go to any college I choose. If there's an Ivy League school in my future, he would be hurting. Five demerits and you lose a tenth of a grade point. It takes ten merit points in order to earn it back. Those are infinitely harder to accumulate.

"Del?"

I froze and almost tripped myself right before entering the classroom. Del was my boy name; it was short for Delbert. Yes, my parents had no compassion when it came to naming children. Steeling my nerves I turned my head and saw Alicia Peterson to my right. Her middle of the back curly blonde hair was gone in lue of, ironically enough, a pixie cut with pink tips. Guess who was going to be sent to the councilor's office for dress code violation?

"Hey Alicia." She wide-eyed me for a few seconds before opening her mouth again to state the obvious. Instead of letting her ramble on, I cut her off. "I'm going by Pixie now."

Her jaw dropped open for a second time and she blinked hard. "God, I knew you were a fag, but gheeze!"

Guess who just made the top of the shit list for the day?

"You might want to fire whoever did your hair. I think they over-bleached it. It's looking dry and frizzy" Spinning back around I went to find my seat in the back corner of the class.

A hint to all of you social exiles out there still in school. Always choose the back row. Nobody can throw things at you without you seeing them first. I learned that lesson last February when Brian Ferguson's PB&J sandwich just happen to fall out of his backpack, the plastic baggie it was in, and split itself open before launching itself at the back of my head. Ever tried to get blackberry preserves out of your hair?

Nobody said a thing. No witnesses. The only thing that gave him away was the act of licking his fingers afterward. The following day, for some unknown reason, Dad brought in the drug dog and guess who's locker held a single joint stuffed in the back corner under a rarely used biology book? I'm not saying how he knew to make sure to check that specific locker. I mean it was only one joint. How would the dogs pick up the scent with it being smooshed underneath the book?

Huh. I guess Brian might have rubbed some loose leaves on the outside of the locker just to make sure the dog had something to go on. That might have done the trick. But why would he have done that?

Ask me no questions and I will tell you no lies. Suffice it to say that he was expelled, zero tolerance and all.

Rule Seven: Destroy your enemies.

~O~

"Pixie De Angelo."

"Here."

Heads turned and I made it a point to flip open my Logic textbook at that moment and peruse the formulas on the back of the hardcover. There were a couple of snickers, but nothing overt. If that was all I'd experience today, I'd count myself lucky.

Halfway through the incredibly boring introduction I asked for a pass to the restroom. No, not the girl's room. That was off limits. I got to use one of three unisex restrooms located strategically around the school. The good part was that the closest to that particular class was near the office. Hopefully by the time I made it back to class we'd actually be doing work.

It was down the second hall turn off that I heard it, someone sniffling in the vicinity of the glittery "Welcome Back to School" poster hanging from the ceiling. I stopped and turned around, trying to focus on where I heard the sound. It's amazing how quiet the halls were during class. A few seconds later and I narrowed my focus to a single locker. Even I was impressed.

We're in high school for god's sake. How can someone actually be small enough to be shoved into a locker?

"Hello?"

Something banged against the door, but then quieted. "Can you get a teacher?" a boy asked.

"Is this your locker?"

"No."

So much for having the combination to the lock. I set my backpack down and opened the main portion. "Hold on, I'll have you out in a minute."

Checking to make sure the coast was clear, I took out a small black billfold that had a zip close and withdrew a tension wrench and a spring pick.

"What are you doing?" came the boy's voice.

"Lessoning the embarrassment factor. Just hang on."

Twenty seconds later -- it's discomforting to realize how easy school lockers are to pick -- and I popped the latch. Freshman. That explained the size issue.

He literally fell out of the confined space as I was zipping up the billfold and storing it away. "Can you describe the guy that did this?"

At least I hope it was a guy. That would be severely embarrassing for him if it was a girl. He palmed his face a couple of times to cover up the tear tracks and red cheeks It must suck to be saved by a girl.

"There were three of them, with jackets."

I rolled my eyes and waved him with me down the hall. "Come on."

Senior class football jocks. Can they be any more cliché?

"How did you open the locker without the combination?"

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. "You didn't see that."

"I didn't see what?"

"Exactly."

"What?"

Stopping in the middle of the hall, I spun on him. "I can always stuff you back inside the locker if you need an answer that bad."

He looked dejected. "Sorry."

Shaking my head, I started over. "Nevermind. This is the way it works here. Survival of the fittest and all. It's high school. You owe me either money or a favor, your choice. If you want revenge that will be more money or a much bigger favor, again your choice."

Something dawned on his face and then it fell into a mask of despair. "My money was in my backpack." He looked dejected again. "How much do I owe you?"

Lifting my eyebrows, I pondered for a moment. I remembered exactly how much I hated being a freshman. It plucked at my heartstrings. "Ten bucks for the locker spring. Another twenty for backpack retrieval. If you want reimbursement from the jocks that did this, that's fifty. If you want revenge…" I smiled with just a touch of evil added. "Well, that's negotiable."

He thought I was kidding about the money and it showed with the incredulous look on his face. "Who are you?"

Without losing a beat I said, "I'm someone that needs a lot of money. College doesn't pay for itself."

Private school rich kids, pfft. There were seven scholarship/financial aide students enrolled at the moment and none of them were freshmen. So, I stood there and looked at him expectantly.

"Fine. I won't be able to pay you until tomorrow."

I nodded. "That's cool." We continued down the hall. "But fair warning. Don't try to stiff me."

We arrived outside the office doors and I pointed up at the wall of pictures. You have to wonder about schools that love their football team more than their academic achievers. The first two strings of the varsity line up were plastered all over the wall. "There's your mug shots."

