Overall, I was a happy boy. Sure, it was a really sad time when my Dad died two years ago, when I was eleven, but Mom met a guy that turned out to be OK—or so I thought. This is my story—as best as I can piece together the entirety of the events…

Let me catch up to the important part really quickly:

Two weeks after my eleventh birthday, my Dad passed away. It was not unexpected; he had been sick with cancer for quite some time. Mom told me that it was actually a blessing for him—even though it was a curse for us. She assured me that he was better off; no longer in pain. Somehow her tears, the ones she tried to hide from me, made the story less believable.

My Dad was an important man—he owned a large company and up until the cancer wouldn’t allow him to work, he spent long hours at his office. When he couldn’t handle that pace anymore, he spent more time working from home and Mom took over some of the burden of running the business. My Dad taught her a lot in that last year.

After Dad died, Mom started spending more and more time at the office keeping the business running. While we never lacked for money, I felt like I had lost both parents after my Dad died, I saw Mom so little. She never really had time to take me to practice anymore.

I was really good in sports and there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t try—the rougher and tougher, the better. The dirtier I got, the happier I would be. Luckily, I had a couple of best friends, George and Rupe, that I could always get a ride with—so, it still worked out and I was as happy as I could be.

Then, Mom met Allen. At first, I was bummed—I didn’t want anyone to replace my Dad. It was irrational, I know. I rarely saw him when he was alive, so how could this be any worse? I guess I have never really been good with change and I was finally settling into my new ‘normal’—and this disrupted things again.

Oh, and then there was Albert. Albert is Allen’s son. He is two years younger than me and a real pain—especially when Allen and he moved in with us a year to the day after my Dad died.

o~O~o

OK, consider yourself caught up, because then things started getting weird. This is the part of the story that will likely interest you most, so let’s slow down a bit:

I look at the clock and curse—then look around to make sure no one heard me. Mom would kill me. Assured that no one is around, I grab my stuff and hurry out since I am almost late. I nearly run into Albert who has a shit-eating grin on his face.

He rushes down the stairs yelling, “Aunt Dawn, Aunt Dawn! Vick was saying bad words.”

I try and stop him, of course, but there is no way. I hear my Mother’s voice calling to me as I come down the steps, “Vick! Come here, right now! You’re late and now I hear you’re being naughty, too?”

I come into the kitchen and Mom gives me a harsh look and I shrug as I take a Pop Tart. I say with a mouthful, “Sorry…it just slipped out.”

Mom shakes her head and says, “I swear those boys you run with are ruining you! I may have to rethink that sports camp this summer and send you somewhere to learn some manners. Maybe Allen is right—I mean look at Albert going off to math camp and being a little angel.”

I want to puke. And, of course, ‘Uncle’ Allen comes in right then and chimes in, “And if he does well, he gets a scholarship to attend the year-long onsite program!”

Mom just smiles and says, “Allen, you know money is not an issue.”

Allen just shakes his head and says, “No, Love. He needs to earn it to appreciate it! So, are you ready to let me start earning MY way at the office?”

Mom shakes her head and says, “We have talked about this, Hon. Until we get married, I can’t bring you in—even then, it will have to be slow. It is a close-knit group there, and even though you have being a man going for you, they will not accept you from the outside. Lord knows it was hard enough for ME—but then, I am a woman…”

He grumbles something unintelligible and ushers Albert and me to the car to drive us to school. He is quiet the whole ride—not even really talking to Albert who is his usual intolerable self.

We get out at school and I immediately hook up with my friends and quickly forget the two ‘A’s. I am already looking forward to football practice after school—I am turning into a pretty good wide-receiver.

The days progress slowly towards summer in much the same manner. Allen keeps needling Mom about going to work ‘at the office’ and even starts in on how he can help run the business—and eventually Albert, too. Mom stays resolute (there, I used my ‘word-of-the-day’ in a sentence!) and just keeps telling him that he will have to wait, and, that, of course, the business would be mine when I was old enough to run it—and thank goodness I am a boy, since that will make it so much easier.

I shrug all of this off—I am not interested in some moldy old business; especially not one that drove my Dad to death (of course it is stupid to blame the cancer on the business, but…). I just smile at Mom and nod my head. Neither of us see the dark looks that Allen is giving me behind our backs.

On the last day of school, he gives it another shot, “Look Dawn, the boys are going to be gone for the summer in a week and I will be completely free to help you out. You know I have the perfect resume for it. If it helps, we can get married this week!”

Mom gives him an exasperated look and says, “Allen! I am not going to hurry up my wedding for something like that—and, of course, the boys will need to be there. No, we will keep our plans for our September wedding! I don’t know what your problem is. You make plenty in your current job and it is perfect that your hours are so flexible!”

She has a sad look on her face when she continues, “It lets the boys grow up to be boys—they will both have to work hard soon enough; especially poor Vick when he takes over the business, which the board fully expects him to do as soon as possible. We just have to make it work until then…”

He grumbles again and herds Albert and me to the car and drives us to school in another huff. Little did I know that this would be the day that starts one of those epic ‘series of unfortunate events’…

“Ten-HUT,” Rupe, the quarterback for practice today, yells out confidently. He takes the snap for the last play of the day as I run the route we had been practicing. I jump and easily catch the ball that he had thrown spot-on.

At that very instant, Butch (yes, he really fits his name) trips as he comes in to ‘tackle’ me. The result is that he really DOES tackle me—hard. He comes down on me with his full force—and he weighs twice what I do, being a year older than me and already having started puberty several months ago.

I feel a really sharp pain in my shoulder and tears come to my eyes right before I black out…

I come to and my head hurts really bad. Allen is talking to a woman in a white coat. I am in some room that looks sort of like a hospital room, but not. The doctor looks over and sees my eyes open, she gets a relieved look on her face.

She comes over and says, “Hi, Hon. Can you tell me your name?”

I start to nod, but it hurts too much. I say, “Vick…Victor Fitzsimmons.”

She smiles and says, “And can you tell me what day it is?”

I groan and say, “The last of day school before summer… Friday. Why did Butch hit me so hard? My head hurts…”

She smiles again and says, “It is my understanding that ‘Butch’ tripped and hit you by mistake. It wasn’t his fault. I am sure that your head does hurt, there is little doubt that you have a concussion—we will work on that in a minute. Your shoulder is also injured; we will have to work on that, too. I am Dr. Angelica, by the way. You can call me Angi.”

When she mentions my shoulder, I realize that it hurts like hell, too. My head throbs. I look around and say, “Where am I? This doesn’t look like a real hospital.”

She giggles and says, “It is a private clinic. It is the closest medical facility to the school and with you being unconscious, they decided to bring you here. It is a good thing they did—you could have been in a coma for a long time. Don’t worry, we are fully accredited and functional.”

I look at Allen and ask, “Does Mom know?”

He nods and says, “Of course! I was already there to pick you up. She has to come from all the way across town and it is Friday rush hour. I can let her know not to kill herself getting here now that you are awake, though.”

He turns away to make a call on his cell.

The doctor looks back at me and says, “Now, let’s get you something for that pain—luckily you were only out for a couple of minutes. Still, I can’t give you anything really strong until I get you a cat scan. Then we will set your shoulder; it is separated.”

She gives me a shot of something and I feel better almost immediately. The harsh roar of the Niagara Falls in my head dulls to a more reasonable Class 5 rapid.

Allen comes back in and says, “There was a big accident on the freeway; it will take hours before your Mom can get here—she is stuck between the exits with no way off. She is alright, though, so don’t worry.”

Doctor Angelica, Angi, says, “Well, young Vick here is not going anywhere tonight anyway—I want to keep him for observation until I am sure there is no long-term, or permanent damage. Even assuming not, your sports days are over for the summer.”

I groan, “What about sports camp? It starts next week?”

She says, “I am afraid not! You are going to have to rest that shoulder for a couple of weeks and I don’t want to even think of you bumping that head again!”

I groan and they wheel me out to do my cat scan. Then they tape up my shoulder. After I get back to my room, the doctor says things look OK and gives me a stronger dose of pain meds. I feel funny as she injects in into my arm but really good—like I am on clouds or something.

I just lay there with a goofy grin on my face when Mom finally comes in. I don’t really get everything they’re saying, but it is something like ‘he has an extreme concussion and will need to stay for several days but as long as he is quiet there is no real danger’.

I am in a blissful stupor the rest of the day. I barely notice Mom sitting there, holding my hand.

She kisses me as she and Allen leave. She says, “Hon, you are going to have to stay here a while. I have to leave on a trip, but can be back at a moment’s notice. The doctor assures me that you will be fine with a lot of rest and there is nothing I can do if I am here. So, you will stay and rest as long as you need. Allen will be here to look after you if you need anything, OK?”

I nod sort of stupidly, not fully processing what she is saying. I am just too out of it to have any sort of emotional response—even though I sort of process that Mom seems worried. She kisses me again and they leave to get something to eat.

The night is literally a blur. I am not allowed to sleep, but the meds keep me in a stupor. Mom is there until sometime early in the morning, napping in a lounge-chair in my room.

Finally, she gives me a kiss and says, “Be good, Hon. The doctor says you can leave in a couple of days to a week—as soon as she is sure that you are OK. Listen to her and Allen, OK? He has the authority to do whatever needs to be done and I am only a plane ride away, OK? I love you!”

And she hurries off; a haunted look in her teary eyes.

The next couple of days are really boring—at least what I can remember of them, but at least I am allowed to sleep the second night.

On the third day, I am feeling better. Well, at least my head is—my shoulder is still really sore.

Allen comes in and sits down. He gives me a pitying look and says, “Well, sport, I just dropped Albert off at the bus station—he is on his way to camp. I am sorry you are missing out on your camp. I am also sorry you are going to have to stay here a couple of weeks…at least.”

I sit straight up and instantly regret it. I hold my head and ask, “What did you say? Why? I thought a couple more days—at most!”

Allen just gives me conspiratorial look and says, “Well, the doctor didn’t want me to say anything. She was afraid it would depress you. I think that you are old enough to handle the truth, though. She is thinking that you may have to stay in the hospital here most of the summer. She seems really worried that you somehow hurt your head again.”

I give him an imploring look and say, “Please! There has to be something we can do! You’re in charge of me while Mom is gone. Make Angi let me leave!”

He shakes his head and says, “Well, she did mention a camp that starts next week. She sponsors it and she thought it could be safe for you—but you would have to pass some tests…”

I look at him a glimmer of hope, but I didn’t quite like his tone—like he was embarrassed, or something. I ask, “What kind of camp? Tests?”

He nods and says, “Yes, they are a combination of medical tests to show you are ready and an entrance exam. I guess it is a pretty exclusive camp… It is…well…it is a ‘creative’ camp.” He raises his hands and says, “Look, I know it is not a sports camp—but it DOES get you out of here…”

I look at him incredulously, “Cre…at…ive camp…? What is that? It would get me out of here? Entrance EXAM?”

He just nods and gives me a wink, “I have the answers…”

I blink.

He says, “Look, this isn’t something you’ll pass unless I help you. I pulled some strings with my connections and got the questions—and more importantly, I have the answers. Angi can have no idea that I gave you these, though, OK? You have to be completely convincing.”

I swallow and nod.

He hands me a sheath of papers and I look through them. The questions are really weird. The answers even more so.

He says, “I am going to go get some coffee. I will test you in an hour. Can you have the answers memorized by then?”

I shake my head at the weird questions, but say, “Yeah…I think so…”

An hour later, I am answering the multiple choice questions as he grills me. I get a perfect score on the second and third try.

He says, “OK, nice. I am pretty sure you can ace the exam… Now…I have to tell you… Well, I don’t know how to put this… Umm… Like I said it is a creative camp… If she asks you anything about being OK with pretending to be a girl—or dressing like one… It would be best if you convinced her that you are totally OK with that…even better that it would be completely normal for you. The camp is all about flexibility. If she thinks that you aren’t willing to be flexible, then you won’t get in.”

I look at him like he is crazy. I am actually sure he is.

He just shrugs and says, “Or you COULD stay here…”

o~O~o

“Well these results are very illuminating. Is there anything that you want to tell me, Vick?” Angi gives me a piercing stare.

I look at her and shake my head.

She says, “I see. Well, can you tell me something? If you imagine yourself in a dress… How would you feel?”

I blush and remember what Allen had said. I say in a quiet voice, “It would feel…normal…”

She nods and says, “OK, Vick. Then tell me…if you were wearing that dress…feeling normal…what would you call yourself?”

I take a quick breath and wonder what to say… I say the first name that comes to mind…that of my arch-enemy from kindergarten, “Paige…”

She smiles and says, “OK, Paige. Would you like to go to my camp next week?”

I nod and smile shyly.

She says, “OK, Paige. I would love to have you there. I want you to experience being a girl—is that OK?”

My head is swimming. I want to say ‘hell no!’, but then I think about having to stay here all summer and say, “Sure! That sounds wonderful!” I feel like I am going to puke.

She comes over and gives me a hug. She says, “This is a big breakthrough, Hon. Don’t worry, Sweetie, you will have fun, I promise!”

I nod; no idea what she is talking about.

She says, “I am going to give you some medicine to help you feel that way, OK? Allen has said it is OK, if you want it.”

I simply nod—I have no idea what is going on…

She has me roll over onto my stomach and gives me two shots in the butt. The second one stings. She says, “OK, Hon. All done. I think you are well enough to take the bus to camp tomorrow. In case you have lost track, tomorrow is Sunday. Camp actually starts on Monday, but I want you to take it easy and this way you will have a little extra time to settle in.”

I rub my butt and nod. I still have no idea what just happened.

The next morning, Allen comes in early and says, “Well, Sport, you convinced her. Well done! I let your Mom know that you are going to camp and she is ecstatic. She was a bit surprised that you wanted to go to creative camp. I explained that you WANTED to—it is important that she think that. She doesn’t know that the doctor was going to keep you. We need to keep that a secret between us guys, OK? No one can know I told you. Let’s do a secret handshake on it!”

He makes me do the stupid ‘secret’ handshake that he does with Albert. I promise I won’t tell. He says, “Your Mom is held up at that offsite meeting and won’t make it back before you leave, but she promises to come see you on parent’s day at camp. OK?” I bite my lip nervously and he smiles and leaves.

Angi comes in and says, “Paige! Are you excited to go to camp? I want you to be the best girl you can be there. Do you promise?”

Afraid that she will make me stay here if I balk, I enthusiastically nod and bite my lip. I almost DO balk when she pulls out a dress and says, “Do you need help? Have you ever worn one?”

I nod and say, “Yes, I…need…help.” Then I shake my head and says, “No, I haven’t ever worn one.”

She smiles and says, “Well, that is an important first step—admitting you need help! I am proud of you. But I tell you what, since you have never worn one and don’t really know how to be out in one, why don’t we go with a nice pair of jeans and a top for now?”

I feel a wave of relief pour over me. It was some stupid test and I won’t have to wear it.

She takes a shopping bag and hands it to me. She says, “Allen got these for you to wear to camp. I will bring you some more things when I come down tomorrow, OK? Now, be a good girl and put these on. Your ride will be here soon.”

She leaves me alone in the room and I look in the bag and nearly faint. The ‘jeans’ are bright pink and REALLY girly with all kinds of embroidery and jewels. The shirt is at least from Star Wars, but it is a pale pink, as well, with a storm trooper on it. It has the word ‘Trooper’ written underneath it. I wonder if that is supposed to mean anything.

I take out the rest of the things, all girls, of course, including pink panties with hearts all over them, pink socks with lace, and you guessed it, glitzy pink shoes.

I groan and take off the hospital gown, which I really only now notice is a pale pink, as well, and step into the panties. I do have to admit that they feel much nicer than my normal undies, but not enough that I really want to wear them. I put on the shirt and notice that it too is much softer than my normal shirts. It is also cut funny—the sleeves fall on my arms differently and the waist is tighter.

Finally, I groan and put on the sock and shoes.

Angi comes in just as I am finishing tying the shoes and says, “You look adorable. You can wear heels later—once I am thoroughly convinced your head injury and balance are OK.”

She surprises me then by putting makeup on me and telling me what the stuff is she is using. Something about mascara and lip gloss.

I look at myself in the mirror…shocked, devastated, and confused… I look like one of the girls from my class…

She says, “You look really sweet, Paige. I expect you to be a real girl at camp…and beyond. OK? If it gets to be too much, though, be sure and tell me. I don’t want you to get overwhelmed. You will always be welcome and safe here, OK?”

Of course, I saw that as the threat it was: ‘Be good or come back here to rot’. I nod—terrified.

She hugs me and says, “OK, come on, Sweetie, the van should be here any second. I will be there tomorrow. I won’t be there the whole time, but I will be looking out for you—I promised Allen and your Mom. You’re going to be there for six weeks, after all…”

I nearly faint, but pretend to hug her back. I follow her out, feeling like a complete idiot dressed like this. I should be in a football uniform!

She leads me out to the van and I pretend to smile as I get in. I wave ‘enthusiastically’ as the van pulls off.

I look over at a boy sitting next to me and blush thinking of how I am dressed. He looks at me and smiles—he must be a year or so older than me and says, “Hi, I am Ian. What’s your name?”

I start to automatically say, ‘Vick’, but catch myself and say, “Paige.” There is no telling if it is another test to see how I answer. I don’t want to be stuck in that hospital room all summer; a week was enough. Although, I am beginning to wonder if THIS is really any better…

Ian just nods and says, “Hi, Paige. I’m sure I’ll see you around. I guess you’re in Camp Pink, then?”

I shrug and say, “Ummm…I have no idea. I just got signed up yesterday, really. It sort of happened really fast.”

He just nods and says, “Well, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around camp.” Before I can say anything else, he starts playing on his phone and doesn’t say another word.

I sit there and watch him for a bit—wishing I had a phone to play on. My thoughts drift to what Allen had said before I left and Angi had given me these clothes, “Remember, no one can know that I gave you the answers. You can’t let ANYONE know that those aren’t YOUR answers. You can’t let ANYONE know that you’re not comfortable being a girl. Remember, if anyone finds out, we will BOTH get in trouble—especially you, though. They will think that your head injury is worse than they thought and that you just made it all up. You know what THAT means, right? I did this for you, Sport, OK? Don’t let me down!”

I am not really sure what it WOULD mean if I said anything, but I’m sure that I really don’t want to find out. Allen was most emphatic about not letting Mom know. He said he didn’t want her to worry about me—so I couldn’t ever let her know. He said this is a win-win: I get out of the hospital and get to go to camp and Mom knows I am safe. I had just nodded. I am pretty sure he is right about that. Mom CAN’T know that I cheated to get out of there—no matter what.

I look around the van. It is full with a mix of boys and girls—ten in total. It seems like most of the kids know each other. The boys are mostly playing some game on their phones. The girls are mostly chatting and giggling. I watch the boys, envious of their ability to play games. I blush as some of the girls look my way and giggle. I figure they know…

Finally, after about an hour, the bus pulls through some gates that say “Imagine Nation Creativity Camp” and then up to a house that says, “Pink House”. The driver says, “OK, you girls know who gets off here. Paige, that includes you!”

I startle as three girls get their things as start getting out.

I look up and the driver smiles at me and then says, “Have fun, Hon!”

My heart is beating like a drum as I get up to step out of the van.

Ian smiles at me says, “See you later, Paige!”

I smile wanly at him and nervously step out of the van. The three girls that had gotten out ahead of me are waiting. One of them, in a short pink skirt and white t-shirt says, “Hi! I’m Brenda. This is Julia and this is Georgette.”

As she names the other two girls, the first, in a pink dress smiles at me; the second in pink jeans sort of like mine and a white tee raises her hand. They both say, “Hi!,” at the same time.

I nervously smile and say, “Hi! I’m…Paige.”

Brenda says, “Welcome to Pink House. I guess this is your first year here? I don’t remember seeing you last year… This is my—well, our—third year.”

I nod and say, “Yes, this is my first year. I was going to go to sports camp, but then…” I am not sure how to explain things, then decide to go with as close the truth as possible to make it easier. “…I got hurt and found out about this camp when I was in the hospital. I just finally signed up, like yesterday…”

Georgette looks at me and asks, “Sports camp? Are you a T-Girl, like me?”

I give her a confused look and Brenda says, “You know—transgendered. Are you in a boy’s body?”

I nod and say, “Ummm…yeah. This is all really new…”

Georgette says, “Well, the main thing is that you can be yourself! Did your parents have problems with you—or did you just keep it bottled up?”

I say, “I, ummm, never said anything…”

Brenda says, “And you’re already in Pink House? Wow! Nice—you must have been desperate if Angi let you in here that quickly. But after seeing how you were eying the boys on the bus, that isn’t really a surprise I guess—yes, we noticed.” They all giggle.

Julia says, “Just so you know, Brenda and I are both G-girls. You know genetic girls. Our parents are both big into the LGBT movement and so are we. There are actually more G-girls in Pink than T-girls, which is a shame, but don’t worry—we’re all on your side.”

Brenda says, “Yep! Come on, Paige! We’ll show you around.”

They take me into the cabin and I am immediately immersed in a PINK and GIRLY HELL! I groan internally and, once again, ask myself if I should just take my licks and go back to the hospital for the summer.

Georgette says, “There are a total of around twenty girls in the cabin. We don’t really make any distinction between ‘T’ and ‘G’—I was just curious. You know there is a high bar to get into Pink and you must have passed the exam if you are here.”

Julia nods and says, “Yes, you are just one of us girls—as is every other girl here. Since you are new to both the camp AND to your real gender, we’ll all be looking out for you and helping you adjust.”

They all surprise me and come over and give me a big group hug. I feel really awkward and wonder what they are talking about when they refer to my ‘real’ gender...

Brenda says, “Yes, it took us quite a while to get Georgette to loosen up last year when she finally made it to Pink. Being brought up as a boy can really mess with you, but I promise that no one will know you are not a girl by the time camp is over! And everyone knows that Pinks rule! We are the girliest of them all!”

I feel my heart drop to my feet as I think to myself, “I am officially in HELL! What am I going to do?”

At that moment a GORGEOUS girl, probably around eighteen, comes in and says, “OK, girls. Give them up!” She smiles and says, “Hi, Brenda! Hi, Julia! Hi, Georgette! And you must be Paige. Welcome to camp and to Pink House! I am your counselor, Francine. Don’t worry—I know EXACTLY how you feel, Hon! I was in your shoes not so long ago.”

The others go over and give her a big hug and hand over their cell phones. Francine comes over and gives me a hug and asks, “Do you have a cell?”

I say, “Well, I do—but not with me. I didn’t have it in the hospital when I left from there.”

Francine nods and says, “Yes, I heard you had a close call. I’m glad you’re doing better. We’ll take it easy on you until Angi says it’s OK to loosen the reins a bit. She’ll be checking up on you pretty regularly—especially since this is your first month…”

She waves as she heads out the door and says, “I’ll see you at dinner, girls. I’ve got some things to finish up.”

I look at the girls surrounding me and ask, “What’s with the cells?”

Brenda says, “It’s so that we are forced to be more ‘social’.” She makes air quotes with her fingers and continues, “Like social media isn’t! Anyway, it doesn’t usually bother us girls as much—but it KILLS the boys to lose their games!”

They all giggle and I suddenly understand why there was that air of desperation coming from them on the bus. I had already had a week in the hospital to get over the initial withdrawal of my favorite games, although, I really miss playing them—and now will have to get by another SIX WEEKS…

My hell just got worse: No sports AND no games PLUS this pink nightmare…

The girls show me around the camp. It is actually pretty big. There are a lot of different cabins—all designated by a color. There is also a large ‘Creativity Center’ which looks like a big auditorium with a lot of little rooms attached to it. There are rooms with costumes, rooms with art supplies, rooms with instruments… Anything that is anyhow related to the arts seems to be represented here.

I feel the loss of my sports camp as we walk through the center. That camp was very much like this—only dedicated to sports… I am not the artistic type—or, at least I have never had any interest in any of it. I honestly don’t know if I am any good at anything other than rough and tumble sports.

We walk around a while longer and wind up at the ‘swimming hole’, which is actually a well-maintained lake. There are mostly boys swingout out and jumping into the lake from a rope swing.

I sigh and Julia says, “Do you like to do things like that? It’s OK, you know.”

I shake my head and say, “I doubt they would let me, even if—not after my injury. Angi is afraid I’ll hit my head again and my shoulder would never be able to take that strain.”

Brenda says, “But you can swim, right? Surely that won’t hurt—if you’re not jumping in?”

I shrug my good shoulder and say, “I guess…I am not really sure, yet. Angi’ll be here tomorrow and I guess I’ll know more…”

After that we go to the camp cafeteria for supper. There are maybe thirty kids there. We get in line and get our food. I find that I am sort of nauseous, so I only take some chicken noodle soup and some crackers.

Georgette notices and just says, “Don’t worry, it’ll get better after a couple of weeks…”

I think to myself, “I HOPE my nerves settle down before then…” I say, “Yeah, I hope so—I might starve!”

The girls giggle and I eat while they chat away. I don’t think they have stopped chattering the whole time we have been together. They keep trying to pull me into the talk, but it is about clothes, or makeup, or boys…nothing I am remotely interested in—or could talk about even if I wanted.

After we finish eating, we go back to the pink hell and I notice a pink duffle bag on the bed that has my name on it. The cabin has five bedrooms, each with four beds. The four of us are in one room.

I go over and unzip it to find more panties, socks, a pink skirt, a blouse, a pair of pink flat girl’s shoes, and a nightgown.

Julia says, “I hope that isn’t supposed to last you all six weeks!” All three girls giggle.

I shrug and say, “Angi said something about bringing me more, tomorrow…”

Georgette nods at my pajamas and says, “I have an idea, girls! Let’s get into our PJs and do each other’s nails!”

Julia says, “Awesome idea! I have some totally awesome colors!”

Brenda nods enthusiastically and says, “Me too! Let’s!”

I don’t know what just happened, but all of a sudden the girls are running around like crazy pulling off their clothes and putting on their ‘PJs’, which turn out to be nightgowns, as well. I am blown away that they are just getting UNDRESSED out in the open like that.

It is apparent that Julia and Brenda have no bulge in their panties. I am surprised when I don’t see one in Georgette’s panties, either.

Brenda looks at me and asks, “Are you OK, Paige?”

I shake my head and say, “I…I…I’m used to the boy’s locker room. This is…overwhelming.” I start to cry and don’t know why.

Georgette comes over and hugs me. She says, “It’s OK, Paige. THAT will get better, too... Now, come here and put this on. It’s just us girls, OK. You’re not in the boy’s locker room. Girls don’t belong there, right?”

I wipe my eyes and shudder a little. Not knowing what else to do, I take off my shoes and socks, then my jeans and my shirt and stand there in my panties—my slight bulge very apparent. I pull the silky nightgown over my head. It barely covers my panties and it feels really weird to have my legs bare this way.

Georgette smiles and says, “OK, now I know why you were embarrassed. No one has shown you how to tuck?”

She comes over and gently pushes me down onto the bed. She surprises me when she pulls down my panties and matter-of-factly explains how to push my testicles up into my abdomen and how to pull my penis pack between my legs—all while demonstrating ON ME!

Since I haven’t entered puberty yet, there is no reaction from the little guy—luckily. That is not to say that I am not embarrassed! I blush and Brenda giggles.

She says, “Now that we have THAT taken care of—we need to take care of those raccoon-eyes!”

I give her a confused look and she pulls me to the vanity. It feels weird with my ‘junk’ tucked away, but it doesn’t hurt—thankfully. I look in the mirror and see that the mascara that Angi had put on my eyes had run down my face where I cried a bit ago. I can’t help but laugh at myself. I look ridiculous—and the absurdity finally breaks through my confusion.

It feels good to laugh, although the girls coach me on turning that into a giggle.

Brenda takes out some sort of wipe and shows me how to wipe the black streaks off of my face and then makes me turn right around and reapply mascara to my lashes. She shows me how and in no time, I look like I did before—only this time, the mascara is heavier and my lashes seem thicker and longer. More like all three of the girls in the room with me.

I stand up and notice my short gown ride up. I see my panties in the mirror and get a chill when I see that I am as flat as the girls in the room.

At that moment, Francine knocks on our door and comes in. She asks, “Hi, girls! What are you up to?”

Julia says, “Hi, Francine! We are getting ready to do each other’s nails. Wanna take part?”

She giggles and says, “You KNOW I do! Don’t you dare start without me!”

I am amazed. This is a beautiful girl; several years older than any of us in the room—although, I have a suspicion I am the youngest—and she is willing to take part in this nonsense.”

The girls all pull out bottles of nail polish. Most are PINK, although some are various other garish neon colors.

Francine giggles as the girls take off the polish that she has on her finger and toenails and quickly replace it with a bright metallic-blue.

Francine, in turn pulls me over and inspects my fingernails. She moans and says, “Well, there is NO doubt that you have been living in sin as a boy by the looks of these nails! I can’t wait until Jemma gets ahold of you, girl! We’ll do what we can, for now though. Right, girls?”

They all giggle and I watch in horror as they take turns filing my nails (fingers and toes) and then painting them a really bright bubble-gum PINK!

As they are mutilating my nails, Francine asks me, “So, Paige, I understand that you had a perfect score on the exam—that makes you a pretty special girl for Pink. I only know of one other girl that ever scored a seven-fifty on the exam…”

Georgette nearly screams and says, “You scored a seven-fifty, Paige? Really? No wonder you had a quick entrance into Pink. Most girls only score around five hundred to get in.”

Brenda looks at Francine and says, “And…we all know who the other girl is. Paige, meet your co-perfectionist, Francine…”

I am totally lost. I pretend to know what they are talking about, though, since obviously I am supposed to. I know they are talking about the test that Allen got me the answers for and that causes me to blush in shame.

I shake my head and say, “I don’t really know what the big deal is—it isn’t like you can study for it, right?”

Francine giggles and says, “Silly girl! I know you’re going to be an awesome young lady! And…I LOVE those bubble-gum nails. Now, you girls need to get to bed! Go on!”

Angi gives me hug and holds me out at arm’s length. She says, “You look CUTE in that skirt! And I see that the girls are already corrupting you with your makeup!”

I blush in embarrassment. The girls, Francine included, insisted that I wear the skirt, which is REALLY short—AFTER I ‘tucked’. Then they made me put on mascara and lip gloss. In addition, I had to use this pencil thingy—eyeliner, they called. I call it a torture instrument!

I don’t really know what to say… So, I just shrug and say, “Well…I DID have help…”

Angi giggles and says, “Indeed! Your clothes are over there.” She points at two large rolling suitcases (pink, of course). Then she says, “OK, Mondays are meds days for you, young lady. It is a good thing that skirt is so short! Bend over and take your vitamins…”

She gives me two shots in the butt, then she checks my shoulder. She says, “Well, the shoulder is healing very well. I think that we will be able to get you into some therapy by next week.”

She gives me a serious look and says, “Look, I know this is all going fast, Paige, but those scores tell me you can handle it. Trust Francie; she is the perfect role model for you.”

I rub my butt and ask, “So this medicine will really help?”

Angi winks and says, “Absolutely! It is a super-strong experimental version that Allen authorized. You’ll notice the difference soon—there is no doubt. Although puberty can be a bitch! Oops! Sorry, I didn’t mean to say a bad word—I meant ‘bear’! Now, go on! Have fun, Hon!”

My head swims a bit and I can’t help asking, “You really think I will start puberty soon?”

She just giggles and says, “I guarantee it, Sweetie! In fact, it has already begun.”

I leave her office with a silly grin on my face, thinking, “Muscles, hair on my chest, a BEARD! Yes!”

I am so caught up in my own thoughts that I nearly run straight into Francine. She catches me in the nick of time and giggles, “Paige! Hold up there, girl! What’s the hurry?”

I smile stupidly and say, “Angi says I am in puberty!”

Francine actually laughs and says, “But of course you are, Sweetie.” She gestures towards Angi’s office and asks, “Didn’t you forget your suitcases?”

I roll my eyes and she goes back in with me and we grab them. On our way out, Angi says, “Oh! Paige, make sure you let me know if you have any reactions to your meds, OK?”

I nod and Francine and I roll the suitcases out. On our way over to the cabin, Francine says, “Oh, I remember those shots. Butt sore?”

I gingerly rub my butt and nod as I ask, “You had shots, too?”

She nods and says, “Sure—a Pink House staple; although mine were different. Anyways, after we drop these off, we are going to go see Jemma!”

I look at her and ask, “Jemma?”

Francine says, “Yes, Jemma. She is the cosmetologist for the drama department. She just LOVES Pinks—especially NEW ones!”

We drop off the suitcases in my room and Francine leads me out; there is no sign of my three roommates. There are buses arriving with the other campers and I assume they are over there.

We enter the creativity center and Francine leads me upstairs and into a well-lit room with several swivel chairs in front of mirrors—much like you would see in a hair salon. There is a very pretty older (probably in her forties) woman straightening things out.

She hears us coming in and says, “Come back later—I am not ready yet.” She turns around and says, “Oh! Hi, Francineca! I am ALWAYS ready for a PINK! Who do we have here?”

Francine says, “Jemma, this is Paige—a BRAND NEW Pink. She could really use your help before the crowds descend on us.”

Jemma smiles and says, “Welcome to Imagine Nation, Sweetie. Especially welcome to Pink House. Now, let me see…”

She sits me down in one of the chairs and walks around me. I am nervous, not really knowing what she is going to do. She plays with my hair and says, “Well, at least we have some length to play with.”

I hadn’t had my hair cut in a couple of months—it was a football team thing; we had agreed to not cut our hair until after the season was over. Mom had had a fit, but finally gave in. My hair is now long enough to barely cover my ears.

Jemma says, “OK, I think I know what needs to be done. Come back in a couple of hours, Francie and she will be ready for prime time.”

I wince and think, “A couple of HOURS?”

Francine nods and says, “I am sure she will be lovely, as always, when you are done with her!”

Francine leaves and Jemma says, “OK, Hon. We have quite a bit to do. I take it this is the first time you have been to a salon? We are going to fix this mess of hair you have, then I am going to redo the nails that I can tell the girls in the room did for you last night. OK?”

I nod and she gets to work. First, she washes my hair and, without ever stopping talking and asking questions, starts snipping at my hair. I am at a loss at times on how to answer her questions, but stick to my game plan of staying as close to the truth as possible while weaving in what I knew I had answered on that infernal exam that got me here.

After a bit, she smears this nasty-smelling paste into my hair and puts little pieces of foil into it. She then puts me under a dryer and sets a timer…

I am really regretting not just staying in the hospital when she is done with my hair. She calls it a pixie cut. It is sort of spikey and asymmetrical with long bangs. It is also a light blond with pink highlights. It is VERY girly. I nearly spill the beans on the whole thing at that point, but know I am in too deep now.

I just stare at my hair with a dumbfounded look on my face. She mistakes it for a look of admiration and shock and says, “It’s OK, Hon. You’ll get used to it in a couple of days. I know that your first REAL hairstyle can be a shock. Now, let’s get to work on those nails.”

She uses remover to take off the polish on all of my nails, then does my toes first. The difference between her and the girls is that she removes my cuticles (or so she tells me), then uses some sort of UV light to ‘set’ the polish between coats.

After she is done with my toes (in hot pink), she starts on my fingers. She removes the cuticles and then starts gluing these extensions on them. I am shocked; they’re like a mile long. I start to protest, “I don’t think I want nails that long…”

She giggles and says, “Don’t worry, Sweetie. I’ll trim them back; this is just how they come.”

I nervously watch as she uses some sort of paste to blend in the extensions and sets that with the light. Then, to my relief, she does cut a lot of the length off, but they are still out beyond my fingertips.

She says, “This is still a little long for a girl your age, but I hear you aren’t going to be doing anything rough and tumble for a while, so it will help you get that girly-girl feeling that your score is screaming for.”

I have no idea what she is talking about, but am starting to curse that I got a perfect score on that exam—that seems to mean a lot around here. Based on what the others are saying, I could have probably gotten in here with a less-than-perfect one. I still don’t know what that means, though.

She polishes the nails with an instrument and when she is done, you can’t tell the extension from my real nail. Then, she puts a glittery pink polish on them and sets the coats with the light. When she is done, my hands look really girly. I reach up to move some of the hair out of my face and poke myself with my nails.

She giggles and says, “You’ll quickly get used to them. What do you think?”

I know I am supposed to be OK with all of this. I also know Francine seems to think that Jemma does awesome work, so I say, “I like it. I really do. I…just have to get used to it.”

She smiles and gives me a hug. She says, “There is just one more thing. Hang on.”

She goes and gets something, then comes and messes with my ears a minute. She stands back, does something else, then I hear more than feel a pop, pop, pop, pop; two on each side of my head. She messes with my ears again. I feel a cold wipe on them, then a little squeeze.

She turns the chair around so I can see in the mirror and I nearly faint. The haircut she had given leaves the bottom of my ears exposed—and there in all their glory are two really sparkly pink studs in each ear.

She says, “Don’t you just LOVE them. You look so ADORABLE, Sweetie! Welcome to Pink!”

I stutter, “Yes, they are…lovely. But, I am not sure my Mom…”

She says, “Oh, don’t you worry, Sweetie. It’s all in the contract for the camp—she has already given her permission!”

Stunned and at a loss for words, I timidly hug her back as she gives me a big hug.

Francine comes in a minute later and lets out a little scream, “Paige! You look ADORABLE! Don’t you just LOVE what Jemma can do? Look at you!”

Feeling like I have pushed myself down the rabbit hole, I know I have nowhere to go but forward at this point. I pull myself together and nod. I have to get through the next six weeks, then I can get on with my life. I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster, “I never knew I could look like this. I DO look like a girl!”

Jemma says, “Of course you do, Sweetie!”

Francine says, “Not only that, you look like a PINK girl! Come on, Hon! We have to introduce you to the camp. Angi wants to see you, first, though.” She giggles.

We walk back to Angi’s office and she smile broadly when she sees me. She says, “Well, you do clean up nicely! Jemma does such wonderful work. How are you feeling? Still OK?”

I am not sure if she means in the clothes, the shots, or what. I just nod and say, “I feel great!” There is no way in hell I am going to let them know how I really feel at this point! I am still dreading trying to explain all of this to Mom when I get back home.

Angi says, “Wonderful! Then you better go have fun.”

Francine takes me back to the Pink House from there. When we enter it is mild chaos. Girls are running all over the place—anywhere from my age, or so, to maybe sixteen. Francine claps her hands and says, “Girls! I want you all to meet Paige. She’s the newbie this year, so take her under your wings and be kind to her. She is still a very fragile Pinklette!”

Before I know it I am surrounded by a gaggle of giggling girls (to steal a phrase). The rest of the day is a waste as I am introduced to every girl in the house and answer a million and one questions about myself. By the end of the day, though, I pretty well have my life story straight. I did keep it simple and, again, as close to the real me as I can—but with what I suppose a girl would think or want sprinkled in.

Brenda, Julia, and Georgette, are all amazed at Jemma’s work. When they finally get me back to our room, I am completely surprised that they have put away all of the clothes from my suitcases. I look through my drawers and find a bunch of underwear (panties and socks), similar to what I have on. There are also tights and several nightgowns. In the closet, I find a few pairs of jeans, but mostly skirts and dresses, along with several girly-looking tops. There are also five pairs of shoes…

The girls are all abuzz about my clothes and start wanting me to model everything. I try and resist, but they are insistent—it seems this is a girl thing and I am going to have to get used to it for the next six weeks.

After showing off like a hundred (not really) different combinations of ‘outfits’, I fall into bed—exhausted. Well, after I am forced to clean my piercings, thoroughly wash my face, and have ‘moisturized’ my whole body. As I am rubbing the lotion into my legs, I can’t help but check for any hair growth, but am disappointed not to find any.

o~O~o

The first week actually goes by pretty quickly. The houses mostly stick to themselves during the first week I am told to bond as a group—the second week is when there is more cross-camp interaction.

By the beginning of the second week, I am sort of in a routine of being Paige. I am more confident in my ‘story’. It doesn’t feel totally weird to be in girl’s clothes, but nowhere near natural either. I still do double-takes when I glimpse myself in the mirror, but it happening less and less. I am finally getting to where I can pick up things with these long nails, too.