It didn't take him long to find them while I made notes with a stack of Post-its.

"Okay, what is it you want done?"

He blinked at me, totally clueless.

With a sigh I gave him the list. "Backpack retrieval? Revenge?"

"Everything."

Ah, a boy after my own heart. "Okay. Do you want this to be anonymous? Or do you care if the teachers find out?"

I saw the fear in his eyes. "Anonymous it is."

His lips pressed together, so I offered something else. "I can always make it look like you planned everything. That way they'll think twice about stuffing you in a locker again."

"I don't want to get busted by the cops or anything."

The office door opened up behind us. "Pixie?"

A bright grin opened on my face. "Uncle Phillip!" He gave me the what-are-you-up-to face before I waved my hall pass. "Just going to the restroom, and helping one of our new students find his way."

"That's very thoughtful of you."

Wrapped around my little finger, I tell ya. He examined my pass. Okay, maybe he's not completely wrapped.

"Do you mind if we checked lost and found. It seems he may have misplaced his backpack."

"Already?"

The freshman looked down, but I nodded. "Yeah, some seniors thought they would be helpful and offered to carry it for him."

Uncle Phillip didn't miss much. He looked at me inquiringly. I gave him the short shake of my head, and he understood that it was a face saving thing. "Go right ahead, Pixie. You know where it is."

"Thanks, Uncle Phillip."

He held the door open for us and we slipped inside the office. I waved at Shannon, the receptionist, behind the desk. She bent down and pulled out a brown leather A&F bag, setting it on the desk. "Looking for this?"

The freshman nearly peed himself with gratitude. The first thing he did was open it up and check to make sure his money was still there. Of course it was. Seniors have better things to do than get busted stealing cash. If it were drugs or steroids then that would be an entirely different matter. Nobody was going to report those particular items missing.

"Everything there?" I asked.

He nodded and then looked at me. "You knew it was here the whole time." His tone was almost accusatory, so I just stared him down.

"The fine upstanding young men of the football team always bring things to the lost and found."

Shannon covered a snort.

~O~

The freshman covered thirty dollars of what he owed me and I gave him the lowdown on operation Revenge of the Nerd. He really wasn't a nerd, just short, but I have to name these things so I can keep them straight in my head. We settled on a price, seventy-five dollars. Hey, it was revenge against three jocks, I gave him a bulk rate discount. Well, that and I really like screwing with the high and mighty.

It was a simple public embarrassment job. I did give him the option of having them kicked off the team, but that ran into some big money. Apparently rich kids do have monetary limits.

While I didn't have the necessary tools to complete the job that day, I went about my normal business. Government was third period. I'd squeezed by English class with only a few giggles and a snort or two, no harm really. However, third period actually had people in it that I was on speaking terms with. In other words, gay people.

Craig Vaughn was an ex-basketball-jock so he towered over most us, me as well. He wasn't as lanky now that he'd actually stopped running back and forth on hardwood chasing a big orange ball and patting his teammates on the butt.

I was sitting in the back row with my legs crossed, perusing the syllabus for the current semester when he sat down in the desk beside me. "Dude, I heard the rumor."

Looking over at him, I said, "Hello, Craig." I didn't try to correct his inaccurate dude comment. He called everyone dude, even girls.

He grinned in a disbelieving way as he looked down at my legs. "You shaved too?"

I nodded. "Waxed actually. It is what girls do."

"Yeah, but you're not a girl."

"Not yet, but I'm working on it."

He leaned back and tried to make room for his overly long legs for another minute or so while we watched others enter and find their seat, then he leaned over. "Well, good for you, I guess."

I nodded. "Thanks for not being an ass, Craig."

He shrugged. "It's not like I have any room to talk."

"True." Tongue fencing with the second string center on the basketball team tended to assign a person into a certain social strata. While it still wasn't on the same level as altering your sex, it did leave questions about throwing rocks in glass houses.

~O~

Within the safety of the unisex restroom, I called my dad, it being lunch time and all.

"How are they treating you?"

Brushing an errant hair behind my ear I answered. "About how I expected. Nothing too evil. There's too many teachers out and about."

"Good. How about you?"

"How about me what?"

"How do you feel about your friends accepting or not accepting you?"

I released a sigh. "They're not my friends, Dad."

"Are you telling me that you have no friends at school?"

And here we go. "I'm not exactly high on the societal standings list at the moment."

Silence answered me after a few moments. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's not a big deal, Dad. I'll be gone in two years and all of this won't make a difference one way or the other." I really believed that. High school wasn't the end all beat all road to my mental well being. Sure some people say that your teenage years are suppose to be the best times of your life. In my opinion, those same people are overweight cheerleaders and jocks that are well past their prime and stuck in the past.

"Well, I'm here if you want to talk."

I hate having serious conversations on the phone. "I got to get going if I want to eat."

~O~

Someone left a present for me in my locker between fifth and sixth period. A note: Fag.

A few minutes with the roll of duct tape I kept in the locker, and I'd sealed off the little vents that would prevent anyone else leaving me love notes. True, it wouldn't stop somebody determined to poke a knife or something thin through to cut the tape, but they would have to be a little more noticeable doing so. I'd have to bring along something tougher to cover them with the following day if I wanted to protect my stuff from vandalism. Being me, I know exactly how easy it is to screw around with people's lockers and their contents. Not that I've ever done anything so juvenile. Really, trust me.

After sandwiching the note in my Government textbook, taking care not to mess up any potential fingerprints, I closed it up and shut the locker. Believe me, keeping any evidence of potential hate crimes and clues as to who the suspects are were on the top of my list of things to do. I'd spent way too much time at the police station watching the bad guys getting away on technicalities or lack of evidence.

Some people think I'm jaded, or pessimistic. I think I'm a thirty year old woman in the body of a sixteen year old boy turning into an eighteen year old girl.

~O~

After the final bell, I stuck around to ask the Latin teacher a few question on a speech we were translating, but really it was so that I could let the halls clear a little. After school was the best time for evil to have its way. There were fewer witnesses and more jocks. Granted, there were also band nerds, and choir geeks that stayed after as well, but they were firmly ensconced on the other side of the school.

Imagine my surprise, as I was making my way to the Commons where I was going to spend the next couple of hours doing homework while I waited for my dad to pick me up, at seeing a mess of books and a familiar leather A&F backpack sitting in front of a locker.

This time someone was banging on the door. A couple of students passed by with covered mouths and not so quiet giggles, without so much as a concerned glance.

"Are you trapped again, freshman?"

"Pixie!"

He remembered my name. Another minute later and the freshman, again, fell out of the locker.

"Either you need some self defense classes or you need to eat more so you won't fit when they try to stuff you in there. Maybe screaming would help."

The burning glare I received, for my unsolicited advice, wasn't very threatening. I mean, come on, he's a freshman; it takes a couple of years in high school to build up the proper amount of hatred for a convincing death glare. "I'll have your money tomorrow."

I shrugged. "You don't have to go the money route. Favors work just as good." Okay, I admit I was feeling semi-guilty for milking the kid.

While he was shoving books into his locker, he glanced back at me. "What kind of favors?"

"Depends on what talents you have to offer." When his confused face showed its ugly head, I explained. "If you're a computer wiz and I need a problem fixed then you're the goto guy."

He shook his head. "I don't like computers like that."

Raising my eyebrows at him, I clarified. "It was an example. What are you good at? Hobbies, favorite pastimes, whatever."

He unzipped his backpack and withdrew a very expensive looking camera. "Photography. I also read a lot of comics."

I'm sure he'd had enough of being picked on for the day, so I left the comics thing alone. "See, now there is a potentially profitable hobby. The right place and the right time can get you some pretty nice blackmail material."

Setting his camera back in the backpack, he zipped it up. "You're a very strange girl."

He doesn't know the half of it. After staring at his backpack and the goldmine within, I pondered exactly how much trouble I would bring down on my shoulders for my naughty thoughts. With a devious grin I motioned down the hall. "Walk with me."

"Where are we going?

"Athletics locker room."

He eyed the front doors as we passed.

"Do you have a bus to catch or something?"

He shook his head. "No. I walk to school. I just don't want to get in trouble."

Hitching my backpack further up my shoulder, I waggled my eyebrows at him. "You're with me. Don't worry. My uncle is the principal."

I could hear the roughhousing outside the locker room when we arrived. Football jocks were currently romping around the room calling each other names and patting each other on the butt, or whatever they do when gathered in large groups. The maintenance door, further down the hall was unlocked as always. It may have been because of the Lock-Tight I squeezed into the deadbolt the previous year. Some schools are cheap and won't replace little things like this.

Once we'd ducked inside, unnoticed, the freshman started to look decidedly nervous. I held up a single finger to my mouth and waited until he understood he had to be quiet. The ladder, bolted into the wall led into the ceiling where we crept along one of the air conditioning vents while I gained my bearings in relation to the locker room. It didn't take long to find the right junction box.

Withdrawing my utility knife sans blades, since that was considered a weapon, I unscrewed the outer panel.

"What are you doing?" the freshman whispered in confusion.

"Get your camera out, and quit staring at my legs."

~O~

"I can't believe I just did that. I feel so dirty."

My foot bounced a little in amusement as I sat there in the Commons with my legs crossed, sifting through my homework for the day. "You'll get used to it. Oh, and make sure you delete any pictures of their equipment, if you get my meaning. That would be considered child porn." At the look in his eyes he whipped out the camera and started thumbing through the pics on the little viewscreen. "Don't worry. You did good for your first case."

He paused and looked up at me. "First?"

I nodded. "Sure." I gave him a wide grin. "Tell me you did not have fun up there, and tell me you don't feel the thrill of knowing that those guys are going to reap what they sewed."

The freshman let the weight of the camera settle onto his lap. "You are so not what I thought high school girls would be like."

That earned another grin from me. "The first thing you should remember about girls is that once crossed, we can be extraordinarily evil in return. Treat us right and we'll do the same… most of the time."

He thought about that for all of three seconds. "Hey, uh, since I took the pictures does that mean I get some sort of discount?"

My eyebrows lifted. "Depends."

The freshman got a little jittery again, but held his nerve. I guess he was learning. "On what?"

With a shrug I explained. "I need a cameraman. Admittedly, I suck at taking pictures. Mine always come out blurred, even with the auto-focus. So I'll need someone to back me up when the occasions arise. You game?"

His mouth dropped open, slightly. "You mean I'd have to take more pictures of naked guys?"

I laughed at that image. "Whatever the case calls for. Usually incriminating shots, some blackmail material, for insurance, whatever."

"Blackmail?"

I nodded. "Look at it this way. After I photoshop those pictures a little, every one of those guys is going to be put into a position of defending their heterosexuality. Guys don't like to do that." He nodded a little in understanding. "This is why I wanted to know if you were skittish about letting them know you were in on it. If they come after you again, you can let them know that you were the one that took the pictures and that you have many more that are much worse."