I know all 19 girls in the Pink House—I make the twentieth person in the cabin. I am told there are four other ‘T’s in the house, but I honestly couldn’t even begin to guess who they are. I am getting a little better at following the chatter and even interjecting talk now and then. THAT part is still freaky to me…they say boys are noisy. HAH!

So, when Angi asks me how I am doing on my second Monday, I say, “I am more comfortable, now. Thanks for asking, Angi. I still am adjusting, though.”

She nods and says, “That is to be expected, Hon. You rocketed into being a girl! Still no regrets, right?”

I am FULL of regrets, but I shake my head and say with practiced emphatic enthusiasm, “Not on your life!”

She smiles and says, “OK, then. Bend over!”

She gives me my shots and asks, “No problems here, either, right?”

I slowly shake my head, but say, “Well…I don’t know. I seem to sort of always be a little sick to my stomach. Sometimes, especially in the mornings, I feel like I am going to throw up. And I think I may be having a reaction to something…my…my…my boobs are sort of sore.”

Angi has me lift my blouse and feels them. I flinch a bit and she smiles and says, “I told you puberty is a bear. It is nothing to worry about, Hon.” She goes to a cabinet and grabs a tube of something and a bra and hands them to me. She says, “Here this is a special soothing cream and a training bra—the cream will ease the discomfort and the soft material will keep your clothes from irritating your nipples. It will get better in a couple of weeks, I promise.”

I almost balk, but know that won’t go over well. It is not unusual for girls to wear bras. I do ask, though, “So, this is normal for…ME…”

She nods and says, “Yep! A normal part of a healthy puberty!” She giggles then she adds, “As for the nausea, does it get better during the day; after you eat?”

I nod and say, “Some, but it is always sort of always there. You know, like in the background.”

She says, “Well, at this point, I don’t think it is anything to worry about. Let me know if it gets any worse, OK?”

I nod and she insists that I rub in some of the cream on each side and then on helping me put on the bra. In spite of my misgivings, it DOES feel better and I tell her so, “Thanks, that does feel much better.”

She says, “Allen gave me some funds in case you need them. I will get you some more for your stay here.”

She then does a checkup on my concussion and tests out my shoulder. She smiles and says, “It looks like your concussion is healing nicely. I still don’t want you doing anything that will aggravate it, but I am going to loosen your restrictions some. I will let Francie know. Also, your shoulder is ready for some strengthening and therapy. Swimming will be good, as well as some other exercises to loosen it up.”

She looks at me and says, “I don’t normally get involved in participants’ activities for the summer, but in your case, I think I’ll have to make an exception—at least until I see how things are going. I’ll have Francie sign you up for the swim team for shoulder strength—no diving, for now; beginning cheerleading for range of motion—no pyramids; and ballet for balance. And you thought we didn’t do sports here!” She winks.

I groan internally—I thought my hell here couldn’t get any worse. She finishes typing into her tablet and says, “There, all sent to Francie. That’s all for today unless you need anything else?”

I decide to get out before she decides to add something else to my list, “No, thanks! I’ll see you next Monday!”

She says, “Yes, and we will have an extended exam and visit then. We need to have a talk every couple of weeks, so I can make sure everything is still OK with you, OK? For now, just go find Francie. She is waiting for you.”

I nod—already dreading it—and hurry out before she changes her mind.

Francie is waiting for me when I get back to the Pink House. She is looking at her tablet and smiles as she looks up at me and says, “Congrats, Paige! You can finally start getting active again. It’s too late for the swim team this morning, since they start really early. We’ll get you there in the morning. Cheerleading’s later this afternoon—every day. Ballet starts in about an hour—we have just enough time to get you outfitted. It’s also every day.”

I sigh and say, “I don’t know, Francie. I have never done ANY of this…”

She giggles and says, “No worries, Hon. You will be well-advanced by the time camp is over! Now, come on. We need to get you tights, a leotard, and ballet flats.” She takes my hand and pulls me to the Creativity Center, up the stairs, and to the ‘wardrobe’. She says, “You can borrow some for now. Angi said she would get you some from the funds your…what is he exactly?...gave her.”

I shrug and say, “I guess he’ll eventually be my step-dad. For now, he is ‘Uncle’ Allen…” I make air-quotes around ‘uncle’—my long, glittery-pink fingernails adding extra emphasis.

She nods and pulls out pink tights, a black leotard, and pink ballet flats in my size. I look at them in horror, but mask my emotions. I take them and Francie then leads me to the dressing rooms next to the dance studio. She looks at a roster and then assigns me a locker.

She asks, “Do you think you can get ready by yourself? I need to get ready myself.”

I give her an inquisitive look and ask, “You dance ballet, too?”

She nods and says, “Yep! I will be in the advanced section, but we will be in there together. Now, you just put the tights on first—no panties! Then the leotard—normally, I would say no bra, but… *SHRIEK* Girl! You’re wearing a bra!” She hugs me tightly, “Congrats, Hon! That is an important milestone for any girl! Anyway, no bra under the leotard. These are standard colors for beginners—no skirts or other colors allowed at that stage. You will see that I am dressed a bit differently.”

I rub my ears, still ringing from her shriek and then rub my breasts, wondering what the leotard will feel like without it. Then wonder why I am even wondering that. Francie gives me another hug and hurries off to her locker on the other side of the dressing room.

I slowly undress. I struggle to get the bra off, then I step out of my panties and stand there naked. There is a mirror and I shudder as I see the girl standing there; my ‘junk’ still tucked between my legs. I pull on the tights that look like they are way too small. I quickly find that they are elasticized and fit well enough with some adjusting. I adjust my ‘tuck’ and pick up the leotard. It takes me a bit to figure out how to get into it, but I finally stand there and look in the mirror, again. This time I really shudder—there is no doubt that there is a girl looking back at me.

Francie comes over just as other girls start filtering in to get ready. She smiles at me and says, “Wonderful! Now, the first week will be tough. Madame Pratt is tough—just do as she says and don’t question or complain.”

I put on my flats and follow Francie in to be introduced. She takes me over to a stern-looking woman, who looks to be probably in her fifties. Her hair is in a tight bun high on the back of her head. I shudder.

Francie says, “Madame Pratt, this is Paige. She is complete beginner—maybe Angi talked to you about her?”

Madame Pratt looks me up down with a calculating stare and nods. She says, “Yes, we will get her balance tested—and her posture corrected by the end of the week. Normally, I wouldn’t do this, but I am going to assign you as her partner for the first week. I have too many beginners to give her the attention she needs and you have indicated that you want some teaching experience? In payment, I will give you a private hour later?”

Francie nods excitedly and says, “Oh, yes! Thank you, Madame!”

An hour later, my calves are screaming from getting up and down on my toes. My thighs are rubber from doing ‘plies’. I can do a million squats, but these are at the completely wrong angle… I nearly fall over as I have to stand in the five different positions, especially ‘fifth’—I feel like my knees are going to break. The warm-up stretches killed me; the cool-down ones are no better.

Francie smiles and says, “Not a bad first day, Paige.”

Madame Pratt comes over and says, “Well, Paige. I watched you closely and you did very well for your first day—you have potential. Francine, you did very well, as well. I will make sure you are challenged in our session. Come prepared.”

Francie ushers me out and giggles, “Girl! That was high praise! Madame doesn’t usually compliment—you did perform exceptionally well, though. Don’t worry about showering. Lunch is in a little over an hour and then your cheerleading session starts and you will just get all sweaty again. If you want, you can come swim a round with me to stay limber.”

I nod and say, “That would be nice, I think. I can feel my legs tightening up already.”

Francie says, “Go get your swimsuit and meet me at the lake in fifteen minutes. I quickly strip out of the leotard and tights and neatly put them in my locker—like I see the others in the room do. I get dressed and hurry to my room. I open the drawer and pull out my ‘swimsuit’—the one I know I will be expected to wear for ‘leisure’ swimming. It is a hot-pink two-piece bikini—the one-piece suit is for ‘competition’ swimming.

I put it on, like I had when I had to model it for my roomies. I put on a pair of shorts and t-shirt over it. The shorts are typical “girl’s” short-shorts and still feel weird to me. The t-shirt is short and so my belly-button is showing; which I am told is a GOOD thing… I put on my flip-flops and hurry to the lake. Francie is just arriving, as well.

She pulls waterproof suntan lotion out of her bag and slathers it all over my body and I return the favor and we jump into the water to cool off. After about fifteen minutes of swimming, she coaxes me to some loungers and we lay down on a towel. After about fifteen minutes of chit-chatting she rolls over on her stomach and gestures for me to do the same.

The time goes by quickly; I find that she is really easy to talk to. Before I know it, she is getting her things together and we have to go back for lunch. She says, “You can just leave your bikini on under your clothes like that, for now. They will give you a cheerleading outfit to change into, anyway. Just take some panties with you—there will be a sports bra with the outfit, since you don’t have one yet.”

I eat lunch, for the first time in two weeks without a whole lot of nausea, and think about the morning. I find myself REALLY liking Francie. Several girls sit down at my table and I find myself pulled into a girlie conversation—I am getting better at following along; I am nowhere really ready to add to it, though!

When the hour is up, I trepidatiously go to my room to get some panties. My other three roomies are all lounging on their beds with mischievous looks on their faces. I give them an inquisitive look but hurry to my underwear drawer, since I have to be on the green for practice in forty minutes. I open the drawer and feel my face turn beet-red as I pull out a pair of really lacy THONG panties. The girls all start giggling.

Brenda says, “We have been saving those for when you got your first bra. We noticed a bit ago. Way to go, girl! Now you have REAL panties—like us!”

I sigh and say, “I don’t know… Where are my others?”

Julia says, “We sent them with Angi to be donated to Goodwill. She was a little worried that you’re not ready for thongs, but we convinced her otherwise!”

I groan and say, “I have to go to cheerleading, but we will talk about this when I get back!”

Georgette says, “Cheerleading? Really? Come on then, I’m going there myself!

o~O~o

Georgette takes me to the cheerleading locker room after taking me by wardrobe to get a practice outfit and sports bra. I look at the outfit as we walk to my newly assigned locker and shudder. It is the typical cheerleading outfit: Short-cropped top, ultra-short skirt, shiny nylon stockings, short socks with little pom-poms on the back… Of course, mine is all in pink…

I sigh and take off my shorts and t-shirt and stand in front of my locker, which happens to be right next to Georgette’s, in my bikini. I untie the string at the back of my neck and the skimpy top drops into my hand.

Georgette giggles and says, “Nice start on that tan! We will have to work more on it later, though. I’m sure you can do better!”

I look down and see the distinct beginnings of a tan—evidenced by the white outline of the little triangles and strings against my now darker skin. I groan inwardly—I hadn’t even considered the consequences of a tan line when out swimming. And knowing the three musketeers—plus Francie—it will only get worse now, since I am sure I will be drug out to the lake more and more now that I am cleared to swim.

I untie the bottom and see the same outline of the small triangle and strings. Georgette says, “We’ll get you a thonged-bottom for a nicer tan. Now that you are wearing them anyways, you’ll be used to the feel.”

I groan and pick up the lacy thong panties that I had brought with me and slip them up my legs. The string disappears into my butt-crack and I instinctively reach to pull it out. Georgette play-slaps at my hand and says, “Bad Paige! It BELONGS in there. See?” She turns and I see hers disappearing into her crack just the same as mine. She says, “Soon, you won’t want to wear anything else. You’ll see! Now, hurry up! We need to get out on the green!”

She helps me put on the nylons, since I have never done anything like that before. Then I put on the sports bra and relish the soft feel of the material. I know that Angi says this is normal, but I am worried—I have never really heard of guys having issues like this; but then maybe they are just embarrassed to talk about it? I have heard of man-boobs and think they are supposed to go away if it is not just because you are fat…

I pull on the top and feel my bare midriff. I see Georgette’s is the same—showing off the shiny pink jewel in her belly button. I pull on the short skirt and tie my shoes. I stand up and nearly lose my balance. I say, “Georgette, what’s with these shoes?”

She giggles and says, “They actually have two-inch heels, but are built so you can’t really see it. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it in no time—it gives us killer-calves.”

I groan, “My calves are already killed from ballet!”

We run out onto the green where about fifteen girls are already gathered. Each is in a practice outfit the same color as their house. Other than that, in reality, they are all the same. I notice that I am the only one without a pierced belly button, though—everyone else has a jewel in theirs to match the color of their house.

Georgette is right, it doesn’t take me too long to forget all about the heels on my shoes. I am too worried about doing splits and kicks…and keeping up with the routine. Like with ballet, I find that I have more of a musical bone than I ever knew. The rhythm and moves come fairly easily to me—it is the flexibility that is the biggest problem.

After two hours of practice, I am officially dead. We all go to the locker room to shower. The showers at the Pink House are communal, too, so that is not really that big a deal to me—anymore. At first, I was really shy about it. I quickly find that showering with the cheerleaders is different, though.

Georgette says, “Here, scrub my back, OK? Then I will scrub yours.”

I quickly scrub her back, then she takes the scrubby and does mine. She surprises me, though, when her arms snake around under my arms and she starts massaging my tender nipples. They jump to life and I feel little electric shocks shoot down to my groin. I moan, in spite of myself—it is a moan of pleasure. I want to pull away, but find I can’t. She turns me around and starts nibbling and sucking on them. Within a couple of minutes, I feel this sunburst inside of me. It spreads throughout my body and I think I am going to faint from pleasure.

I look at Georgette and ask, “Wh…wh…what was that?”

Georgette and the other girls giggle. She says, “Welcome to the cheerleaders, Hon. And THAT was an orgasm. By your reaction, I take it, it was your first?” She giggles again.

I nod, still out of breath.

She smiles and says, “Well, you’re one of us now—almost. We will fix the rest later. Right now, we’re all going to lake to swim and work on our tans. But first, we need to get you a better bikini!”

o~O~o

I groan as my alarm goes off at four o’clock in the morning. For whatever reason, the swim team meets really early in the morning.

I get out of bed and pad towards my dresser. I nearly fall, though, when the pain in my calves kicks in—they are REALLY sore! I pull the ‘competition’ swimsuit out of my drawer and limp to the communal shower area to get dressed, since the others are still asleep.

I look at myself in the mirror and grimace at the now darker tan lines—this time with no line on my butt, except up top where the string comes out of my crack. I was surprised that my ‘junk’ would even fit in the tiny scrap of material that it was. I look at it now, hanging down freely and shiver—it looks somehow…tiny…

I also look for signs of body hair. Other than some very light fuzz, there is nothing in site. The same holds true for my face. I haven’t noticed any crack in my voice—or any other sign of puberty, for that matter. I know SOMETHING must be happening, though—that orgasm yesterday is clear proof of that…

I get into the swimsuit and see my nipples standing erect in the chilled air—they look HUGE to me. I shake my head and hurry to get my pre-swim smoothie that Francie told me would be waiting for me at the cafeteria.

The girl handing the smoothies out is miserably cheerful at this early hour. She smiles and wishes me a great day as I go to find a table, still limping. There are several girls sitting at a table—obviously on the swim team gauging by their swimsuits. I sit at another table and sip my smoothie.

A girl comes over and says, “Hi! You must be Paige. We haven’t met, yet. I’m Jenny—I’ll be your partner today. Welcome to the team! Do you have any swimming experience?”

I look at her, mesmerized by the glitzy lavender stud in her nose. It matches the color of her swimsuit, so I know she is from Lavender House—the one for the ‘L’ part of LGBT. I shake my head and say, “No, I’ve never been much of a swimmer—I have always been more into things like football.”

She giggles and says, “Well, we’ll test you out today. I noticed the limp…is that normal?”

I laugh—and it actually turns out to be more of a giggle—and say, “No. The consequence of too much ballet and cheerleading on my first day!”

She giggles again and nods. She says, “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the other girls. Of course, the guys are all still in bed, probably—they are ALWAYS late!”

After being introduced to the eight other girls on the team, we start walking to the indoor Olympic-sized pool. As I am introduced to each girl by Jenny, I notice that each of them has a nose stud the color of their swimsuit—which of course corresponds to their house.

As we are walking, I can’t help but ask, “So…swimming…what does that have to do with being ‘creative’?”

Larissa, a girl in a yellow (the female ‘B’ house) swimsuit, giggles profusely and says, “Well, it started out as synchronized swimming, but that never really took off—it just sort of evolved into plain-Jane swimming. We actually compete against other camps at the end of summer…and we usually get beat…”

Clarissa, the girls’ coach is waiting for us at the pool and quickly gets us started by swimming laps. I am dead after only two—it is going to be a long day…

It is blissful to actually sleep in until eight o’clock. The week has actually gone by fairly fast and it is my third Monday here—and time for my session with Angi. By Saturday, I was getting into a groove and doing better at swimming, I can actually swim ten laps now and my shoulder feels pretty good. Ballet is surprisingly the easiest for me—Madame Pratt says I am a natural and is pushing me really hard; I started private sessions with her and Francie on Wednesday which will advance me much faster—or so I am told (Yay me…just what I always wanted). Cheerleading continues to kick my butt—but the shower sessions afterwards are… WONDERFUL!

I stretch and get out of bed. I barely notice my pink nails anymore when I stretch. I go to the shower room and notice the deep tan lines that I am developing—my skin is evenly tanned and at least ten shades darker than the white left where my bikini covers it. That is going to be hard to remedy when this camp is finally over…I hope some sort of spray tanning solution will help cover it up. I turn on the shower and get in. I am surprised when Georgette gets in with me…and my shower takes a bit longer than normal—especially when Julia joins us, too.

I dry off and notice my nipples are swollen from the stimulation they just had. They now seem to stay swollen longer and longer after such shower sessions. I shake my head and step into my thong panties. I barely notice the string in my crack anymore—the girls were right. Although, I wouldn’t say that these are the only kind of panties I would ever want to wear.

One thing is for sure, my ‘junk’ is getting much easier to tuck for whatever reason. My willy stays all shriveled up and tiny-looking, which worries me. My balls also seem to be happy to stay up in me—they still come down, when coaxed. But they actually FEEL better up in me. It is weird. I tuck the little guy and sigh.

I pick up my bra and put it on—I am getting better at that, too, I am sad to say. Like ballet, makeup and everything else here, putting on a bra is not a skill I ever would have dreamed of acquiring. I notice the flesh is starting to bulge out the top a bit; the bra must have shrunk some in the laundry…

I walk back to my room in only my panties and bra—something everyone in Pink does, so it is nothing unusual; even though, I still feel weird doing it. I go to my dresser and take out a pair of shorts and pull them up my legs. I have to struggle a little to get them over my hips but they seem to fit fine once I get them buttoned and zipped. I guess the different muscles I am using are starting to grow—maybe that means that I will finally start getting a manly figure! Excited at the prospect, I pull a thin (really soft) t-shirt over my head and put on some sandals.

Thirty minutes later, I am in Angi’s office—without breakfast, since it seems I am due some sort of blood test. I smile back at Angi as I enter and she says, “Well, Paige, you are looking WONDERFUL! How are you feeling?”

I sit on the exam table and she takes my arm to pull some blood. I say, “I am feeling better now—the first couple of days of your ‘regiment’ nearly killed me, though! I could barely walk on Tuesday.”

She giggles and finishes drawing the blood, then goes over to some sort of analyzer and puts the tube in it. She asks, “And your shoulder? How is it feeling?”

I swivel it to show her that it is nearly back to full range of motion and there is little-to-no pain. I say, “It feels fine, almost like new!”

She nods and says, “Yes, another week or two of your current activities and it should be back to normal range-of-motion. After that, if you keep it up, you will likely exceed ‘normal’, which is normal for the girls in those activities. Any headaches?”

I shake my head.

“Dizzy spells or problems with balance,” she continues her inquisition.

I shake my head again and say, “No, none. Madam Pratt is actually impressed with my sense of balance.

She nods and asks, “How about the nausea? Better? Don’t try and put one over on me—I will be able to tell if you are eating right from the bloodwork.”

I smile and say, “Well, I haven’t really noticed it in a couple of days—so, yes, I would say it is better.”

She looks back at her computer and asks, “OK. How about your nipples? Shirt and bra off, young lady. Let me see!”

I comply and say, “Well, the tenderness is nearly gone and they have stopped itching as much—but they are, like, really sensitive…they want to poke out all of the time.”

She is giving me a close look as I take off my shirt. Once my bra is off, she comes over and carefully inspects my nipples, then palpates my breast area. She nods and says, “Everything looks perfectly fine. What you are describing is perfectly normal for your stage of puberty. Let me get some quick measurements. Take off your shorts, please.”

She gives me a raised eyebrow ‘look’ at my thongs and I say, “They weren’t MY idea! Trust me!”

She takes out a tape measure and starts taking all sorts of body measurements as she asks with a straight face, “And how do you feel wearing them?”

I shrug and say, “Well, at first, they drove me crazy—now I hardly notice them.”

She smiles and asks, “Yes, but how do they make you FEEL? Maybe a bit sexy?”

I blush. I want to say, ‘Hell no’, but I get that is not the answer she is expecting. I just have to get through four more weeks… I put on a timid look and nod my head slightly.

She smiles and says, “OK, our secret—for now. Allen doesn’t have to know everything and I’ll have a talk with your mother when she gets back from Europe in a few weeks.”

I blink and ask, “She’s in Europe? She won’t be here this weekend for Parents’ Day?”

Angi looks at me and shakes her head, “No, I meant to tell you. Allen let me know that he’ll be here alone this weekend. Your Mom had to go take care of some corporate emergency and won’t be back until the day before camp ends. I’m sorry, Hon.”

I shake my head, fighting back tears—something that seems to come really easily, anymore. I say, “No, I…I…I am sort of used to it…”

At that moment the analyzer dings and she finishes entering the measurements into her computer. She goes over to the machine and presses a couple of buttons. While she is waiting for…whatever it does…she says, “Your measurements are coming along nicely. I have the baseline from when you were in the clinic. You probably don’t even remember me taking them. Anyway, you are developing nicely. Which reminds me—you haven’t had any issues with the shots, right?”

I carefully wipe the tears from my eyes so that I don’t smear the mascara that the girls insist I wear. Since they make me do my own, I quickly learned to not smear it. I shake my head as I do and say, “No, none that I am aware of. How long do I have to keep taking them, though?”

She looks at the readout on the machine and says, “Well, that is what I want to talk to you about. Your blood values are perfect, which means we have some options. I will talk about those in a bit. Right now, I want to talk about how you are feeling, in general. How’s camp? Is it what you expected?”

I decide to be honest—there is no point in pretending on this one. I say, “Well, I honestly didn’t know WHAT to expect, so I can’t really answer that. As for how it is. It is certainly challenging. I’m doing things I never expected I would—and find I am surprisingly good at them.”

I think to myself, ‘Not that I will ever continue with ballet or cheerleading once I am out of here and back to being Vick.’

She nods and says, “Fair enough. How is Pink House?”

I shrug and say, “Pink”. I giggle at her sour look and continue, “It’s fine. The girls treat me great and just like one of them.” I think of the shower sessions and get a smile on my face; I will certainly miss those…

She smiles brightly and asks, “So, you have no regrets about coming? You’re happy and content with the way things are?”

I nod emphatically and say, “Yes, I couldn’t ask for it to be any better.”

I think to myself, ‘Of course, it would certainly be better if I was in sports camp like I was SUPPOSED to be.’

She nods, still smiling broadly, and asks, “And this is what you want, right?”

NOW it is time to fall back to the ‘story’. I am feeling really good, right now, but I still don’t trust what will happen if I come clean. I say, “Of course. It’s perfect!”

Angi comes over and gives me a hug and says, “Great! Well then, Paige, we have a couple of options, like I said. I can continue to give you the shots on a weekly basis—this particular experimental serum needs to be given weekly, over a three-month period. The experiment is going fine and you are certainly right where I would expect you after two shots, but I have another option I can offer you. Allen has authorized it, but he has left the choice up to you.”

She looks at me to make sure I am paying attention and continues, “I can give you a small one-time implant. It uses the same experimental serum—only even more potent, which is possible because of the very small constant dosage that is disseminated from the implant. The overall effects are accelerated to about twice the speed. The shots have an already slightly accelerated effect over normal development. The implant makes it possible to cut normal puberty roughly in half. You will be slightly ahead of the curve for a child your age when it is all said and done if you choose this option.”

My head snaps up at that. Faster puberty? NOW she is talking!

She smiles and continues, “I can only offer this to you because of your very special situation—being in Pink House. We know that you don’t have any reactions to the serum, those show up in the first two weeks of use, but being able to keep an eye on you is a bonus.”

I think to myself, ‘Finally! Something good is coming of this pink hell!’

I ask, “So, once I am on this, I am cured and can just be…normal. No restrictions?”

She smiles and says, “Cured? I hadn’t thought of it like that, but I guess that is an apt way to put it. Yes. And, yes, you can be as ‘normal’ as you have dreamt of. I will still keep a close eye on that shoulder and your concussion for a couple more weeks, but you have made amazing progress.”

I smile and ask, “So, what’s the catch? Why is it even a ‘choice’?”

She laughs—not giggles—laughs and says, “You ARE a smart one! I think you have Allen completely fooled. Anyway, well, once the implant is in…it can’t be removed. The serum will run its course with no way to stop it.”

I nod and decide the risk of some unknown reaction is worth it to me. Besides Allen is OK with it and I don’t think Angi would do anything dangerous to me. I can already taste the big biceps from an accelerated puberty—the girls will STILL want to shower with me after that!

I say, “OK, let’s do it. I trust you and Allen—I just wish Mom was here.”

She pats my hand and says, “I know, Hon. It will be fine, I promise. She has given her consent through Allen. Just think how proud she will be to see you developing nicely when she sees you in a month.”

I smile at her and think about muscles, a deep voice, a developing beard…

She has me take off my panties, lay back on the table, and put my legs into these stirrup things—they are spread really widely apart. She uses a little Q-tip-like applicator to put something cold on a spot on my left inner thigh—near my ‘junk’. She says, “I’m sorry, I know that was cold, but it will numb the area while I do this… You may still feel a pinch…”

I feel a little pressure and then a pinch—it doesn’t really hurt, but it is unpleasant. In a matter of seconds, she says, “OK. That’s in. Congratulations, Paige! I am so excited for you, Hon! Now, I have a surprise for you. Allen requested it to make your experience here even better. Just stay still for a couple more minutes…”

I feel her messing around with my ‘junk’ then I smell some sort of strong chemical odor. She pushes on my ‘junk’ and holds it a bit, then lets go. She inspects whatever she has just done and says, “There! Perfect! You can sit up now.”

I sit up and look between my legs. I gasp. I am completely FLAT! There is nothing there. I stutter, “Wha…how…what…?”

She giggles and says, “Awesome, right? Francie had one, too. It is a latex vagina. It is just glued on…but, better than tucking, right? It will stay on until you leave, then we can see about other options. It is completely safe to swim or shower with it, so don’t worry!”

My face is beat-red—of course, she mistakes it for excitement. My heart is barely back to a normal rhythm and pace after the unexpected shock, but I still feel a little woozy. I feel myself swaying a bit.

Angi lays me back down and says, “Don’t worry, Sweetie. That is just the implant. You’ll have to take it easy the rest of the day, until you get used to the stronger serum, but I know your various teammates have plans for you with Jemma. Lay here for a few minutes, then you are cleared to go over there.”

I lay there—my heart still pounding somewhat. ‘I just have to put up with this Hell for another four weeks…then I can be Vick; fully developed Vick,’ I keep telling myself over and over…

o~O~o

A little under an hour later, I am back in Jemma’s little haven. I sit there in her chair still thinking about my glued up ‘junk’. It doesn’t hurt at all; at least not physically.

Jemma is prattling on about Madame Pratt (haha…no pun intended) wanting me to have ‘ballet-length’ hair. She then shows me the extensions that she is going to permanently attach to my hair.

My eyes bug out. They are like two-feet long. I ask, “I don’t know…that is REALLY long!”

Jemma says, “Oh…you KNOW you want it, girl! Don’t try and kid a kidder. You will love the things you can do with it! Now sit back and let Jemma do her work.”

She starts working immediately, adding in the blond extensions with pink highlights that perfectly match my shorter hair. She continues on about how I will need to care for them—just like my real hair. She giggles and says, “Of course that is because they ARE real hair!”

An hour later, I feel my head getting heavier and heavier—and the hair tickling my bare neck. After about ninety minutes, she is finally done. She lets me look in the mirror and I am in shock. I thought I looked like a girl before—there is NO sign of a boy, right now. The hair is well below shoulder-length and feathered into my face.

Jemma shows me how to braid it and turn it into a high bun for ballet; which is a lot of work! She says, “I will just leave it braided for now, OK?”

I numbly nod.

Then she inspects my legs and says, “Nothing to worry about here… Raise your arms high, Sweetie.”

I have no idea what she is going on about, but do as she says.

She looks closely at my underarms and says, “Well, it looks like we need to do start working on these, right away!”

She gets this gun-looking thing and runs it up and down under both arms for a bit. It buzzes and sort of tickles. She says, “There, we will do that once a week while you’re here and I think you won’t have to worry about staying clean under there anymore after that. I think you may be one of the lucky girls on your arms and legs…of course, being blond helps there! And your little device down below comes with several added benefits—as you know!” She winks and giggles.

I smile—completely oblivious to what she is prattling on about, now.

After that, I have to suffer through an hour of makeup lessons…when we are done, I look at myself in the mirror and now not only see ONLY a girl—I see only a HOT girl. And I had done it all to myself.

Jemma says, “Every day after cheerleading for an hour’s practice from now on. You’ll be an expert before you leave or my name isn’t Jemma!”

I groan internally…really? Makeup lessons EVERY day?

She continues on without pause, “Which reminds me. Now, the swim team has formally adopted you; that means you get their signature feature. Of course, you DO have to have special parental consent for this—but your ‘Uncle’ has provided that, so don’t worry.”

My eyes go wide as she approaches me with a pink stud and some medieval torture device and gently but firmly pushes my head to the left. I want to protest, but she is quick. Before I really know what has happened, I have the stud in my right nostril—just like all of the girls on the swim team.

Jemma smiles and says, “That is so lovely. You are quite the beautiful young lady. Well, this one is a little more painful, but the cheerleaders are all so proud of them…”

I suddenly picture all of the cheerleaders with their belly-button jewels and blanch. I know where this is going, now, and say, “I don’t know…maybe this is plenty…I…I…I don’t really like needles and holes…”

Jemma says, “Nonsense, Paige. It is an honor that the cheerleaders have adopted you. It won’t hurt that bad. But, if you want to disappoint them…and Francie…that is up to you…”

I think back and remember that Francie has a pink jewel, too. I had noticed it when we were swimming at the lake. I ask, “Francie was a cheerleader?”

Jemma nods and winks at me, “She thinks they are hot…”

I tell myself this is totally idiotic, but I know that I can take it out when this Hell is over with and it will heal up—and if Francie really likes it... I say, “Well, in that case…”

Jemma giggles and says, “I knew it! Have you told her that you have the hots for her? Here, lay back here on this table…”

o~O~o

I am going to be on travel for the next week, starting tomorrow, and likely will not be able to post any chapters until I return. I promise there is more, though. It is already written and ready for posting (well, after I proof-read it!). I am sorry for the delay.

HUGS!

I approach the beach at the lake. I am in my skimpy pink bikini—my new matching belly jewel glittering in the sunlight. I feel foolish with it in. I feel even more foolish knowing that my nose is glittering along with it under my blinged-out, girly sunglasses. On top of that, I know that I am COMPLETELY flat, thanks to the glued-on ‘vagina’ that I fully know I sport—all thanks to Allen…

I know that I agreed to this whole farce to get out of the clinic. But, Allen didn’t need to give special permission for the extra piercings. And what is the deal with him REQUESTING the ‘vagina’? I am starting to question his judgement… I hope the implant wasn’t a mistake, seeing as how I can’t have it removed now. But, surely Angi is trustworthy, right? I mean, she just wants me to get well… This side-circus at camp is just, well…THAT… A side-circus…

I see Francie laying out in the sun on a lounger. I smile to myself and think she is really HOT—and not just from the sun. I know I could never have a chance with her…she is seventeen, but a girl…ummm, crap, GUY can dream, right?

She sees me and waves me over. As I approach her she smiles and says, “NICE JEWEL! Officially a cheerleader now? Congrats, Paige!”

I blush and say, “Yeah…I wasn’t sure about it… It didn’t hurt too bad, I guess… And I can still swim even with the new piercing because of some antibiotics that I guess are a part of my new implant—I don’t have to worry about infection…”

Francie lets off a little scream and asks, “You got an IMPLANT?!?! WOW! You are serious, then? That is so AWESOME! Come over here and I will rub in your sunscreen.”

I lay down on the lounger next to hers and she rubs in the sunscreen all over my body. As she does, she notices the fake vagina. She starts softly rubbing my inner thigh and I start feeling all funny inside. She says, “Paige, I know you are only fourteen—almost fifteen, right? You birthday is next month?”

I nod, breathing heavily from what she is doing.

She continues, “And I am seventeen, but barely, so we are, in reality only a couple of years apart. Well, I am a counselor and that complicates things…but…I think you’re totally hot…”

I swallow and say, “I…I…I think you are hot, too, Francie! I have thought so, since I first saw you… But you can have your pick of any guy…”

She giggles and says, “Silly, I am bi…and lean more towards lesbian. If I wasn’t a pink, I would be a yellow, leaning towards lavender… But, it seems you are in the same boat—I don’t know about yellow, but for sure lavender.”

My head is swimming—I don’t care about colors of houses right now. Francie thinks I am hot!

She leans over me and softly kisses me on the lips. While I am catching my breath, she says, “That is the great thing about being pink, we can be any other color—and the most girly-girl of them all! Since I haven’t been assigned a protégé yet, this year, I will talk to Angi… I will make sure that it is OK to be one with benefits… She is good about that…assuming your parents won’t care. Do you think they will?”

I am in some sort of seventh heaven times infinity. I sort of come back to reality and ask, “Mind? Mind what?”

She giggles and says, “Me being your girlfriend, silly! Do you think it would be a big deal to them? We can only really officially do it, if they are OK with it.”

I shake my head and say, “I have no idea what Allen will say—but, I think I can convince him if he gives me any trouble…”

She leans over and kisses me again…I feel my nipples get REALLY hard…

Several hours later, I dreamily float into my bedroom and find a package on my bed. There is a note from Angi that says, “These are the matching bras to your panties. Again, our secret—Allen doesn’t need to know. I hope they make you feel as sexy as your panties and they should fit better than your others…”

I take one out of the bag and recoil at the lacy contraption that is indeed a match to one of my thongs. I look at the tag and it is total Greek to me…’32-A; Gel Underwire Push-Up Bra that adds two full cup sizes’…

At that moment, Brenda walks in and sees me. She whistles and says, “Girl, you made SERIOUS progress today! AWESOME jewels…and, now matching push-ups! Wait, A-cup?” She lets out a scream and says, “GO GIRL!”

I smile like I know what she is going on about, but have no idea.

She says, “Here, let me help you get it adjusted. Put it on and let’s go get supper. I’m starving—not everyone had the day off like you!”

When she is done, it feels strangely…good. I look in the mirror after I put my shirt back on and am surprised at the fact that it looks like I actually have BOOBS…small, but definitely there.

Brenda giggles and says, “You’ve got to love the power of gel push-ups, right? Now, come on!”

I follow her, confused…

o~O~o

The next day, Francie meets me as I exit the locker room after swim training. She has a big smile on her face and says, “I talked to Angi and she is fine with you being my protégé—she was actually really excited about it. She also talked to your ‘uncle’ and he was, well, in her words, ecstatic that you found a girlfriend and were comfortable being a lesbian, or bi…”

I am more than a little confused by Allen’s response, but push it aside, since it clears the way for me to be Francie’s girlfriend.

Francie grins and says, “OK, I know you still have a busy day…and I also know what goes on in the showers after cheer practice—I was one, remember. Just so you know, I am OK with that. Keep having your fun there, you’ve earned it after a hard practice—just save a little for me. OK?”

I feel faint. She has just told me it is OK to mess around with the girls in the shower and then come to her for more… I grin and say, “Yeah…ummm…sure… I mean…TOTALLY!”

She laughs and says, “Now go get ready for our session with Madam Pratt—you are SO in for it, now!”

Four hours later, after a torturous ballet session and an even more torturous cheerleading practice, I am in the shower with the other cheerleaders. Of course, my new ‘vagina’ is a huge topic of discussion…and leads to me having multiple orgasms in a row… I don’t know enough to know that is not a normal thing for a guy; I just know that I REALLY like it.

A couple hours later, I am breathing really heavily in Francie’s bed. I had had another several orgasms, one after the other—just from her sucking on my nipples. She giggles and says, “Angi told me that your implant would work fast wonders, but this is really awesome! Now, how much have you learned in the showers?”

Another couple hours of learning how to please her later, and her continuing to make me melt in ecstasy, I lay there and ask her, “So you were really born a guy?”

She says, “Yes, just like you. Getting into Pink House really helped me become who I am today… Angi has been awesome…I was able to get my special ‘vagina’ last year. It is ‘permanent’ until I can get surgery and much more realistic and advanced than yours that can only stay for a few weeks at a time. You’ll be able to do the same later, Sweetie. After our surgery, then I can REALLY pleasure you!”

Everything we have been doing is completely oral and Francie was clear that it would stay that way until I am old enough for more. But, I am thrown for a loop with what she just said…and am completely confused. She is expecting me to become a girl, like her…I am fast falling in love with her…but at what price? For now, I continue my ‘role’ and say, “Oh! I can’t wait to be able to be complete with you!”

I don’t know why, but I am really horny…and willing to do almost anything to satisfy that need. And I really do find myself completely in love with Francie. I know what you are thinking…he is only fourteen, well—almost fifteen, what does he know about love? I guess the implant has really fueled my hormonal fire…and I AM on a fast track to finishing puberty…

o~O~o

The week goes by quickly. I am making HUGE strides in ballet and cheerleading. I am able to easily swim twenty laps. I am becoming more and more an expert in putting on my own makeup. None of which I really have any true interest in.

What is more important is that I am making more and more strides with pleasing Francie. The flip side of that is that she is pulling me more and more into playing the ‘girly-girl’—along with the other girls in Pink… I am now learning to walk in four-inch heels (for starters—soon to be five, then six before the end of camp). I find myself more easily conversing with the girls in ‘girl-talk’. I find myself, with their encouragement, using the makeup skills I am gaining with Jemma. I find myself talking about the boys in camp differently…
Sunday, of course, is Parents’ Day. It is finally here and I wipe off the makeup that I had just perfectly applied, since my tears had completely ruined it. I find myself much more emotional lately—although, I seem to be getting more control over it. Anyway, I think about Mom not being here and the water-works start. I get control of myself and reapply my makeup. It is not TOO heavy—at least by Pink standards and get dressed.

I put on a pink sundress with spaghetti straps that matches the color of my pink highlights perfectly. It is really short and shows off my tanned legs. It is also cut to show cleavage—something that my new bras seem to be able to help me with. They really are wonders—making absolutely nothing look like something. I still have no idea what an ‘A-cup’ is—or what two cups above that is, except that it looks like I really DO have boobs. Not that I want that—no, REALLY…I don’t… Even if Francie thinks it is hot…

I put on my four-inch glitzy-pink stiletto heels and spritz myself with the flowery perfume that Francie had given me and insists that I wear every day. I purse my lips and add another coat of gloss, check that my now signature braid is straight, grab my purse, and click-clack my way to the gathering area to await dear old ‘Uncle’ Allen’s arrival…

I see him come through the door twenty minutes later. I sit quietly to see his reaction. He scans the now half empty room and looks right over me. He scans again and starts to turn to leave.

I wave and say loudly, “Hi, Allen. I’m over here!”

He does a double-take and comes over to me. He has a dazed look on his face and says, “Vi…Paige? Wow! I obviously didn’t even recognize you. They certainly can do wonders around here, huh, sport? How are you liking it?”

I take him outside where we can’t be overheard and say, “Well, I guess it beats being stuck in the clinic all summer, although, I don’t think that would have happened—Angi has released me from all restrictions. I’m in Hell, though. LOOK at me!”