His eyes widened at the implication.

I just grinned. "Then you get them to back off. You can't go overboard and demand money or anything, then you are getting into actual blackmail and that's a felony. However, you can defend yourself. I'll set up an anonymous web page on Facebook or something and post the incriminating photos that way they can't track it back to you."

"Wow," he said as he pondered the possibilities. "That almost good enough."

With a snicker, I fed him some more. "Oh, that's only the beginning. If they keep giving you grief then I start posting bad gay poetry and emo music about how nobody can understand them and their forbidden love."

That actually got him laughing. "How do you know to do all of this stuff?"

I shrugged. "My dad's the chief of police. I see this kind of thing all the time when I visit him at work. Plus I'm not exactly popular at the moment."

He blinked and then his brow furrowed. "Why not, you so freaking cool."

That made me feel a little warmth in that hardened piece of granite I used to call my heart. Too bad it was coming to a such a quick end. "I'm transitioning gender's at the moment."

Confusion was quickly becoming his trademark look. "What?" He didn't get it.

"I used to be a boy. I'm becoming a girl."

~O~

So much for making a new friend.

The freshman's face went pale as a skin on my butt and then he conjured up lame excuses to make himself not be in my immediate vicinity. Nothing rude or vicious came out of his mouth, but I could see the fear of acquiring transgender cooties written all over his face.

Dad picked me up in front of the school at four-thirty. "Everything okay?"

I nodded. "Can we stop by the bank on the way home?"

He gave me a wary eye. "Withdraw or deposit?"

"Deposit."

"How much?"

"Thirty dollars." It's not much, but add that to the fifteen-hundred I already had in there and interest starts to build. Leaving it sitting in my room or in my purse doesn't earn anything at all. This way I could have a few extra dollars each quarter.

"And where did you get thirty-dollars?"

There are downsides to having a cop as a father. "Services rendered. Nothing illegal. Don't worry."

"Pixie," he warned.

"Some football jocks stuffed a freshman in a locker twice today. I'm making them stop."

He rolled his eyes. "That's what your uncle Phillip is there for."

I nodded. "Quite true, but if the kid want's to live after school hours then there's not much you or he can do."

He pondered that for a few moments. "What are you planning on doing?"

"Like I said before, nothing illegal. If you know then you might feel honor bound to do something about it. This way you have plausible deniability." When I got the don't-shit-a-bullshitter look I went on the defensive. "It's just something to embarrass them enough to lay off."

He laid off at that point, but as always, Dad had to get in the last word. "Don't forget your scholarship is at stake. You don't need any demerits."

Rule Number Three: Always keep your parents in the dark for as long as possible.

~O~

Homework was finished at school. It was the one thing that I liked about staying after in the Commons. That left me with my little photoshop project. The freshman, who I'll have to revert to calling Shutt3rbug since that's what his screen name was, didn't wimp out. An email was waiting for me when I booted up my laptop.

I suppose he remembered my warning about stiffing me. As far as I was concerned the contract was already made. If he backed out then he was still responsible for fulfilling his end of the bargain. After all, I showed him my secret way to gather evidence from the boys locker room. That came at a cost.

It didn't take much to enlarge Pete Samperson's butt a little to make it look like it was being caressed by his best buddy. I didn't even have to adjust one of the shots where Jimmy Herne's hand was strategically located to make it look like he was… um, cupping, I guess, Ralph Masterson in an area I'd rather not talk about.

I'd have to wait to use the school server the next morning to set up the Facebook page. But I did make a few fliers with a random account name, so I could pass those out at lunch. By one o'clock they'd be a laughing stock, and I'd be a hundred and five dollars richer.

~O~

Getting Dad to drop me off to school early got him all suspicious. There's no avoiding certain things in life; Dad's burning desire to protect me stood at the forefront.

The Facebook page was up and running. Mission complete. Operation Revenge of the Nerd was complete. Paycheck time.

The first bell signaling the school's desire for students to get their butts to class in fifteen minutes or else, rang. That's about the time that Shutt3rbug strolled in the front doors. He saw me waiting patiently in the Commons. Before he reached me I flipped open the laptop and turned to around so he could see my handiwork. When I looked up at him he appeared skittish, like I was going to grow claws and infect him with my gender issues. Instead of letting his gaze linger on me it trailed to the screen and the pulsing pink hearts all aglow along the outside of each picture. I went ahead and added the bad gay poetry. I didn't write it, so what the heck.

Instead of saying anything I held my hand out as I gave him the most indifferent face I could manage. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a few twenties and a five.

"I don't have change," I told him.

His eyes flicked away. "The extra ten is for the locker after school."

Ah. He was totally bailing on me. No favors in the future.

"Fine," I said.

His lips tightened and I could see he wanted to say something. I shut down the computer and pulled out the fliers. "Pass these around. It's the URL to the page. We're square. Go away, freshman." Was I a little harsh? Maybe. Pardon me if I get slightly annoyed that he thinks I'm someone totally different than the person he met yesterday morning.

He glanced at me one more time, then surprised me when he looked down at my legs before almost running away. Male puberty must be a total bitch. All those tiny pustules of testosterone exploding in his brain making him confused about his attraction to me despite the fact that he knew that I still possessed a penis.

Did he go home and surf the internet for T-girl porn? Did he get entranced by the sordid stories. Was it shame that he felt when he experienced an erection during it all? Did he dream about me last night? Did he wake up with the most intense morning wood he'd ever experienced, or was that what woke him… his first wet dream?

He was attracted to me before he knew that there was something extra underneath my skirt. That much was obvious when we were crawling around above the locker room. Was he still attracted after he found out; that was the question for him to ponder. Me, I really didn't care.

Granted, we were only separated by a couple of years in age, but those years were a wide gulf in high school. No thank you. I had no interest in freshmen that had marshmallows in the place their spinal column was supposed to be.

The second day of class was a little more intense than the first. Word about my new status had spread on all the social networks, most likely. Just about everyone's eyes were on me at one point or another.

Step right up, see the human oddity. Presenting the amazing girl-boy. She slices, dices and someday soon a doctor will over-circumcise. The urge to run up to the gawkers and scream, Boo! was overwhelming, but I restrained myself. Even the teachers were giving me more attention than usual, making me think Uncle Phillip had said something. I knew he had to alert the staff that there was a transsexual in the student body just in case there was an explosion of hate crime with said student's name written all over it.

The strange part? Even the lesbians were looking at me with loathing in their eyes. Hypocritical self-centered bitches. I guess I crossed some line with their non-existent morality. I could see what they thought; it was plain on their faces. They thought the only reason I would want to be a girl was so that I could spy on them as some sort of perverted fantasy fulfillment.

Yeah, that made a whole lot of sense. I ingested daily what amounted to poison in my system, had my testes removed, and annihilated any chance of a normal social life for the next two years, all so I could see them in their panties. The capacity for human beings to show exactly how retarded they could be amazed me.

Oh, it's not that I'm being politically incorrect. I truly believe they are retarded in the traditional sense, back when it meant possessing an intelligence quotient below seventy. The way I see it, intelligence is based on three things: the ability to acquire knowledge -- to learn and understand, the ability to apply that knowledge -- to problem solve, and the ability to engage in abstract reasoning -- to analyze information and solve problems on a complex, thought-based level.

Judging from the looks I was receiving, I'd say that most of the student body had left number three at home, thus lowering their intelligence quotient to the sixties somewhere… with the football team, possibly lower. I can only assume that, due to the occasional grunts and scrotum scratching that I observed between classes. When guys are confused about math problems, they scratch their heads. When confronted with problems of a more complex nature, the scratching moves south to their balls. This is a purely unscientific observation based on scant anecdotal evidence, but I think it's sound.

I could be totally wrong and maybe that actually is where they keep their brains.

~O~

By the end of lunch, as predicted, there were some very angry, once famous in our school, heterosexual jocks. Now they were infamously playing for the other team. One of them even had the inside of his locker painted in pink with several pictures of Justin Bieber hanging all around decorated with little red hearts surrounding the pop star's face. I'm not saying how that happened, nor am saying I how annoyed I was that I was still picking pink spray paint from under my fingernails.

I will say that the school can't remove the paint until the first four day holiday considering the caustic nature of the industrial strength paint remover they'd have to use. Safety first. I'd love to have seen his face when he found out that it'd be Thanksgiving when that happened.

No, they can't just paint over it. The school governors are very strict about what colors are used and the funds allocated for yearly renovation for lockers was already spent during the summer.
Sadly, the pictures of Justin Bieber would be easy to dispose of. That didn't prevent other's from taping them to the outside of his locker though. Some of the art students were very creative.

The downside to this was their ability to be creative to my locker as well.

I highly recommend blowing a couple of dollars on a small can of non-stick cooking spray, Pam, or the like, lasts longer than the generic brands. A light coating to the outside of my locker prevented any type of tape to adhere properly, even if they tried to wipe it off there would be enough residual oil to work. You just had to make sure that you didn't get any on the combination spindle.

It's like I always say, when life give you lemons, make sure you're prepared when they're squeezed in your face.

End

Author's Note: I have a Veronica Mars marathon to blame for this one. I always admired her quick wit and thirst for justice, never letting anything stand in the way of completing her case... no matter how bizarre. Pixie D'Angelo is dedicated to that spirit. This is a self-contained episode, much like a TV show. Quote credit: The autoeroticism quote is from an episode of Veronica Mars. It was just too good to pass up. Photo Credit: Blane Saunders
You might want to read the previous story so you know what the heck is going on in this one.

S1-02 - Does This Towel Make Me Look Fat?

"Guess what I'm doing tonight?" asked Shutt3rbug, otherwise known as Peter Peterson, aka Little Freshman.

I looked over my shoulder as I headed to English class. "I'm guessing it involves autoeroticism."

It had been three weeks since the beginning of school and since I had pulled him out of a locker twice in one day. That afternoon, he'd joined a good portion of the ignorant public and freaked out over me changing my gender. The next day I'd snubbed him, and ever since, he's been hounding me.

"Nope... wait, what?"

I sighed. "What are you doing tonight, Peter?"

He gave me a half frown, which is a really odd look; only half of his mouth moved downward. "I said you can call me Pete."

Looking at my watch I announced. "Got about fifteen seconds before the warning bell rings. You might want to speed this up."

Determination showed on his face. "I've got two tickets to the Del Mar Carnival."

I squinted at him for a moment. "Well, uh, have fun with that."

He grabbed me by the upper arm. It wasn't hard or anything, more like an I'm not through telling you the awesome news yet, don't go away gesture. The problem was that he started talking right when the warning bell sounded for class to start, and with the speaker right above the door to the classroom three feet away, I didn't hear what he had to add.

"I'm sorry, what?"

His face had taken on an unhealthy red, splotchy look to it. He swallowed. "I asked if you wanted to go to it with me?"

Pardon me if I lapse into mild incoherence for a moment. I was momentarily taken aback.