He shakes his head and says, “Well, Angi said that the supervised therapy activities you have been doing have really helped—you wouldn’t have had the same thing at the clinic, so who knows? Anyway, you’re back to full shape now and can do whatever you want after the summer is over…”

I nod and say, “I can’t wait to get out of here, I think they are actually turning me INTO a girl!”

He blanches a little and asks, “What do you mean?”

I say, “Well, they have me dressing, walking, giggling and talking like one—I have to sit to pee with this thing you had Angi put on me; what was that all about anyway? They have me perfecting my makeup skills and ability to walk in heals… I don’t know, I even…FEEL like a girl now…”

He slowly nods his with a strange look of relief on his face. He says, “Angi offered up the prosthetic device and it seemed like a good thing to keep your cover—you ARE still going to keep it up, right? We could BOTH get into a lot of trouble if it comes out…”

I sigh and say, “Yeah, it’s only another three weeks—I think I can manage. My story is set here and I don’t get questions, anymore—except from Angi always asking how I am doing and if I am still OK with the thing. Of course, I tell her I am.”

He nods grimly and says, “OK, sport. Hang in there! I have to head back—Albert’s camp is in the opposite direction from home and I have to be there this afternoon for his Parents’ Day. I’ll see you in a few weeks, OK?”

I nod my head and he quickly leaves—like he is afraid something will happen at any moment. I watch him get nervously into his car and wonder what the heck is going on. Albert must have done something at math camp, I guess…

I run into Francie about an hour later. She asks, “Where is your ‘Uncle’?”

I shrug my shoulders and say, “He had to leave to go to the little monster’s PD at math camp. He was acting all weird, though. I don’t know—maybe the little monster is in trouble at camp, or something…”

She giggles and says, “Well, that is too bad. I would have liked to have met him. I guess I can at the end of camp, huh. Anyway, it’s time to graduate you into those five-inch heels—come on, Hon!”

I groan as I follow her back to her room…

By the end of the week, I am swimming faster and farther than ever before. I am even winning a bunch of the races at practice in several swim styles—but that is against girls, so I know it is not a fair race. While I still can’t see the muscles that I am expecting any moment, I know that my puberty is kicking in because of the implant, so I must be getting stronger than the girls—the problem is, I still don’t FEEL stronger. And with having to be girlied-up all of the time, I can’t really SEE that I am developing either. If anything, I feel and look even girlier than ever.

Jemma is satisfied with my makeup skills and is moving on to showing me how to do different things with my hair. I can easily put it into a bun now, since Madame Pratt always insists on it being in a perfect one for practice. Speaking of, I am now officially at a ‘level 3’ and she is confident that I can make it to a ‘level 5’ before I leave, since I am practicing nearly four hours a day now. I am getting really flexible and can do things I would never have dreamed of doing.

As for cheerleading, I can do really high kicks and jumps and I know all of the routines in my sleep—for all intents and purposes, I am just one of the girls on the team. This week, I ‘get’ to start doing some of the more acrobatic things—even be in the pyramid. Angi has fully cleared me…

Francie and I are getting along great. We spend a lot of our free time at the lake with the other girls and my tan is getting really dark, now. My clothes are starting to fit differently now, too—like they are fitting BETTER. So, I must be developing, right? Angi said the implant would take about a week to really kick in, then things would take off from there—I really hope I do a lot of catching up over the next weeks before school starts back up…

o~O~o

I sit in Angi’s office—it is my last Monday at camp and my last session with her. I can’t believe it, but I am actually going to miss it, I think. Then I look down at my short skirt and five-inch heels and decide that being good ole Vick is going to feel great.

Angi has me undress, as usual, and takes my measurements. She smiles and says, “Well, Hon, you’re progressing as expected. Your body should be saturated with hormones now, so you should see an acceleration in development. You are now a full A-cup—I expect you will likely develop at least a C—maybe more. Your hips…”

I let out a strange sound—something between a gasp and gurgle. I feel like I am going to suffocate—I can’t breathe. I start hyperventilating.

Angi quickly comes over and works to calm me. After several minutes of breathing into a paper sack, I am breathing semi-normally again. She asks me, “Paige, Hon. What was THAT all about?”

I can’t take it anymore. I ask, “You mean I am really turning into a girl—a REAL girl?”

Angi shakes her head and says, “No, that isn’t possible—at least not yet. But, as we discussed, the serum is working to make you as much a girl as is possible. You’re going through puberty—just like any other girl; only at an accelerated pace, since you’re behind the curve at your age…”

I fight hard to keep my composure and can barely keep myself from breaking down into sobs again. I tell her the whole story about faking the test to get in so that I wouldn’t have to stay in the clinic all summer.

She gives me a really concerned look and asks, “Who told you anything about having to stay at the clinic all summer…?”

I whisper, “Allen.”

“And how did you get the ‘answers’ to the ‘test’,” she asks with a shocked look.

I whisper again, “Allen.”

She blanches and asks, “And do you even know what that ‘test’ was about?”

I sigh and say, “He just said it was an entrance exam into your camp—and that was my only alternative to having to stay in clinic all summer…” I really do start to cry, now.

She pulls me in and hugs me tightly. She says, “Shh…shh…shhh. It will be alright, Hon. We need to get your Mom on the phone right away, though. Do you know how to get in touch with her? I know she is in Europe.”

I nod and say with a sniffle, “I can send a 911-email—it…it…it’s our secret for emergencies.”

Forty minutes later, Mom is on a speakerphone with Angi and me. She is NOT happy, “I’ll KILL him. Angi, what can we do? Obviously, I’m going to have to get a lawyer to deal with Allen. But what about Vick? You said the implant is permanent?”

Angi sighs and says, “Well, yes; I can’t remove it. The way it all works is in a sense pretty simple. Everyone produces a certain enzyme called aromatase, even males. Aromatase does many things within the estrogen cycle, including converting testosterone into estrogen. The serum ramps up the body’s aromatase production and ensures that ALL testosterone in the body is converted to estrogen. Normally, the male body is programmed to ‘expect’ certain levels of testosterone after puberty—if it is low, it produces more—in this case, THAT is in turn converted causing more to be produced to make up for the lack…and so on. The implant simply forces the body to permanently create enhanced aromatase production centers. After a while, the body’s ‘expectations’ actually shift to maintaining healthy levels of estrogen by regulating testosterone production and converting it…”

I hear Mom’s heavy breathing on the phone… I am able to follow the conversation, I think. In other words, I am screwed.

Mom asks, “So, can this cycle be turned off? How do we get Vick back?”

Angi sighs again, “It is really tricky—and we can’t really get Vick completely back at this stage. Giving testosterone will only increase estrogen. There are aromatase inhibitors, but Pai…Vick’s body is now programmed to just increase aromatase to maintain the proper levels which mean giving higher and higher doses—it would be unhealthy to try and stop that cycle; likely impossible, anyway. In addition, for reasons I don’t fully understand yet, the effects of the implant are to actually increase the cells’ sensitivity to estrogen and decrease any residual sensitivity to testosterone—that is why FEMALE puberty is accelerated with the implant. The only real option is to block testosterone production…leaving Vick as he is now. An effeminate boy that will never complete puberty…”

Mom and I both gasp at the same time. I quietly cry.

Angi says, “And short of surgical removal of the testicles, Vick will have to stay on the blockers the rest of his life. The only other viable option…is to let Paige’s female puberty continue on…”

Mom growls, “Angi, how could this happen? How could you let it get so far?”

Angi cringes and says, “Obviously, Allen is very good. He was able to push the right buttons with Vick/Paige. He was completely able to keep me on the wrong track with his half-truths and seeming confirmations from Paige. Plus, for all my part in this, he also had your authorization to do it all. But why? What’s in it for him?”

I whisper, “Albert…”

Mom gasps and Angi gives me a funny look. Mom explains, “Vick is the heir to his father’s company. The current board is very traditional and very male-centric—true male chauvinists. That’s something that I am working REALLY hard on. Allen must think that with Vick out of the way, and after we marry, that it will put Albert in the perfect position…”

Angi shakes her head and says, “Well, it’s all very criminal what he has done, but it will be tricky to prove in court I’m afraid—at least enough so to actually hold him fully accountable…”

Mom says, “Let me talk with lawyer friends of mine—please don’t let on to him that we know anything about his scheme until I do, though. That goes for both of you, OK, Vick? Which means, for now, I’m going to have to keep calling you Paige. But what do YOU want to do about your future after I do? It won’t take me long to confer with them.”

My head is spinning… It is a total no-win situation… A true real-life ‘Kobayashi Maru’. Live out life as a girl…or as some sexless freak… I don’t want to be a girl; not that I have anything against girls, quite the contrary; the last weeks have shown it is not a BAD thing at all…I was just happy being a boy. I CERTAINLY don’t want to be a sexless freak, though…

I finally say, “I…I…I guess my only REAL option is to continue the course as Paige…”

Angi says, “Not so fast! I want to have some serious talks with you—honest ones this time. I want to make sure that, this time, you FULLY understand the consequences, OK? A week, or two, is not going to make a huge difference in terms of development at this point. So we will not do anything for the moment, and let things progress—it will help you fully decide. But before I let you commit to being Paige, we need to have some serious talks—and that includes you, too, Dawn. OK?”

Without thinking, I carefully wipe a tear to keep from smearing my mascara and nod—not that it matters at this point, since it has completely run down my face. Mom says, “I will be there tomorrow. I already booked my flight while we were talking and I am packing, as we speak… Allen can’t know that I am coming, though…he is SO going to pay for this.”

o~O~o

I finish out the rest of the day as if nothing had changed after I clean up my makeup. Oh, the girls know something is bothering me, but finally give up asking after I continuously just brush it off. I just need some time to process all of this.

Madame Pratt scolds me twice—and THAT gets my mind back on task. Trust me. You DON’T want that woman scolding you in that low, cold as sharpened steel voice that she uses. I immerse myself in ballet and cheerleading—fully concentrating only on the moves and tasks at hand. Drowning out every other thought.

That night, though, I have dreams. Most boys would call them nightmares—dreams of me turning into a girl. Me, though—I call them just…confusing…

The next morning, I get ready to go back to Angi’s office to wait for Mom to arrive. I do so like any other morning since coming—it is almost second-nature at this point. I am in a short sundress and perfectly made up as is usual for me now—the Pinks in my life would have it no other way. I am in four-inch stilettos and am walking down the path completely sure-footed in them—I don’t even notice the click-clack of the heels on the concrete anymore...it is just ‘normal’ now after all of the practice in them. My hair is pulled back into a tight braid—ready to be put into a bun for ballet later…

Angi gives me a tight girly hug as I come in and asks, “How did you sleep, Hon? You look great, by the way—I know this is hard for you.”

I sigh, sweep my dress and sit down, crossing my legs like it has been drilled into me over the past five weeks. I say, “I slept OK, I guess. I had…confusing dreams. Dreams about me turning into a girl…”

Angi nods and asks, “And how did they make you feel? I know you already said confused—anything else?”

I slowly nod and say, “Mad, I think is a good word. I never asked for this Angi—not really… How could it happen? How could Allen DO this?”

She shakes her head and says, “Let’s wait on your Mom and we’ll talk more about that. Tell me about being mad…you realize that yesterday you said you wanted to proceed with being Paige? Being mad about that is not a good start on the rest of your life.”

I shake my head and say, “I don’t have any option, now do I Angi? I mean, in reality? If I don’t go through with the full transition, I will be this…this…freak…for the rest of my life. A perpetual boy that looks like he should be a girl… I think I’m not so mad about becoming a girl; not really. I mean, ultimately it’s no better or worse than being a boy… I am mad at the situation…at being deceived…violated…”

Angi nods and says, “Well, I will continue to work on a way to reverse the effects of the serum if you want to wait—but I can’t promise that I will be successful. It has taken YEARS and a lot of money to get the serum to work as well as it does. And, like I said, I don’t fully understand some of the effects, yet.”

At that moment, Francie brings Mom into the office.

Mom takes a look at me and gasps. She asks, “Vick…Paige…Vick?”

I get up and go give her a girly hug, like I am now so used to doing to other girls. I feel…tall in my heels compared to what I am used to with her. I take a tissue and carefully wipe the tears from my eyes. I say, “Hi Mom. I am SO glad to see you.” I fight more tears REALLY hard.

Angi comes over and limply shakes Mom hand. She says, “I’m glad you made it, Dawn. We have a lot to discuss…”

She squeezes me in a tighter hug and says, “Yes, we do. I need some real explanations—I still don’t understand how all of this could have happened… And I can’t believe how you look—if I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I would never have believed you could look like such a beautiful girl.”

We sit and Angi pours Mom a cup of coffee. She takes a deep breath and says, “Well, as you know, it actually started when Vick was brought into the clinic after his accident. Of course, my clinic specializes in transgender issues, but we are fully accredited for basic medical treatments—like any other medical clinic in the state. Vick was brought in because it was an emergency and we are the closest clinic of any kind to the school. It is not uncommon for students to be brought to us…”

Mom nods. She knows that part.

Angi takes a sip of coffee and continues, “Allen came in right behind Vick and seemed a little surprised to find out about our true mission… You were held up in traffic and he started telling me that Vick had earlier confided in him that he was transgendered—but was afraid to tell you. He told me that he was afraid that Vick would wind up hurting himself—that the reason that he took so many chances in rough sports was because he WANTED to get hurt.”

Mom gasps and sort of growls. My head is spinning…

Angi continues, “I told him that I had a test that we could administer to get a better gauge of Vick’s status after we got him through the worst of the concussion. I told him it was a modified version of a common transgender test that is fully validated and very accurate in its assessment. He was very adamant that I not say anything to you, since Vick had confided in him alone. That isn’t uncommon and so I didn’t really think anything of it.”

She pauses and takes another sip, “Of course, my plan was to talk with you after the I got the results of the test, but you weren’t available—and Allen had a full medical power of attorney. He also was very convincing that he was keeping you informed and that you were fine with all of this. I had no reason to doubt to him.”

Mom looks at her, pale-faced, and asks, “So, how did Vick…Paige—oh, HELL, I don’t even know what to call my own child, anymore!”

I squeeze Mom’s hand and say, “Just stick with Paige, for now. I am totally used it to it after the last few weeks.”

Mom grimly nods but gives me a weak smile and looks back at Angi, “So, how did PAIGE pass this supposedly fool-proof test of yours?”

Angi says, “Now, that I don’t know. There is not really a pass/fail, in that sense. It gives a score based on the answers provided and shows where the individual is on the transgender spectrum. What the girls at camp commonly call a ‘perfect score’ actually is 750 points out of 750 possible. It rarely ever happens. That score is certainly not perfect, though. It signals grave danger on the part of the participant if immediate action isn’t taken—that score is only possible if the participant is so distraught over their need to transition that they are suicidal.”

I shake my head emphatically, ‘no’. I say, “I certainly have not wished to transition—ever. I have also never been suicidal or distraught over not being able to do so. Allen gave me the answers to your test and quizzed me on them until I had them down cold. Of course, I thought they were really weird questions for an entrance exam, but he had me so paranoid about having to stay at the clinic if I didn’t pass the test into your ‘creative’ camp that I wasn’t thinking straight at all—plus, I was still affected by my concussion at the time, I think.”

Angi nods, “You certainly were. And I was so concerned over your score—and the accounts that Allen gave me about you that I was likely not thinking the best either. I was WORRIED about you. The only other time I have seen that score—or one even close for that matter—was with Francie. We barely were able to save her before it was too late…”

Mom says, “But that still doesn’t explain how Allen got the answers…”

Angi says, “I suppose he could have somehow gotten them off of the server. It isn’t like they are hugely safe-guarded behind the firewall—and he was at the clinic enough to get to them if he is fairly computer savvy.”

Mom nods and says, “He’s more than ‘fairly’ computer-savvy… So, let me get this straight. Because of a freak accident, Vick is brought in to a transgender clinic with a concussion that has muddled his mind. Allen figures this out and hatches a scheme to get him accepted as a transgendered patient, steals the answers to a specialized psychological profile questionnaire, convinces Vick to use them to get accepted and dupes all of us?”

Angi says, “That is close—he also found out about the experimental treatment program and insisted on using that because of the severity of the score. He promised to help continue to fund the experiment through the family corporation and that you were both fully on board with that course. That about sums it up.”

Mom looks at me and asks, “Do you still have the answer sheet that Allen gave you?”

I shake my head and say, “No, he took it to ‘quiz’ me and I never got it back after the test.”

Mom says, “He is too good to have left any evidence behind in your system—it isn’t like he would have had to do any major hacking from what you’re saying anyway… We could take this to court, but it would be our word against his. I will take it up with Sheila, my head lawyer, but I think we’ll need more to effectively go after him. In the meantime, I would appreciate it if neither of you let on to him that we know about his scheme. V….PAIGE, I know that will be hard. Trust me – it will be really hard on me, too.”

I feel a steely resolve settle over me and say, “No, Mom—it’s fine. I can handle it.”

Angi says, “Of course I won’t let on. I want to get the bastard as much as you do—he has used me and made us all into utter fools! But, more importantly, he has hurt Paige and that isn’t acceptable!”

Mom nods, “So…what do we do about ‘Paige’?”

We finish up our lunch and settle back into Angi’s office. We talk for hours and Angi mentally and psychologically pokes and prods me.

She looks at me seriously and says, “Paige, we have gone through the three main options. But, let’s do it one more time, OK?”

I sigh and she continues, “First, we stop any sort of testosterone production or uptake. This completely halts your development as you are RIGHT now. Pros? We may come up with a solution that will ultimately allow you to become the man you were born to be. Cons? Well, you will be as you are right for who knows how long and there are no guarantees we will EVER be able to reverse the effects of the implant.”

She pauses and I am vehemently shaking my head no. She sighs and continues, “Second, we attempt to inhibit the aromatase in your system and allow your testosterone to run its natural course. Pros? IF we could, it would allow for you to go through puberty and finish out as a male—MOST of the effects you have experienced so far would be reversed and the rest could be dealt with in other manners. Cons? I don’t see how it can be safely done. The implant and its intended effects are too well designed to counter any inhibitors we throw at you. It is basically a completely futile effort—but I am will to try TO A POINT.”

I slow down my head shaking and start to really think about this one…

Angi notices and slows down too. She waits a bit and then continues, “Or, three, we do nothing. In that case the implant will do what IT is designed to do and you will continue down the path to the beautiful young woman that you have started to become. While I would morn you NOT going down this road, because you ARE becoming a beautiful young woman—both inside and out, I have to MOST discourage this path. Why? Pros? At the moment, it is the safest and most assured outcome—to become a WOMAN. Cons? Well, you would become a WOMAN—not something you want or ever intended. You would be labeled a ‘transgender’, which IS becoming more acceptable—but make no mistake, there are still stigmas ON TOP of being a woman. I mean look at the issues your mother’s having with your father’s board…”

I sit and think hard for quite some time. Mom and Angi are completely silent and patiently wait. I then become more resolute than ever in my commitment to continue the transition; it is the only thing that makes any sort of sense to me given my options.

I let them know, “I’m going for door number three…”

Both Mom and Angi continue to do their best to talk me out of it for a while—but I think more to test my resolve than anything.

Finally, I say, “Look, I appreciate that you’re worried about me. I’m worried about me, too; but more from the perspective that I don’t know THAT much about being a girl. The past few weeks have taught me a lot—even though I honestly was just doing what I had to do to ‘pass’ and get by for the six weeks of camp and not to experience being a girl.”

I pause and reflect a minute, “I did find out that being a girl isn’t a bad thing—it’s just a different thing. Most girls have no choice in being a girl—and, the way I see it, neither do I. Yes, being transgendered AND a woman will put me at a societal disadvantage. Is it fair? No… No more fair than it is for ANY transgendered woman that has no choice in who she is--so, let’s just make this work the best we can. OK?”

Mom comes over and gives me a big hug and wipes tears from her eyes. She says, “OK, Hon. If you’re sure. I know this is hard on you, but I am proud of you. You’re showing a maturity that I wouldn’t have expected, to be honest. I’m not sure how *I* would handle this; let alone at your age. We WILL make this work the best it possibly can, right Angi?”

Angi looks over at Mom and nods, “Of course. I will have to say that I agree with your mother. I still stand by my word that this has a great potential for disaster for you, but you’re as best informed as I can make you and you’re approaching it from the proper attitude—so I won’t stand in the way.”

She looks at Mom and asks, “I still don’t get it, though. What do you think his end-game was, well IS, I guess? I mean, how is he going to explain all of this? He HAS to know that it would come out eventually.”

Mom says, “I don’t know. I’ve been wondering that same thing.”

I say, “Well, he made me promise not to tell anyone that he helped me cheat my way into camp. It was supposed to be some sort of ‘guy-bonding’ thing—but, he said that we would BOTH get into trouble if it came out.”

Angi says, “But that still doesn’t explain how he was going to explain you actually transitioning when you found out. You’re taking this MUCH better than you should be…”

Mom says, “I’m sure he had some sort of blackmail ready to shut hi…err, her up. It should be very interesting to see how it all unfolds…”

Angi says, “Well, we may have to wait another two weeks to find out, if Paige is willing.”

Mom and I both give her a curious stare.

She looks at me and continues, “Well, you have qualified for all three of the teams you are on: ballet, swimming, and cheerleading. As such you’re invited to participate in the post-camp competitions with other camps. If you accept, then you will be with staying on another two weeks, with your team mates—not necessarily your house—to compete.”

I’m excited, in spite of myself and give a little scream—it is the competitive side of me. Mom giggles.

Angi says, “It will give you a little extra time to REALLY put yourself in the mindset of a girl and to change your mind before you leave—if you ultimately decide to do so and I DO encourage you to keep considering it. Dawn, can you ‘extend your stay’ in Europe for another two weeks? You’re welcome to stay at my house—I have plenty of room.”

Mom thinks for a couple of seconds and says, “Yes, I can make that work—if you don’t mind Sheila my lawyer stopping by for some ‘chats’.”

Angi shakes her head and says, “Not all—I would to chat with her myself. Good! It’s settled then! So, Paige, I think I know, but which team do you want to room with? Just so you know—even though Francie isn’t a camper anymore, she IS part of the ballet team as a counselor, former participant, and now student ballet teacher…”

I blush and say, “Well, yes, I think ballet is where I prefer to be.”

Mom gives me a blank look and asks, “Is there something I’m missing…?”

I giggle and blush some more as Angi explains about me being Francie’s protégé for the summer. I then sort of stutter out that she is also my girlfriend—even though she is a couple of years older than me.

Angi adds in that she is transgendered and has fully transitioned—even though she is still pre-op; she has an experimental advanced prosthesis that is semi-permanent—until she is eighteen and can have her surgery.

Mom looks stunned. She asks me dumfounded, “You have a girlfriend?”

I timidly nod and ask, “Is that OK?”

Mom hugs me and asks, “When can I meet her?”

Angi says, “Actually, you already have. She brought you in here this morning.”

Mom looks at me and giggles. She says, “Wow—she’s HOT! At the moment, I don’t have a problem with it, but we WILL talk more about it later, OK?”

I know better than to push HER—Allen had not given me any flack. Somehow, I doubt that is the thing to bring up, right now, though…

Mom looks at Angi and says, “Is it OK if I take my…daughter…into town for a quick meal and maybe a bit of shopping? We have some catching up to do.”

Angi nods and says, “Under the circumstances, actually, I INSIST! Please have her back by ten p.m., though—that is house curfew.”

Mom nods and says, “She’ll be back by nine. I have to take care of some things and find a place to stay for tonight.”

Angi says, “I’m headed back to my house around eleven. If that isn’t too late, the offer stands—effective tonight.” She smiles a genuinely sincere smile.

Mom nods and says, “I really do appreciate the offer and am more than happy to take you up on it if you’re sure it isn’t an imposition.”

They chat a few more minutes, then Angi says, “Oh, before I forget…” She grabs her purse and digs in it. She hands Mom around $500.00. Mom gives her a curious look as Angi says, “This is the rest of the money that Allen gave me to ‘take care of Paige’s needs’. It was originally $2000.00. She now has the basics any girl needs…” She giggles, “…although, her wardrobe MAY be a bit influenced by her Pink housemates. I hope you’re not TOO mad at me for indulging those…”

Mom gives me a curious look and I shrug. I say, “I assume she means the thong panties…”

Angi nods.

Mom laughs and asks, “Is there any other kind?”

We all laugh and Mom says, “OK, Paige. Come on…we have some talking to do…and what is that HEAVENLY perfume you’re wearing?”

o~O~o

“I think you can walk better in those heels than *I* can,” Mom giggles. We are walking down the main drag of the mall closest to camp—about 45 minutes away. We are both clicking our heels on the marble floors…almost in unison.

I roll my eyes and say, “You have NO idea what it means to be in PINK… I’m just getting used to 5” heels…they still KILL my toes, though.” I look at her as she giggles and ask, “Do I look ridiculous?”

Mom suddenly stops dead in her tracks and pulls me to her with a serious look. She looks me straight in the eye—and we are dead even with her in two-inch heels and me in four. She actually almost glares at me, she is so intent.

She says, “Hon, you’re more beautiful than I would EVER have imagined ANY daughter of mine being. Don’t for a MINUTE think you look ridiculous! I’m just SO sorry that I have so utterly FAILED you!”

I fight the tears and carefully wipe one away. Mom giggles and says, “And you have THAT down PERFECTLY!”

I smile lop-sidedly, shrug, and say, “Pink… Mom—I…don’t blame YOU in any way. Yes, I wish you were around more often; but only because I MISS you. And…now it seems that I will need your advice even MORE than before.”

I giggle a little…unsure of myself.

Mom smiles at me and says, “And I WILL be around more… I have been working on some solutions. Your Dad was a business wiz… BUT, that doesn’t mean that things at the office couldn’t be structured a bit differently. Now…tell me about this Francie of yours… I take it that she is into girls, then…?”

We walk into the main restaurant in the mall and are quickly seated as I gush about Francie.

After we get our food, Mom asks, “So…assuming you DO stay as Paige…you DON’T have to stay in this ‘Pink’ mode, you know?”

I slowly nod. I think about it a bit and say, “I know what you’re saying, Mom…that I could be a tom-boy. Do some of the things that I did before…”

She nods.

I sigh and say, “No…I don’t think so. You know me—I have Dad’s genes there. IF I am going to do this—I am going to do it ALL the way… I’m getting more and more used to the ‘Pink’ way… The question is, I guess, can you handle a girly-girl daughter?” I giggle.

She laughs and says, “Hon—you haven’t SEEN girly-girl! When we get home, I will show you pictures of me in high-school—from before meeting your Dad. Paige…I don’t know how to say this and it not come out wrong… But, I’m going to say it anyway and hope you take it the right way.”

She pauses, takes a shaky breath and continues, “I will ABSOLUTELY miss my son, Vick. I love him DEARLY… But, I think you will find out that our relationship will be different as mother-daughter… I will be able to talk to you at a COMPLETELY different level. I think it will be good for BOTH of us as we deal with the ‘Allen’ situation…”

I look at her and take that in. I nod after a bit and say, “Yeah…I can see that…Momma…”

She takes my hand and silently smiles at me. Our food arrives and we change the subject to…underwear. “So, I hear you’re a 30-A—going on a B,” she asks. She smiles at the look on my face and says, “I saw a VS here in the mall…”

I shrug, “I guess…I WAS a 32-A…Angi thinks I will ultimately be a 28-C; or so…maybe a D, based on my current activities…and YOU… I still don’t get all of this…”

o~O~o

I stretch as the alarm goes silent. I get up and get ready for swim practice. It is the first morning that I do so with the thought that I am actually going to practice and compete against actual PEERS… At that moment it starts to sink in… This whole time, I actually HAVE been competing them…I just didn’t know it.

I sit down and weep a few minutes. After a bit, I shake my head and compose myself before I wake the other girls… After all, at this point, for better or worse, it is MY choice to go down this road… It may be the ‘lesser of all evils choice’…but is still my choice and I AM going to make the best of it. THAT I DID learn from my Dad—and, now, my Mom, as well. The talk last night was…illuminating…

I smile as I think of what we talked about concerning Allen…and even hum a bit of ‘I feel like a dangerous woman’ as I get into my swimsuit…

I am sitting with Francie at lunch and she grins at me. I ask, “What?”

She shakes her head and says, “I don’t know. You’re different today… Like…you’re at peace, or something. I don’t know what it is…but…WHATEVER it is—I LIKE what it has done to you!”

I smile and shake my head. I say, “I’ll tell you about it, Francie. Later. Right now, I have to concentrate on kicking some ‘other’ camp ass! Speaking of…Is Madame Pratt serious about that lift with Michael? I mean, I know HE can handle it…but…am *I* really ready?”

Francie grabs my hand and says, “Paige, Love, you’re SO ready! Just trust yourself, OK? If you want to kick ‘other’ camp ass, then DO IT! GO WITH THE FLOW! You’ll be amazed at what you can accomplish!”

o~O~o

I watch the buses leave. I laugh to myself as I see all of the boys with their heads down playing on their phones. The girls aren’t any better, though…texting away with who knows what girlfriends…

All that is left in camp are those that qualified for ‘after-camp’ competitions. I look around and smile. There are actually still a LOT of us—about a quarter of the camp.

Those that are on my teams include: Eleven for swimming—six girls (including me) and five boys; five for ballet—four girls (including Francie and me) and one boy (Michael); and the full cheer squad of ten girls—no boys…

There are, of course, more…but in disciplines that I am not involved in… At least Georgette, Brenda and Julia are still here—and, of course Francie!

I look at Francie, who is holding my hand, and say, “I don’t know whether to be excited—or run to the woods to puke from being so nervous! It is all riding on the few of us left to defend our honor!”

She laughs and says, “Well…whatever happens, the fact that your Mom is allowing you to sleep in my room in our cabin is a WIN!”

I smile at her and feel a lump in my throat… I say, “Yeah…I’m still shocked at that one… Let’s enjoy it while we can—before my REAL mom shows up and changes her mind!” I giggle.

o~O~o

I clean up after cheerleading practice – and, yes, the showers are still as invigorating as before—and go back to my room to study my lines. One of the consequences of the camp being shrunken down to post-camp participant size is that those that ARE left have to take up some of the slack of those that are now gone. As such, I now have a very small part in the play the drama team is putting on; as do all the non-drama team participants left.

It takes me all of ten minutes to memorize the ten lines that I have. Brenda, who is on the drama team and has a main part, gives me a thumbs up and I put down the script to grab my towel and go over to the lake. Francie is waiting there for me. I insisted she leave me alone while I studied my lines…

When we get to the lake, Francie is laying on a lounger and I see Georgette out in the water. I also see Julia coming our way. Her art project—a REALLY cool oil painting—was accepted for the post-camp art show. She will be doing ‘set-work’ for the play, too… She waves and we all converge on Francie’s lounger, Georgette too—dripping wet and slinging water from her long hair.

Julia gives her a playful shove and Francie screams a little, since she is really hot from the sun and the water comparatively cold. I see Terri come up behind Georgette, also dripping wet. She is a Lavender and ALMOST made it into Pink; or so I’m told. She looks at us a little shyly and Georgette pulls her into a loose one-armed hug and gives her a kiss.

We all, of course, go, “Ooooooooooooooooo….!”

Terri turns bright red and Georgette says, “That’s right and don’t you girls forget it—she’s MINE!”

Francie smiles and says, “Congrats girls! As you know, things are a bit looser in after-camp. I already have permission to take my Pinks into town and to the mall… If you give me your mother’s number, Terri, I’ll see if she is OK with you joining us? Assuming you want to…?”

Terri lets out a little scream and says, “Really? Shopping? Of course I’m in!”

Francie shakes her head and says, “You really SHOULD have been a Pink!” She takes the number and quickly gets confirmation that it is OK—as a counselor, Francie is allowed HER phone…

o~O~o

An hour and a half later, we are all at the same mall I had spent time with my mother at the day before. This time is completely different, though. I am with a horde of giggling girls—shopping-crazed girls… I soon find out, though, that ‘shopping’ means something COMPLETELY different to girls than to boys.

For us boys…well you know what I mean…it is about looking around, sure—but, ultimately, it is about GETTING something. You know that super-cool thing…

Two hours after getting here, I have found out that for girls, it is about the experience of just looking…and, well trying things on. It is kind of like when they…we…look at the fashion magazines back at camp (no internet for campers, remember?)—it is all about, ‘what do you like?’ or ‘what do you think?’.

I think I have tried on thirty different ‘outfits’—as has every other girl here. By now, I am actually even able to give a coherent ‘opinion’ on how it looks—especially after some of that ‘training’ I had looking at all of those fashion magazines.

After all of that—no one has bought even a single thing. And the stores aren’t even MAD about that! We do, however make one more round and some of the girls DO buy a thing or two after thinking about it.

Francie even buys me a pair of earrings. I nervously change them out, never having done so yet; my holes are barely healed up. The large hoops feel funny as they dangle from the front holes in my ears. Of course, all of the girls ‘LOVE’ them!

I give Francie a kiss to thank her—not because I necessarily LOVE the look, but she won’t ever know that. I’m sure I will get used to all of this over time—but I AM glad when it comes time to head back to camp for supper… My first TRUE outing as a girl was also TRULY draining!

After supper, all I really want to do is go back to my room and relax a bit—recharge my mental batteries. What I really crave is being able to talk to Francie about all of this. I really wish I could get all of this out…

I look in the mirror at the hoops in my ears—then focus on my face as a whole. All I see is a really CUTE girl—the hoops look really good on that girl with her long French Braid showing them off… Suddenly, I feel overwhelmed by all of this. I fight back tears…HARD.

At that moment, there is a knock on the door. Francie wouldn’t knock…and she is back at the lake with the other girls anyways… I open the door and fall into my Mom’s arms, shamelessly crying.

After several minutes of her just quietly hugging me and stroking my hair, I clean up my makeup and she silently takes me to Angi’s office.

Angi notices my red eyes first thing and shoots Mom a questioning look. Mom says, “I think it’s finally sinking in…”

Angi comes over and takes my hands into hers and Mom hugs me from behind. We stay like that for several minutes…completely silent. I just soak in the supportive energy from them and realize that I would NEVER have been able to as Vick. First, I wouldn’t have allowed them to hold me this way—and, second, they would have never likely offered; not like this, anyway.

Finally, I say, “Thanks, Mom…ma. Thanks, Angi. I’m OK—for now. It was just so…overwhelming…at the mall. It’s SO different. Don’t get me wrong; I didn’t dislike it. I actually kind of enjoyed it. It’s just that the bonds girls have are at such a deeper EMOTIONAL level than boys could ever dream of…”

Angi giggles and says, “And you’re a true introvert, which doesn’t help. I can promise that you will learn to cope with the introvert part as you develop those deeper bonds. That is…assuming you’re not starting to change your mind?”

Mom squeezes me from behind and says, “It’s OK if you do, you know?”

I take a deep breath and ALMOST give in. I shake my head, though, and say, “No—like you said; I will adjust. It’s just different…and while talking to the both of you helps…”

Angi says, “It would help to be able to talk to someone your own age…someone who’s gone through this themselves—at least at some level? I know you HAVE talked to girls that have transitioned—Francie, Georgette, Alecia…to name a few. But they don’t know your TRUE story and you haven’t likely REALLY listened up to now, right?”

I nod and take a shaky breath. Mom hugs me tighter from behind and I relish the comfort it actually brings me. I can feel our bonds evolving—almost in real-time…

“I think it’s maybe time that we let Francie in on this…,” Angi asks—looking at BOTH of us.

My heart pounds harder. I say, “I would LOVE to be able to talk to her about this; but what will she think…?”

Mom squeezes me and says, “If she’s only your girlfriend because you’re a Pink—or because of some score, then that isn’t a great foundation to begin with, Love. Besides, from what Angi tells me, she’s a very special girl, so I think it would be good for you—and only fair to her, don’t you think? Hmmm? Sheila is OK with her knowing—but we need to keep it to just this small group for now, OK?”

I nod and Angi sends Francie a text…

o~O~o

Francie and I are sitting on the couch across from Mom and Angi. Francie is still in her bikini, covered in a beach wrap. She is holding my hand, her long legs demurely crossed, and she has a concerned look on her face, “Is everything OK,” she asks, her foot bouncing nervously.

Angi nods and says, “Yes… and no… We need to let you in on something, Francie—but, before we do; we need to know that you will keep this COMPLETELY to yourself.”

She looks at me and I bite my lip and say, “Please?”

She nods and says, “Of course! What’s going on? What’s this all about?”

And we tell her the whole story. She actually grips my hand really tight as the story develops and is freely crying when we finish. She hugs me and says, “Oh, you poor Sweetie! I can’t imagine… How are we going to get this fu…err…bast…err…CRIMINAL?”

I look at her and ask, “You aren’t mad at me? Y…y…you still want to be my girlfriend?”

She gives me a furious look and asks, “Questions like THAT could make me reconsider! Do you really think that I’m that shallow? That I only love you because you’re a Pink…or TG?”

Mom takes in a deep breath at the word ‘LOVE’…as do I.

I blink and say, “I…I…I HOPED not…”

Francie says, “Well…I’m not!”

She smiles to let me know that she is really not mad at me and says, “I can understand your worry, but there is nothing to worry about, OK?”

I nod and take in a shaky breath.

Francie looks back at Mom and Angi and asks, “So…now that THAT is settled, what DO we do about Allen?”

Mom sighs and says, “That’s still being worked out and I’m happy to have you on as part of the team—especially since there seems to be more to your relationship with my…daughter…than I knew…”

Francie blushes and says, “Well, yes, Mrs. Fitzsimmons. I DO love your daughter…or son…or in-between. Wherever this ultimately winds up taking her or him. That isn’t why I wanted Paige as my girlfriend at all. I GENUINELY LIKE her as a person—not as a status…”

She holds up her hand and says, “I know… I’m a couple of years older than her and you think she isn’t old enough to commit to a relationship like that… I promise that I won’t hurt her and if she decides to move on, I won’t stand in her way…”

Mom says, “I’m more worried that YOU might move on. I assume you’re going to college?”

I take in a deep breath and say, “Momma!”

Francie squeezes my hand and says, “Yes, Mrs. Fitzsimmons. I’ve been accepted into Julliard where I will be studying dance. I will totally be in a fairly close commuting distance…”

Angi has a concerned look on her face, but it softens as Mom says, “OK, then. Well, just so you know, I met Vi…Paige’s Dad when I was about h..er age. Frank…her Dad—ironic isn’t it?—was three years older than me. I was the girly-girliest girl in school…a cheerleader and he was on the football team. I assume that is where Paige’s aptitude for her current—and previous—activities all comes from. Anyway, my parents gave me flack and tried to keep us apart—it didn’t work then and it won’t work now…”

I take in a deep breath.

Mom continues, “But, Francie, YOU are the older one in this relationship and I expect you to be the mature one! Don’t disappoint me…and, PLEASE call me Dawn. I hear ‘Mrs. Fitzsimmons’ WAY too much at work…”

Francie is actually slightly pale up until then. Angi giggles. And I go and give my mother a HUGE hug.

Frankly, I hadn’t considered my TRUE feelings for Francie until this moment because I knew our relationship was based on a sham. Now, I felt my heart flooding with strange emotions…genuine ones that I knew I could now allow to grow. I think I am genuinely falling in love, too!

o~O~o

I have a steely calm in my voice—I have no idea where it is coming from. It is early Sunday morning and the first time I have talked to Allen since this all broke. Angi had let him know that I would be staying on for post-camp and she had said he seemed REALLY relieved—especially when Mom also told him that she was ‘staying in Europe’ a couple of extra weeks.

I hear his slimy voice over the phone, “How’s post-camp going, Sport? You still liking everything?”

I say, “It’s fine…there just wasn’t a good way for me to say, no. I still am looking forward to going back to my normal life, though. It’s just…”

I pause and wait for him to speak.

Finally, with a really worried voice, he asks, “What? It’s just…’what’? You haven’t spoken to anyone about our deal to get you in there, right?”

I grin and say, “It’s just that…I seem to be changing… I think all of this girly stuff is starting to affect me…” I intentionally don’t answer his MAIN question.

He says, “I’m sure it will all be OK once you get home…it’s just well…somehow your Mom now thinks that you’re there because you’re transgendered. Angi must have said something to her.”