Here was a guy, a freshman mind you, that knew exactly who and what I was. For the last three weeks I've known him, I've all but smacked him upside the head to encourage him to go away and leave me alone. All of this was due to his ability to be an ignorant ass --maybe that's a little strong -- how about ignorant twit. And now he's asking me to go out on a date with him.

"No."

He didn't take it badly, just set his lips kind of firm, nodded, and walked away.

No, I didn't have to wash my hair, or do my nails, or clean the closet or whatever lies most girls tell guys to let them down. That just wasn't me.

"Dude, that was harsh."

I spun to find Craig Vaughn standing there, all six feet whatever former basketball player, and all around nice gay guy. "It's best to be straight forward about these things, Craig. I don't want to lead him on."

He shrugged and walked with me to our seats which were next to each other. "Yeah, but damn."

I shrugged. "He's a freshman anyway. It would never work out."

He smiled at me as he tossed his book bag underneath his seat. "Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

Looking affronted, I dropped my bag beside the desk and then gave him a questioning look. "You're saying I should go out with a freshman that’s been pestering me for three weeks?"

He shrugged. "Do what you gotta do, Pixie. It's our junior year. In two more years, who's gonna care?"

There was that. For most teenagers, life begins and ends on the opinions of your fellow classmates, your cliques, your peers. The desire to be included, and part of the social strata drives a good portion of the idiocy that is adolescence. This usually leads to drug abuse, alcohol abuse, eating disorders, misdemeanors, felonies, you name it and a teenager has probably done it all so they can be accepted and revered by their fellow classmates.

Keeping that in mind, there was no chance whatsoever that I would be accepted, popular, part of the in-crowd... ever. So what did it really matter if I dated an underclassman, even if he was a twit? I'll tell you why.

I'm in this for two more years. I can pretty much take care of myself and if I can't, I have my uncle and my dad that can back me up. If all else fails, I can always get revenge later. That's me. Peter Peterson had four more years and he was a relatively normal person, and he had crap for defensive skills. I mean, he did get stuffed in a locker... twice, in one day.

So it was like I was doing him a favor by ignoring him and saying no to his offer. It was a community service I was performing by reducing the amount of chum in the water for the bullying upperclasssharks to feed upon.

Or at least that was how I was rationalizing it.

~O~

Logic homework wasn't difficult, just very time and attention consuming, which was why I wasn't acutely aware of my surroundings as I sat in the commons awaiting Dad to get off work for my daily ride home. So, you can understand why I jumped when the little freshman dropped himself down in the seat across from me.

I frowned a little and then resumed my work.

"Why no?" he asked, fairly straight forward.

I looked up at him beneath my eyelashes. "Why are you even asking in the first place?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Cocking my head to the side, I laid my pencil down on my work and laced my fingers on top. "It means: what is your motivation for asking me out on a date? You made your opinion of me and my desires known pretty well at this very table, three weeks ago."

He sighed and scratched at a piece of dried food that the custodians missed when wiping down the tables after lunch. "I apologized for that."

I nodded. "Which is why I'm even talking to you in the first place."

While watching his face go splotchy red again was amusing, it didn't make me feel any better.

"Why do you have to make this so hard, Pixie?"

Leaning into the chair, I twisted my back to get a kink out. "It's called survival." At his questioning look, I clarified. "I was young and naive at one time too. Always thinking the best of people, thinking that if I was humble, truthful, you know, all that Girl Scout crap. Well, then people would accept me as I was."

I shook my head. "That's not how the world works, Peter."

He leaned into the table, defensively crossing his arms. "What has that got to do with me? I can't be threatening to you."

That brought a mild smile to my face. "I never said you were." Deciding on another tack, I crossed my legs. "Why do you even want to go out with me? You know I used to be a boy and I'm barely started with my transition."

He nodded. "Yeah I read up on what was involved."

That didn't surprise me. "So you've seen the pictures and read the stories that are out there."

"Yeah... what? No." He was getting incredibly flustered. "I mean, yeah I saw them, but I had to adjust the Safe Search in order to find anything that wasn't porn related."

I gave him a doubtful eye.

"Really! Guh." Peter's head dropped to the table and then came back up. "I'm not perfect, Pixie. I'm a fifteen year old teenage guy. Of course I've seen porn on the internet."

That threw me for a second. "You're fifteen?"

He nodded. "Today's my birthday." The change of subject looked very welcome. "Dad's taking me down to DPS tomorrow so I can test for my temporary drivers permit. That's how I got the tickets for tonight."

I blinked. "Well, happy birthday."

"Thanks." Peter glanced down at the table again and then back up at me. "So, what do you think? Carnival tonight?"

Back to subject. "Answer one question, truthfully, without any deflection and I'll consider it."

He straightened and swallowed. "Okay."

"Why would you want to date a transgendered girl?"

His eyes told me that he didn't completely understand the question. "I don't. I want to date you."

~O~

Who would have thought that a newly minted fifteen year old boy had hidden depths?

Can people learn from their mistakes? I'm living proof. That naive person that I used to be had to learn that lesson the hard way -- Sorry. I keep hinting about some major trauma sub-plot that is part of my life. But the truth is that I don't want to talk about it right now, maybe next time.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Dad asked from the doorway to my room as I was touching up my makeup.

"You knew this was coming at some time, Dad."

He was chewing in the inside of his cheek.

"Look at it this way. You won't have to worry about me getting pregnant."

"Pixie, that's not funny."

I chuckled. "It's a little funny." He shoved his hands in his pockets. I was worried about him. "What are you having for dinner?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I’m sure there’s a tasty Raman noodle cup that hasn’t expired yet."