I gasp—it is a genuine gasp. I can’t believe the balls this guy has… I regather my composure and ask, “What? What do I do now? I’m not TG! I know that there are a lot of T-girls at camp, but…”

Allen seems pleased all of a sudden. He says, “Let me handle it, Sport. Under no circumstances talk to anyone about this, OK? Especially to Angi. That will really mess things up if you want me to get it straightened out. I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding. For now, it may actually also be better to play along if you talk to your Mother. I promise, it will all work out IF you just do as I say, OK?”

I feel like throwing up as I say, “OK, Uncle Allen. I guess pretending I fit in here a while longer won’t hurt…I just want to get back to playing football.”

Allen says, “Oh…I’m sorry, Sport. Your mother has nixed any more heavy contact sports after your concussion. I wouldn’t say anything right now…but, *I* think you should know… But, you’re getting into other things now, obviously…you made all of those post-camp teams! So, that’s good, right?”

I make a gurgling sound. How had I fallen for this crap before? I MUST have still been affected by the concussion—this is ALL so transparent now…

I play along, “No more football? Really? But…”

He says, “I know… Again, let me work on her… Just play along with things for now? OK? Like I said, it’ll all work out… If she asks, just agree with her on this transgender stuff—for now… And don’t talk to Angi about it.”

I say, “OK, Uncle Allen, I know you’re looking out for me. I mean, Mom is off in Europe and left you in charge—so, I know she TRUSTS you. That means you MUST be looking out for my BEST interests! Bye!”

I hang up and my hand is shaking as Francie takes it and gives it a comforting squeeze. Mom is visibly pale. Angi is furious. Sheila is shaking her head.

We are all in Angi’s office and I go pour some more coffee from the pot. I’m still furious.

Sheila looks at Momma and says, “I think it’s about time you check in with Allen from ‘Germany’, right? It’s three in the afternoon there…”

Still furious herself, Mom says, “Yes… THIS should be enlightening. At least we have an idea of what his game plan is. Continue to play us… I’m still not sure what his endgame is, though. You did a REALLY good job, Love. I hope I can do as well…”

Sheila says, “Yes, Paige. That was perfect—and we have it all recorded.”

Momma takes her phone and presses the little icon with his number.

He answers after three rings, “Hi, Hon! How’s Germany today?”

Mom says, “It’s wonderful!” She looks at her computer and checks the weather for Munich, “It’s sunny and beautiful and I’m sitting in a nice little sidewalk café having cake and coffee. I only wish you were here with me.”

I pretend to stick my finger in my mouth and vomit. Angi play slaps my hand.

After some more ‘mushy’ talk, Allen says, “Hon…I have some news… I was going to wait until you got back, but… Well, you know that creativity camp that Vick INSISTED on going to instead of sports camp. The one that his Doctor, Angi, runs? Well, it’s actually for transgendered kids… Vick…or rather PAIGE even volunteered to stay an additional two weeks for special events. She…well…she told me a while back that she thought she was a girl…and this seems to have cemented it for her. I know she may still be questioning herself…but I’ve been talking with Angi and she’s convinced that Paige is truly a girl. She even had Paige take some test that totally confirms it…”

Mom gasps.

I know how she feels—the GALL…

Angi’s face is BEET RED.

Mom continues, “And you felt like you had to tell me this over the phone? How long have you known?”

Allen says, “Well, I can’t help it that you won’t let me help at the office so that you could be HOME for your child and for me to be ABLE to talk to you in person. Vick talked to me a few months ago—said he was afraid to talk to you because of what you might think… I guess he wasn’t worried about what *I* think…”

He pauses, I guess for dramatic effect, then continues, “Anyway, I was going to tell you when you got home—before your stay got extended…again. Angi was pretty insistent that you need to know. We had hoped to do it in person, though.”

Angi is shaking her head and trembling in anger.

Momma says, “We’ll talk about THAT later… How is…Paige doing, then? I’ll make plans to come home STRAIGHT AWAY!”

Allen says, “Don’t take this out on ME, Dawn! I didn’t have anything to do with it. I’ve been trying to support your daughter! And she’s doing fine, from what I understand. I’m in daily contact with Angi. I’m going to call her right after we’re done here. From what Angi tells me, Paige is still somewhat conflicted about being transgendered, but is fitting in with the girls at camp so well that there is NO doubt. She says, we just need to be supportive and encouraging her that this is the best course for her.”

He pauses and says, “Don’t make any hasty decisions, Dawn. She’s in camp for another two weeks and there isn’t anything you can do. Angi has it under control—the important thing is WHEN you DO come home is that you support HER and encourage HER to become the girls she IS inside. Just do me a favor and don’t let her know that I violated her trust and told you… Besides, it will probably mean more to her if it seems like it is natural for you to think she’s a girl and support her—like you knew it all along or something…”

Momma is fuming as he continues, “For now, look after the company which has to be your priority…you know for Paige. Maybe this does show that you need my help there, after all?”

She says, “OK, Allen. If you’re sure that she’s OK—I AM needed for an important series of meetings that will further cement things for the company. We’re making REAL progress here. And, no, I won’t let Vick know that you told me anything… I’ll talk to you tomorrow. If you talk to Vi…Paige… Tell hi…her I love her!”

She hangs up and has tears of rage in her eyes. She says, “Oh…I’ll let you help in the company alright… Sheila, any news on the merger?”

Sheila nods and says, “Yes, Ma’am. Gloria just texted that all went as planned—you picked a good one in her. I think the board will soon find it is a brave new world when this is over…”

Momma starts to say something, but Angi’s phone rings.

She says, “It’s Allen…” She answers, “Hello, Allen? How are you today?”

Allen’s voice comes through the speaker, “Fine. I hope it isn’t too early on a Sunday?”

Angi says, “Not at all. What can I do for you? Is something wrong?”

Allen says, “No. I just talked to Dawn. She’s caught in Europe for another couple of weeks. I gave her a status update on Paige. She’s really thankful that you’re helping her…our…daughter out. She’s still a little confused about all of this, but I keep reinforcing to her that this is who Paige IS…inside… At some point, she’s going to need to hear it from you…that this is real, I mean. That Paige really IS transgendered and wants this—and that this is the best thing for HER… No matter what Dawn may think.”

Angi grimaces and says, “Of course, Allen. Of course it’s the best thing for PAIGE… When’s she coming back? I’ll be happy to confirm all of this to her. Or maybe I should give her a call?”

Allen quickly says, “NO… No, she’s really caught up in some important meetings or something. I don’t want to distract her too much from those. She should be coming back around the time that post-camp is over…”

Angi says, “OK, Allen. I look forward to meeting with her when she’s back in the country, then.”

She hangs up and closes her eyes.

Sheila says, “Well, his strategy is clear now—if Paige hadn’t spoken up, he COULD have gotten away with it. By dividing and conquering and disseminating half-truths. I almost admire how he’s spinning all of this—he could have been a great lawyer if he had decided to use his skills for good.”

I say, “I still can’t believe it took me SO long for it to click… I mean it is SO clear, NOW…”

Angi says, “Don’t beat yourself up about that, Paige. It is pretty clear to me, actually. It was a perfect storm for you… You were still affected by your concussion by the time the hormones started kicking in. Trust me, estrogen is tough to handle under the BEST of circumstances—and you were nowhere near those. With Allen constantly confusing you on top of the concussion and hormonal effects, you were destined to be misled… Plus, I looked into other recipients of the serum and it’s becoming apparent that there is some cognitive affect for the first few weeks. It’s a side effect that I need to look into more… If anything, it looks like it’s a miracle that you came around when you did!”

Momma says, “Well, we have the beginnings of supporting material to go after the bastard.”

Sheila says, “We’re still a long way off from being able to go after him in court, though. This would all not be admissible…even if he flat out admitted to doing it—which he didn’t…”

Angi says, “I’m beginning to come up with a few ideas. I want to discuss them with Dawn, though.”

Sheila says, “I don’t think I want to know about those… But, PLEASE, carry on!” She giggles when she says, “I’m sure I don’t the two of you plotting against ME!”

The next two weeks fly by.

It is a HUGE relief for it all to be out in the open with Francie—and our relationship is growing by leaps and bounds (and Francie IS being the mature one—DANG IT!). I fall more in love every day, I think. I know what you are thinking…what does an (almost) fifteen-year-old know about love? All I can say is that there is NO doubt in my heart that Francie is THE one for me…

I’m also getting more and more TRULY immersed in the life of a teenage girl—and that is how I am engaging in the ‘after-hour’ activities now (as a girl). Angi was right, I am adjusting to the emotional depth of my now blossoming friendships with ‘the Pink posse’ (and one lavender). I am even beginning to enjoy ‘shopping’—it is still draining on my mental reserves, though…mostly because it is still mostly a foreign concept to me. I still have a LONG way to go to be a ‘girl’…

As for the post-camp events… We take the gold in ballet—no contest! We take away three medals in swimming—I even get the silver in ten-thousand-meter relay. We also take away bronze in cheerleading. All in all, the camp comes away with twelve medals—tying the previous record!

I haven’t seen Momma the whole time—and I barely see Angi. Francie is now my support group and tells me that they are just giving me room to grow and decide on my own how I want to proceed.

I look at Francie after the last medal ceremony (cheerleading) and say, “I wish Momma could have been here.”

Francie says, “She and Angi are working on something that’s really important I think. And she WAS here to see you get gold!”

I say, “I know—at least YOU’re here!” I giggle and I continue, “And Allen ISN’T. I’m sure it wasn’t hard to convince him he didn’t need to show up.”

Francie giggles and says, “Angi just told him you needed space. Your Mom couldn’t have come if he WERE here…”

I nod and say, “I wonder what they’re up to, right now. Have you noticed they seem…weird around us lately?”

Francie says, “Yeah…I just assumed it had something to do with their planning on what to do about Allen—but, you’re right. Something else is different…awkward almost…”

I shrug and say, “Well, at least it’s not just me… I’m sure there’s a good reason for it… And it does give me the chance for you to stay with me at the house tomorrow night, since no one else is going to be there. I still have NO idea what THAT is all about… Albert at his grandparents. Allen off doing…whatever… And Momma still in ‘Europe’.”

Francie says, “I think we don’t really WANT to know… Angi and your Momma both had a really dangerous gleam in their eye when they mentioned that Allen wouldn’t be there.” She sighs and says, “Paige, just be glad that your Momma is so supportive of you… I wish mine was…”

I squeeze her hand and say, “I know, Francie…”

Her parents had disowned her when she had had the ‘event’ that had started her down the path to ‘Pinkhood’. Angi had basically taken her in, at that point. I had just recently found out that Angi had sponsored her at a prestigious boarding school. Francie will be staying at Angi’s until she goes away to Julliard.

I say, “But you have Angi. And now, me…and MY mother, too.”

Francie kisses me and says, “Come on. We need to start packing and then get to the party!”

o~O~o

Angi looks at Dawn and says, “I’m really sorry to miss out on the last of the awards ceremony—but, if we hurry, we can make the last of the party.”

Dawn nods and looks at her watch. One o’clock in the afternoon. She says, “Are you ready? Are you sure you want to do this?”

Angi simply nods and says, “Let’s get that prick once and for all…” She picks up her phone and dials the number. She waits until she hears THAT voice on the other end of the phone, “Hello? Angi, is that you?”

She says, “Yes, Allen… I’ve been thinking about your offer. If it still stands, do you want to come over—like right now?”

Allen is taken by surprise and says, “Well, sure! Albert is at his mother’s parents. But, aren’t you doing something at camp?”

Angi says, “Not until later…but I could really use some company, right now…”

Allen says, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes!”

Angi hangs up and Dawn giggles, “OK, I guess we better get ready.” She goes to her room and puts on a latex cat suit—complete with mask and ears. She looks really HOT in it and she knows it—she thinks about the last time she had worn it and turns a little pink under the mask…

Angi puts on a seductive dress—it shows her ample cleavage off to its full effect. She goes back down to wait.

Allen rings the doorbell a little over twenty minutes after hanging up. He is still surprised that Angi had called him. He actually drools a little when she opens the door. He had only really seen her in her white coat and scrubs.

He hands her a bottle of wine and says, “Wow! You look…nice!”

Angi says, “Come in, Allen. I’m glad you like wine—let me pour us a glass!” She shows Allen to the couch and goes to the bar where she has a bottle of ‘special’ wine waiting. She asks, “Since you brought red, I assume you like it?” He nods and she says, “Great! I happen to have a nice bottle open. I’m more a white girl, myself—but I have both.”

Before he can say anything, Angi pours a glass of red for him. Of course, she already knew from Dawn that he preferred red. She pours a glass of the safe white for herself and goes and sits down on the couch, letting her dress slide up her leg as she does so. She hands the glass of red to him and says, “Cheers!”

She watches him take a gulp of the wine, clearly nervous, and she takes a small sip if hers. She says, “I’m SO glad you could come over, Allen! I’ve been fighting the temptation to have you over ever since we met back in the clinic… I finally couldn’t take it anymore!” She wiggles on the couch and her panties show slightly as her short dress rides up even further on her long, tanned, ultra-smooth legs.

Allen takes another huge gulp of wine and says, “I’m so glad you did, Babe! I mean, I think we could be great together!”

Angi smiles and asks, “But, what about Dawn? Aren’t you two still an item?”

Allen takes another gulp, his glass is now more than half empty, and says, “Well, yes, but if YOU don’t mind…what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her…”

His eyes suddenly glaze over and he almost drops his glass of wine.

Angi says, “I’m sure I DO mind, pervert… Now, listen to me carefully. You won’t resist—is that clear? You will do EXACTLY as I say. Answer me, do you understand?”

Allen panics inside. He can’t control himself. He fights it, but he says, “Yes. I understand.”

Angi says, “Not that I owe you an explanation, but it makes it more delicious if you know what is going on. This is the newest in a line of designer date-rape drugs. You can’t help but do as I say—it has you in a deep hypnotic state that will last several hours. YOU still know what is happening to you, but you have NO control over your actions--*I* do. Now, your name is Misty and I am one of your mistresses. You will call me mistress. You will only speak when allowed or answering a direct question. Come with me… What’s your name?”

Allen struggles, she is right—he still FULLY knows what is going on, but he HAS to do what she says. He fights it—HARD, but he ultimately says, “My name is Misty.”

Angi stops in her tracks and says, “My name is Misty…WHAT?”

Allen/Misty says, “My name is Misty,…Mistress?”

Angi continues on up the stairs and says, “Better. Now…meet your OTHER mistress…”

They enter the special bedroom—it is all decked out with sex toys and equipment.

Allen/Misty sees a tall woman in a latex cat suit facing away from him. He immediately recognizes the stance and the long, strawberry blond hair cascading out from under the mask. He thinks to himself, ‘Oh NO! I am FUCKED! They KNOW!’ Of course, he can’t SAY anything. His eyes go wide as she turns and he sees the huge strap-on dildo hanging down.

Angi takes him into another room and says, “OK, Misty. You’re going to get dressed now… First, take off ALL of your clothes.”

Allen/Misty does as told—fighting it the whole time.

While he is undressing, Angi runs a hot, very girly-smelling bubble bath. She comes in just as ‘Misty’ is removing ‘her’ underwear. Angi says, “Now, Misty, go take a nice bath and remove all of that UGLY hair on your body! I want you nice and smooth, understand—there is not to be a hair on your body from your neck down and you’ll also get your face nice and smooth, too.”

Allen/Misty is sweating, but has to do as told—using the depilatory on the side of the tub. Thirty minutes later ‘she’ is patting ‘herself’ dry, as instructed.

Angi inspects ‘her’ and is satisfied. She says, “OK, Misty. Sit down here.” She takes wax strips and quickly waxes ‘her’ eyebrows into nice thin, high arches. She then puts fairly heavy makeup on ‘her’. Heavy, only to hide the leftover beard—it is more of an evening look, not gaudy or clownish. She places the short, platinum blonde wig on ‘her’ head and teases it into a pixyish style. Then she adds extra lip gloss for good measure.

Angi leads ‘Misty’ back into the bedroom where there is a maroon corset lying on the bed. Angi instructs ‘Misty’ to stand still while she puts it on ‘her’ and cinches it down very tightly—giving ‘her’ a nice thin waist and pushes her slight flab up into a realistic pseudo-cleavage, which is enhanced by the padded, push-up cups built into the corset.

Angi gives ‘Misty’ the glass of wine and instructs her to drain it.

Allen/Misty fights the order, but…does as ‘she’ is told—ensuring that Angi and Dawn have plenty of time to exact the first stage of their revenge.

Angi then helps ‘Misty’ roll the black fishnet stockings up ‘her’ legs and fasten them to the garters built into the corset.

‘Misty’ straps the six-inch stilettos onto her feet, as ordered, and nearly falls as she stands up.

Angi says, “Pay attention, Misty! You’re a horny little slut that is going to beg her mistress for release. Am I clear? What are you?”

Allen/Misty wants to cry. He fights it…but the effects of the drug are putting him completely in her control. He says, “I’m a horny little slut and I will beg my mistress for release.”

Angi says, “I’m not convinced. You don’t SOUND like a horny little slut named Misty. You don’t sound horny. You don’t sound like you want your release. Convince me that you’re horny. You ARE horny. Convince me that you’re a slut. You ARE a slut. Convince me that you’re Misty. You ARE Misty!”

Allen feels tears run down his face, but he HAS to comply. He suddenly IS horny. He suddenly IS a desperate slut. He suddenly IS Misty. She says in a sultry, husky voice—as feminine as she can manage, “Forgive me, Mistress. I’m SO horny, I can’t take it. PLEASE, PLEASE give me the release I need!”

Angi says, “Much better, Misty. Now, convince your OTHER mistress. You may go to her and beg her… I suggest that you get her in the mood first, though… You DO know how to pleasure a Mistress, right, Misty?”

Misty says in her best sultry voice, “Yes, Mistress.”

Angi follows behind and films the whole affair. There are never any names captured during the next three-hour affair—except Misty, who readily admits that she is a horny little slut that just wants to please her Mistress and begs her for release—and wiggles her pantyless ass at her to emphasize her need.

When they are done, Dawn whispers something into Misty’s ear and giggles. Angi then orders her to get changed back into the pile of Allen’s clothes. She removes the wig and then very carefully removes ALL traces of the makeup.

Angi says, “OK, Misty. You will get into your car and drive straight north for two hours without stopping—then to the nearest emergency room. You will be Allen when you get out of your car and tell them that you have been having terrible diarrhea and that your ass is VERY sore. You will STICK to that story—even when they notice that it is full of lube… You will NOT remember any of this, including me asking you over, do you understand? By then, all traces of the drug will be out of your system anyway—you will still have to follow our orders, though. Confirm all of what I just said.”

He repeats it all and Angi sends him on his way with one final order, “You won’t go back to your house, or contact anyone that you know for three days, understood?”

He confirms the final order and drives off in a cloud of dust.

When he is gone, Angi and Dawn laugh merrily as Angi carefully backs up all of the footage and secures it in several online locations. Then they both hurry to get ready for the after-party at camp.

o~O~o

I go over and give Momma a hug when she arrives with Angi. The party is in full swing by the time she does. She looks like the proverbial cat that ate the canary—Angi, too. Neither one will say anything other than we need to celebrate, though…

Angi shuts everything down at one and Francie and I help clean up for an hour before we go to our room.

I wake up at ten and stretch. Francie is nowhere to be seen, so I get up and traipse over to take a shower and wake up. Francie is already there and…the shower MAY take a little longer than anticipated…

We finish packing after breakfast; my large new suitcase full of girly clothes that I didn’t have before coming here. I look around as we get ready to get into Francie’s car and leave camp for the last time this year. I suddenly feel really sad. Sure, this place changed my life in ways that I never wanted or dreamed of. But I also have a lot of good times associated with it, too.

Francie hugs me and says, “I know how you feel—sort of torn, right? But, you can absolutely come back next year…and after that as a counselor.”

I nod, afraid to say anything or start crying and we get in and Francie quickly drives off.

An hour and a half later, we pull into our driveway. It seems like a lifetime ago that I left the house for football practice that fateful day. It also seems really strange that NO one is home. I still have no idea what Momma is up to—OR where Allen is. I shrug and dig the garage door opener out of my purse (something I am still getting used to having) and push the button to open the door.

Francie drives into an empty bay in the four-car garage. The only other car there is Momma’s BMW. Allen’s Mercedes is gone. Francie giggles as she turns off the ignition of her beat-up Ford and says, “Well, no competition to THAT—is that an 8-Series?”

I nod and say, “Yeah—I still wish she had gone with an Audi, though… Come on. I’ll show you around.”

Francie giggles and asks, “Do you have an app with a map?”

An hour later, I’ve shown her the main stuff, including the guest house, the pool and pool house, and…my area.

We order some pizza and play some pool (as in billiards). Then we lay out by the pool (as in swimming) a while and go to bed early.

The next day is a repeat of our laziness. We watch a couple of girly movies on TV and I find myself actually identifying more with the girls—and seeing things differently than I would have before. I’m not saying that I see things AS a girl—but, I am starting to understand better HOW they see things…

Francie and I go to the high-end mall that is not far from the house and we have a good time. I see some kids from school and just keep quiet. None of them recognize me—even though, a couple of the guys sort of follow us around. Francie says they are simply ‘checking us out’. I want to barf…

We go home after we lead them around the mall a couple of times. We swim for a while before going to bed at a more normal hour.

The next afternoon, Momma, Angi, and Sheila all show up at the house at the same time—Momma and Angi in the same car.

I put on some coffee for us and we all sit down in the study at the conference table that is normally used for ‘business’ meetings.

Momma looks at me and says, “Paige, Angi and I have some news for you. We have some ‘evidence’ that will take care of the Allen situation.”

I scream and ask, “He’s going to prison?”

Sheila shakes her head and says, “You know I still can’t formally condone this, but you girls ROCK!”

Momma continues, “No, Hon. I’m afraid we would never get a fair sentence for what he has done under the current criminal legal system. So, we’re going to make use of the civil system—something I have learned a lot about since your Father…left us… We’re going to offer Allen a business deal with the company.”

I must look as confused as I feel. I also must look as crestfallen as I feel. I say, “I don’t understand. We’re giving him what he wants?”

Momma say, “Well, no… Not really—you’ll see. Now, I have to warn you that you’re going to witness some things that neither Angi nor I are proud of. BUT, it will get us where we need to be, so be the mature young lady that I have to know you to be and bear with us, OK?”

I nod, still confused.

Angi looks at Francie and says, “Allen will be here in a bit. When I give you the signal, I want you to take Paige into the other room until Sheila calls for you again, OK? There is one part that I don’t want EITHER of you to be a party to.”

Francie nods, as confused as I am.

And the door opens as Allen comes in…

o~O~o

Dawn looks up and sees Allen come in. He has a confused look on his face when he sees everyone sitting there—then gets a frightened look on top of that.

He says, “Hi…what’s going on? When did you get home, Dawn?”

Dawn smiles a dangerous smile and says, “Actually, a couple of weeks ago. Sit down, Allen. I think you know everyone here? Well, maybe not Francine, Paige’s girlfriend? And, of course, this is Sheila my lead lawyer…”

Allen gingerly sits down and Angi and Dawn smirk. He says, “Yes, I know everyone. Why didn’t you tell me you were back?”

Dawn says, “Because then I wouldn’t be in charge of this little meeting like I am now.”

Allen says, “I don’t like this at all, Dawn. Can’t we talk alone. I don’t get…”

Dawn says, “Shut up, Allen. Let’s get one thing clear, you have NOTHING to say in this—unless one of us here allows it. I think you should look at this…”

Angi signals Francie and Paige to leave as Dawn hands Allen a tablet with a video cued up to play.

Dawn says, “Go ahead. Play it now that the girls are gone.”

Allen is confused, but presses the little triangle to start the video and gasps as he sees himself, dressed up like a tart, go into a room with Dawn dressed up as a cat-woman…

Dawn makes sure that Allen watches all of thirty minutes of the edited version of the video—even though he tries to turn it off several times. When he is done, she says, “There are actually a total of three hours of raw video. It is, of course, backed-up and safe-guarded in multiple locations.”

Allen turns even paler, if that is possible. He asks, “Why? What…”

Dawn says, “You tried to ruin my child’s life so that you could become CEO of his company—and then leave it to your son. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? That I wouldn’t DO something? Now, it’s too late for Vick—but, I’m going to make sure that Paige has the life she deserves—and I’m going to make sure that YOU have the life that YOU deserve.”

Allen breaks down and weeps. He begs, “Please have mercy on me! Don’t release those…it will RUIN me!”

Angi speaks up for the first time and says, “Look at the little pervert—not worried about his son, at all. It’s ALL about HIM!”

Sheila nods and says, “I have a contract here that you can sign and ensure that the video never gets released. It’s a lifetime contract with the firm that you have been trying to forcefully take over. If you sign and follow it to the t, then your secret is safe. If you slip up one iota, I will ensure that the video goes viral. Of course the same holds true it you DON’T sign. You have thirty seconds to decide.”

Allen looks at Dawn and says, “Blackmail? I didn’t think you had it in you, Dawn. I seriously underestimated you.”

Sheila says, “Twenty seconds.”

The veins in Allen’s forehead pop out. He asks, “I don’t even get to read it?”

Sheila says, “After you sign it. Ten seconds…”

Allen turns green. Finally, at the last second, he says, “Oh…alright! Give it to me!” He takes the contract and signs it, as well as several other documents. Sheila notarizes them and Angi witnesses them all.

Angi says, “Come here—I have a little present for you. It’s just a small implant…”

Allen turns even greener and says, “NO! You can’t give me estrogen!”

Angi says, “Sheila, I think that we need to release those videos. Allen, let’s be perfectly clear—if we say jump; the only thing that comes out of your mouth is ‘how high?’, are we clear. Now GET OVER HERE!”

Allen is sweating bullets as Angi puts a tourniquet on his arm and stick a large-bore needle viciously into a bulging vein. She releases the tourniquet and injects the device straight into the vein. She waits a few minutes and then takes a small device and holds it to his head. It beeps in a series of sounds.

Angi says, “Stupid man…you don’t DESERVE estrogen—you’ll have to BEG me for that if you want it. That was a tracking device. It has migrated to your brain where it can’t be removed and allows me to track you remotely wherever you are—ANYWHERE in the world. So don’t get any ideas of disappearing…”

He blanches and Sheila giggles, “Gotcha! I KNEW that is what you were planning. OK to get the girls now?”

Angi nods and Sheila gets up.

o~O~o

Francie and I sit in the kitchen for nearly an hour before Sheila comes to get us. Of course, we have NO idea what is going on—and speculate on all kinds of things. I don’t think either of us could ever have really dreamed the truth—not that we’ll likely ever find out the WHOLE truth any time soon, anyways…

We follow Sheila back into the study and Allen looks like he’s seen a ghost and eaten something rotten all at the same time. He is reading something and groaning loudly…

Momma says brightly, “Oh, hi girls! You’re just in time. Allen has just signed a contract with our firm to be my personal assistant for LIFE. There are several other things, as well, but that is the important part. He will never be able to rise into the management of ANY company, let alone ours. We couldn’t put him in prison, Sweetie, but trust me—this is a MUCH worse hell for the likes of…him… Right, Misty?”

He growls, “Why are you calling me Misty?”

Momma grins and says, “Because, as soon as Sheila files those papers you just signed, your name will officially become Misty Eve Simpson. I suggest you get used to it, she will ensure that all of your credentials are appropriately changed.”

I’m stunned at all of this… I really am not sure what I think of it, but…I guess, at least Allen won’t be able to prey on any other innocent children. Whether I agree with the method, or not.

Momma continues on, “Of course, you just signed over all of your current assets and you’ll be working for minimum wage, but we’ll give you a small apartment to live in, as well as a small clothing allowance—you’ll have to abide by the company policy on proper clothing, anyways.”

Allen growls, “You can’t turn me into a woman against my wishes, no matter what leverage you have. I may go down, but at that point, I’ll take you down with me!”

Angi says, “I already told you that we have NO intent on giving you hormones, Misty—you’ll have to beg us to that. And I promise that will take a LOT of begging!”

Allen says, “It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I beg for the likes of that…”

Momma says, “Really? If you have no interest in being a woman then why do you wear women’s panties? You’ve always had a fetish for them…”

Allen pales and says, “I…I…I don’t know why. Wait! YOU! You did something to me, didn’t you? You WITCH!”

Momma says, “Misty! That’s enough! You’ll not talk to ANY of us in this room—or any of our guests—that way! Do you understand? Professional behavior is a KEY aspect of your contract. Have I made myself clear?”

He pales and seethes, “Yes…”

Angi says, “Yes…what?”

He pales further and forces out, “Yes…Mistress…”

Momma nods and says, “Sheila, you may show Misty to the guest house. He’ll be staying there for the time being…”

Sheila takes a stunned ‘Misty’ out and I look at Momma. I am somewhere between being confused and angry.

I ask, “Momma, how does this make us any better than him? This isn’t what we had discussed at all…”

Momma says, “I know you don’t like this, Paige. Neither Angi nor I are proud of what we’ve done here. But think about it. We didn’t actually FORCE him into signing the contract. We’re also NOT forcing…Misty…into to taking hormones of any kind. Will we slowly feminize him? Yes…but, it’s still a better sentence than he actually deserves, which is in a maximum security prison for life where he would become the little bitch for a bunch of prison inmates.”

I’m still not totally convinced.

Angi says, “Hon, I’m honestly GLAD this bothers you. You’re very kind-hearted and have a true sense of justice. I know the system let you down and we’re not advocating vigilante justice at all. Trust us, though—we have to keep the likes of Allen away from others that he could do the same thing to as he did to you. Did we force his hand a little to sign the contract? Well, yes—but it isn’t like he didn’t have options…sort of like you had or have…”

I sigh and finally giggle, “So…where did ‘Misty’ come from?”

Momma giggles and says, “Well…I don’t really know—it just sort of came to us. But…I DO have some more news for you…” She looks at Angi and takes her hand, “Umm…would you mind if Angi moves in with us…? We’ve sort of, well, become an item over the last couple of weeks…”

Francie lets out a whoop and I grin. I say, “I KNEW something was up. I honestly had NO idea it was this! Momma, I didn’t even know you were into women…”

Momma laughs and says, “Neither did I—but Angi can be VERY convincing!”

I go and hug them both and say, “Of course I don’t mind!”

Angi smiles and says, “Well, of course, that also means that Francie will be staying HERE until she leaves for Juilliard—and after her surgery when she turns eighteen...and, I guess whenever else you would like her to…”

This time, *I* whoop. Then I ask, “Wait…what about Albert?”

Sheila comes back in at that moment and says, “When Allen signed the papers that I will file to legally change his name, he also signed the papers to relinquish custody of Albert over to his former in-laws as well as to sign over all of his current assets to him. Albert will be living with his deceased mother’s parents who are VERY decent people and will raise him right.”

Sheila smiles and looks at Angi as she says, “When I was asking them if they were willing—after Allen suddenly and irresponsibly disappeared for three days without a trace—they told me that Albert had confided to them that he is sure she is a girl but was afraid to tell her dad and wondered if I had any idea what they should do. No—REALLY! Ironic, isn’t it?”

I shake my head in wonder—and wonder what will come next in this bizarre new life of mine.

This is the end of the first book. Vick’s journey to becoming Paige is far from over, though… I REALLY appreciate the support and kudos I received—I know this isn’t everyone’s taste in a story. So—if there is still interest, then stay tuned for the next book that takes Paige from her trials of being a ‘Pink’ at camp to being a transgendered girl at school…

I finish putting on the third coat of mascara and check that my French braid is straight. I slip on my four-inch stilettos and check myself one final time in the mirror. I straighten my belt, smooth out the skirt of my short dress, and decide I am as ready as I am going to be.

Let me catch you up, in case you are new to my story. My name is Paige Fitzsimmons (officially now) and I am a girl in transition. My ‘official status’ is transgender—although, technically, that is not accurate. I was tricked into transitioning by my ALMOST stepdad (I’ll get to him in a bit) at a camp for all things LGBT. It has been four weeks since the ‘post-camp’ activities concluded and now it is time for me to register at school as a ‘transgendered’ girl for my junior year of high school.

I mentioned Allen, my ALMOST stepdad. Well, he is now officially ‘Misty’, my Momma’s lifetime personal assistant. I guess I should say, he is currently being shared by Momma and Angi. Angi is my doctor in all things transitioning and the one that inserted the experimental implant into me that makes it impossible to ever go back to being Vick, my alter-ego and ‘true’ identity.

To be fair, it wasn’t Angi’s fault that I am now stuck on the course to womanhood and I don’t hold it against her, at all—which is good, since she and Momma are now acting more like a teenage couple than Francie, my girlfriend, and I are!

Anyway, back to ‘Misty’, he is being feminized by Momma and Angi as his punishment for trying to take over my late father’s company. I don’t actually condone this punishment, but understand that he can’t be allowed to go about tricking innocent children into changing their genders to fit his wicked purposes.

I haven’t seen a LOT of Misty the last four weeks. It seems he is in ‘time out’ in his room (our guest house) a fair bit—his attitude DOES seem to be changing, though; especially towards me. As for his evil scheme to take over the company—well that all stemmed from the old board of directors that was TOTALLY male-centric.

Things have changed there at the firm, as well. Momma crafted a merger with a European company and that forced a wholesale change of members on the board. It is now MUCH more friendly towards women—and Momma is fully in charge. The thing is, while she is in charge, she doesn’t have to spend every minute of her life ‘on the job’…it seems she is a pure genius when it comes to managing (and delegating) and that is supported by the ‘new guard’ on the board…

Anyway, now you are pretty well caught up and I need to get downstairs. I am sure that Angi is chomping at the bit to get me to school and get me registered. She is going instead of Momma, because she has to certify that I am ‘transgendered’, which I still think is stupid…

I gracefully navigate my way down the stairs in my heels—after WEEKS of ‘Pink’ training, I could do it in six-inch heels and blind-folded. Angi is almost to the point of tapping her toes and is impatiently waiting for me.

She looks at me and just smiles, though. She says, “You look VERY nice, Love! You’ll knock ‘em dead at school—just be careful, the ‘popular’ crowd can be very jealous and very MEAN.”

I roll my eyes and say, “I have NO intention of going up against the popular girls. You know me… I’m just a Pink…”

Angi giggles and says, “You make my point for me… Anyway, let’s go or we’ll be late!”

Just as we get into Angi’s Porsche my phone plays a short blast of ‘Tiny Dancer’. I quickly read the message and Angi asks, “News from Francie?”

I nod and say, “She’s getting her schedule now. I can’t believe she’s actually gone off to college…and I still have two years of high school to go.”

Angi starts the car and backs out of the garage. As she puts it in first gear, she says, “Well, she’s only a little over an hour away and she did graduate early…a testament to her school. Are you SURE you don’t want to go there, or to ANY private school for that matter?”

I wait for her to smoothly accelerate down the driveway and say, “No, Angi...you know my thoughts on that. I’m not going to run from my school just because things could get uncomfortable…”

She smiles and says, “Well, you can’t blame me for wanting to make it better for you. BUT, I truly admire your commitment. Anyway, Francie will be home in a few weeks for fall break—I’m sure you’ll survive missing her until then!”

I play-pout and say, “I don’t know…I MAY have to find a way into that ‘secret’ room you and Momma have…”

Angi almost drives into the ditch and says, “Don’t you dare… WAIT! You know?”

I giggle and say, “Just because I’m not in private school doesn’t mean I’m an idiot, you know. Besides, Francie and I have connections—and movers can have loose lips…”

Angi says, “Don’t you DARE let your Momma know that YOU know…”

I grin and shrug. I say, “Well, if you can get me a picture of her in that cat suit I hear she has…”

Angi chokes and says, “Paige!”

I giggle and say, “I’m just kidding, Angi. Relax! I AM glad that you’re my doctor, though and I consider this a session, so YOU can’t tell, either!”

Angi shakes her head and says, “You’re incorrigible, young lady! But seriously, you know that I really love your Momma, right?”

I nod and say, “And you’re perfect together—so, when are you two going to make it MORE official?”

Angi blushes and says, “Don’t you dare say anything, but…I’m thinking of proposing. Is that OK with you?”

I scream and Angi almost drives into the ditch again. I say, “Of course it is! But…what do I call you then? ‘Momma’ is already taken!”

Angi shakes her head and says, “I’m really nervous! Your Momma is really special to me—I don’t think you know… And you can call me whatever you like, Love. Angi, Mom, Mumma, Mother, Mum, Mummy…”

We both start giggling and she pulls into the school parking lot.

I say, “OK, ‘Mummy’ it is! Just remember—it was YOUR idea!”

Angi gives me a raspberry and we get out and click in perfect unison over the concrete parking lot to the school…

On a side note, I don’t think you understand just how HOT Angi is… Long, smooth, tanned legs. Long, red hair. Emerald green eyes. Double-D breasts and perfect cleavage…

The two of us climbing out of her lavender Porsche 911 Cabriolet (of COURSE the top is down) and then clicking in perfect unison on 4” stilettos has the boys in town absolutely DROOLING!

The pinks have taught me one thing well, though—ABSOLUTELY IGNORE the wolf whistles. I completely tune them out, as does Angi. We walk confidently up the steps and enter the school (the one I have attended for the past two years as a boy) as if we own it.

Of course, my heart is POUNDING and I feel faint. Angi inconspicuously grabs my hand and squeezes it to comfort me.

We walk to the front office and Angi says to Mrs. Dickenson, the secretary, “Hi. I’m Angi Crawford—Dr. Crawford. I’m here to sign some papers for Paige Fitzsimmon’s registration.”

Mrs. Dickenson looks up, surprised and says, “Fitzsimmons? There’s only one that I know of on the roles and that’s Victor.” She looks at me…then does a double-take. She asks, “Vick? Is that you?”

I shake my head and say, “Not anymore, Mrs. Dickenson. I’m Paige, now.”

She turns pale and says, “Well, for the life of me! I would NEVER have expected…”

Angi says, “Paige is transgendered and in transition. She is fully under my care as a specialist and I am here to certify her status. As such, she is entitled to certain rights…”

Mrs. Dickenson harrumphs and says, “Don’t tell me MY business Doctor and I won’t tell you YOURS. So, Vick…it’s ‘Paige’ now? Is that legal—or just what you go by?”

I dig into my purse and pull out the learner’s permit I had just gotten two days ago. I hand it to her and say, “As you can see, my name is now legally ‘Victoria Paige Fitzsimmons—and my gender is officially ‘female’.”

Mrs. Dickenson looks at the permit with disdain—as if it caused a foul taste in her mouth. She says, “So I see. Of course—your birth certificate would still have ‘male’ on it…”

Angi says, “That will be rectified as soon as Paige has her SRS.”

Mrs. Dickenson completely ignores Angi and says, “So…I assume you will want to use the girls’ facilities… Bathrooms and locker rooms, then?”

I look at her with an incredulous look on my face and ask, “Do you REALLY think I want to use the BOYS’ facilities dressed like THIS?”

Mrs. Dickenson is not phased and says, “You’d be surprised what some perverts will do to get a look up a girl’s dress…”

I turn pale. I want to scream at her. I take a deep breath. Angi starts to say something, but I cut her off. I say in a calm voice, “Mrs. Dickenson. I have a semi-permanent ‘fixture’ that is as realistic-looking as ANY girl’s vagina in this school. I can’t remove it—even if I wanted to. I have HIGHER estrogen levels than certainly YOU do—and LESS testosterone, since ANY that is produced by or introduced to my body is IMMEDIATELY converted to estrogen thanks to an experimental implant in me—that ALSO CAN’T BE REMOVED. On top of that, I am in a VERY committed relationship with my girlfriend.”

Mrs. Dickenson looks at me with a jaundiced eye and says, “SEE? You ARE a boy—just as I thought!”

It’s too much for Angi and she says, “I REALLY don’t have ANY tolerance for bigots and gay bashers—especially in administrative positions! Now, are you going to register Paige and give her access to the facilities that correspond to her LEGAL gender—FEMALE?”

Mrs. Dickenson sniffs and shouts, “I’M NOT A BIGOT! I’M A GOD-FEARING WOMAN AND I KNOW WHAT’S RIGHT AND WHAT’S NOT!”

At that moment Miss Ferguson, the principal comes out and demands, “Mrs. Dickenson, is there a problem?”

Mrs. Dickenson is shaking and says, “No, Miss Ferguson.”

Miss Ferguson says, “It certainly doesn’t sound like nothing!” She looks at me…and keeps looking… Finally, she says, “Vick Fitzsimmons?”

I shake my head and say, “No, Ma’am. It’s Paige, now.”

She seems to understand better and looks at Angi. She says, “Hello, I’m Ronnie Ferguson. I know you’re not Paige’s mom—I know Dawn…”

I notice right away that there is not even the SLIGHTEST pause in referring to me as ‘Paige’…like it was the most normal thing in the world…

Angi introduces herself and says, “I’m here to help Paige register.”

Miss Ferguson says, “It’s very nice to meet you, Dr. Crawford. Why don’t you and Paige come into my office.”

Angi says, “Thank you, Miss Ferguson. Please—call me Angi.”

We follow her into her office and she says, “Thank you, Angi. Please call me Ronnie.” She indicates that we should sit and asks, “Would either o fyou like anything to drink? I have a fresh pot of coffee—and it’s the GOOD stuff—I promise!”

We both accept and Ronnie (she makes it clear that is ONLY for when we are NOT around other students…) pours us each a cup. She hands me mine and asks, “Do you mind if I ask…when did this come about?”

I sigh and look at Angi. She nods and I tell Ronnie the WHOLE story.

When I am done, she is crying. She wipes her eyes and says, “You poor girl! I…I’m SO sorry!”

I shake my head and say, “Don’t be… It’s what it is… It’s people like Mrs. Dickenson that make it difficult.”

Ronnie says, “Well—not just her… There are the State legislators and the school board, too.”

Angi and I both give her a confused look.

She says, “I assume that you want to use the girls’ facilities? I know I would…”

I nod…unsure of myself, now.

She says, “I’m sorry, Paige… But, in that case…I’m afraid you’ll have to wear a wristband that identifies you to all as transgendered…”

Angi says, “THAT is why I want you to go to private school, Sweetie!”

I am honestly stunned—I had no idea this is what TGs had to go through. I look at her and ask, “Isn’t that why we joined in World War II? To stop people from branding other people to segregate them? Didn’t we stop that in this country back in the 1960s—separate facilities for blacks and whites? Why not just tattoo a number on my arm? Or maybe, more in keeping with the times, a barcode?”

Ronnie smiles and says, “Trust me, Hon. I’m FULLY on board with what you’re thinking. BUT, if I don’t comply, they’ll only take me out and put a principal in here that thinks more like Mrs. Dickenson—then I can’t do the things that I CAN…”

Angi sits there fuming…

I say, “In that case, I’ll use the BOYS’ facilities…”

Both Angi and Ronnie do a double-take and ask at the same time, “WHAT?”

I say, “Do you think I REALLY care? I can promise you, it will create MORE of a furor with me going in there than the OTHER way around—BUT, I’ll need protection. I’m not stupid enough to think there won’t be those that try to bully me—or beat me up…”

Ronnie smiles and says, “Paige, Hon—I think I’m in love… Just leave it to me… Angi, are you OK with this? Do you think Dawn will be?”

Angi says, “I’ll confirm it with Dawn, but if you can GUARANTEE full protection for Paige, then…I guess it is HER decision. Honestly, I want her to go to a private school…”

Ronnie nods and says, “I see. Well, OK, please let me know. And—welcome to your junior year, Paige. Are you planning on trying out for any extra-curricular activities? I assume football is out?”

I giggle and say, “Well—I’m pretty busy with my ballet schedule—but, I was thinking of maybe trying out for cheerleading. I’ve become pretty decent at it.”

Ronnie says, “I see you’re not afraid to poke any bear, now, Paige. Quite the difference from Vick… Heaven help us! Well, good luck! I’m on your side—it will certainly give us some excitement to look forward to. Just be careful; OK, young lady? I can only do SO much in protecting you!”

I nod and we all go back out to the secretary’s vestibule. Ronnie says, “Mrs. Dickenson, Paige is registering with FULL rights as a TG girl—BUT has declined the right to use the girls’ facilities. As such, she needs no wristband. She WILL, however, be included ONLY in female PA and extra-curricular activities. Make sure that is reflected on her schedule.”

Mrs. Dickenson exudes her contempt but says, “Yes, Miss Ferguson. I will email you your schedule, ‘MISS’ Fitzsimmons.”

I smile sweetly and say, “Thank you, Mrs. DICK-enson”

Angi discreetly swats my behind as we turn to leave. Ronnie winks at me and I say, “I’ll see you next week, Miss Ferguson! Thank you!”

Momma looks at me, concerned, and says, “Maybe Angi is right, Love. Maybe a private school IS a better solution…”

I shake my head. If this whole affair has done nothing, it has taught me to stand my ground. I say, “Momma, think about it…do you REALLY think there aren’t bigots and bullies at private schools? All that will happen is that it will be covered up that I’m ‘TG’—then I have to ALWAYS worry that that will somehow be discovered.”

I sigh and continue, “I’d MUCH rather that it’s out in the open… It really isn’t ANY different from my ‘options’ for transitioning… A ‘real’ girl has no choice in her genes and gender… Neither does a TG girl…and that doesn’t change at public school. If OTHER TG girls have to attend public school and survive, then so will I.”

Momma shakes her head and says, “DAMN your father to HELL!” Then she stops and cries… She says, “You know I didn’t mean that…but…you have SO many of his traits… His IDEALISM… No wonder you hate what we’re doing to Misty…”

Angi comes over and hugs her. Momma continues and says, “OK. I trust you, Love—BUT, I WILL yank you out of there if you’re harmed in any way. Understand?”

I nod and say, “Yes, Momma. But please let ME say when it’s too much. I PROMISE I will, OK?”

Momma closes her eyes and slowly nods…

Angi says, “I LOVE you BOTH so much! This is such a perfect moment… I had planned on this being TOTALLY different…”

I look at her…and KNOW… I suck in a HUGE gulp of air and suppress a scream…

Momma looks at her—totally ignorant…

Angi goes to her purse and digs in it…then comes over to Momma and gets on her knee. She holds out the little velvet box with the HUGE two carat ring and asks, “Dawn, Love of my life. As your daughter is our witness, will you marry me?”

Momma nearly faints and looks at me…the question clearly evident on her face (is it OK?)…

I nod and whisper, “I already gave ‘Mummy’ my blessing…”

Momma almost giggles at that and looks deep into Angi’s eyes and says, “As OUR daughter is our witness, YES, I would LOVE to become your wife!”

Now I DO scream!

‘Mummy’ puts the ring on Momma’s finger and we ALL cry. Angi gets a bottle of champagne out of the refrigerator. She takes out THREE glasses and pops the cork. She pours two glasses full and looks at Momma, who nods, and she pours the third about half full.

We each take one (mine is one of the FULL ones, of course—JUST KIDDING) and we clink them with a loud ‘CHEERS’! We take a sip and I grimace at the effervescent flavor of…vinegar. We then hug and Angi says, “You don’t know HOW nervous I was about this, LOVE! If it wasn’t for Paige, I may not have had the nerve…”

Momma looks at me and asks, “You really ARE OK with this, aren’t you?”

I nod and say, “Momma—Angi, or ‘Mummy’ as I’m now to call her, is a GREAT catch—and your happiness is paramount to me. OF COURSE, I’m OK with it!”

Angi chokes on her champagne as I let out the ‘Mummy’ joke… Of course, NOW, it is official… She says, “Dawn, Love, I would NEVER have asked without her blessing…”

Momma kisses me on the cheek and says, “I love you, my dearest daughter.” She looks at ‘Mummy’ and says, “And, OF COURSE, I LOVE you… NOW, I just have to get YOU a ring!”

Mummy says, “Well…” She grins and pulls out a matching ring and says, “Assuming you like it?”

Momma laughs and says, “Love it? I ADORE it!” And she places it on Mummy’s finger.

I finish my half-glass of champagne—after adding a bunch of orange juice—and leave the two love-birds alone. I go to my room and text a picture of the rings to Francie. Of course, it takes less than thirty seconds before my phone is ringing and I am telling her ALL about my day…

o~O~o

I turn off my alarm and stretch. I hate having to get up at five a.m. on one of my last days of vacation-but I need to go into the office with Angi for some more tests…

I reflect on that a minute and grin—let me rectify that statement… I need to go into the office with MUMMY for some more tests…

I get out from under the covers and pad my way into the bathroom. If there’s any ONE thing that I think I would gripe MOST about being a ‘girl’, it’s having to get up an hour earlier to get ready…well, I guess I should amend THAT too… It’s what I would gripe most about being a PINK girl about…

I turn on the shower and let the water warm up to nice steamy proportions…I get in a still marvel at WONDERFUL the shower feels now.

A little under an hour later, I give myself a final check in the mirror and am satisfied that my Pink peeps would be proud. I step into my five-inch stilettos and go downstairs for a quick breakfast.

I enter the kitchen and I almost jump out of my skin when I hear, “Good morning, Miss.”

I look around and mumble, “Good morning, Misty. You’re up early.” I can’t help but notice that he is wearing women’s dress pants and shoes—sure, you have to know to look…but, then, I do…

He says, “Yes, Miss. Excuse me, Miss.”

I say, “Have a great day, Misty…” But he has already turned and was on his way out the back door—just as Angi comes in.

She says, “Well, you beat me down here! Who were you talking to?”

I giggle and say, “Well, I didn’t drink two bottles of champagne!” I point to the two empty bottles on the counter. I shrug and say, “Misty was in here… I’m not sure why… He nearly scared me to death!”

Angi smiles and says, “Your Momma is giving him some extra duties around the house… Anyway, why don’t we stop at Starbuck’s on the way and get breakfast to go?”

I shrug again and say, “Fine by me…”

Angi looks at my shoes and smiles. She says, “Well, you’re certainly giving yourself a challenge this morning.”

I look at her, confused. I ask, “Challenge? Five inch heels haven’t been a challenge for WEEKS, now…”

Angi leads the way to the garage as I grab my purse. We go to her Porsche and she hands me the keys and says, “But, you haven’t DRIVEN in them yet… I suggest you take them off until you get the hang of shifting… Please leave my clutch in one piece!”

I look at her with a mixture of excitement and fear. I ask, “I’m driving?”

She laughs and says, “You’re not going to learn any younger. Now…let’s go—I need COFFEE!”

I get into the driver’s seat and adjust things—after taking my shoes off and checking that I can reach the pedals in my stockinged feet. She makes me go through the gears several times with the car off—just to get the hang of them. Then she has me push the clutch and start the car.

Nervous as I think I have EVER been, I manage to get the car into reverse and back out of the garage without hitting anything. I take a deep breath, push in the clutch and put it into first—and take off, shifting up as I gain speed without grinding any gears. I have the BIGGEST grin on my face…

I don’t make it ALL the way to her office without ONE (small) grind (which happened to be as I’m pulling out of the drive-through at Starbuck’s). Once I pull into her parking space and switch off the ignition, I look over at her, expecting a berating for the grind.

She reaches over and hugs me and says, “Perfect! THAT was awesome, young lady! You paid attention to the road and did MUCH better than I did my first actual time driving a manual. Don’t let it go to your head, though. OK? You still need LOTS of practice!”

She giggles as I put my shoes back on and says, “Now, driving home, you’ll leave those ON!”

We get out of the car and she hands me my coffee. We walk into her office and sit at her conference table to eat our breakfast and she says, “OK, Paige. I know you took this once before and you know the answers… What I would like for you to do is take it twice again… The first time, answer honestly—as you are today. Don’t overthink the questions—just put down your first instinct; your most honest answer. Then, I want you to take it again. I’ll give you instructions before you do so, OK?”

I nod, confused, and she leaves me alone in her office to take that ill-fated ‘exam’ I had taken so long ago to ‘gain entrance’ into camp. Of course, now I know what it really is—a psychological profiling questionnaire to see where one is on the LGBT spectrum.

I take a deep breath and clear my mind the best I can of all the baggage I have associated with this particular set of questions and answer them as honestly as I can.

Just as I am finishing up twenty minutes later, Angi comes back in and smiles. She says, “Done? OK, may I please have your answer sheet? Thanks, Hon! Now, I would like for you to reach back and think about being Vick again—BEFORE any of this happened. Try and channel his thoughts and answer. Can you do that?”

I look at her a little surprised and say, “Well, I can try—it’s not like we’re separate people, though…”

She smiles and says, “I know, Love. Just do your best—if you answer the same as just now, that’s perfectly fine. If you think you WOULD have answered differently, then please do so. Again, don’t OVER think it—there is no right or wrong, here. It’s just…well, I’m interested… Is that OK?”

I nod and say as I see her ring sparkle in the bright overhead light, “Sure… I’ll give it my best try…MUMMY!”

She play slaps my arm and leaves me alone again.

I sit there and think back to a time in my life that seems almost surreal now. I try and peel back all of the layers of ‘Pink’ that have been ingrained into me and start answering the questions the best I can…

Thirty minutes later she comes back in and I finish up the last two questions. I hand her the answer sheet with tears welling in my eyes. She gives me a big hug and says, “I know that was hard, Hon—and it dredged up a bunch of suppressed feelings. I need those out. You’re about to start school as a GIRL and a TG one, at that. We need you to be able to handle those feelings internally before you really get hit with the inevitable external factors. Mrs. Duffus is just the beginning I’m sorry to say…”

I nod and carefully wipe the tears with a tissue from the dispenser on the table. I excuse myself to ‘check my makeup’ in the bathroom mirror as an excuse to give myself a few minutes to gather myself.

When I get back to Angi’s office she is just finishing scoring the last go-through. She looks up at me and gives me an encouraging smile. She says, “Are you interested in the results, Hon, or have you had enough for one day?”

I take a deep breath and say, “I’m fine. I’m pretty sure I answered at least some of the questions differently…”

Angi nods and says, “When I scored your first go-through…the one where I asked you to just answer without thinking, you actually scored a 535, which, were you taking this for the first time, would get you into Pink House. This is an interesting result for me and gives me some things to work on to further tweak the questionnaire, since we know that you’re not TG in the actual sense of the term—you ARE, however, transitioning mentally to a girl; that much is clear. Now, the ‘pinkness’ of the score is likely largely due to your ‘conditioning’ in camp…”

I look at her with a blank look.

She giggles and says, “I’m sorry, Love. This basically tells me, given the fact that I know YOU, that you’re adjusting well to becoming to a girl—even though it wasn’t really a need or desire of yours. Does that make sense?”

I nod and say, “I think so.”

She says, “Good. Now for the really interesting part. Of course this is retrospective and somewhat prone to recall bias… But, it seems that you were actually very comfortable with your feminine side, even as Vick. Your score indicates that you were basically right in the middle of male and female. That explains a lot in terms of how you’re able to handle this with so much…grace and poise. It isn’t completely against your nature.”

I give her another blank look and this time she laughs. She says, “It means that I’m not SO worried about your mental well-being as I was. You are one of those people that, at their core, don’t really CARE about gender…”

I giggle and say, “Well, I could have told you not to worry… But, if this helps…”

She smiles and says, “I didn’t say I was NOT worried…just not AS much. You still warrant a lot of love and help in your transition, young lady! And I’m not going anywhere!” She glances at her ring and grins widely.

I laugh and say, “If you say so, MUMMY!”

After that, I help around the office doing a variety of small jobs until it is time for lunch and Angi lets me drive us to a nearby favorite restaurant of hers where we meet up with Momma. After we finish, Angi lets me drive home (without any MAJOR incidents, in spite of wearing the heels) where she leaves me to enjoy the rest of the day and drives herself back to the office.

I decide to just chill out by the pool and catch up on some reading. I go up to my room and get undressed and put my clothes neatly away in my closet. As I do, I catch sight of myself in the antique full-length mirror in my room. I stop what I am doing and stare. It still surprises me at some level to see myself now.

I look at my naked ‘vagina’ and memories of last week flood my brain. It was the first time the device had been removed for ‘hygiene purposes and repositioning’. I had been floored at the time (at the end of camp) I found out that those laser treatments that Jemma had been giving me were actually permanently ensuring that I would not have ANY body hair. Imagine my surprise when I also found out that the device has special chemical properties to it that achieves the same results. The hair follicles under the device are effectively dead—ensuring that I will have a permanent ‘Brazilian’ look.

Worse than the hairlessness that I unexpectedly had encountered under the device was the sorry nature my actual organs were in. My testicles are now, thanks to the effects of the implant, permanently up inside me…swollen to the point that they can’t descend anymore—even if the ligaments (or whatever it is—I zoned out at the technical terms) that are holding them hadn’t shortened so much by now that they weren’t being pulled back up into my abdomen to an area close to where they would sit as ovaries.

On top of that, my penis is just a small shriveled piece of flesh that is happy to just flop backwards between my legs and be held there by the device. There was no doubt when I saw the effects of several months of aromatase augmentation that there is no turning them back. I’m in it for better or worse—just as Angi had warned me.

My eyes float up my body to my breasts. They are showing similar development. I am now officially a B-cup (and yes, I finally know what all of that means…). My areolae are still growing, but are larger than a quarter, darker, and developing small bumps on them. My nipples are about the size of mini marshmallows and OH so sensitive—especially with the little silicone suction cups on them that Francie got me…

I look down at my legs and decide that they are really getting sexy and I am actually proud of them. The combination of dancing, cheerleading, and swimming is doing them wonders—long, smooth, and deliciously tanned (not to mention nicely toned). The same goes for my whole body, actually. There is no doubt that I am a developing girl—one that is quickly catching up to her fifteen-year-old counterparts…

I search my feelings and decide that I really DON’T mind the fact that I’m turning into a young woman instead of a man. Yes, I HAD been looking forward to being Vick—the football star. But, I don’t really mind turning into Paige—the ballerina. I guess I AM weird, after all…

I shake my head and pull myself out of my reverie and put on my bikini. I grab my lotion, stack of teen fashion magazines, and the romance novel that Francie got me hooked on and go out to lay by the pool and enjoy the afternoon.

o~O~o

The rest of my last week off before my junior year of high school is over before I know it. A lot of my time is spent swimming (as in actually practicing) and keeping up with my cheerleading moves. Most of it is spent practicing my ballet. Madame Pratt certainly will have no mercy if I come back to class after break and have not kept up my flexibility.

It is Sunday and one of those rare occasions where EVERYONE is home – including Francie (but just for the day *SIGH*)!

Francie and I are out by the pool with Mummy, relaxing. Momma comes up from the guesthouse with Misty in tow. I look at him and once again notice that he is wearing women’s slacks and shoes. Again, it isn’t overtly noticeable—it’s just enough ‘off’ to make you look, though. The pants are just a tad bit short and if you really look, you can tell that he is wearing black nylon stockings instead of socks. The short-sleeved shirt is obviously a woman’s blouse—it even has a bit of lace on it. The shoes have a bit of a heel—just enough that they aren’t ‘quite right’ for a man.

Momma says, “Hi gals! Misty here has asked for some extra hours. It seems that the money just isn’t quite stretching enough to make ends meet. So he is going to do some housework and fetch us drinks and such. Isn’t that right, Misty?”

He says, “Yes, Mistress.”

He goes into the house and I notice his hairless arms as he does. He returns with a cart full of drinks and hands me the lemonade I ask for; I notice his perfectly manicured and polished nails—they are just a ‘tad’ too long—and slightly pinker than is natural. I also notice that his eyebrows are still perfectly shaped into the thin, high arch he has had since he came that day and signed the contract.

I say, “Thank you, Misty.”

He responds, “Yes, Miss,” and moves on to get Francie her drink. Once all are served, he goes into the house to clean. As he does, I notice he has a ‘wiggle’ to his walk—which makes me realize that another thing that had seemed ‘off’ is that he is flat up front…

I look at Momma and she shrugs, “He just can’t seem to manage his money…”

I say, “What’s with the wiggle in his step and the flat front—not to mention all of the other ‘off’ things?”

Angi says, “Now, Love. Don’t be making fun of the help. He just begged to be put in chastity, which gives him that nice flat look. As for the rest, well, let’s just say, it’s to make up for some behavioral issues. He’s getting better, though, don’t you think? We just might make a human being out of him yet. Now, let’s talk about less-depressing things!”

I shake my head; I’m sure I don’t want to know!

Francie leans over and whispers in my ear, “I bet that wiggle is caused by a butt plug… I know a guy at Juilliard that wears one to get that same wiggle…”

I roll my eyes and whisper back, “Well, I guess I DID ask… But…EWWWWWWE!”

She giggles and we turn back to the conversation at hand.

The day goes by WAY too quickly, though. Before I know it, Francie is getting ready to leave and I’m giving her a SERIOUS kiss.

Breathless, she says, “I will see you in two weeks, Love! Be good in school—and don’t let them get you down, OK?”

I nod and bite my lip. I say, “Yeah…I’m not sure how easy THAT’S going to be, but I’m certainly going to do my best!”

I groan this time as the alarm goes off at four a.m. I groan again and turn it off. I swing my legs sleepily out of bed before I fall back asleep. I stretch, yawn, and stretch again—then I pad into the bathroom to take a REALLY steamy shower.

Since it is my first day at school—ever—as a girl, I go easy on the makeup and clothes. NOT! I decide I may as well make a statement—especially since I’ll be using the boys’ room if and when I have to relieve myself.

I stumble down the stairs in my four-inch stilettos—not because they are too high; I’m simply still sleepy… Angi meets me at the bottom of the stairs with a smoothie and a large cup of coffee. I take them and drain the smoothie in several long gulps—then take a drink of the hot, bitter brew.

I smile and say, “Thanks, Mummy—just what the doctor ordered!”

She groans and I can’t help but giggle. She says “Come on, young lady. Your Momma is still asleep—and I’m taking you to school. You’re driving, though!”

I sigh and say, “SUCH a bother—having to drive and all!” We both giggle and move towards the garage.

Thirty minutes later, I get out of the Porsche and see several guys ogle me. I wiggle my butt a little as I get my bag out. Mummy whispers, “Be careful, Paige! Don’t be TOO provocative—that’s how girls get raped…”

I blush and nod. She gives me a kiss on the cheek and drives off—leaving me to face the consequences of the day.

I look at my phone and pull up the schedule that Ronnie had sent me—I know where to go first; I mean it’s not like I’ve never been to this school. I move towards the principal’s office—as requested.

I simply walk right past Mrs. DICKenson with a, “Good MORNING, Mrs. DICK-enson! Miss Ferguson summoned me.”

I hear some grumblings from her desk, but ignore them as I knock on Ronnie’s door. I enter when I hear the requisite ‘Come in!’…

Ronnie looks up at me and says, “Ahh! Good morning, Paige! You look LOVELY this morning! I think you know…”

I look in the corner she is looking towards and nearly yell, “BUTCH!”

Ronnie says, “Yes…’Butch’…”

Butch looks at me in awe and says, “Vick—that you man? Really? I…I’m sorry. I wanted to visit—but they wouldn’t let me, then I was out of state, and then you were gone…”

I close my eyes and breath, then say, “Hi, Butch. No, I’m not Vick… It’s Paige, now…”

He grimaces and says, “So it’s true… I caused you to become a girl?”

I sigh and say, “No, it’s not quite that simple—and CERTAINLY not YOUR fault, big guy!”

He shakes his head and says, “If I hadn’t tripped…”

I look at him with a VERY serious face and say, “Butch—it’s NOT YOUR FAULT! Understand?”

He says, “That’s really nice of you to say, … Paige—but I know I’m to blame. That’s why, I’m going to be on your protective detail.”

I look at him, then at Ronnie, and ask, “Say what?”

At that moment, Felix, another HUGE guy—and an openly gay guy, at that, knocks and comes in. He says, “Good morning, Miss Ferguson, Butch—and,” he smiles at me, “Paige, I presume?”

I nod, numbly…

Ronnie says, “Good morning, Felix. Now, Paige, these two are your protective detail—at least for now. If you need to go to the ‘facilities’, I want you to make sure at least one of them is with you. Here is a note from me that explicitly says that you are to be accompanied… I have also let the teachers know that I will NOT tolerate ANY bullying…”

I nod, dumbfounded, and say, “Thank you, Miss Ferguson. But…is this maybe a bit…overkill?”

She shakes her head and says, “I sincerely hope so, Paige. I sincerely hope so. Now, I believe that you have a trig class to get to—you and Felix…?”

I nod and Felix says, “Come along, Sweetheart—I see a beautiful relationship in our future!”

I lead the way out and say, “In your dreams, Lover-Boy… I have a VERY jealous girlfriend!”

He laughs and I giggle and Mrs. DICKenson scowls at us as we leave.

I look at Felix and ask, “Are you really up for this? I may as well get the first step out of the way…”

He looks at me and says, “Are you sure? *I* have the easy part…”

I shrug and wiggle my butt as I walk towards the boys’ room—my stilettos click-clacking on the old-fashioned marble floor. Without a moment’s hesitation, I open the door and walk straight in. The smell of testosterone and boys’ urine assaults my nose (it has BEEN a while since I have smelled it and it seems even worse than it used to– YUCK). I go to the first empty stall, squat to do my business (NO WAY I’m going to SIT…), and wipe. I flush, walk out of the stall to the sinks, wash my hands, check my makeup in the mirror, and add some lip gloss. I walk out and smile at the open jaws as I hook arms with Felix and we go to class.

On our way, Felix whispers, “That was AWESOME! But, be careful, huh? I don’t want to see you hurt…and I don’t REALLY want to kick any butt—but, I WILL if I have to.”

I smile at him as we walk into the classroom and say, “I know big guy—you and Butch are both softies at heart. Don’t worry, *I* won’t tell!” I giggle and we take our seats, just as the bell rings.

o~O~o

OK, so maybe it WASN’T the smartest thing to do…but, I was going to have to go sometime. Anyway, by the time first period will be over, it will have made it ALL across school that I am TG and the former Vick. For some, it won’t matter at all; for some, I will be ‘cool’; for too many, I will be a pervert—someone to loath and a convenient target.

Trig itself is no problem. The looks, even in those first minutes, start to become more of an issue—even for someone DETERMINED not to let them be. The girls—mostly curious. The boys—either lecherous; or loathsome…

Mr. Gregory, the teacher comes in and, of course, makes me introduce myself.

I get up and say, “Well, as many of you know, I’m not really new here. I’m Paige—those of you who knew me before knew me as Vick. Vick Fitzsimmons. I’m transitioning…”

And all hell breaks loose as I am barraged with questions.

So, our little community is the best kept secret in all things TG clinics—with the VERY best in the country. TG hopefuls come from all over the world to be allowed to transition. BUT, there are very FEW actually transitioning in the community, itself. I am only the third in the last twenty years—and the first in the last ten…

Gregory Hines, a running back hopeful, asks, “Vick, dude…you REALLY want to be a GIRL?”

The girls all hiss and boo him.

I lift my hands for silence and say, “Hi, Greg. It’s less what I WANT—it’s more what HAS to be… It…well…I just HAVE to… Understand?” I don’t go into details…

He says, “No…dude… But whatever is right for you, I guess…”

And so it goes for a full ten minutes—until Mr. Gregory says, “OK, class. Time for some trig. Paige isn’t going anywhere…”

So, I settle in and start taking notes.

The next class is no different…

Then, coffee kicks in and it is time to go to…the BOYS’ room…again…

This time Butch is my guardian…and I take a bigger hit…

Gerald Graham, a bigot if there ever was one one—and the school’s biggest one, for sure—just happens to be in the same one that I happen to go to…

I go in and quickly move to a free stall and lock the door. I scrunch my nose in disgust at the smell and squat, but again don’t sit as I relieve myself. I wipe and take a shallow breath before unlocking the door… I click towards the mirror to wash my hands and check my makeup.

Gerald stands in my way and sneers, “What do we have here? If I didn’t KNOW better, I would think there was a HOT babe in the BOYS’ room. As it is, I KNOW there is a HUGE PERVERT in here. What are we going to do about this pervert, boys?”

A posse of misfits starts moving towards me and I start to sweat a bit—well, make that ‘glisten’, since everyone knows that Pinks don’t ‘sweat’.

I watch the three thugs—all on the varsity football team—advance towards to me. It is clear that I’m going to need extra makeup to hide the bruises.

Butch gets in front of me and asks, “Do you REALLY think you’re goin’ to get past ME? It’s MY fault that she is here… Come on…maybe you want to join her?”

One idiot actually tries it and winds up sprawled on a toilet in one of the stalls. The others back off and Gerald says, “Well, I guess we know where you stand, Butch. Watch out at practice. You’ll regret this!”

And they all leave. I release the breath I’m holding and thank Butch before checking my makeup.

And we get to third hour just as the bell rings…

I wish I could say the rest of the day goes better, but…I can’t…

What I can say, is that the girls seem to be more accepting of me, in general, than the boys… It seems the girls—at least many of the ‘in-crowd’ are almost…threatened…by me. Of course, whether I ever wanted to be a girl or not, I am doing my best to be the BEST one I can—and, if I do say so myself, I look HOT…

Oh well, tomorrow is another day—and cheerleading tryouts at that…

o~O~o

I am not sure about this new ‘arrangement’—it kind of creeps me out having Misty serve me breakfast. Sure, Momma and Mummy, both, assure me that all is well…

“How would Miss like her eggs,” Misty asks.

I look at her. She is dressed similarly to what I have seen her over the last week. In black slacks, that are, upon closer scrutiny, women’s—these are looser in the leg than men’s would be, hanging straight down, plus there is no zipper on the front (it is actually on the side), leaving the front totally flat. He has a white ‘shirt’ on that, again upon closer scrutiny, turns out to be a woman’s blouse (the buttons are too small and on the wrong side for a man). His lace-up ‘shoes’ are really women’s bootlets that have a two-inch stiletto heel that is hidden by the large legs of the slacks—unless you really pay attention (well, and the obvious click-clack of a high heel on the ceramic kitchen tile). His fingernails are slightly longer than I have seen—and are squared off at the tips. They also now have a very slight white edge in the slimmest possible version of a French Tip (just enough to be visible, if paying attention). The biggest thing I notice are his ears, though… He is sporting large white pearls in each lobe…

I pull myself together, remembering that Allen was a TERRIBLE cook and say, “One—over easy and a piece of toast, lightly buttered, is fine, Misty…”

He nods and clicks around the kitchen, his butt wiggling in that funny manner again, preparing my breakfast. Angi comes in and kisses me on the cheek, “Good morning, Love! I’ll have the same, Misty! OJ for us both, too.”

I roll my eyes towards Misty’s back and Angi’s eyes crinkle, but she motions for me to be quiet.

In short order, I get an over-cooked egg and slightly burned toast. I sigh—I could have done much better; and quicker, too.

Mummy looks at her egg and toast with disdain and says, “Well, I guess it’s the attempt that counts…” Her tone sent a completely other message and Misty blanches slightly.

He says, “Yes, Mistress.”

I shake my head and Angi I go to her car and get in it—of course, I drive…

I hug Mummy and give her a quick kiss on the cheek as she comes around the car to get into the driver’s seat. I look at the entrance of the school and sigh. I say, more to myself than anyone, “Well…here goes another day in paradise…”

“Well, that is ONE way to put it,” a somewhat familiar voice giggles.

I look around and see Paulette Sisko smiling at me. Paulette is a girl on the cusp of being popular—she is one of those ‘bridger’ girls that can get along with most any group—but, especially the popular crowd.

I smile and say, “Hi, Paulette. Be careful talking to the pariah…you might catch something…”

She giggles and says, “No worries, I got my ‘pariah’ vaccine last month—I’m safe!”

I roll my eyes, but giggle with her. I ask, “Not that I’m complaining, but to what do I owe the pleasure?”

She smiles—and it seems genuine. She says, “Well, I thought you could use a friend. I know those are sort of in short supply for you, right now. And…no…it doesn’t bother me that you’re TG—OR that THAT bothers 99% of this school…”

I take in a deep breath and hold it for a bit, then let it out. I say, “Well…thank you, Paulette. I appreciate the offer. It’s sort of weird coming back to a school that I have attended for years and suddenly have no friends, other than an overprotective football player with a misguided guilt-complex and a gay guardian that has who-knows-what for motivation. That being said, I’ll be honest—I’m not really sure of YOUR motivation. Call me paranoid…but…”

She actually laughs and says, “See? We’re going to get along great! I love a girl that’s honest! So, sure…I’m curious. But, more importantly—I’m open to having a new friend. No strings attached…”

I look at her and decide she is being genuine. I say, “OK. Curiosity killed the cat—and I already HAVE a girlfriend… If we’re clear on that…how can I settle that curiosity of yours?”

She blushes and says, “Well, too bad about the girlfriend—but not a deal-breaker. But, how did you EVER get the courage…?”

We walk towards the front entrance and slowly get to know each other better. I am still guarded in my responses, but am starting to loosening up…

o~O~o

The actual school day is about the same as yesterday—I do get slammed hard into my locker from behind when a large crowd is surging by. I can’t SWEAR that it was deliberate, but…

I’m not accosted in the bathroom, but I now have to make sure that BOTH my guardians are with me after yesterday—Miss Ferguson’s orders. Honestly, it is REALLY embarrassing—not that I have to use the boys’ room; I could care less. It’s that I need GUARDS to do so…

There are fewer questions in class today—and more stares and glares. I tell myself I don’t care—I know it is a lie…

I make it through the day—and my resolve to even try out for cheerleading has largely eroded. I am about to just text Mummy that I am going to forgo the ‘experience’ when Paulette catches up with me.

She says, “So, you’re trying out for cheerleading, right? That is SO cool! I’m a loser when it comes to actually moving my body to the wiles of music… But, do you mind if I tag along? I like watching those that DO!” She giggles.

I sigh and say, “I don’t think so… I mean, I don’t mind you watching—but, I don’t think I’m going to try out…”

She gives me a strange look—almost one of regret. She says, “And here I thought you were different—not one to conform to the ‘norm’. One to not give into pressures…” She sighs, “Too bad!”

I look at her and ask, “Excuse me? What do YOU know about me? Yes, I had every intention of going in there and kicking some butt—and trust me, I could—and letting them totally NOT pick me; just to discriminate against me. But, after today, I have to conserve my energy—pick my battles. I mean, what do I have to gain by letting them humiliate me?”

Paulette shakes her head and says, “Nothing—and EVERYTHING! So…what if I told you there’s someone on the panel that’s pulling for you? I can’t guarantee that you’ll get picked—but, I CAN guarantee that there are people that are PULLING for you!”

I sigh and think, “DAMN HER!” I say, “But…I don’t WANT to be a cause…I just want to be…ME…”

She smiles, ruefully, and says, “I don’t think you have that option, Hon… You can be a victim—or, you can be a driver for the movement. There isn’t really any in between—at least not HERE… Maybe in some snooty private school where you can BUY your peace.”

I look at her and groan, “Angi put you up to this, didn’t she?” The accusatory tone is very clear.

She gives me with a confused look and says in an honest tone, “I have NO idea what you’re talking about…”

I shake my head and say, “Never mind—long story. Come on…we have just enough time…”

We get to the practice field and I go into the (empty) boys’ locker room to change. I put on some comfortable loose clothing and good shoes and walk out to the sign-up sheet and sign in. I nearly fall over when I see Paulette sitting at the judges table along with Penelope Van Stryker—THE popular girl in school—and head cheerleader and full-on epitome of ‘mean’ girl.

I give Paulette an accusing and confused look and she just smiles sweetly at me.

Penelope claps her hands loudly and says, “OK, ladies. We have two positions open and it looks like we have five hopefuls. Ultimately, the choice is mine—but Paulette here, while not a cheerleader has a VERY good eye at seeing things I might miss and she will have significant sway in my decision. I will pick two of you for the team and one alternate. Are we clear?”

All of us in the group mumble that we are ready and Paulette says, “Chrissy Akers—you’re up.”

Penelope gives her a series of rapid-fire moves and combinations to perform and Chrissy nods and starts. She is good—I know I am better…

Five minutes later, Jacky O’Dell is up…and so on—until it is my turn. I am deal last, since I signed up last.

Penelope gives me a series of really complex moves and combinations to perform—they are MUCH harder than the other girls got. I turn a bit red, but simply nod and go to it. In reality, we had done much harder stuff than this at camp where I had practiced those moves hours every day.

When I am done, I can see that Penelope is not happy. She and Paulette confer—and whisper—and get animated and, finally, after about fifteen minutes, Penelope says, “OK. I have come to a decision, Chrissy and Flo, you’re in. ‘Paige’—you’re the alternate.”

I can see that Paulette is furious at Penelope. Chrissy and Flo are jumping up and down. Jacky comes over to me and says, “Congratulations—I hope you do well on the team. Penelope is a bitch—YOU were by far the best…girl…out here today; you can even cheer circles around HER. I’m sorta glad I didn’t make the team—my Mom just made me try out.”

I smile at her and say, “Thanks, Jacky. I appreciate that. Would you like to get a cup of coffee? I think we’re done here.”

Jacky nods and says, “Sure. Is it OK if Frenchie comes along?”

Frenchie, another of the washouts, is coming our way and I say, “Sure! The more the merrier, right?”

And we all move towards the locker rooms. As I gather my stuff I give Paulette an exasperated ‘I told you so’ look. She barely shakes her head and mouths, “Chin up!’. I sigh and run to the boys’ locker room to change and meet the other girls to walk to the Starbuck’s down the block for a quick cup of coffee.

An hour and a load of caffeine later, I meet Mummy-dearest outside Starbucks and she drives us home. Of course, I have to tell her all about the day and she frowns when I am done. She says, “Paige, Hon, this isn’t healthy for you. There’s absolutely no reason for you to have to put up with this crap! We can get you into Rose Academy—I’ve checked it out, it has a really good reputation…”

I want to scream at her, but take a really DEEP breath and blow it out before I interrupt, “Look, Angi. I know you believe it’s best for me to just dodge this… But, at some time, I’m going to have to enter the REAL world, right? I mean…”

Angi glares at me and says, “Paige, please don’t interrupt me like that! It’s VERY bad manners! Going to a private school isn’t dodging the issue—and I DON’T think that dodging ANY issue is best for you! Do you REALLY think that after all the time we’ve spent together? Well?”

I shake my head no and say, “No, I guess not—but that is what it would feel like to ME. And don’t you always say ‘perception is reality’? I promise you again—if it gets overwhelming, then I’ll let you transfer me to a private school. For now, just let me handle this in this manner—it really DOES help me work through it all…”

Angi sighs and is quiet for a minute; clearly conflicted. Finally, she says, “OK, Paige. You’re strong-headed; that’s nothing new. Just don’t mistake that hard head for one that can’t be hurt—either physically OR mentally.”

I nod and say, “OK, Mummy. I promise.”

She groans and she changes the subject for the rest of the drive home…

Day three starts out the same as the last two—but it doesn’t stay that way for long…

I find Butch and start towards the bathroom. I am just about to enter when Jackie grabs my arm from behind and asks, “WHY are you going in THERE, Paige? That is certainly not where you belong!”

I shake my head and say, “It really makes no difference where I go. If I go in here I get stared at by boys that either think I’m a pervert or want to see my boobs. If I WERE to go into the girls’ room, I’d still get stared at because they think I’m a pervert.”

Jackie says, “But they’d get over it a WHOLE lot quicker than the boys—at least you fit in there. I’ve been talking to a lot of my friends and they agree…”

I shake my head and say, “No…there’s a law for TG students in public schools in this state—one that the school board FULLY supports. It says that if I want to use the girls’ room—even though I’m LEGALLY declared a girl—that I have to wear a wristband that identifies me as a TG.”

Jackie pales and says, “Th…tha…that’s TERRIBLE. But, I mean, everyone KNOWS now, ANYWAY, so why not?”

I say, “Pretend you had some genetic disease, Jackie—one that wouldn’t bother ANYONE but you. Now, pretend that you had to wear a wristband that tells the world that you HAVE that disease…puts it out there in everyone’s face—reminds them AND you that you have that disease. Would it matter to you that people knew you had it, or not?”

She shakes her head and says, “I see your point, but… I mean—you have to go to the BOYS’ room…EWWWWE!!!”