I sighed. "Go out and eat tonight. You deserve a break for once."

"I'm helping a couple of the boys out tonight."

Capping off the lipstick, I stuck it in my purse. "Oh yeah? Where at?"

"The carnival."

"Daaaad."

A smug look dropped on his face. "I haven't met this boy of yours and I don't feel comfortable with you alone with him."

I snorted. "He's a freshman. Today's his fifteenth birthday. He's actually smaller than me. I think I could take him."

"Smaller?"

I shrugged. "We're the same height. He's just skinnier than me. Hard to believe, huh?"

"Do you have to wear so much makeup? Guys get the wrong idea if you put too much on."

I stood and set my purse on the table, walked over and gave my dad a hug. "I love you. You know that, right?"

He mumbled something unintelligible, but I let it go.

"I'll be safe. Peter isn't a perv."

Dad huffed. "All teenage boys are perverts. It's hardwired in their genetic code. I was a pervert when I was fifteen."

"I wasn't," I countered.

"You don't count. You're not a boy."

Kissing him on his cheek and thumbing the residue lipstick off, I smiled at him. "Try not to embarrass me tonight, please. You can watch from a distance if you absolutely need to..."

"I'm not going to spoil your first date as a girl, but if he so much as touches any part of you, except for your hand and maybe a kiss on the cheek, then I bring out the handcuffs and cane, and we reenact Midnight Express."

After rolling my eyes, I grabbed my purse. "Thanks for letting me use the car tonight. Don't wait up."

"I expect you back home no later than nine, Pixie," he said as I exited down the hall without him.

"I'll see you about ten or eleven."

"No later!"

~O~

Since Dad had the police issue Impala, he dumped the old family car and bought a new one. It wasn't officially mine, but I was the only one who drove it. Knowing this would be the case, I voted for a Volkswagen Beetle; what I received was a Honda Fit.

We were on a budget and the family car paid for half of the down payment for the tiny Japanese car, so I couldn't complain. It was a car, it was new, and I was a junior in high school. I suppose I should be grateful that I didn't receive a '79 Gremlin.

Peter lived four streets over. I spied the address clearly marked on the mailbox and pulled into the driveway.

By the time I'd closed my door, I heard his voice call out. "She's here, Mom. See you later."

What came out of the front door was something that I had to pause and stare at for a moment. He had his dirty blonde hair slicked back and was wearing clothes that weren't the standard high school freshman fare: black Docker style pants, dark red long-sleeve button down, and black loafers.

He gave me a look and smiled before grimacing. "Don't say anything. My mom made me dress this way."

An amused grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. "Well, she has pretty good taste. A little formal for a carnival, but it makes a good impression." When he met me at the car, I added. "Don't worry, we can relax it a little."

Peter nodded and made his way to the driver's side to open my door for me. I gave him the slightest lift of my eyebrows and turned around to sit down. The skirt I was wearing wasn't too short, a couple of inches above the knee, but I didn't want to flash him.

When he finally settled himself on the passenger side I gave him a fashion tip. "Roll your sleeves up to just under your elbows and unbutton the next button in line from the top. It'll look more relaxed."

His mother had him cinched up all the way, excluding the final collar button. It definitely wasn't anywhere near the style for today’s emerging teen, but it was better than before.

Once he was firmly under restraint of the seatbelt, I backed into the street and headed out of the subdivision. Peter looked around the interior.

"Is this your mom's car?"

I shook my head. Not wanting to delve into the drama that is my life, I gave him an amended version. "I live with my dad. It's my car, but I have to prove that I can be responsible before I can use it regularly. It's one of the downfalls of living with law enforcement. He sees firsthand how brainless teens can be when introduced to alcohol and drugs. So, I get to pay for their stupidity."

He nodded. "That right. He's a cop."

I glanced at Peter and noted his green complexion as he probably pondered the ramifications of dating the daughter of a powerful man.

"Chief of Police."

"Right."

I enjoyed the silence for the next few minutes until we made it to the edge of town where the carnival likes to set up each year. Peter was fidgeting until we came to a stop and he unbuckled his seatbelt. Grabbing my purse, I stepped out and secured the car along with the alarm soon after, then met him in front.

The air was dry and the heat moderate. While I was cool enough wearing a black cami that went with the Chambray overall skirt, Peter had to be burning up. But we matched, which was a little more than disconcerting.

The carnival seemed to be going full tilt with lots of laughing, the occasional scream along with the sound of a ride clacking along, and the calls of vendors hawking their wares.

Peter handed the tickets over and after we stepped through the turnstile, he nervously took my hand in his.

Reflexively, I felt myself pulling away until I realized that I was on a date and traditionally, boys did things like hold their companion’s hand on dates.

“Do you want to do some rides first?” he asked as I was trying to retract my eyes from our hands and the sight of someone other than a relative voluntarily touching me.

I cleared my throat and looked around. “That sounds good.”

Peter’s face brightened up and he looked less nervous than before. It was probably because I actually didn’t give him a hard time answering one of his questions. What can I say? It’s a defense mechanism.

You try being the brunt of everyone’s jokes for the majority of your life and see if you don’t develop antisocial traits.

We did the Tilt-a-Whirl and the small rollercoaster. The lines were relatively long, so we’d already spent almost an hour waiting in lines and a total of maybe seven minutes on the actual rides.

When we exited the rollercoaster ride, I stopped at the closest reflective surface and fixed my hair. It was nothing drastic since I had most of it pinned back anyway.

The first booth we passed was a ring toss and in typical male tradition, Peter had to try it out.