I giggle and say, “Jackie, I went there for fifteen years. It’s no biggie… The boys just need to behave… Well, and it DOES seem to stink more than it used to… But, I HAVE to go, now—too much coffee!”

I run into the bathroom, Butch right behind me (I can’t wait for Felix), and plow straight into Gerald Graham’s fist. It would have knocked me on my ass if Butch wasn’t right behind me to catch me. I taste blood running down the corner of my mouth from my split lip.

He says, “Look where you’re going PERVE! You might get hurt!”

Butch carefully stands me up and unceremoniously slams him into the back wall where he slides down it, clearly stunned, like in some cartoon. All that is missing are the stars circling around his head.

Twenty minutes later, we are in Miss Ferguson’s office after visiting the school nurse. Mrs. DICKenson says as we pass by her desk into the office, “I KNEW you were going to be trouble, ‘MISS’ Fitzsimmons. You’ll be expelled for sure in no time—then we’ll have our school back clean, like it’s meant to be!”

Ronnie pokes her head out the door as Butch, Graham, and I stand in front of her office waiting. She says, “THAT will be ENOUGH, Mrs. Dickenson!”

She says, “What? It’s TRUE!”

Ronnie shakes her head—and shuts the door after we enter.

I stand there with an ice-pack on my lip and Graham is holding one on the back of his head. Butch just looks worried.

Ronnie says, “OK. Who wants to tell me what happened?”

We all three stay quiet. Ronnie looks at me, obviously worried, and says, “I’m not going to ask again…Paige, what happened?”

I sigh and shrug. I take the ice pack off of my swollen lip long enough to say, “I was going to relieve myself and ran right into Gerald Graham’s outstretched fist. If it hadn’t been for Butch, I would have landed on my butt and who knows what else would have happened. As it was, Butch cleaned Graham’s clock and we are now in here talking to you.”

Ronnie nods and looks at Butch and asks, “Is that what happened?”

Butch nods.

Ronnie looks at Gerald and asks, “And what do YOU have to say for yourself?”

He gets all indignant and says, “It’s a setup! I have five witnesses that will all tell you that it was Fitzsimmons that started it all—him and his little patsy, here. Pervert!”

Ronnie says, “Well, as it happened with the door open, there happen to be about ten other witnesses that support MISS Fitzsimmons’ version of the story. It also was caught on the hall monitoring camera. That will be a three-day suspension for you, Mr. Graham. It will also be the end of your football playing days at this school.”

He screams, “WHAT? YOU CAN’T DO THAT! MY DAD’LL SUE YOU AND THIS WHOLE PERVERTED SCHOOL—YOU KNOW HE’S ON THE BOARD, TOO!”

Ronnie says, “Yes, and he’s on his way to pick you up. I don’t think he is too happy; but it isn’t ME he’s unhappy with… You may wait out there with Mrs. Dickenson until he gets here.”

He storms out and slams the door behind him.

Ronnie looks at me and says, “I told you I would play along until you got hurt. Now, you have… And, where was Felix? Was I not clear that I wanted BOTH with you?”

I shake my head and say, “He was across the school and I had to go!”

Ronnie sighs and says, “I’ll have to think about this. It’s obvious that this arrangement isn’t going to work—you may just HAVE to wear that band, like it or not…”

I shake my head and say, “No, Miss Ferguson. I don’t think you can MAKE me do that.”

She sighs and says, “No…not me. Your mother or Angi may see it differently, though. They have already threatened to pull you out here to go to a private school if we can’t contain the danger. Maybe they are right…”

I want to scream and yell about how unfair this all is. I shake my head and say, “No…I’m not giving in—not yet…”

Ronnie says, “Well, for now, I want you to go to the nurse’s office to use the restroom. I know that’s hugely inconvenient, but, the best I can do until I come up with something better…”

I glare at Graham as I walk past him, Butch in tow. I simply ignore Dick-enson’s ramblings and storm into the hall. I almost run into Jackie who is waiting there with a group of girls.

She asks, “Paige, are you OK?”

I nod and say, “I guess. I’m relegated to using the nurse’s station as my own private little restroom—for now. This all just SUCKS, Jackie…”

Jackie says, “Yeah…about the restroom, though… I…ummm…I looked into the law. It’s very specific and applies ONLY to transgender students. There’s nothing about those that aren’t. I also checked the school’s code—there’s nothing there that really prohibits NON-TG students from using the other gender’s restroom. It’s an unintended loophole, I’m sure. My Mom’s a lawyer and she helped me look into it all. She’s ready to file a stay in court to prohibit any change in the school’s code… So, come on…”

I look at her confused. She leads me—and the whole band of five other girls to the boys’ restroom. She pulls me in and they all make sour faces as Frenchie says, “EWWWE! It STINKS in here! Come on, girls, let’s hurry up and finish our business!”

There are three boys in the restroom at the urinals and they nearly pee all over themselves in surprise. They just gawk as the girls take turn in the stalls; one in and one standing watch at each door. When we are all done, we take over the sinks and mirror to check our makeup.

My lip is still swollen and sore, but I can’t help grin at the look and the guy’s faces as they watch us. Two of them actually used to be pretty good friends—now, they won’t talk to me. I sigh and carefully put gloss on my lips.

We leave the bathroom and run right into Ronnie as we exit. She does NOT look happy.

Thirty minutes later, she is grinning, though—after Jackie brings her up to speed.

She says, “Brilliant! Not the BEST solution, but very creative… Now, I just have to figure out how to keep the boys out of the GIRLS’ bathroom… Anyway, your Mom is taking the case to court against the wristbands? Does she really think she can win? And who’s paying?”

Jackie says, “She’s doing it pro-bono. But, the ACLU is kicking in support, too.”

Paulette, who is among the group says, “Jackie’s Mom is one of the best lawyers in the State. If anyone can do it, she can!”

Ronnie nods and says, “Well, be careful, girls. It seems Paige’s security detail just grew some today—and got much more diverse!”

We all giggle and she sends us on to class.

o~O~o

Later, I run into Terry Morrison in the hall on the way to fourth period. Terry used to be my best friend in ninth grade—then, we sort of split ways when we got to high school; I’m not even sure why. He walks up to me and matches my stride.

He says, “Hi…Paige, is it?”

I nod and say, “Hi, Terry. It’s been a while…”

He says, “Yeah…so…do you maybe want to talk…you know…later?”

I slow down and look over at him. He doesn’t have a mean look on his face—if anything, there is an honestly friendly look on his face. He is the first guy that has really shown any sort of true interest in…me…

I say, “Sure. Do you have a free period? Mine is fifth. I have to go to ballet straight after school, or we could go for a coffee…”

He nods and says, “I have fifth free, too. Want to meet by old Rawlings’ statue?”

I say, “Sure. Sounds good. And, Terry…thanks!”

He just nods and moves on ahead to get to his class.

I suffer through French, my fourth period class, and hurry to the statue on the grounds that is the likeness of the ‘town hero’ and who the school is named after.

Terry is already standing there when I arrive. He says, “Hey, Paige.”

I sit on the bench by the statue and he sits down next to me. He asks, “So…don’t take this the wrong way…but, what’s going on? I’ve know you a long time…and you never showed any interest in being a girl. Don’t get me wrong…I could care less. I just don’t get it.”

I nod and sigh. I look at him and he is looking at me, intent on understanding.

Finally, I decide to tell him the truth. I say, “OK, Terry. You were always a really good friend. But…please don’t let others know what I’m about to tell you. It’s really no one’s business…”

He simply nods and I know I can trust that nod.

I tell him the whole story and his eyes bug out in places. When I am done, he is more than just pissed.

He asks, “And what happened to that jackass that tricked you into this?”

I shake my head and say, “Suffice it to say that he is paying for his crime…”

He nods and says, “Well, I hope it has something to do with rotting in Hell…”

I giggle and say, “Something like that…”

Terry says, “And…you’re really doing OK? I mean…”

I sigh and say, “Yeah…mostly. If people would just let me be me… All of this TG stuff is ridiculous. I’m still ME, you know… Girl…boy…it doesn’t really matter. That is window-dressing for me, at this point. I can’t truly be either…this is just what I can be closer to than anything. But…I’m still me…”

Terry nods and says, “Yeah, it sucks, man… Oops! Well, you know what I mean!”

I giggle and he looks at me in a funny way and says, “You really ARE adjusting to your new lot in life… Well, I promise to keep your confidence…but, it might help if others knew…”

I shake my head and say, “But, it shouldn’t MATTER!”

He nods and says, “I get it…you always WERE a stickler on principle. Just think about it, though… I know that Joey and Gavin have asked me if I know anything… Don’t you think they deserve to understand, too?”

I sigh and feel tears welling in my eyes. I force them back and say, “OK…I’ll think about it…”

We hurry to make it to our sixth period class—the last of the day for us.

o~O~o

Ballet is tough the first time back after break and I am beat when I get out. I really just want to go home and soak in a hot tub of really bubbly water. So, I am not really too happy to see Joey and Gavin waiting for me when I get home.

Momma just shrugs and leaves us in the kitchen to talk. Misty puts out a pitcher of lemonade and the two gawk at her—I am sure she does look really weird to someone at first sight. Well, she looks weird to ME and I am WELL past first sight…

After Misty withdraws, Joey says, “Terry told us he had talked to you today. He wouldn’t tell us ANYTHING you told him, though. Vi…Paige…we were BEST friends until this past summer—then you were gone to that camp and we had NO idea where you were—you just cut us off, man… Then you come back to school…as a girl…”

I sigh and say, “I’m sorry, guys. It wasn’t my choice not to let you know where I was; there was a strict no-phone policy at camp. NO ONE knew where I was outside of my Momma.”

Gavin shakes his head and asks, “So…what gives? You just woke up from Butch plowing you over and decide to be a girl? Dude…ette… Come on! We don’t care if that’s what you want. We may not understand it—but, I for one, would like to.”

Joey nods and says, “Yeah…it’s sort of scary that we never had ANY idea…”

I sigh and can’t fight back the tears this time. I say, “It’s because there wasn’t any idea for you TO have, you jerks!”

I finally smile through my tears to let them know I’m not mad at them…and I tell them the story. I know that Misty is lurking in the background, so I lay some of it on thick—and wonder if there is any remorse in her at this moment, at all.

The guys are, like Terry was, totally pissed. They are ready to get a mob and lynch Allen (they never met him—and, of course, have no idea he and Misty are the same person).

I say, “Relax guys. Allen is paying for what he did…it is actually a much worse punishment than what I’m going through, in a way. I didn’t ask that it turn out this way—for either of us. As for me, please don’t worry about me, guys. I’ll be fine, if people will just stop treating me like a freak and just let me be ME… I told Terry this today and I’ll tell you. I’m still ME inside. Am I doing girly things now? Yes…but that’s just because, you know me—I have to be the best at whatever I do… If I’m going to be a girl, well… BUT, I’ll still kick BOTH of your butts at Battlefront!”

We talk for a bit more and I see them to door and FINALLY go to get that bath…

o~O~o

The rest of the week is nothing but strange…

As it is, a load of boys DO go to the girls’ bathroom when it gets out what we had started. It doesn’t really last long, though… Once they figure out that there is nothing to see…and that there are only lines for the stalls…or chatty girls putting on makeup at the mirror…they mostly give up. I have no idea what they THOUGHT they would see (well, thinking back to my ‘Vick’ days, maybe I do…), but by the end of the day, most guys are back in the boys’ room—but, then again, so am I with my posse…

Terry, Joey, and Gavin all start treating me almost like nothing ever happened. Of course, something DID happen and things AREN’T the same, but we start working through it and my little band of people that see me as a person and not a ‘thing’ is growing.

Jackie’s mom DOES file that lawsuit on Wednesday. I am told not to expect anything soon, though…

What DOES happen soon, by Thursday night that is, is an emergency session of the school board and ‘concerned’ parents (like 98% of the parents in school). Thanks to Jackie’s mom’s preemptive strike, there is nothing they can change in the school code until after the court rules. Of course, this just riles the parents up even more and they threaten to wholesale keep their kids home…

All of the controversy leads to an emergency ruling on Friday by the Circuit Court that the law requiring TGs to wear a wristband to go to the bathroom of their legal gender is unconstitutional—and so is the school’s code regarding transgendered individuals. The board IS allowed to change the school code to require kids to GO to the bathroom that corresponds with their legal status, though.

All of this means that, starting Monday, guys will go to the boys’ room and gals will go to the girls’ room—and that includes me!

So call me bummed when Jackie calls me on Sunday and says, “I have bad news, Paige—Mom heard through channels that the appeals court is taking up the wristband issue on appeal…”

I will once again be extremely busy with work-related issues the rest of the week and will likely not get another chapter posted until this weekend. Paige will return in all her glory at that point, though!

HUGS!

Monday morning arrives all too quickly and my head is awash with conflicting emotions and thoughts…

I know that I will be going to the GIRLS’ bathroom today, which is, as all along, not that big an issue to ME. BUT, because the appeals court is taking on the wristband case, the lower court’s decision is being put on hold—meaning that I WILL have to wear the band. At this point, there is no choice—the school code has been changed forcing me into the girls’ bathroom based on my legal status as ‘female’. The state law forces me into the wristband based on my status as ‘transgender’. My only other option is to give in to Angi and go to private school (or home schooling, I guess would be another possibility, if not currently an option).

I sigh and feel like punching the big stuffed bear on my bed. I resist and get ready instead.

For some reason, I decide to go EXTRA-girly today. I push the school dress code limits to the max and Angi nearly chokes when I come down the stairs in five-inch stilettos, an ultra-short (well, by school standards) skirt, and a ton (well, again by school standards) of cleavage showing. There is a waft of the most flowery perfume I have that follows me.

She chokes back a giggle and asks tongue-in-cheek, “Is there something up I need to know about? Some interview, maybe…?”

I grin and shake my head, “No…I just felt like…THIS…,” I motion to my clothes with my hands, “I don’t know… It just seems…RIGHT, you know?”

Mummy says, “Well, no…” She laughs at the look on my face and continues, “But as long as you have a reason…”

I grab some coffee and a bagel and we are off to school. Mummy drives today—she is not quite ready to turn her baby over to my five-inch heels (or so SHE says…) I eat my bagel and sip my coffee on the way. When we get there, I flip down the visor and quickly add some lip gloss, take a deep breath, and accept a quick kiss on the cheek before getting out.

Cognizant of the VERY short skirt I have on, I am extra careful to swivel my legs out, closely held together, and look every bit the role of a really hot girl getting out of the Porsche in my towering heels…

I make my way inside and to the front office where I know Ronnie is waiting for me. I make my way past a smirking Mrs. DICK-enson to Ronnie’s office and knock. I enter when I hear the requisite, “Come on in!”

Ronnie smiles at me and exclaims, “My! Paige—you’re certainly pushing the limits, today. But, you look AWESOME, girl!”

I smile and thank her.

She continues, “Well, as I know YOU know, the court has put things on hold—and the school board has changed the rules around here… Soooooo….you DO have to use the proper bathroom and other facilities, now. Buuuut, you also have to wear this, I’m afraid…”

She holds out a beautiful bracelet—I’m stunned at it.

She giggles and says, “The law species the minimum requirements for the wristband. This clearly meets those requirements—it is green and conspicuous. The fact that it is not some cheap rubber thing that some stupid senator was envisioning is beside the point.”

I admire the oxidized (and thus green) copper band that is studded with emeralds and diamonds. I know the stones are fake, but it is still a beautiful piece of art.

She smiles and says, “Each one is unique—yours actually has REAL stones, so please be careful with it.”

I look at her in shock. I stutter, “R…r…real stones? Wait! Each one? Are you expecting more of…’us’…?”

She giggles and says, “Well, I’m sure there will be more transgendered kids that will come through here, eventually. But, no, that’s not what I meant. See? Mine is different than yours! Well, and mine doesn’t have REAL stones—I don’t have the benefactor that YOU do!”

I look at her wrist and notice for the first time that she is wearing a similar bracelet. I am stunned into complete silence.

She smiles and says, “You have quite the enterprising friends… You should hurry on to class—you don’t want to be late. Don’t forget to put on your bracelet, though. I’m afraid I must insist!”

I put the bracelet on, as if in a trance, and walk out the door and past Mrs. DICK-enson. I think I hear her mumble something about ‘sluts’, but I can’t be sure. I actually forget all about it as I notice several of the girls that walk past me wearing similar bracelets to mine—each one unique, though…

Then I nearly fall out when I notice that several GUYS are wearing bracelets, too. They are somewhat wider than the ones the girls are wearing, but have the same basic design elements.

I nearly run into Jackie and Paulette as I watch this spectacle—wide-eyed.

Jackie giggles and says, “HEY! Watch it, girl!” Then after I don’t respond, “Earth to Paige! Come in, Paige!”

I shake my head and blink. I ask, “What in the world is going on?”

Jackie laughs and says, “Well…if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, right?”

I give her a blank look.

She giggles and says, “When I found out what was happening with the courts, I asked Mom for some details. It turns out that there are specific details that have to be met for the wristbands, according to the law, but there are loopholes big enough to drive the moon through. YOUR wristband has to be unique and distinguishable as one for transgendered individuals—a girl, in your case.”

I say, “OK, I’ll bite…go on…”

She nods and says, “Well, YOURS is distinguishable from any others in that it has REAL stones…and it is an 1/8 of an inch NARROWER than any other out there. Also, YOURS is the only one with emeralds… The GUYS’ bands are 3/16 of inch WIDER than any of the girls’—including YOURS…”

I am still lost and admit it, “OK, but why are people wearing these? I mean…”

Paulette chimes in, “Well, I have a friend that likes to make jewelry. Jackie’s Mom paid her for a whole box of these she was making for an upcoming art and jewelry show—123 in all… She had to make one especially for you really quickly—but, it was an overall win-win. We’re GIVING them away—just asking for a voluntary donation, if they’re so inclined. They went away like hotcakes—and we’ve made over $300.00 for any cause that you choose. Although, it has to be an official charity,” she giggles.

I am blown away, “Your Mom paid for these, Jackie? Really? Why?” I feel tears coming on and know I am not going to be able to stop them.

Jackie comes over and hugs me. She says, “You’re my FRIEND, dufus! Plus, she genuinely wants to right this wrong. My parents are PLENTY wealthy enough to send me to ANY of the private schools around. My Mom is a supporter of public education, though—so, she wants it right!”

I smile at her through the tears flooding my eyes and flowing down my cheek. I look at Paulette and she smiles brightly. She says, “I prefer to stay a mystery to ALL, Sweetie! That is my strength!” She giggles profusely.

I roll my eyes in fun and they both pull me to the girls’ room to fix my makeup.

We go in and it is nearly empty, since the bell is about to ring. The girls in there (I don’t know them, really) don’t give me a second look—other than at my ‘racoon’ eyes and quickly leave. I do hear them muttering, as the leave, something about it must have something to do with my boyfriend… It feels really good to be accepted at that level. Even if they likely DON’T realize it is ME they are talking about—I am just one of the girls with a girl’s problems...

I make it to class just before the second bell rings and barely make it to my seat. I notice four others in the classroom wearing a bracelet. Since there are about 1200 students in the school, there is only about one bracelet available for every ten students—PLUS, they will have to wear them at some steady frequency for this to have a real impact, but I can’t help getting a REALLY warm feeling in my heart at the level of friendship these girls have shown me.

The level of friendships that I am developing—or maybe better said, maintaining—becomes clear at lunch. I make my way to the cafeteria and run into Terry, Joey, and Gavin. Terry and Joey are both wearing bracelets and Gavin looks a little down.

He explains, “They were out of bands by the time I got to the box, so I had to add my name to the waitlist.”

I give him a look that clearly conveys my confusion.

Terry says, “There was such a high demand for the bands—especially after people found out what they are REALLY for—that there is a list with another over 300 names on it. Brenda, Paulette’s friend is going to be a very busy girl for the next couple of weeks—not to mention make a hefty profit. She has even agreed to give ten percent of her overall proceeds to your pot. Have you decided who to give the money to, yet? I hear there are people going back and donating even more!”

At that moment, Jackie comes over and says, “Yes, that’s true. We’re at over $600.00, with another over $200.00 pledged.”

Joey says, “Be careful, though guys. There IS a faction at school that is REALLY unhappy about this—while we have diluted the target on PAIGE’S back…we have painted one on our own. We’re going to have to be vigilant, OK?”

I pale and say, “You guys shouldn’t have done that—you need to take them off!”

I see a resounding shaking of the heads. Gavin says, “Sorry, Paige—this isn’t just about YOU! This community needs to get into the twenty-first century.” He blushes and says, “You may have been the catalyst, but there is much more at stake here than you know…”

Before I can get any more out of him, lunch is over and we have to go back to class. I make it clear, though, that this discussion is not over.

o~O~o

I stand in front of the girls’ locker room door after school and nervously shift my feet. It is time for the first cheerleading practice and after this whole day of surprises, I am not sure what to expect now.

I jump when I hear, “You just going to stand there and block the door or are you going in?” The serious tone dissolves into a giggle as I turn around and see Chrissy coming up behind me.

I sigh and say, “I guess I’m going in. I’m just not sure what to expect.”

Chrissy smiles a genuine smile and says, “I think you’ll be OK.” She holds up her arm to show me the green copper band on her arm.

I shake my head in wonderment and follow her in. Flo, Penelope, and the others are getting ready and neither blink an eye at me coming in. I go to the locker that now has my name on it and start getting ready. I am not at all self-conscious about the fact that I am in a room of girls getting ready—after all, it is no different at camp. I AM surprised that they don’t seem to care, though.

Finally, Flo, sensing my insecurity, says, “Paige. Relax—we don’t care. You have never given any of us the sense that you’re anything but a girl.”

I sigh and nod my head. I say, “Thanks, Flo. It…it…”

Penelope says, “Girls, go on out and start warming up. I want to speak to Paige alone a minute. Ginny, you’re in charge—get them whipped into shape!”

The girls quickly file out and I hear Ginny yelling at them, like some drill sergeant, to get warmed up.

Penelope rolls her eyes and says, “I swear that girl needs to join the army!”

I giggle nervously.

Penelope looks at me and says, “Paige, I want you to know some things—this stays between us girls, though—as in between US, OK?”

Surprised, I nod.

She continues, “Paulette tells me you’re in a serious and committed relationship with another girl. Is that true?”

I simply nod. She nods back thoughtfully. Finally, after a few seconds, she seems to steel her resolve and says, “OK, that helps. I know I have the reputation of being a bitch—a real mean girl. That is really a sham—a façade to hide the real me. I don’t know how long you have known that you’re a girl, but…I have known that I’m gay for quite some time. It’s something that I’m certainly NOT ashamed of, but something that I’m sure you understand I can’t really let out in this environment. Or, at least I thought so…”

I quietly listen.

She continues, “When you came in, I was—correctly, I have to say—afraid that it would shine an unwanted light on the LGBT community here at school. There has historically been a tenuous ‘truce’—sort of like used to be in the military—of don’t ask, don’t tell…”

I nod, but remain silent.

She looks at me and says, “Now, I have to say, I’m STILL scared of how this will all turn out—but, I think it’s a GOOD thing it’s finally being forced out into the open…”

I blink…and wait for the other shoe to drop.

She smiles and says, “I know you think that I was giving you a raw deal at try-outs. It’s true—I WAS discriminating against you because you’re TG. It had nothing to do with me being bigoted, though—I simply didn’t want the spotlight on the team.”

I nod slowly.

She continues, “Well, and honestly, I was a little jealous at the attention my girlfriend was giving you. She was finally able to convince me that there was nothing to worry about and that you needed to be a part of this team. I had a reputation to uphold, though—so, I put you on as reserve. I will have to say, you really CAN dance, girl!”

Then it hits me. I look at her and ask, “You mean, you and…”

She laughs and says, “Yes, Paulette and I have been together since our sophomore year. Our plan was to keep it quiet until after senior year; then graduate and lead our life together as it should be. That’s why I ask you to keep this to yourself, at least for now. VERY few people REALLY know—although, I’m sure many more suspect.”

“Well, THAT explains a LOT,” I giggle. I go over and give her a hug and say, “Your secret is safe with me!”

She hugs me back and says, “OK, enough of this mushy stuff—get out there and get warmed up!”

I run and see Paulette on the sidelines; she just gives me a conspiratory wink.

o~O~o

I get up, extremely sore from last night’s practice, and get myself ready for another day. I can’t help but wonder if there can be anything that could top yesterday’s surprises. I guess I shouldn’t have thrown that out to the universe—it was not a challenge, though, I promise!

I get out of Mummy’s Porsche and click up the front steps. I’m not AS close to the limits of the rules today, but I AM certainly dressed as the girly-girl I am now labeled. Frenchie comes up the steps from the other side at the same time I do.

She greets me with a hug and we walk in together. Then I notice it—there is a strange…tension…in the air. I look at Frenchie and it is clear that she senses it, too.

Jackie comes over and hugs us. She says, “Be careful, girls. It seems there is a new wristband that’s becoming popular here at school—the ‘purist’ band. If you see someone sporting a red band, be careful. Paige, Miss Ferguson wants to see us in an hour.”

I look around and see a smattering of red bands—red copper with red stones. I later find out that the boys have rubies and the girls have garnets.

Jackie and I go to the front office at the allotted time and I can’t help but notice the red band on Mrs. DICK-enson’s wrist. She glowers at us and tells us to take a seat.

After several minutes, a group of boys and girls, led by Gerald Graham comes out of Ronnie’s office. They all have the new red bands.

Ronnie motions us in and surprises me by saying, “Hi girls, please have a seat. We’re waiting on a few other people.” I can’t help but notice the green band on her desk and not on her arm.

After a few minutes, Felix, Butch, Terry, Joey, and Gavin filter in—then Penelope and Paulette. My jaw drops. It hits the floor when Momma, Mummy, and Sheila walk in with another woman that I don’t know—until Jackie whispers in my ear that it is her Mom.

Ronnie has us all sit at the big conference table and calls the impromptu meeting to order.

She says, “Good morning, everyone. I want to thank all of you for coming in. This is a serious matter, that I’m afraid is further complicating things here at school and now has the police involved. They are investigating whether the bands constitute ‘gang’ insignia. Until that has been cleared up, I’m not going to put a stop to the bands—because I can’t stop one side without stopping the other.”

Sheila and Mrs. O’Dell both nod their heads.

Ronnie continues, “So,” she looks at Felix and Butch, “I’m going to ask you two to continue keeping an eye out on Paige. At least it’s not bathroom duty, for now. The rest of you have volunteered in other ways…”

Terry speaks up, “Yes, Miss Ferguson. Joey, Gavin and I will be more eyes and ears and lookouts. We can’t be the physical sort of lookout like Felix and Butch, but we CAN be supportive in other ways.”

Ronnie nods and Penelope speaks up, “Paulette and I have talked this over. It’s not fair that Paige bear this completely on her own. We’re going to publicly acknowledge our relationship.”

I gasp and Paulette reaches over and grabs my hand.

Penelope continues, “Furthermore, we had a quick meeting with the rest of the cheer squad—sorry, Paige, but you couldn’t be involved.” I nod and she continues, “There was a unanimous decision that Paige is one of us and she is firmly behind the Pom-Pom fortress. I may not have that much sway in that regard after I go public, but trust me when I say the rest do. I guess we will both benefit from that fortress together, Paige.”

I fight the tears and nod with a trembling lip.

Sheila speaks up, “Grace and I,” she looks at Jackie’s Mom and continues, “have been talking. She is clearly more the expert in these matters than I, but we’re pooling resources and we have the legal part of this covered—I’m SURE this will end up in court. The problem is that there will be appeals, no matter who wins. This could ultimately end up in front of the Supreme Court. I can’t even guarantee that this will be resolved by the time PAIGE graduates.”

Mrs. O’Dell nods and looks at Penelope and Paulette and asks, “Are you sure you want to do this? It is a near impossibility that this will be resolved this year—and you have successfully stayed under the radar, so far.”

Paulette grabs Penelope’s hand and says, “Yes, Mrs. O’Dell. We’re sure.”

She nods her head and says, “OK. Everyone in this room is very brave. Let’s make sure that everyone stays safe. By the way, I’m sure that everyone has noticed that Ms. Ferguson isn’t wearing her band. Regardless of her personal beliefs, she can’t take sides in this—officially—by wearing a band. It is, however, clear that she is on the side of justice, so thank you, Ms. Ferguson!”

Ronnie blushes as loud applause and cheers erupt around the room—and the meeting adjourns.

The adults all stay behind for a little more talk and the group of us students file out. Mrs. DICK-enson glares at us all again as we open the door to the hall. We file out, talking amongst ourselves, and walk right up on a large wall of red-banded students that is clearly blocking our way.

I look at Butch and Felix and know that if things get ugly, there is no way they can handle this many. That idiot Graham is out front and center of the crowd—many of which are on the football team. They don’t look at all friendly. And to think I used to be friends with most of them—even George and Rupe, my former best friends.

Before anyone can make a move, Chrissy and Ginny come up behind us in full cheerleading uniforms. They stand out in front of our group and glare at the football players on the other side.

Ginny says, “OK, for those boys IDIOT enough to do anything stupid, remember that you HAVE or WANT girlfriends… The cheerleaders will NOT have ANYTHING to do with ANYONE that discriminates against ANYONE that is a lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgendered. Do I make myself clear?”

There is a lot of grumbling, then mumbling, then quiet as the footballers slink off. That cuts the other crowd in half—at least in terms of bulk. We stand a chance…

At that moment, there is an announcement over the PA, “All students will go to the auditorium IMMEDIATELY for an emergency assembly. Please do so in a quiet and orderly manner.”

Before the shock of the announcement can wear off either side, Ronnie comes up behind our group from her office and says, “Oh, good. I see some of you are already on your way. Come along then.”

We start walking and I slip up beside Ronnie and say, “Just in the nick of time.”

She says grimly, “I just HAPPENED to see the monitor as it switched to this camera’s view. I’m going to have to have a talk with Mrs. Dickenson, who was just watching it all play out.”

We all file into the auditorium; Ronnie last. The teachers are keeping a careful eye out for any sign of violence.

When everyone is seated and Ronnie has called for silence, she starts out by saying into the microphone, “I want to say that I am both as horrified by the recent events in this school as I am proud. There is a group of students who has done everything in their power to support the victim of a heinous crime and I am supremely proud of them. There is another group of students—and administration/faculty—who have been doing quite the opposite. I am horrified by that—and will NOT stand for it!”

There is a lot of mumbling that makes its way through the crowd.

Ronnie calls for silence again and says, “There are a few students who have decided to say some things today—and one in particular, who I HOPE decides to do so before this is over. Penelope…”

Penelope goes up to the microphone and says in a nervous, but steady voice, “Hi, everyone. As you know, I have been the proud head cheerleader since I was voted into that role at the end of last year. This, being my senior year, will be my last—so, it’s time to be completely honest… Paulette…?”

Paulette comes up onto the stage with Penelope and to the microphone. Penelope takes her hand and continues, “To my FRIENDS, I’m actually ‘Penny’. You have to EARN that right to call me that, though. At this point, there is only one person in this school that I allow to call me that—and, up until now, only off school grounds. That is my GIRLFRIEND, Paulette. Yes, I mean girlfriend as in lesbian couple.”

She looks at me and says, “Paige, you have earned that honor now, as well. As have a few others I will let know later.” She looks at Paulette and gives her a kiss, then says, “Paulette, I guess we don’t have to hide it anymore.”

There is stunned silence, then “Ooooos” and “Ewwwwws” in the crown as Paulette kisses Penny back and says, “Nope! I love you, Penny!”

Ronnie takes the microphone back and says, “OK, girls…let’s limit the PDA, OK?” She is grinning ear to ear, though.

After Penny and Paulette get down, there is a small string of others that go to the microphone and make it publicly known that they are lesbian, gay, or bisexual. I am floored when one of those individuals is Terry, who admits that he is ‘bi’. Suddenly, Felix goes from being THE openly gay person in school to being ONE of them...

Ronnie looks at me with a questioning, but encouraging look. I sigh and go to the microphone.

I take a deep breath and say, “I know that most—well, likely ALL of you that knew me before this summer—were surprised when I came back to school as a girl. There are very few here that actually know the truth behind that fact. Yes, I am now a girl—legally. Yes, I am classified as transgendered—legally. No, I did not CHOOSE to be a girl—at least not originally.”

There is a large murmuring in the crowd.

I continue, “You may have heard transgendered people say they were BORN the wrong sex and that they have no choice—any more than any ‘normal’ boy or girl.” I make air quotes around normal.

There is more buzz.

I continue, “That is NOT what I mean when I say I had no choice—although I completely believe those that ARE TG when they say that. What I mean is that, when I woke up from my concussion—it was actually more like a mini-coma—I was TRICKED into attending a camp for the LGBT community. That in and of itself would not have been a problem—but I was deceived into thinking by someone I trusted that there was an ‘entrance exam’ to get into the camp. I was given the answers by that person I trusted and told it was my only option to attend a camp over the summer. The thing is…that ‘exam’ was actually an LGBT spectrum profile—and because I had the answers, I got a ‘perfect score’ for being transgendered.” I again used air quotes.

The buzz gets louder.

I sigh and continue, “I was then further convinced that the camp was a ‘creative’ camp and that I shouldn’t question it, if I was asked to do girly things—that was supposedly just part of it. You have to remember, because of what I was told by that person, I thought that I would be stuck in the hospital ALL summer if I didn’t go along…”

The buzz turns into a roar.

I motion for quiet and continue, “By the time I—and my doctor—figured out that it was all a scheme to turn me into a girl, it was too late. I had already started an irreversible experimental treatment. I had—HAVE—in reality two options. Continue developing as a girl—or stay where I currently am developmentally for the rest of my life. At the time I was originally faced with the decision, I had barely started showing signs of female puberty…”

There are loud shouts of rage.

I let it go on for a bit and then say above the uproar, “I decided to become a girl—and I’m proud of my decision. Yes, I started all of this controversy by coming to school here—but the person that really started it was going to be my stepfather and he did it all in an attempt to take over my family company. So—here I am; the freak that some of you so love to hate!”

All of a sudden there is an eerie quiet—I am not sure if it is shock or shame. Then a voice from the audience, “What happened to your stepfather?”

I shrug and say, “He isn’t—and never will be—my stepfather. He is being punished—that is all I will say about that…”

Ronnie comes and gives me a hug and takes over the microphone.

She says, “OK, now that it is all out in the open, I expect that this red versus green nonsense will CEASE! I don’t care if you want to wear a bracelet in support of whatever. The police have ruled the bracelets out as gang insignia—FOR NOW. If there is ANY sort of violence around this, however, I WILL have the police in here and there WILL be an investigation into a HATE CRIME. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?”

There is dead silence.

She asks again, “DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?”

There is a mumbling of what sounds like acquiescence.

She says, “Good! DISMISSED!”

I wish I could say that was the end of it—unfortunately, I can’t. But more about that later…

Oh, and remember George and Rupe, my best friends before the accident—the ones that sort of replaced Terry, Joey, and Gavin? The ones that I always got a ride with to practice BEFORE Allen came along? The ones in the ‘red’ group about to do…whatever before assembly? After my talk on the stage—they come around to me completely red-faced and want to be friends again. I notice the red bands are gone. I MAY forgive them. (Of course I will—but they will have to stew a bit, first!)

o~O~o

I get home that evening after cheerleading practice—AND an hour of private ballet lessons. Needless to say, I am BEAT! But, the physical activity was good to help relieve the stress. Mummy just drops me off and has to go to some meeting with Momma, Sheila, Mrs. O’Dell, and a bunch of others.

I go inside and am glad to know that Misty has the ‘night off’. I know she is down in the guest house—but she won’t bother me. Of that I am sure—well, PRETTY sure. I lock the doors, just in case.

I run a HOT, bubbly bath and relax in it after dialing Francie and putting her on speakerphone. I let her in on the day’s events—and, of course, she is both appalled and excited at the same time. I get out of the tub when the water gets cold and tell my love good night.

I pamper myself with lotion and am surprised when I get a text message. I recognize the number instantly and feel sick when I see it.

It is ALBERT’S number.

I look at the text and read it with dread, ”Hi, Paige. I know you never want to hear from me again, but I really had nothing to do with my father’s evil ways. Yes, I have been a pain to you as a kid, but isn’t that what kids do? (smiley face) Can we talk? Please? I can call you if you will let me. Your ‘almost’ sister, Alecia.

I wipe the tears from my eyes. I can’t believe the twerp that ratted me out to Momma about all that stupid small stuff wrote this…

I text back, ”Hi, Alecia. Yes, you may call me. You have my number. (smiley face)”

My phone rings almost immediately. I answer, “Hi,…Alecia…is it, now?”

I hear a distinctly different voice on the other end of the phone. One that seems more mature—and much more conflicted. She says, “Yes. My grandparents helped me choose it. Do you like it?”

I say, “It’s a pretty name—but the main thing is that YOU like it. How are you doing?”

She says, “I…I…I don’t know. I’m so confused. Not about who I am…I AM Alecia. I always have been…”

I wait and when she doesn’t continue, I prompt her, “So…?”

I can tell she is crying. She says, “I… Well, my grandparents are SO supportive—even if they don’t know how to really handle this.”

It really hits me at that moment. I just turned fifteen, which makes Alecia thirteen…this has to be REALLY hard for her…

She continues, “There aren’t really any support groups in the little town they…we live in—the closest one is over an hour away. They try… I suppose I’m lucky, though. I’ve heard about that law there—at least in this State there isn’t anything like that—although, I’ve heard they may try to put one in here, too.”

I continue quietly listening.

She keeps talking, “No one at school knows anything about Albert—I was able to just start here as Alecia, which has been great. But, I can’t do any sports—and I have to use the bathroom in the nurse’s office. Everyone thinks it’s just because of a medical condition… My grandparents are the ones that want it that way—they’re just afraid someone will find out and I will get bullied…”

Finally, she gets to the million-dollar question.

She asks, “Paige, how do you handle it? It’s all so overwhelming!”

I sigh. I’m not a counselor—she really needs someone like Mummy…

I say, “Well, I AM a little older, Alecia. That helps. I also have a lot of family and friends that help support me. I didn’t want anyone to know—getting it out has both helped and complicated things. I don’t have THE answer for you, Sweetie. Would you like me to see if maybe Mummy…Angi…can talk to you over the phone? She is good at these things…”

I can hear her sniffle. She says, “Would you? I don’t know that my grandparents can afford another doctor, though. The one I’m going to doesn’t specialize in these things, but he is doing the best he can…”

I fight back more tears. I still can’t believe this is the little monster that tormented me just a few months ago.

I say, “Let me see what I can do, Alecia. OK? And you can call me anytime you need to. Just text me first, OK? Just to make sure I have time at that moment.”

She says, “Thank you, Paige. I really AM sorry for the way I treated you as Albert. I was just REALLY confused then and it just came out that way…”

I say, “It’s OK, Hon. Bye for now, OK?”

I hang up and let the tears flow for a few minutes; all of them for someone that I never thought I would EVER give a damn about.

o~O~o

After Momma and Mummy fill me in on the results of the big legal meeting, I fill them in on my conversation with Alecia.

At first, Momma is reluctant to get involved. Mummy, on the other hand is more willing.

She says, “Dawn—that poor child has nothing to do with her father. She has the opportunity to grow up in a loving environment and flourish—a LOT of people her grandparent’s age struggle with how to deal with these types of issues and it seems they are doing their best to support, Alecia.”

Momma says, “I know, Love. Give me at least a moment to be human and wallow in repulsion…” She giggles at the looks on our faces and continues, “OK. Moment over—so, what do you propose? I don’t think it best to bring her and Misty together in any way—at least not yet…”

Mummy says, “Oh, I absolutely agree—that would only complicate things even more for the poor girl. Let me give her grandparents a call tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do…”

o~O~o

School the next day is strange…almost…’normal’… If there is such a thing, anyway. The ‘greens’ and the ‘reds’ sort of leave each other alone. It is a tenuous truce—that much is clear, though.