I don’t know if you are aware of it or not, but those games are specifically rigged to make you waste your money. If you won anything, it was usually a tiny prize. The only way to win something big was winning multiple times or completely luck out with the one in a thousand chance.

This specific game included about three hundred old fashioned Coke bottles, with ten covered in yellow paint and two in red. The object of the game was to take a ring, about two inches in diameter and toss it on top of the bottles. If you got any bottle, you were awarded a trinket prize, yellows were medium prizes, and reds were the gigantic ones.

A dollar got you five rings.

Peter paid for a round for me and I was pathetic. I didn’t even touch the top of the bottles. Then he tried.

On his first throw, the plastic ring bounced off one of the bottles and came straight back at me.

“Eek!”

Peter snatched his hand out and caught it a millisecond before it would have hit my face.

“You’re dangerous with those things.”

“Sorry.”

I watched as his face went splotchy red again, so I smirked to let him know I wasn’t serious. Then he tried again.

This time it bounced around, from bottle to bottle, until the unthinkable happened. He’d actually ringed a bottle; a yellow one to be exact.

My mouth dropped open in shock.

“We have a winner!” yelled the carny. “Whatcha like kid? The bear or the squirt gun?”

Peter took a quick glance at me and said, “The bear.”

I watched as the carny took down a ten inch tall fuzzy brown bear and handed it over. It went from Peter’s hand directly to mine.

“Here you go,” he said.

I blinked and looked at the generic teddy bear for a moment. Then I felt something happen to my face that I hadn’t experience in quite a long time: a genuine smile.

I’ve smiled. I’m not a robot or anything. However, most of my smiles are derived from satisfaction due to a well delivered vengeance scheme, or a pleased smirk from a caustic quip. I just hadn’t had much reason to smile in any other way. This time, the edges of my lips actually curved upward and my teeth showed with genuine happiness.

“Um… thanks,” I said.

Peter looked like he was on top of the world. “You’re welcome.” He bounced once on the balls of his feet. “What are you going to name him?”

“Mephistopheles.” Come on; that was too easy to pass up.

The crestfallen look on his face was pretty funny, which made my smile widen.

“I’m kidding.” Slipping my free hand to his, I twined our fingers together and bumped him with my hip. “It’s going to be Peter, of course.”

A wry smile tugged at his lips and we were off to our next adventure.

~O~

The light was on at the front porch when I pulled into Peter’s driveway. This was one of the advantages of me being the driver for our date. Dad wouldn’t be looming behind the curtains with his handcuffs at the ready.

“I had a great time tonight, Pixie.”

I nodded and killed the engine. “Me too. Thanks for being persistent today at school. And thanks for winning me little Peter here.”

Yes, I had enough class to leave that double entendre alone.

I watched as my first date sat nervously in his seat, alternating looks from his lap to the front door. It was a tense moment; I understood that.

Would he think he was gay if he kissed me? Would I even allow it?

All night, he treated me like a girl. It was nothing out of the ordinary or extreme. He opened doors for me where applicable, and made sure I didn’t get squished on the rides. All in all, it was a delightful first date.

“You don’t have to kiss me if you don’t…” I didn’t even get it all out there.

Peter jerked and looked up as if I’d burned him. “I do!” He realized that he almost screamed it. “Sorry. I mean… I do… want to kiss you, I mean.”

He leaned forward and came to an abrupt halt before frowning at the seatbelt that was holding him back. I stifled a giggle at his awkwardness and waited patiently for him to pop the lock and try a second time.

Peter leaned over and paused for a second, looking me in the eye, before moving the rest of the way into giving me a soft chaste kiss. I tasted the cotton candy on his lips that we shared near the end of the night.

Before I knew it, he’d backed away with an embarrassed grin on his face.

“Can I call you tomorrow?” he asked.

I nodded. Then he was gone.

~O~

Dad was sitting in the lounge position on his recliner with a Road & Track magazine haphazardly lying on his chest.

“Faker.”

He opened one eye and frowned at me. “Your lipstick is messed up. What’s this boy’s address again?”

Leaning down, I pecked him on the cheek. “Leave him alone. He was a perfect gentleman tonight and look.” I held up the fuzzy bear. “He was manly and won me a miniature version of himself.”

Dad raised an eyebrow and studied the bear. “So he’s a short and hairy freshman with beady black eyes. That narrows the suspects down considerably.”

I set my purse on the counter propping up Little Peter beside it before entering the kitchen and pouring a small glass of orange juice.

“Are you going to explain the kissing?” I heard him call out.

After slugging the juice down and rinsing the glass, I stuck my head out around the corner. “It was a goodnight kiss. Tongues weren’t even involved, relax.”

He didn’t seem too placated.

“Didn’t girls and boys kiss back in your day?”

He grunted. “No, we just whacked the girls on the head with our clubs and drug them to our caves.”

When I smiled at his lame joke he pointed at me. “No more dating this boy until I meet him.”

“Daaad.”

“I mean it, Pixie. This is all part of the experience, so experience it.”

I grabbed my purse and Little Peter then stuck my tongue out at him.

“Good,” he said. “I’m glad we have an understanding.”

~O~

Little Peter faced the other direction while I got undressed and took a shower, but once I was dressed in my shorts and tank he took position on the nightstand for the night.

Thirty minutes later, after tossing, turning, and trying my best to get comfortable, I finally gave up and pulled him in with me.

He smelled of roasted peanuts, cotton candy, and maybe a little dust.

“You can sleep with me, but if you try anything then it’s the road for you, mister.”