The schoolday ALMOST ends on a good note—but, then disaster strikes at the very end…

We are in cheerleading practice and Penny and Ginny are really giving us a workout. Ginny is showing us a complex routine and ends it with a beautiful handstand, followed by a flip. She lands with her left foot in a hidden gopher hole that collapses under her weight. Everyone distinctly hears her ankle snap with a sickening ‘crack’…

We all rush to her as she whimpers in pain. I help Penny support her and we get her into Paulette’s car; then we take her straight to Mummy’s clinic.

Mummy stabilizes the fracture and gives her some medication for the pain while we wait for her parents to arrive. They then take her straight to the larger hospital where she will undergo orthopedic surgery to repair the complex fracture.

Mummy looks at the gathered crowd of the entire cheerleading squad as we sit in the hospital waiting room while Ginny is in surgery. She says, “I’m sorry girls, but I’m afraid that is the end of Ginny’s cheerleading career—at the very least for this year…”

Penny asks, “Will she be OK? I mean…where did that hole COME from?”

Mummy says, “Well, that is something the school is going to have to look into. Obviously, gopher holes on the playing field is not a good thing. As for Ginny, we’ll have to wait for the surgery to be completed, but I think she will be fine. She’ll have a long recovery, though. That is a nasty fracture…”

Two hours later, the surgeon comes out and speaks to Ginny’s parents and Mummy. They come over and tell us the news after that.

Ginny’s Mom says, “She’s going to be fine, girls. The fracture was completely fixable, but she is going to be out of commission for cheerleading for this year.”

Penny asks, “When can we see her?”

The surgeon says, “Why don’t you girls go home for tonight—it’s late and it will be a while before she is out of recovery; she needs her rest for tonight. You can go in and see her tomorrow after school, OK?”

We are all disappointed that we can’t see her, of course, but we ARE happy that she will be OK.

We all go back to school to get the stuff we had just thrown in and abandoned in the locker room to get Ginny taken care of. Penny packs up her things to give to her Mom and she looks at me and says, “Well, Paige. It looks like you’re officially on the squad, now. I wish it were under better circumstances, but welcome to the team!”

I shake my head and say, “Me too. This is awful! I mean, I’m happy to be able to step in, but…poor Ginny…”

Paulette smiles and says, “I’m sure she’ll be on the sidelines with me in no time. There’s no doubt she’ll be a sideline driver—just wait, you’ll see!”

We all laugh at that and a little of the pressure is relieved. She WILL be OK…

We give each other a big group hug and all go home for the night.

o~O~o

I look at the clock. It is a little after ten o’clock—what a day! I sigh as I wash and moisturize my face. Just as I am done, there is a knock on my door and Mummy comes in.

She smiles as she sits on my bed and watches me finish up at my vanity. She says, “Well, THAT was an exciting day. Not the kind of excitement I would normally hope for—but, at least it is something fairly normal for a school. Accidents like this happen…”

I nod my head and say, “Yeah, I guess. I wonder what will happen now—no one is going to trust that field.”

Mummy nods and says, “No. I’m sure Ronnie will handle that, though. What I came to tell you is, before all the excitement, I talked to Alecia’s grandparents.”

I turn around to look straight at her instead of through the vanity mirror.

She says, “As you know—they’re now her legal guardians and really are trying their best to both understand and support Alecia. Being two states over doesn’t help things, but I have agreed to some counseling over the phone—to both them AND Alecia. I have also agreed to work with her doctor to make sure she gets the proper medical support for her transition.”

I nod, wondering where this is going.

She continues, “If you’re still willing, I think it would be great if you can maintain contact with her.”

I nod and say, “Of course. I already told her that.”

Mummy smiles and says, “We may also try and work something out for her to come here over her school break.”

I give her a strange look and ask, “Is that a good idea with Misty, and all…?”

Mummy gives me a sly look and says, “Of course not—she won’t be staying HERE… I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind staying at my old house with us during that time? It would only be for about a week…?”

I smile and say, “Of course I will—I can’t wait to see Albert in a dress! I will have Alecia ready for Pinkdom this summer—no prob!”

Mummy rolls her eyes and says, “Maybe I need to rethink this…”

I giggle and she says, “I want to fully evaluate and assess her so that she gets the best care she can… Please hold off on the ‘Pinkdom’ until I know her score?”

I giggle some more and say in a mock evil tone, “We’ll see…mwa-ha-ha-ha-haaaaa!”

Mummy throws a pillow at me and we both laugh. I hug her good night and am soon sound asleep.

Author's Note: This is a bit of a transition chapter--it takes some unexpected twists that not all will like. These are necessary to tie some pieces together in later chapters.

The rest of the week is comparatively slow compared to the beginning. I settle into my place as a full team member on the cheer squad—although, we have to practice in the gym until the field can be fully inspected and ‘de-gophered’.

Alecia calls me twice and is all excited about her stay here in a few weeks, when we have fall break.

Madame Pratt intensifies her torture of my poor body…

Momma and Mummy continue working with the legal team in all-out prep for the case, since there is no absolute guarantee when it will happen. It will likely be months, but COULD be next week for all we know.
The ‘reds’ are eerily quiet; the ‘greens’ are slowly growing in number—at the exact pace that Brenda can make the bracelets. The funds from the donations and proceeds from the sales are quickly growing and I have narrowed down the organizations to choose from to donate them to.

So, I get up on Saturday and look forward to the afternoon—Francie is coming home for the night! I quickly get dressed and go downstairs around 8:30 to get some breakfast. Momma is already downstairs and sitting at the kitchen table with a fresh carafe of coffee on the table. She is just pouring a cup.

She says, “Good morning, Love. Did you sleep well?”

I nod and get a cup for myself—then pour some of the steaming heaven into it.

Momma smiles and says, “Angi is sleeping in. How about we have some French Toast—like in the old days. Just us two?”

I smile and say, “That sounds great!”

Momma says, “Misty has even learned to make it right!”

My face falls a bit—I am not convinced of that.

Momma giggles at my face and says, “No, really.” She pushes a virtual button on her phone and Misty comes in a couple of minutes later.

She says, “Yes, Mistress?”

Momma looks at her and says, “Paige and I would like French Toast for breakfast. Make sure it is done right, this morning, Misty.”

I look at her. She is in a submissive stance—almost cowering. She is further feminized even than when I saw her yesterday morning (the last time I saw her). Her hair is now in a feminine ‘page-boy’ style—going towards a slight shag. It has obvious highlights in it. She is also wearing obvious women’s pumps with four-inch stiletto heels. Otherwise, she is in her normal female clothing that is more on the androgynous side.

She actually curtseys and says, “Yes, Mistress,” and moves quickly to start our breakfast.

I shake my head and Momma continues our conversation as if this were the most normal thing in the world. She says, “What are your plans today, Love? I know that Francie is coming in late this afternoon—I thought maybe we could go shopping? I need to pick up some things…and it looks like you could maybe use some new bras…”

I laugh—my bras ARE getting a little on the smallish side. My blooming breasts are having a harder and harder time staying confined in the cups. My nipples are still growing, as well as my areolae…there is no hiding anything now…

I nod and say, “OK, Momma. That sounds like fun. Are we waiting for Mummy—or is it just us?”

Momma laughs and says, “I love it when you call her ‘Mummy’—I’m so glad you and her get along so well. Why don’t we see if she is awake when we’re ready and play it by ear?”

I nod and Misty places a plate of hot French Toast in front of us each. To my surprise, it is quite good! I say, “This is wonderful, Misty. Great job!”

She smiles in spite of herself. Momma just says, “Yes, Misty, it’ll do. You may go back to your cleaning, now…”

When she is gone, I look at Momma with a frown and ask, “Was that called for?”

Momma just looks at me and says, “Sweetie, I love you, you know that—but you need to leave Misty to me. I know you don’t agree—or understand—but there IS a method to this particular madness… Trust me, Love.”

I sigh and shake my head—and finish my breakfast. I really hate the way Momma and Mummy treat Misty, but, then again it is not as if she were a good person, either… And SOMETHING must be happening—this French Toast is GREAT! Not something that Allen would have been able to do…

We finish our breakfast and leave the plates for Misty to clean up. Mummy is still asleep, so we go out to Momma’s Mercedes and she lets me drive. Thirty minutes later, we are getting out at the mall and going into Victoria’s Secret.

I am measured for new bras and discover that I am now nearly a C-cup. Close enough that the salesgirl recommends I go ahead and get that size rather than the B++ that I would otherwise need. It seems clear that I am still ‘developing’ and will likely ultimately need the larger size.

I pick out several bras and matching thong panties. I take them to the register and nearly choke when Momma comes over with a really sexy corset. I waggle my eyebrows at her and she laughs. She just says, “Misty asked for it…”

I look at her and she seems serious, so I just let it drop as she pays. We walk through the mall and I get a couple pair of heels and two dresses. As we are walking back towards the car, I can’t quit thinking about that sexy corset…

Finally, I say, “Momma, do you think I’m too young for a corset and garters?”

She stops dead in her tracks and looks at me. She sits down heavily on a nearby bench and says, “Now, that is something I NEVER expected to hear from my only child! I guess you really ARE becoming a young woman, Paige.”

She looks at me seriously for a couple of long minutes, then says, “Well, if you weren’t with Francie…and I didn’t know you two so well, I would say ABSOLUTELY! But, under the circumstances…”

She gets up and smiles as she leads me back into Victoria’s Secret.

A half an hour later, we are back in her car and I am driving home. I can’t WAIT until we go out tonight and then bedtime…

o~O~o

I groan—in very small breaths as Mummy pulls the corset tight. I have about thirty minutes to finish getting ready before Francie gets here.

Mummy giggles and says, “Are you sure you want me to keep on?”

I groan and choke out, “Yes! I can’t believe I talked myself into this thing, but it will be worth it, right?”

Mummy pulls the strings tighter and says, “Yes, you WILL get used to it, but I’m not sure I understand WHY you want it?”

I take a shallow breath—there isn’t enough room for anything more. She pulls some more and I whisper, “I…I…I don’t know. It just seems…SEXY. Don’t you think?”

Mummy giggles and says, “Well, yes, I’ll have to admit it is. It seems your hormones are in full bloom, young lady. It’s a good thing I know your girlfriend very well! I think I may have to rethink you having to wait until you’re sixteen for that special prosthetic vagina…”

She tugs one final time and I feel really faint. She ties the corset off and I struggle to breathe.

Mummy says, “Breathe from your chest, Love—shallow breaths, but from up top. There isn’t any way to breathe with your lower abdomen like you’re used to. It’s a matter of retraining yourself.”

I nod and focus on my breathing. It gets better—not good, but BETTER.

She says, “If you’re really serious about wearing these torture devices, we need to get you a training corset to wear—you will have to wear it as much as possible. Even sleep in it to get your body shaped and conditioned for it.”

I look in the mirror and like the look of my waist being pulled in the full three inches it is by the corset. I nod and say, “I think I want to. I like this look!”

Mummy shakes her head and helps me get my stockings on and attached to the garters on the corset. Then she helps me into my new dress. It is JUST long enough to cover the garters, but the tops of my stockings peek out as I move and look really sexy. Finally, she helps me into my five-inch stilettos and I practice walking in the corset.

Because it is so stiff, there is really no way I can bend. It is also harder to balance because everything has shifted. Ballet has corrected my posture immensely—this forces me to stand ram-rod straight. Madame Pratt would be proud.

The side effect I was not really expecting is that the area that is compressed from my waist is compressed UP. My almost C-cups look every bit like exploding D-cups—the cleavage is awesome, though!

I sit and practice breathing while Mummy goes to finish getting ready. Momma is already downstairs and waiting. I hear the doorbell and Francie and Momma talking after a few minutes and hurry to the stairs. Getting down them is a BIT more work than normal, but the effort is worth it when I see both Momma’s AND Francie’s expressions.

Francie comes over and hugs me…squeezing what little air I CAN get in out. She giggles at my ‘oof’ and Momma says, “I’m not sure I can go out with a sexy doll like you, Hon. You’ll make us ALL pale in comparison.”

“Speak for yourself, Love,” comes from the stairs. We look around and Mummy is full-on in competition with me—just without the corset.

Francie laughs and says, “WELL! We’ll just see about this!”

She disappears up the stairs to get ready and Momma shakes her head and says, “Well…give me a minute to change…”

When the four of us leave for our dinner reservation at one of the most sought after restaurants in the region, there is no doubt that we are oozing with femininity and, for whatever reason, I feel really good about myself.

Of course, we turn a lot of (male) heads when we get out of Momma’s Mercedes and confidently stroll into the restaurant. The male servers fall all over themselves trying to impress us…and we just smile. All in all, it is a wonderful supper. Of course, I become the designated driver…

When we get back home, it is late. Momma and Mummy go straight upstairs. I look at Francie—we BOTH know they are going to THE room. While we both know what is IN that room, we keep that knowledge to ourselves. I can’t help but think about what it would be like to be able use the ‘toys’ in that room, though…

I look at Francie and give her a Frenchie. She giggles and says, “Well, it seems you’re adjusting to that corset…”

I giggle back and say, “Well, I wouldn’t go THAT far—do you like it?”

Francie says, “Like it? Are you kidding? It’s the sexiest thing I’ve seen in all my life!”

And before I know what is happening, we are upstairs in her room… My thong is on the floor…and I am bent from the waist over her bed. My stockings are still clipped into my garters and I am still in my heels… My dress is over by my thong.

Francie says, “I promised not to do this until you were sixteen—but, I think your hormones have overtaken your age. I know *I* can’t wait any more than you right now seeing you like this…”

I look over my shoulder as she straps on a dildo.

She says, “It’s ironic, isn’t it? I have a shrunken and useless REAL one of these under my fake vagina…and I’m strapping on a FAKE one…”

She kisses and caresses me…plays with my bared nipples…lubes the dildo…and presses.

It is the most painful thing I have ever felt as she (gently) pushes into me. Soon after she is completely up against my ass, the dildo completely in me, I am rocking with her and moaning. It doesn’t take long and I feel a mini-super nova start radiating inside me…and spreading…and spreading…and getting stronger…and stronger…and spreading…and going on…and on…and spreading…

I barely hear her heavy breathing and moaning behind me, but somehow realize she is having an orgasm at the same time I am.

When I finally come down from that wonderful high, I collapse on the bed and she carefully pulls out. My ass hurts badly, but it is SO worth it!

Finally, I roll over and say, “That was SO beautiful! But, how did you…?”

She smiles and says, “My prosthetic is ‘special’ remember? It can simulate things—or maybe ‘stimulate’ is the better word?” She giggles and I smile—happily spent.

I ask, “Where did you get…?”

She puts a finger to her lips and whispers, “Let’s hope they don’t miss it!”

o~O~o

Francie gets the dildo back into THE room without being noticed early the next morning. As far as we know, without it being missed.

I can’t be sure, though. Momma and Mummy both give us these ‘looks’ throughout the day. Of course, I have a bit more sway to my walk because of my REALLY sore ass… That could be a give-away. Whatever the case, neither one of them say anything.

Misty makes a decent breakfast. I can’t help but notice that her waist is pulled in significantly. It is pretty clear to me that she has the corset on—I bet if she took off her pants, that there would be gartered stockings there for all to see.

I sit there, in reverie of last night. I wish Francie and I could just go back upstairs. That lust only gets stronger when Momma and Mummy DO go upstairs after they finish eating.

Francie and I had come down in our bikinis and just go to the pool. Misty has put out towels by the loungers. There is also a bottle of lotion. Summer is coming to an end, but the sun is really nice today, so I slather lotion all over Francie and she on me.

I notice as I put the lotion in my hands that it sort of tingles. As Francie rubs it into me, the tingling spreads all over my body. It doesn’t feel bad—sort of good, actually. I ask Francie, “What is that lotion? Is it making you tingle, too?”

She nods and says, “It sort of feels good…” She looks at the bottle and says, “It’s some sort of herbal stuff… It says to repeat often…”

We both shrug and lay back on the loungers with a book. The tingling wears off after a bit…and we rub more lotion into each other. We repeat the cycle fairly often. The tingling lessons with each application—and lasts a shorter period each time.

After several hours, Misty comes out and asks, “Are the Misses ready for lunch?”

We both nod and enjoy the sandwiches and chips. Momma and Mummy are nowhere in sight. When we are done, Misty places a bowl of mints on the table and Francie and I both take one. I place it in my mouth and let it dissolve on my tongue. It tastes wonderful—and I get a tingly feeling all over my body, again.

I notice a happy look on Francie’s face, too, as we both reach and take a second mint. It doesn’t take long and the mints are gone and it is time for Francie to get ready to go.

I hug her hard as she gets ready to go out the door and to her car. I notice a slight tremble in my hand and think that I really am going to miss her—I am already trembling because of it. I wave as she drives off and go up to my room.

I look at my vanity and see a little box laid out on it. I go over and open the card on top. I read, Don’t tell your Moms. This is our little secret—so don’t let’s even talk about it. I love you! F”

I open the box and a mist wafts up to my face. I breathe it in—and feel all tingly. I want to keep that feeling going…I want more…

I look in the box and am surprised to see an e-cig device and several cartridges with a clear liquid in them. Curious, I take the device out of the box. It is loaded with a cartridge. I notice the on-off switch and switch it to ‘on’.

I don’t know why, but I take a puff off of the device—it just seems the right thing to do even though I HATE anything to do with smoking. I involuntarily inhale deeply as my need for THAT feeling takes over… I continue greedily puffing until the cartridge is empty.

I find myself wondering why Francie would do this…get me hooked on some unknown substance… All I know is that I am not going to say anything—if nothing else, I can only hope she will give me more cartridges if I keep quiet…until I can figure out what this is all about.

I don’t see Misty disposing of the empty lotion bottle and the empty ‘mint’ bowl with a smile on her face.

Author's Note:

Hi All, I know the last chapter wasn't everyone's cup of tea--I needed to clean up some things with Misty and these last two chapters were the best way I could think to do it... Also, I know that the sex in the last chapter wasn't to everyone's taste. To be honest, it isn't mine, either. I won't be doing anymore in this series (at least not that explicit--teens in love, will be teens in love, after all... :) ).

Also, I am once again going on travel this weekend and next week. I will post another chapter if I can--otherwise, I will as soon as I can after I return.

Happy reading!

HUGS!

I wake up the next morning and something is…off… I can’t put my finger on it until I realize that I REALLY want to use that infernal e-cig and get my fix of whatever is in those vials. I try and ignore it, but find I can’t… I finally give in, load the device, and turn it on.

After emptying the vial, I feel much better and get ready for school. As I finish up, I try and decide what to do…there isn’t any way I can take the e-cig with me—they are banned at school (too many kids using them with marijuana extract in the vials). Besides, legally, I am too young to be using it, anyway.

I decide I am just going to have to make it through the day—somehow—and go down for breakfast.

I don’t notice Misty smirking behind my back as she fixes my breakfast. On my way out, she hands me a bag of the mints from yesterday. She says, “Here, Miss. You seemed to really enjoy these yesterday—there were a few left and I thought you may want them?”

I smile and absent-mindedly put them in my purse as I thank her. Then I hurry out to get in the car—Mummy is waiting. Momma is on a short overnight business trip and left really early this morning.

I make it until about mid-morning and feel myself getting fidgety. I reach into my purse between classes and take out one of the mints, thinking it might help. I stick it in my mouth, and to my surprise it does ease the craving I am having. It doesn’t make it go away, but it certainly helps.

At lunch break, I quickly eat a salad and decide to go outside and walk to get my mind off of the increasing cravings. I have a free period after lunch anyway and I think the fresh air will help. As I am walking around the building (something that IS allowed with permission), I run into Grace Harper, a senior. She is stealthily smoking a cigarette and I catch a whiff of the smoke as I am passing by.

I stop in my tracks—just that whiff has me salivating. I go over to her and breathe in deeply—the craving gets stronger. She gives me an odd, then understanding look and hands me a cigarette. I hesitate, but only for an instant. I suddenly know what I am addicted to, now. The good news is it is nothing illegal; the bad news is, it seems I am a smoker, now.

She lights the cigarette with her lighter and I take a deep breath and choke—then I take another…

As I finish the cigarette and thank Grace, I try and figure out why Francie would want me to smoke… She has always said she hates it as much as I do… I shake my head and go in to do some homework.

The rest of the day crawls by. Luckily, I have no cheer practice OR ballet today and as soon as I get home, I grab the e-cig device and go outside and out back to a secluded area not far from the guest house. I have just turned the device on and taken the first deep inhale when Misty scares the daylights out of me.

She comes up behind me and says, “Good day, Miss. May I ask what you are doing?”

I blush and say, “Well, what does it LOOK like, Misty?”

She remains calm and says, “It looks like Miss is smoking… When did Miss start that?”

I shake my head and say, “I just did, I guess…”

Misty asks, “Where is Miss getting her supplies, since she is too young…?”

I shrug. I have no idea how I am supposed to support this… It was the one thing that was in favor of me going to straight to Moms with this problem. I say, “I have no idea, to be honest.”

Misty nods and says, “I can get the supplies for Miss—and keep it quiet—for a price…”

I look at her and she seems serious. I ask, “What price?”

She says, “Well, I would have to charge an overhead—say 50% above the actual cost?”

I take a deep breath of the vapor and say as the craving is both satisfied and intensified at the same time, “Well, that seems OK, I guess. When can you get me some new supplies…?”

She says, “Meet me here at nine tonight—bring cash.” And she turns and leaves as quickly as she came.

I finish the cartridge and shake my head. I have no idea what Francie is up to getting me hooked, but MISTY of all people is the one to help me out in this? The world really IS a strange place.

I go to my room and finish my homework, then slip back out a little before nine with a fairly large sum of cash. Misty meets me at the designated spot at precisely nine o’clock. She hands me a bag and I open it. There are several boxes of the vials and also a carton of regular cigarettes.

She says, “I’m aware that you can’t take the device to school—you will be less likely to get caught with the cigarettes. That will be $325.00”

I barely have enough cash to cover the cost, but this should keep me covered for quite some time. I take the bag and hurry back towards my room to hide my stash…

I am about to go up the stairs when Mummy says, “Paige, can you come talk to me a minute, please?”

I am torn—I start to ask her to let me go up, first; but something in her tone lets me know that may not be a good idea. I go into the family room adjacent the stairs where she is waiting.

I say, “Yes, Mummy? I was just getting ready to go get ready for bed…”

She says, “Well, this is important. I got a call from Ronnie Ferguson a bit ago with some disturbing news. It seems you were captured on a video feed SMOKING? Would you care to explain?”

I feel my face turn white. I don’t want to say it was Francie…but I don’t know what else to do… If I have learned nothing from this WHOLE affair, I have learned it is best to be open about what is going on—at least when asked…

I say, “Well, I can’t really explain it… It seems that Francie somehow got me hooked. She left me an e-cig device and a note not to say anything and that we could talk about it later…”

Mummy shakes her head and says, “You’re going to have to come up with something better than she ‘somehow got me hooked’, Paige. It doesn’t work that way. You have to actually consume the nicotine to get hooked.”

I look at her seriously and say, “Angi, have you EVER known me to KNOWINGLY lie? I’m telling you the truth. I HATE smoking and I don’t WANT this!”

She sighs and says, “Well, let’s call Francie, shall we?”

She doesn’t give me a chance to say anything before she has her phone out and is calling Francie. She puts it on speaker. I hear the voice that I love—but have really conflicted feelings about at the moment, ”Hello, Angi?”

Angi says, “Hi, Francie. We have a problem…”

Over the next ten minutes, we discuss the problem. It seems that Francie had a similar note from ME in her car—along with an e-cig device of her own. She was as unsuccessful as I was at resisting the strong craving.

Angi looks at me with an extremely puzzled look on her face. She says, “OK, go through EXACTLY what you two did that day while Dawn and I were…preoccupied…”

Francie and I take turns telling her about the day—mostly just laying out by the pool and reading.

Francie says, “The only thing I can think of that was different was that herbal sun lotion…”

Angi asks, “Herbal? Where did you get it?”

I shrug my shoulders and say, “It was just out there… I looked today when I got home; I thought about laying out by the pool, but it wasn’t there—just the normal stuff…”

Francie says, “There WERE those strange mints that Misty gave us, too. I felt all tingly when I sucked on them.”

I say, “Me too. And Misty gave me the rest of them to take to school. They actually HELPED with the cravings—a little, anyways.”

Angi looks pensive and says, “I see. Do you have any of those ‘mints’ left?”

I shake my head and say, “No…there weren’t that many. That is how I got into the smoking thing at school—it was purely by chance. But at that moment, I at least knew WHAT I was hooked on. I was planning on a SERIOUS discussion with Francie as soon as I could.”

Angi says, “This is all very interesting. So, you weren’t planning on telling me—or your Momma? How were you planning on supporting this habit? It would be much easier for Francie to get ‘supplies’ in her circumstance—but you, Paige?”

I sigh and say, “Well, I was contemplating what to do when I happened to run into Misty. She was pretty helpful in obtaining supplies.”

Angi looks at me and says, “Interesting. How so?”

I tell her about Misty appearing out back and the ‘deal’; then I show her the supplies. She looks at them and shakes her head. She says, “No wonder you’re having bad cravings—these are all REALLY strong dosages of nicotine.”

She sighs and says, “Francie, there isn’t much I can do until you come home. Can you come this weekend? I suggest getting some nicotine lozenges—that is likely what those ‘mints’ were. That will help—try to resist using the e-cig or real cigarettes and go as long as you absolutely can between lozenges. Paige, you are coming with me to my office immediately…”

She takes me straight to her car and drives to her office building. I talk to Francie a bit longer on the ride and hang up just as we get there.

We go straight to her office and she rummages in a medicine cabinet. She draws up a large dose of a pale green solution in a syringe and says, “OK, Paige, bend over. I’m sorry—this will hurt more than just a little sting…”

She jabs me in the butt and pushes the stuff into the muscle. It DOES hurt a lot, but I don’t say anything. She says, “This will stop the nicotine addiction—it is a new drug. Fortunately, you didn’t have time to really build up a psychological addiction, so this should work well. Just make sure that you don’t smoke or use ANY nicotine products—if you do, your addiction will near immediately return and be much harder to treat next time.”

I nod and say, “Don’t worry about that… Although, I didn’t mean to THIS time…”

We drive home and I get ready to go upstairs. I rub my butt and Mummy says, “It will be sore a couple of days. Let me know if you have any signs of cravings tonight. If you make it through tomorrow morning, you should be in the clear. Now, I have to call your Momma and we have to discuss what to do with Misty…”

o~O~o

I wake up the next morning and, aside from a really sore butt, there seems to be no lingering consequence of my late nicotine addiction. I smile—I REALLY hate the idea of being addicted to something I can’t control.

I go downstairs and notice that Misty is not present. I make my own breakfast, which is no big deal to me—I actually prefer it. Especially now that I don’t trust Misty AT ALL…not that I really ever did after what she had done to me before.

Mummy comes in a few minutes after I am done. She comes from the direction of the guest house and gives no indication of what she was doing. She simply says, “Good morning, Love. How are you feeling?”

I swallow my last bite of English muffin and take a sip of coffee to wash it down. I say, “Fine. My butt is sore but otherwise…nothing! Thank you. I wish I had just talked to you about it to begin with—but I wanted to talk to Francie first.”

She nods and says, “I know, Hon. You know you can ALWAYS come to me, but I get why you approached it the way you did. I’m not sure I would have done it any differently, myself.”

I ask, “What about Misty—I don’t want her around me. PERIOD. I especially don’t want her fixing me meals or buying anything I will be using.”

Mummy nods and says, “Don’t worry, Love. You won’t have to be subjected to her—at least until we can be COMPLETELY sure she has been rehabilitated.”

She drops me off at school and I receive a summons to go to Miss Ferguson’s office. I sigh, wondering what consequences I will face for smoking on school property. I enter the office and immediately notice that Mrs. DICK-enson is not there—there is a young lady in her place.

I smile nervously and say, “Hi. I’m Paige Fitzsimmons. Miss Ferguson requested my presence.”

She smiles at me and says, “Go on in, Hon, she is waiting—I am Ginger Jones, by the way. I’m a temp and will be here a few weeks…”

I nod and go into Ronnie’s office. She smiles and says, “Sit down, Paige.”

I gingerly sit and Ronnie gives me a serious look. She says, “I guess we dodged a serious bullet. I was really disappointed when I was reviewing surveillance camera footage and saw you out there with Grace Harper. I’ve known about her for a while…that’s another subject, though. Anyway, Angi has explained to me that this was another stealth attack on you and that it’s taken care of?”

I nod and say, “Yes, Ma’am. I no longer am addicted to that…crap…”

She smiles and says, “Good! By the way, I’m sure you noticed Miss Jones out front. She is going be there while Mrs. Dickenson takes some needed ‘time off’.” She smiles at the look of understanding on my face—she had been ‘suspended’… She says, “I can’t have my administration not taking student safety seriously. She has some dedicated time to think about her priorities. OK, you better get off to class—Ginger can give you a pass.”

I thank her and take the pass from Ginger. As I walk to class, I sigh. Another disaster averted—I can’t help but wonder when my luck is going to run out, though. So far, there have been serious consequences to all that has happened, but nothing I can’t live with. I shudder and hope that doesn’t change…

o~O~o

When I get home after cheer practice and ballet, a lot of the soreness in my butt has been worked out. I am tired, but happy to see Momma has made it back from her trip.

She hugs me and hands me an envelope. I open it curious as to what it may be. There is a card inside with an ‘apology’ from Misty and $500.00.”

I give Momma a look that conveys my confusion. She smiles and says, “Misty bought back the supplies that she sold you under the same deal conditions that she had with you. It will take quite some time for her to pay ME back for the advance I had to give her to pay you and cover the costs she accrued getting the things for her subterfuge to begin with.”

I sigh and Momma continues, “Her scheme was to have you addicted and to milk you for money getting the ‘supplies’ for you. No doubt, she would have kept increasing the cost as your addiction deepened to include the psychological need for the nicotine fix.”

I feel my face burn red with anger.

Momma says, “Don’t worry, Love. Misty will not be doing anything else in the house. She will continue to do things for me related to work. Of course, that means she is earning even LESS now. Her debt to me continues to grow. And now it is only going to grow faster.”

She doesn’t elaborate and I don’t ask—I want NOTHING to do with that bitch… I don’t care what happens to her anymore, to be honest.

I go upstairs to change and help make dinner. I happen to look out the window and see Misty in front of the guest cottage GREEDILY sucking on an e-cig device. I know that Allen never smoked—he hated it as much as, if not MORE than, I do. Understanding dawns on me as to what Momma meant by her debt growing…if MISTY is now addicted, SHE will have to pay for the supplies—probably under a similar deal to what *I* had agreed to with HER.

I smile—this time I LIKE the punishment!

I grin the whole time we are making supper—and the three of us have a GREAT time doing it. We never needed Misty in the kitchen anyways! I am glad she is banned from the house unless specifically working on work-related projects—and that will be under Momma’s strict supervision.

Author's Note:

As I mentioned, I am on travel, so this is a bit of a shorter chapter. If I get any more posted this week, they will likely all be shorter--I will get back to more normal posting this coming weekend/next week (hopefully).

Happy Reading!

HUGS!

o~O~o

Life at school is settling into somewhat of a routine. The ‘reds’ are being quiet—I wouldn’t go as far as to say they are tolerant, but I think they know enough to lay low. That doesn’t mean that I trust the ‘truce’.

I am really melding with the cheer team and we are becoming a cohesive unit that could actually be a threat in the upcoming state championship if we decide to go that far. No team has actually attempted to go to State in over fifteen years at this school—I am pushing for us to. I think we can do it! And we are practicing like crazy.

I am walking out to the newly ‘de-gophered’ field for practice and run into Grace Harper out by the bleachers. She is just lighting up a cigarette. She looks at me and smiles. She says, “Paige, right? You want one?”

I shake my head and say, “No thanks. I…am trying to quit. I think I may have escaped the addiction.”

Grace gets a sad look on her face and says, “Yeah… Good luck. I mean it! I’ve tried several times. I even made it a whole day once. Ever since my good-for-nothing old boyfriend got me hooked last year…”

I look at her and ask, “You really want to quit?”

She nods and says, “More than anything. There are others around here that would love to, too. Do you really think you’ll make it?”

I nod and say, “Yes, but I had a LOT of help.”

She sighs and takes a deep inhale of smoke, then says as she exhales, “I wish I had that kind of help. You better run, though, or you’ll be late for practice.”

I say, “Dang! You’re right. See you later!”

I hurry off and make it just in time for warm-ups. The whole time we are practicing, I think of Grace, though. Finally, after a grueling practice, I go out to meet Mummy who is waiting for me in her car—in the passenger’s seat.

I grin and get behind the wheel. “Hi, Mummy! Thanks for letting me drive,” I greet her.

She smiles and says, “Let’s get home. I think I need a drink—it’s been a LONG day!”

I mock salute her and say, “Whatever Milady wishes!” I smoothly take off—I am getting a lot better at driving. When we get out onto the main road, it is fairly light traffic.

I keep both hands on the wheel and both eyes on the road, but I ask Mummy a question, “There is something that is bothering me and I need to ask you about it, OK?”

She looks over at me and asks in a concerned voice, “Are you having trouble at school again?”

I shake my head and say, “Do you remember Ronnie talking about the senior that she saw smoking with me on the surveillance footage, Grace Harper?”

Angi nods and says, “Yes. What about her?”

I say, “I ran into her before practice and she was just lighting a cigarette. She offered me one—I declined, don’t worry! But the thing is that SHE doesn’t want to smoke, either. Her old boyfriend got her hooked. She said there are others at school that want to quit, too. Isn’t there some way to help them like you helped me?”

Mummy is quiet for a minute and then thoughtfully says, “Well, yes. I suppose. The school would have to be onboard—and the parents, too, if they are minors. I could donate the medication and the time… Let me talk to Ronnie. I think it’s a WONDERFUL idea, Paige!”

o~O~o

The next day, school is going along, well, like school, when I am called to Ronnie’s office after lunch. To my surprise Mummy is in the office with her—along with the school nurse.

Ronnie asks me to sit down and says, “Angi tells me that this is your idea…this smoking antidote campaign?”

I look at Mummy, then back at Ronnie and shrug. I tell her what happened yesterday and finish with, “I know how it feels to be caught in that hopeless lure of nicotine. For the barest of moments yesterday, I actually started to tell Grace, ‘Yes’. If there is a way to help those that WANT to be helped, then why not?”

Ronnie and the school nurse both nod. Ronnie says, “That is wonderful, Paige! Will you be the spokesperson? You’ve been through it.”

I look at them stunned and say, “Ummm…I don’t think I would be the best person under my certain circumstances… I mean…you know… But, I DO have an idea…”

Fifteen minutes later, I am in an empty classroom with Grace Harper. We are alone and she is shouting at me, “You TOLD them? WHY?”

I look at her calmly and say, “Grace! Listen to me—they already KNEW. Miss Ferguson has LOTS of surveillance footage with you smoking on it—along with me that one time. She just didn’t really know how to approach it, since you are under foster care… She doesn’t want to get you in trouble with the system—I promise. But, Angi can help you the same as she helped me…”

Grace looks at me with a mixture of hope and anger. She says, “You should have talked to me before you talked to them.”

I say, “You’re right—that WOULD have been better. But, think about it. I had to get everyone to agree, first. They wanted ME to be the face of this… You know why I can’t be. But YOU could!”

She pales and says, “Y…y…you want ME to…”

I say, “Yes, to tell how you were lured into the addiction and wanted out…and that it worked…and that there are NO strings attached…”

She looks at me, still not convinced, and asks, “How do I know it WILL work?”

I say, “There is only one way to find out!”

As we walk into the nurse’s office a few minutes later, Grace says, “I’m still not sure how I let you talk me into this!”

Mummy looks up and says with bright smile, “Hi, you must be Grace. Paige can be very convincing. You may call me Angi and I understand that this is something that you WANT, right Grace?”

Grace looks a little haunted and says, “Oh, yes Ma’am! I have really rued the day I hooked up with that loser and he talked me into it… But, I’m not sure about…” Her sentence trails off.

Mummy smiles and says, “It will be OK, Grace. I promise. I just need to get approval from child services. Then, when it’s all over and you’re no longer are addicted, all you have to do is let students know that it DOES work. The form that they would have to get signed by their parents would be for a voluntary new treatment trial that is 100% safe… The parents won’t even really have to know it is for smoking if they don’t want them to…”

Grace nods and the nurse comes in with a paper that she hands Mummy. Mummy smiles and says, “Congratulations, Grace! You’ve been approved. Come over here and let me give you a shot. Paige will vouch that it will hurt—for a couple of days—but that it will certainly help. The difference between you and Paige is that YOU have been addicted for a lot longer and will certainly have some psychological addiction to combat, as well. This can’t help with that…”

She takes Grace behind a curtain and I hear her say, “The fact that you WANT to quit will help you over that hurdle—but you will HAVE to not give in to any psychological desires. Trust me, the physical addiction will be over. BUT, if you cave—it will be MUCH harder to treat.”

I hear a gasp and a low moan—maybe even a bit of crying.

Mummy comes out and looks at me. I nod and go behind the curtain. Grace is leaning over an exam table, rubbing her butt, and quietly crying.

I go over and give her a gentle hug from behind and say, “I know it hurts, Grace. You probably just want a cigarette to help you through it, right?”

She nods.

I say, “Fight it! The shot is not immediate, but by tomorrow, you won’t have the physical need anymore. You said you made it a whole day once—so you KNOW you can do it!”

She nods and turns around and hugs me as she says, “Thank you so much, Paige! No one has ever done ANYTHING like this for me!”

I hug her for a while longer and whisper in her ear, “I have to go start hanging posters… Take it easy for a bit. Tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of your life that is nicotine-free. That’s a GOOD thing, right?”

She nods and her tears fall on my shoulder, leaving it wet. I smile at her and leave the nurse’s office to recruit some help in hanging posters that Mummy had somehow magically gotten done before she came. Little did I know that this is just the FIRST direct involvement of EITHER of my Moms here at school…

o~O~o

I come into school the next morning and am nearly bowled over by Grace. She is like TOTALLY excited and nearly screams in my ear, “IT WORKED! OMG! IT WORKED! I can’t remember the last time that I haven’t had a craving… Sure, I know if I get stressed, I will WANT one—but I CAN handle that! I won’t NEED it! I’ve already been talking to people. I know of at least ten others that want the shot!”

I smile and hug her back. I say, “That’s GREAT, Grace! See? I KNEW you were the right one to head this!”

She giggles and says, “I’m still mad that you ratted me out, though!” She winks to let me know that she is not serious and scurries off—a woman on a mission to stamp out nicotine addiction in our school…

Penny witnesses the whole scene and comes over to me and says, “You did a REALLY good thing there, Paige. You and your Mummy are doing a lot to cross the red-green line with this—that addiction doesn’t discriminate.”

I nod and say, “Well, that wasn’t my intent, but I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I just hope that there aren’t idiots out there that won’t take advantage of the opportunity BECAUSE it’s run by someone in the green camp…”

And I stop mid-sentence stunning myself. I say, “Of course…green…camp… That COULD work… But…no… Maybe…?”

Penny looks at me like I’ve grown horns, or something, and says, “Earth to Paige! Come IN, Paige!”

I look at her, deep in though and grunt, “Huh? Oh…I just had a thought. I don’t know if it COULD work—well, I mean in a PUBLIC school… Tell Brenda to let Mrs. Gunderson (my first period English teacher) know that I have to go see Miss Ferguson…”

And I run off before Penny can get another word out.

I go straight to Ronnie’s office and approach Miss Jones, “Good morning Ms. Jones, may I see Ms. Ferguson for a few minutes. I know I should be in class, but this is important.”

She looks at me and smiles, “Hi, Paige. Look, I’m a temp around here, so just call me Ginger, OK? It makes me feel all creepy to be called ‘Miss Jones’ by kids that I am barely older than. Anyway, I think Miss Ferguson is free. Hang on; let me check.”

A few minutes later, I am in Ronnie’s office. She looks at me concerned and asks, “Paige? Is everything OK? What’s going on?”

I smile and say, “Yes, sorry, Miss Ferguson. Everything is fine…I just had another idea and I need to discuss it with you before I lose it—or talk to anyone else…”

She sits down and says, “OK. Good. You had me worried, young lady! Let me get us a cup of coffee then you have fifteen minutes. You SHOULD be in class!”

Ninety minutes and four cups of coffee later, Ronnie escorts me out and says to Ginger, “Ginger, please give Miss Fitzsimmons a pass. Also, I need the last two hours of the day blocked off. Please call both of Paige’s Moms and see if they can meet us here at one thirty?”

Ginger looks at me—wonderment clear in her eyes, but she says, “Yes, Miss Ferguson. I assume, then, that Paige is supposed to also be in that meeting?”
Ronnie nods and says, “Very perceptive, Ginger. Very perceptive! By the way, Mrs. Dickenson is not coming back…we need to talk. Give me a few minutes and then come into my office. Paige, I will see you at one thirty. Please do not speak about ANY of this to ANYONE until then, OK?”

I nod and hurry off to class…

I get all kinds of strange looks and lots of questions when I show up for class. Of course, I can’t say anything and that makes everyone just push harder for answers. When I leave a little before one thirty, the rumor mill REALLY starts churning, then. I just wave to the grumbling and walk quickly to Ronnie’s office.

Ginger waves me straight in with a BIG smile on her face. As I pass by, she whispers, “I’m no longer a temp!”

I smile back at her and whisper, “WOW! Congrats, Ginger! Err…maybe that doesn’t apply anymore?”

She giggles and says, “To YOU, it does! Go knock ‘em dead!”

I walk into Ronnie’s office and both Moms are there with hugely curious looks on their faces.

Ronnie smiles brightly and says, “Ladies, I believe you know Paige?” She giggles and Momma comes over and hugs me before asking, “Paige? Is everything all right?”

Before I can answer, Ronnie speaks up and says, “Like I said earlier, everything is fine. More than fine actually—IF we can find a way to make Paige’s plan work…”

I look at the three other women in the room. Of them, only Ronnie already knows the basics of my idea. I don’t have the details, but that is what my two Moms are for…working those out!

I say, “Momma, Mummy, I had an idea when I was talking to Grace today. By the way, she is doing GREAT! Anyway, Penny brought up the fact that this anti-nicotine campaign could be good because the addiction does not discriminate and this effort would cross red-green lines. Then I said something along the lines that I hoped there wouldn’t be idiots that would not take advantage of the program because it was spearheaded by the green camp…”

I grin and pause to see if it will click.

I get blank stares. I sigh and say, “I have NO idea whether this could work—OR how it could work in a public school, IF at all. But, think about it. We basically have TWO camps now… red and green. Thinking of that a little differently, we basically have ONE camp with two…”

Mummy chimes in excitedly, “HOUSES! Paige, that is BRILLIANT!”

Momma still looks lost.

I say, “It isn’t a lot different than Mummy’s LGBT camp with colored houses. If we get all the students to take the test that puts them on the LGBT spectrum and put them into the appropriate houses…”

Momma says, “Then they would see that there IS a spectrum that THEY are on and it’s not all black and white!”

I nod excitedly.

Ronnie says, “There is a lot that would have to happen with the school board to make the ‘house’ part viable. I can make the test happen, although, Angi, it would be best if it weren’t immediately clear that it is a psych profile…or, at least not one to put them on THAT spectrum. Something that is really ‘cheat-proof’…that they can’t knowingly influence.”

Mummy says, “I have a new version that I think will fit that bill perfectly. Assuming we can categorize them into appropriate ‘houses’, how DO we operationalize those?”

Ronnie smiles and says, “Well, along with Mrs. Dickenson leaving, there has also been…movement…in the school board. She had influential connections that were smoked out when her true self was revealed. It is quite shocking, actually, that we had such bigots on our board. There are more than a couple of positions now open… The superintendent has the right to name people to the board until the next election… I have convinced her to name Dawn as the next chairperson…”

We all exclaim, “What?”

Ronnie continues on, undeterred, “With Dawn at the helm…and Angi on the board, as well, plus the fact that a couple of the other members really owe me, I think we can make it happen.”

Mummy says, “I’m on the board, too? But…”

Ronnie says, “Not only on the board, but now an attaché to the school. Your new position is to implement this new system. We only have a few months until the next elections, so we HAVE to make this work by then, or we can ALL go somewhere else. There is NO doubt that there will be parental opposition—we have to convince them that this is a GOOD thing. The superintendent is in support—but won’t fall on her sword for this. I hope you will both say ‘yes’.”

Momma nods her head and says, “Of course, but… This all sounds great—in theory. I don’t see how we can make this happen in my lifetime—let alone before the next election cycle in…,” she looks at a calendar, “…two and a half months.”

Mummy looks really caught up in thought and says, “I know what you’re saying, Dawn, but I think we need to give it a try. I mean the model is proven—we just have to apply it here at the school. The key will be to turn up the heat slowly enough that the frogs don’t realize it is boiling—until it’s too late.”

I roll my eyes—that metaphor is used ENTIRELY too much. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t fit, though. I say, “If the test is mandatory…is there a way to give some sort of extra credit—something SO good that no one will want to turn it down—for ‘joining’ their house?”

Mummy nods and says, “Yes, and we wouldn’t FORCE them to stay in a particular house—only assign them there in the beginning. After a bit, they could move houses if they really don’t fit—although, there would be certain criteria that had to be met to get into certain houses. For example, any girl or boy could be in green, which is the ‘neutral zone’, if you will. Any girl could be in pink or any boy could be in blue. For a boy to get into pink would require extra justification, such as the appropriate score on the profile…”

Ronnie looks lost in thought and says, “O…K… This could work, I think. I will have to come up with the extra credit that will be acceptable to the faculty, though… Angi…,” she winks, “…or, is that ‘Mummy’? Can you have the profile test ready to give next week? We will likely have to do it several sessions to get everyone.”

I giggle at the ‘Mummy’ comment and she playfully sticks her tongue out at me. She looks back at Ronnie and says, “Yes, that’s not a problem.”

Ronnie looks at Momma and asks, “I know I drug you into this and you probably need another board to chair like a hole in the head, but is this really OK with you?”

Momma nods and says, “Let’s get to work, Ladies!”

o~O~o

To their credit, Moms take this huge bull by the horns and are very busy over the rest of the week. It does leave me feeling a little ‘neglected’, but I don’t REALLY mind at all.

Momma quickly takes charge of the school board and makes some needed changes there. Overall, the board likes how she starts running things.

Mummy gets everything prepped for the profile exams—both administering and evaluation, including categorization.

I work extra hard on my cheer and ballet routines with them all busy anyway.

On Friday evening, Mummy comes to me and asks, “Paige, will you do me a favor? You have taken the original profile exam three times and you know it inside out. Will you take this new one, so I can compare your results to your old ones and evaluate any differences? Try your best to influence the outcome—say, pretend that you want it CLEARLY to define you as a heterosexual male?”

I nod and say, “Sure, no problem!”

I sit down at her computer and try to guess the right answers to make me look like a ‘heterosexual male’. The results that it automatically spits out are that I am ‘in the middle’ of male and female. I retake it at Mummy’s request and try to be a heterosexual girl and come out much more on the female side, but the results are still basically ‘me’. I try a couple of different other scenarios until Mummy is satisfied.

She says, “Thank you, Paige. Your results compare well with others I have tried this on. You are able to skew the results, but not enough that you would be miscategorized very often.”

I am closing up the computer when the door opens and Francie walks in. I rush over and give her a big hug and really don’t like the way she looks. She has a strained look on her face and is viciously sucking on something.

Mummy takes her straight to her room and gives her ‘the shot’—then Francie and I go to bed early…

o~O~o

The next morning, Francie is looking and feeling much better (except for her butt, of course) and I fill her in on what is happening at school. She is excited about the prospects and decides to take me to the mall for a day of shopping for a change of scenery.

Two hours later, we are walking through the mall, our arms already filling up with bags, when I see Mrs. DICK-enson coming towards us in a small group of sour-looking women. I tug at Francie’s arm to duck into the nearest store, but it is too late. We have been spotted.

Mrs. DICK-enson comes up to us and says, “Well, if it isn’t the little PERVERT from school—and its CO-PERVERT?” Her tone is clearly snide and her voice carries. A lot of people look around to see what is going on, but quickly move on so as not to get involved.

I respond with a bravado that I don’t really feel, “Just leave us alone, Mrs. DICK-enson. We’re just here to enjoy the shopping—the same as you.”

She comes back, her voice dripping in contempt, “But, you see, *I* can’t enjoy the shopping—and neither can these other ladies—because you got me fired and them removed from the board. I think you need to PAY for that!”

I look at them, wondering what they think they can do to Francie and I in a public mall. Before Francie or I either one can react, the ladies grab us and start moving us towards the security office.

When we get there, Mrs. DICK-enson smartly raps on the door and says to the female security officer that answers, “We caught these two sneaking out of Jade’s without paying for the stuff they took. If you search their bags, you’ll see what I mean!”

The security woman looks at us and asks, “Is that true, young ladies? Did you shoplift?”

Both Francie and I shake our heads and say, “No, Ma’am,” at the same time.

The woman ‘invites’ us all into the office and puts the DICK-enson band of women into a room and asks them to wait until she can interview them about what happened. She then escorts us into a separate room and looks through our bags.

I gasp when she pulls a semi-expensive bracelet from Jade’s Jewelry Store (it still has the price tag on it) out of my VS bag. I say, “I don’t know where that came from! You have to believe me! We weren’t even IN Jade’s today!”

The security woman asks, “Is that really true? It is really EASY for me to verify that.”

Francie says, “Please do! It IS the truth! Those women have a grudge against Paige here because they got fired for inappropriate behavior towards her!”

The security woman makes a quick phone call, “Madge, this is Joyce. Do you remember two young girls in your shop today? One is about 17, reddish-blonde hair. The other about 15, blonde hair? Both really cute? … I see… OK. Do you mind if I pull your video feed? Thanks, Hon!”

The woman doesn’t say anything and goes to a monitor where she logs in and clicks through several screens. Suddenly, Jade’s is visible in several split screen views. The woman quickly goes through the last couple of hours of video feed and it is clearly visible where Mrs. DICK-enson, HERSELF, takes the bracelet and places it in her purse.

The woman, Joyce, mutters, “I keep TELLING Madge to put security tags on ALL of her stuff…” She looks over at us and says, “You’re free to go, girls. Sorry to bother you—but, you understand that I had to investigate.”

Francie nods and says, “Sure we do. Thank you for giving us the benefit of the doubt until you knew for sure. What will happen to…them…?”

Joyce says, “That’ll be up to the police and the judge—they’re already on their way!”

I shake my head and say, “She got in trouble for watching a group of students get ready to beat me up on live surveillance cameras without stopping them. You’d think SHE of all people would know the power of video cameras…”

o~O~o

Another shorter chapter—but it gets you of the cliff while I’m out (and hopefully feeling better)!

HUGS!

Francie and I are about to leave when the police show up. They ask us to stay behind for a few minutes and make a statement. When we are done, the police are ready to charge the women, not only with theft, but also aggravated assault for forcing us to come here by dragging us, and potentially kidnapping. Once they find out about the ‘history’ we have and what it is all about, they are sure the DA will pursue a hate crime charge. The state has one of the toughest in the country.

Officer Wright, a pretty blonde woman in her thirties also suggests, “You may want to consult a lawyer. I think you have a good chance to get them on slander and maybe a few more things…”

Francie and I thank her and I call Momma to see if she can get in touch with Sheila. She is, of course, mortified at what happened, but is glad that we are OK. After a few more minutes of assuring her, I hang up and Francie and I finish our shopping, then have lunch before we go back home.

When we get back, Sheila is at the house and we have to recount the whole thing again to her. Sheila nods and says, “I have already called and talked to Officer Wright. She said that this whole thing cracked a case wide open—it seems there have been a number of thefts across the area; all at jewelry stores. The only things that have been stolen are red bracelets…”

I look at her stunned and ask, “And they think Mrs. DICK-enson is the one that was behind these thefts?”

Sheila shrugs and says, “Well, there hasn’t been ANY evidence to date—whoever was doing it was obviously MUCH better at it than SHE was today. But, the police think she is absolutely connected. Based on what they could piece together from the video footage out in the mall, she must have seen you and decided to frame you. She then went into Jade’s and pocketed the bracelet…and, well, you know the rest.”

She takes a sip of iced tea and continues, “She will likely get charged with conspiracy on top of everything else. The hate crime charge alone, though, will bury her.”

Francie says, “Well, I HOPE so! What with Misty doing HER crap, and now this—and it all doesn’t even begin to touch on the other big underlying issue of the bracelets to begin with. What a mess!”

Momma comes over and hugs us both and asks, “Did you find some nice things at the mall? Would you like to show them to me while Sheila finishes up?”

We nod and start up the stairs. I nearly fall back down them, though, when Momma asks, “Oh, and would the two of you go with me tomorrow? I have an appointment at the bridal shop to try on dresses… We’ve set a date!”

Francie and I both let out a shriek!

We both say, at the same time, “Of course,” and start asking a million questions.

Momma patiently answers them and then asks, “Oh, and Paige, will you be my maid of honor? I think Angi may plans of her own for you, Francie…”

I hug her and say, “Of course I will! Now, at least all of this time in this corset will finally pay off!”

I am now pretty much fulltime in a training corset—except when cheering or in ballet. Even then, though, I have an exercise corset that I wear when I can. To be honest, I hardly notice it anymore—just when we tighten it down some more. I am already able to easily tighten it down close to 22 inches. My goal is an eighteen-inch waist—don’t ask me why. I just like the way those old actresses looked…

We show Momma our haul and when Mummy comes home and we have filled her in on the ‘excitement’ for the day, we all go out to celebrate the fact that ‘the date’ has been set. Of course, Mummy does ask Francie to be her maid of honor…

o~O~o

Four weeks later, Mrs. DICK-enson and her band of not-so-merry thieves go on trial. While she never admits to being the ringleader of the ‘red bracelet gang’, she does try and make the trial a venue to spread her venom. It only backfires on her and serves to ensure the hate crime conviction the DA is hoping for.

The judge gives her the maximum sentence allowed for all charges. She says, “I have seldom seen such bigotry and disregard for a fellow human or group of humans. On top of that, you were in a position to both influence and inflict harm on innocent children in a public educational institution meant to both protect and nurture those very children. I sentence you to 45 years in the State Penitentiary. Your co-conspirators all are sentenced to 30 years, each. May God have mercy on your souls.”

I look at Sheila and smile—the civil suit for slander will be later. She says, “Well, she won’t even be eligible for parole for twenty years—and it is highly unlikely she will make it. She is going to be a VERY old lady when she gets out, given that she is currently 43. When we win the civil suit—she will be poor on top of that.”

I watch her and the others be escorted out in handcuffs. I still wonder who actually did the stealing—the police are certain that she is covering for someone. The judge MAY have been a bit more lenient if she had cooperated…

I feel better after the first victory in a series of court cases that will define my life for quite some time to come. We all go out to a nice restaurant to celebrate the victory and then I go home to study for midterms—it is hard to believe that half of my junior year is nearly over…and that it is only three weeks until Christmas.

After I finish my review for the day, I pull out my diary and open it. I take a moment to leaf back through it. I had started it right after camp—mostly to practice writing as a girl. I needed to get into the habit of expressing myself in a more feminine way—and my handwriting used to be atrocious. As I look through the entries over the last several months, it is clear that my handwriting has become a thing of feminine beauty. My vocabulary and expressive style has become overtly feminine, as well.

I smile as I read back through some of the entries—the trials and tribulations of getting the cheer team to accept the challenge of trying out for State in the spring. I am proud of that achievement—I am also certain we will make it.

My ballet entries also become more flowery, even if the pain has not. Madame Pratt is certainly putting me through the paces and I am actually dancing at a high pre-professional level. She says that I am better than Francie, even—but that she will never tell HER that!

I tear up a little as I read through the entry from a few weeks ago—the one where we went with Momma to try on wedding dresses. OMG! She was SO beautiful in so many of them! And the one she finally picked out—a DREAM! She looks like a Victorian pixie in it. I know Mummy will be so proud when she sees it.

Of course, Mummy’s is just as pretty—if in a much different way. Francie and I had gone with her the following weekend to help pick out HER’s.

I smile at the memories—then I sigh and start writing down the day’s events—the emotions, thoughts, and feelings that went through my head as the trial progressed. The flirtation with my own hate as she tries to portray me as an abomination and some kind of freak that should not be allowed to even exist. I never actually gave in to the hate—but trust me; it was close. I finish with the satisfaction that her punishment was just and well-deserved…and legal.

I close my diary and start getting ready for bed. As I clean the makeup off of my face, I can’t help but wonder what life would be like if I was still Vick—if none of this had ever happened. I shrug and throw away the soiled makeup remover pad and the question along with it. There is no sense in dwelling on it—that won’t change anything. Even with all of the crap going on around me—I have so much love CLOSE to me. How could I ever really ask for more or complain about what I DO have?

o~O~o

I put down the last period and hand in my last midterm paper—and I am done! It is Christmas break—the pressure is off for three weeks!

I almost skip out of the classroom—two things stop me. One, my stiletto heels would click too loudly on the hard floor and disturb those that aren’t done yet. Two, I still have to meet with Ronnie for one final time this term half.

She had worked really hard on getting things worked out with all involved in and around school. Mrs. DICK-enson’s arrest had caused a stir—but not the one that she had hoped for, I am sure. It actually paved the way for Ronnie to start some of the reforms that Momma, Mummy, and I had been working on, as well. As part of EVERYONE’s midterms, they are taking ‘the test’—the profile that Mummy had worked out.

When we come back, it will be to the results of those tests and an assigned house. Legally, students can’t be forced into the house they are assigned to, at least not in a public school, but, my idea of extra-credit took off. Ronnie figured out a series of extra-credits that students can earn for participation in the program. Some are good towards grades—for those that need a little boost in that arena. Some are extra-curricular. Some are social. All in all, there should be an incentive for most everyone to at least give it a try.

I smile at Ginger and she waves me in. I go into Ronnie’s office and say, “Wow! Break at last!”

She giggles and says, “I know what you mean! Of course, you, your Moms, and I are going to still be busy getting ready for ‘the reform’. I will get the completed ‘tests’ to Angi by the end of the day. We lucked out and got EVERYONE—no illnesses to make up for.”

She hands me a thumb drive and says, “The spreadsheet is on here for assignment to the houses. I appreciate you filling it out—I have to remind you, AGAIN, though, that you can’t talk about it to anyone. Normally students would not have access to this type of information, but given that you are ALREADY classified as pink…”

She smiles and I say good-naturedly, “And I say, AGAIN, that I understand and appreciate the trust.”

Ronnie looks at me and says, “This was a brilliant idea, Paige—and you get all the credit.”

I shake my head and say, “No, it is Mummy’s model—my life circumstances just put me in a place to find a way to advance it.”

Ronnie says, “And you chose to put those life circumstances to good use—and not to wallow in self-pity. I don’t know how *I* would have reacted had I been in your shoes.”

I shake my head and say, “Don’t make me out to be some saint, please! I’m not, I assure you! I have my dark days—I just have a wonderful support structure.”

I give her a hug and say, “Merry Christmas! Sorry, I’m not one of those ‘Happy Holiday’ types. If Christmas isn’t your thing, I hope you have a good ‘whatever you want to have good’ one!”

She laughs and says, “Christmas is fine… You have a wonderful one, too, Paige!”

This time I actually DO skip down the hall and out the front door. I smile as I see the pink Porsche waiting for me. I pull my winter coat tighter closed, breathe out and watch my breath, smile, and walk in a much more sophisticated and elegant way to meet my Mummy for my ride home.

Momma shouts up the stairs, “Paige? Francie? Are you girls ready? Angi and I are leaving!”

I poke my head around the corner and say loud enough that Momma can hear at the bottom of the stairs, “Just a minute Momma. I can’t get my bag zipped!”

I go back into my room and Francie comes and SITS on my bag. I quickly zip it and pray that the zipper will hold against the bulging pressure mounting from the inside. I pull it up onto its wheels with a grunt and start pulling it towards the stairs. I look back and give Francie a cheeky look and ask, “Coming?”

Francie giggles and goes to get her own bag. We navigate them down the stairs and to the garage. We load them into Momma’s Mercedes SUV and climb into the back seat. Momma and Mummy are waiting for us in the front—making a good effort at pretending to be impatient. I look at the clock and it reads five a.m. I yawn.

Momma starts the car and backs out. Alecia’s grandparents offered us to stay with them at their ski chalet for Christmas as payment for the time that Alecia spent with us here in Mummy’s house over fall break and Mummy’s support. Alecia truly has grown as a person and is adjusting well to becoming the girl she is meant to be, especially with Mummy’s help.

I am still not sure how it is all supposed to work out with Mindy here and us there—but Momma says she has it handled. I don’t ask any questions—I think I REALLY don’t want to know.

It is a little over a ten-hour drive to where we are headed and we all take a turn at the wheel. We also have a great time as a group—singing Christmas carols and sipping hot chocolate the whole way. When we get there, we are all blown away by the ‘chalet’—it is more like a Swiss mansion. Alecia’s grandparents are there—and so is Alecia.

We all hug and giggle and sit down to a supper of a hearty, hot chowder and crusty, warm bread with butter. I am even allowed a little wine. The food is wonderful and the mood is so…relaxed; but appropriately somber—in honor of this time of year.

I still can’t believe that Alecia is, well…Alecia. I mean, she is a lovely girl—in all senses of the word. And her grandparents—there is NO way that they can be related to…Misty. They are SO NICE! I don’t know how much they know about…Misty…but, I have a feeling that they are not ignorant about at least SOME of the details.

We finish eating and make plans to go skiing in the morning. We all go up to get ready for bed. I wash and moisturize my face and stretch as I climb into the heavenly, comfortable bed, Francie and I have separate rooms—at least officially. It doesn’t take long for her to climb in bed with me, though.

o~O~o

I wake up and look around the room—it is beautiful! I look into Francie’s eyes, in bed next to me and smile wider. She wakes up and smiles at me. We kiss and get up to get ready. We neither one know ONE THING about skiing, but ‘Gramma Jenny’ is going to be our teacher.

Alecia rushes into our room, already dressed, and without knocking. I turn a little red and say, “Ummm…Alecia? Maybe knock next time?”

She giggles and says, “It’s just us girls, right? And I totally KNEW that you and Francie were in here together. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Gramma and Grampa! Although, I don’t think they would care—they are both TOTALLY in love with you both.”

We get into our skiing outfits and hurry down to meet up with Gramma. We spend the morning learning how to ‘plow’ on the ‘bunny slope’. By lunch, we are pretty good at it and Gramma says that we will pick it up again tomorrow.

I sigh, because I have to go back and work on the ‘House’ spreadsheet for school. Gramma goes to meet up with the rest for an afternoon of REAL skiing. Francie and I look at each other and giggle as she expertly skis to the lift to one of the ‘black’ (expert) slopes.

After a wonderful lunch that Francie and I put together (who knew I could BE so hungry), I work on the spreadsheet in the sunroom and Francie lounges and reads a steamy romance novel. After two hours, I have Pink House sorted out… I go over and kiss Francie and she pulls me into a deeper one…

We go down to help with supper after we both take a bath to clean up and get relaxed. After we eat, we all play a bunch of board games and have an overall great time. Bed comes all too soon, but is certainly welcome—we are all dead tired after the exciting day; well those of us that aren’t USED to skiing, anyways.

The next days are basic repeats of the first. Ski lessons for Francie and me in the morning (Momma and Mummy both already know how—who knew?) and Francie relaxing while I work on the ‘Houses’ in the afternoons; then fun and games in the evening.

Mummy continues to work with Alecia and she is making a LOT of progress, especially physically—those hormones are really kicking in. Mummy is even ready to give her an implant. And she actually gets it on Christmas day. Needless to say, there aren’t any better presents that anyone else gets!

Overall, Christmas day is a wonderful day. There is so much camaraderie, so much love—so many presents. None of those can light a candle to the feeling of belonging—the only thing that will make that better is when the wedding happens next summer. Nothing can REPLACE Dad—but this is a VERY close clone. Even gaining new ‘grandparents’ is so fulfilling… I never knew Dad’s parents...

Alecia knocks on my door after Christmas dinner. She pulls me out of my somber reverie. I smile as I invite her in. She sits on the bed next to me and I brush out her now shoulder-length hair. She sighs in contentment and asks me, “Paige, are you really OK with your implant. I mean, I TRULY am so grateful for mine—I AM Alecia. I couldn’t have gotten a better Christmas present from Angi. I…I…I feel so sorry for what my Dad did to you… It is so unfair!”

I hug her and say, “Alecia, Hon. I am at peace with my lot. No, I would not have chosen this path. Yes, I am truly happy. Things happen for a reason. Look at us now. We are a tight-knit family—all of us, together. I’m sorry your Dad isn’t part of that—I truly am. I know what it’s like to lose a Dad.”

We hug each other and cry together. Then we fix each other’s makeup and go down for family night.

That night, I reflect on the last several days. Christmas is awesome in this community—and our family seems to have truly grown. We are fully accepted by Alecia and her grandparents. And they are fully accepted by us.

So, it is no surprise that the new year is rung in with love and commitments for a full and meaningful year by all of us. Oh, I also get to try champagne for the first time—not really a fan (although, it IS better with orange juice). I hug and kiss my love, Francie. I hug Alecia and whisper to her, “Welcome to the family, GIRL!” She smiles so brightly; it truly warms my heart (or it COULD be the champagne…)

The two weeks are gone in the blink of an eye and we are packing up to go back home. Francie and I both actually make it down a ‘red’ (intermediate) slope on the last day. The last night is another big meal and loads of ‘family time’.

We leave the next morning amidst promises of another ‘family reunion’ here at the Chateau for Easter. I hug Gramma and Grampa and they hug me back, tightly. Gramma whispers in my ear, “You are a special lady, Paige. Thank you for what you’re doing for Alecia. And…don’t you DARE let Francie go—she is JUST as special.” She winks at me as she breaks the hug and I blush bright red.

The ride back is somehow longer than the ride there. At least I have time to finish the spreadsheet in the car. I smile as I save it and say, “Done! Every student is assigned to a house—and PINKS still ROCK!”

Mummy is driving and giggles. She looks at me in the mirror and says, “Good work, Love! This is going to work. I just know it!”

o~O~o

I stand on the stage for our first assembly. Ronnie has turned the microphone over to me. She has explained most of how this is to work—a month in the assigned house; a house-related project (self-defined, but meaningful); a chance to change houses ONCE during the month (with GOOD reason); and then houses become voluntary.

I step up to the microphone and say, in a nervous tone, “Hi everyone. Umm…well, the house rosters will be posted by the time assembly is over. If you’re in Pink house, then come see me—I’m head pink. Miss Ferguson did not go into the houses, there is pink, green, blue…”

I am SO glad THAT is over. It took me a half hour to explain the houses. There are some incredulous looks about such house as yellow (lesbians) or lavender (gay boys) or that there could be too many in any other than pink or blue. Of course, there ARE some openly gays…and their scores DID substantiate their status. Of course, I KNOW there are going to be surprises—and lots of grumbling—and hopefully, some ‘coming outs’…

After I meet with the heads of the houses (these had been selected based on scores and willingness to lead), I go to Room 326—‘Pink HQ’ and wait for my initiates. A good number of them are on the cheer team—no surprise there. Several are guys that I would NEVER have pegged as potential TG; let alone pink material. The others are more or less no surprise—all genetic females…

The group trickles in. I hug my cheer peeps as they come in. Of course, Penny and Paulette are yellow…but COULD transfer to pink later, if they choose.

When Jonathan and Greg come in—they are both furious. They are seniors—there are several other boys that are in lower grades and they all look shell-shocked to be here—ten, in all. Jonathan says, “This is an OUTRAGE! How did I get assigned to this…this…this PINK HELL?” Greg looks less furious, but not really happy, either.

I say, “Calm down, Jonathan, right? I promise you that the test doesn’t lie. You are here for a reason. Now, you can fight it. You can ignore it. You can even be a bitch about it. But, for the next month, you’re going to HAVE to get used to it. In two weeks, you can change WITH GOOD REASON, if you so choose. The same goes for ALL of you… Now, can we please all sit down. Since we are a mixture of grades and I don’t think everyone knows everyone…”

We spend the next half hour telling each other who we are. Some are more open than others. Then Ronnie stops by and reminds everyone about the grade aspects of this and people become more ‘engaged’.

I close the session by saying, “OK, fellow pinks. First, always remember that pinks ROCK—we ARE the best. Second, we always want to show that we are pinks. I will be dressing accordingly over the next month. That doesn’t necessarily mean you have to DRESS in pink—just, well in a very feminine way. Jonathan and Greg—you’ll have to decide how you show your allegiance for the next two weeks. Give an honest try and if you still feel that you don’t belong in two weeks, I won’t stand in your way of transferring.”

Jonathan grumbles—to put it mildly. Greg looks thoughtful. The other girls are already making plans amongst themselves. I smile—I have forty-eight pinks; well, I am pretty sure I have thirty-six—the boys…well, time will tell.

I hand each of the new Pinks a brochure on the way out. MOST won’t need them—not in Pink house; at least not the girls… Mummy has offered free counseling to anyone that is uncomfortable with their score—and assignment. It certainly will come as a shock to many. Depending on the demand for counseling, she has some other counselors lined up that have agreed to volunteer their time.

Jonathan gives me an evil look as he takes the brochure and crumbles it up. He throws the crumpled ball on the floor in front of my feet and storms out. Even Greg looks embarrassed. He takes the brochure and says, “Look, Paige. I don’t know what to think about all of this…but I will give it a try. I need the grade…”

I nod and say, “OK, Greg—just let me know how I can help. OK? And…try and calm down Jonathan?”

He nods and hurries off after him. I sigh as the last of the group files out. Tomorrow should be interesting.

o~O~o

I get out of Mummy’s Porsche and am a bit surprised when she gets out, as well. She smiles and says, “I have several counseling appointments this morning. I had ten text requests before I went to bed last night—and three more this morning.”

I nod and we walk towards the building together. I look around and there is a subtle difference to the normal routine. There are different groupings of kids—people talking to each other that you normally don’t see together. Some animated, some more subdued.

There are also differences in some of the clothing choices. I had made a special effort to be in ‘Pink’ mode this morning—although, I am not wearing one stitch of pink clothing. That is just to make a point. I unconsciously play with my ‘green’ bracelet and take in the new ‘styles’. While, the groups are not totally by house—and the clothing is not always plainly indicative of the house—the prevailing ‘style’ seems to be to have a color-theme that goes with the assigned house.

I shake my head and say to Mummy, “I’m SO glad I didn’t wear pink today!”

She giggles and says, “They will get it after a while—at least most seem to be trying to engage the spirit of the houses.”

I nod and say, “I guess… Good luck with the counseling sessions. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”

Mummy hugs me and goes to the front office. I go towards my first class. Molly, a new Pink comes up to me—bathed in pink—and smiles brightly. She says, “Hi Paige! I…hope this is OK?”

I smile and say, “Hi Molly. You look cute! But remember—being a Pink is not JUST about the color. It’s about being FEMININE! See? Not a stitch of pink on me today—but I’m most certainly a Pink!”

Her face falls a bit and I smile at her. “I didn’t mean to make out like there is anything WRONG with Pink, Molly! I wear it a lot…and you DO look feminine! Very much so, in fact,” I mollify her.

Her smile comes back and she giggles. She says, “Thanks! So do you! See you in Home Pink after last class?”

I nod and she scurries off to her class.

I run into several more of mostly the same encounters before I get to class. When I get there, I almost giggle. Greg is wearing a pink shirt and is trying his best to act girly. Before I can actually enter the room, though, Jonathan corners me in the hallway. He pushes me up against the wall.

He growls, “How COULD you give my score to my PARENTS?”

I shrug and say, “*I* didn’t give anything to anyone, Jonathan.”

He has a furious look on his face—but the look in his eyes is…haunted, maybe even scared.

He says, “Whatever. Now they know…they are forcing me to go to the counseling session. Now, they give me these…looks… They are blaming the school… They’re talking to their lawyer today…”

I look at him curiously when it really hits me what he just said—not about the lawyers. I ask, “What do you mean, ‘now they know’?”

He shakes his head and just says, “Look! Leave me alone, OK? You and your damned ‘experiment’ have ruined my life—even more than it already WAS!”

He rushes off. I stand there…totally confused.

I break free of my confused reverie as the bell rings and go into the class and to my seat. Greg gives me a curious look, but there is no time to say anything before Mr. Sorenson comes in.

Greg comes over right after the bell rings and corrals me in a corner. He asks, “What was going on before class, Paige? I saw you with Jonny…”

I shrug and tell him what happened. Frankly, I am surprised that Greg is even talking to me.

He gets a pained look on his face and says, “Look, Paige. This has all opened up a can of worms for Jonny and me. I…will be able to handle it…I think. It’s immensely more complicated for Jonny.”

The blank look on my face clearly conveys my confusion. I ask, “What do you mean, Greg? I don’t understand. What can of worms?”

Greg sighs and says, “That test was totally right to put us in your house… Both Jonny and I ARE TG—there is no doubt. But, there was no way he could EVER tell his parents…now, that cat is out of the bag and he will have to face the consequences. He can’t pretend the scores don’t mean anything—his parents are too savvy for that.”

I pale—not knowing what that actually meant—but, it didn’t sound good. Before I can pry more into it, he continues.

He sighs, “As for me. Well, my parents are more tolerant…but, I just didn’t have the guts to come out. This has forced it… I guess I SHOULD be thankful…but I have seen what YOU have been going through…I don’t really WANT to go through that my last two years of school…”

I shake my head and say, “Look, Greg. I am not TG—not in that sense. So, I can’t say that I FULLY know what you’re feeling. What I CAN say is that it will eat at you more and more if you don’t face the fact that you’re a girl. That IS what you’re telling me, right?”

He bites his lower lip and nods.

I give him…her…a hug and ask, “Have you set up an appointment with Mummy?”

He shakes his head. I pull out my phone and send her a text. I get a response back in about a minute. I smile at Greg and say, “You have now. Be at the nurse’s office at ten. They will give you a pass once you’re there. So, do you like have a girl name you go by?”

He…she…smiles and says, ‘Well, I sorta like Emily…but just between us, for now, OK? Jonny is the only other person that knows…”

I nod solemnly and say, “Nice to meet you, Emily—and, of course! Don’t forget…ten o’clock!”

I hurry off to my next class.

o~O~o

Classes go by fairly well during the morning. I get SOME ‘f-u’ looks, some confused looks, even some worried ones. Other than Jonathan, no one outright accosts me, though—not until lunch, anyway.

I am sitting with some of the new Pinks and we are talking ‘girl stuff’, when a rather sullen-looking group—five in all—comes towards the table. I see them and whisper to the girls at the table to remain calm. Phillip Morris seems to be the leader of the group.

He looks at me with a seething grimace. He finally says, “I hope you’re HAPPY, freak. My parents are ready to throw me out…” There are mumbles of agreement across the group—this seems to be the common issue with the group.

I carefully touch the little icon on my phone and look at Phillip. I ask, “What do you mean, Phillip? You’re in Green, why would they be bothered by that?”

He looks at me—the look on his face is bordering on hateful. He spits, “That means I’m not ‘MAN’ enough for my Dad and—if anything—not GIRLY enough for my Mom…”

Randal Jones speaks up and says, “My Dad just calls me a fruit, now. Your little test may SAY I’m gay—or bi—or whatever, but I’m NOT! I don’t have ANY interest in guys—not THAT way! You’ve ruined my life!”

Amanda Grey says, “What am *I* supposed to do? My parents think I want to be a GUY!”

Randal looks over at her and asks, “SO? DON’T you?”

Amanda pales, then blushes.

At that moment, Ronnie and Mummy show up—summoned by the special ‘911’ app on my phone.

Ronnie asks, “What’s going on here? Let’s take this to the office, NOW!”

The group of five, Ronnie, Mummy, and I go to the front office and into Ronnie’s conference room. I sit down next to Mummy—away from the group. My heart goes out to them, but it is still pumping from fear.

The group is still sullen and quiet, now. Ronnie and Mummy quickly pull out what their issues are and Mummy sets up five more sessions with them, while Ronnie contacts their parents for a mandatory meeting. She sighs, that makes thirty-eight of those, so far.

o~O~o

The tension over the week gets better in some circles and worse in others. Some students—and parents—engage the month’s activities as intended: An opportunity to grow and learn. Unfortunately, that is the minority—although only a slim one. There is another fairly large group where the students embrace the houses, but the parents are, well, less than happy. Surprisingly, there is a group of parents that think it is great, but not the students. Then, of course, there is the group where both the students AND the parents are dead-set against it.

Mummy, Ronnie, and I are debriefing the week after class on Friday. Ronnie sighs and says, “Well, we ARE being sued. That isn’t REALLY a surprise, I guess. I have conferred with our legal team—again—and they’re still confident we can prevail, since it technically isn’t a requirement—and no one is forced to STAY in a particular house.”

Mummy nods and says, “It seems that about 85% of the kids have either decided the house they are in fits—or it’s too much of a bother to justify a change. The other 15% want to change—but not all the way you might think… Some of the changes stay fully in the spectrum—it isn’t like all the boys are gunning for blue, for example.”

I nod and say, “And some of the kids are really trying. Some of the Pink projects are really cool—Emily seems to be adjusting fine—even coming out in class. Her parents are more open to it than she feared and now she is kicking herself for not doing it earlier.”

Mummy sighs and says, “I wish the news was as good for Jonathan. He still refuses to open up—and his parents are real pains about it.”

Ronnie nods and says, “Yep—they are the ones that filed the suit.”

Mummy says, “Well, you can lead a horse to water… We can only hope that at some point, Jonathan’s thirst gets strong enough that he will drink. His score and results didn’t flat out show suicidal tendencies, but they didn’t rule them out, either.”

I sigh and look at my watch. I say, “I have to run—cheer practice.”

Ronnie smiles and says, “How is it coming? You really think you can get the girls to go for State in the Spring?”

I nod and say, “I’m almost certain of it!”

Ronnie gives me a hug and says, “Well, go get ’em tigress!”

o~O~o

The second week of Houses starts pretty close the same as the first. I get out of Mummy’s pink Porsche and we walk up the steps together. The groupings are now more…normal…in that they lasted through the week and are what I am starting to expect. The fashions have solidified a bit, in that each house has sort of settled on a style of its own.

I’m not accosted as much. I do still get some angry stares from the anti-house group, but mostly, everyone has settled in enough to know that they can get through it and there is no need to take it out on me. Ronnie has made it very clear that she won’t tolerate that.

I start into my class and Emily is standing at the door. It seems she is waiting on me. She says, “Hi Paige. Umm…can we talk…after school?”

I nod and say, “Sure! There is no practice today. Want to go to Starbucks? I have to wait on Mummy to get through some end-of-day sessions.”

She nods and we go in together. Class starts a couple of minutes later and I don’t have time to think about it until much later in the day.

I look at the clock during last class and sigh—there is still a half hour left. I remember the coffee ‘date’ and smile, though. I am so glad that Emily came out…she seems happier with herself. I have no idea what she wants from me, though.

I meet up with her thirty-five minutes later. I had texted Mummy what my plans were and she just had wished us fun. We walk the three blocks to the Starbucks and find a seat after getting one of the sinfully sweet concoctions each.

We are in a secluded corner and Emily timidly sips on the hot liquid—intermittently blowing on it and sending a cloud of steam in my direction. I quietly wait—this is her gig.

Finally, she says, “I…I…I want to thank you, Paige—for forcing this, I mean. I know you’re catching heck from a lot of people about it. But…it is working out OK for me. My parents are…adjusting. It was a shock to them, but they are really trying to understand.”

I smile genuinely at her and say, “I’m SO glad, Emily!”

She smiles shyly and seems to gather her courage. Finally, she asks, “I was wondering if maybe you want to go to the mall one evening—or this weekend… You know to…shop?”

I giggle and say, “I would LOVE to! Just the two of us?”

Emily says, “Well, I don’t have any friends—not the kind that would want to go on something like this…”

The smile on my face falls a bit. I say, “I’m sorry about Jonathan—I had hoped…”

She shrugs and says, “It is her loss that she won’t stand up to her parents…”

I force a smile and say, “Anyway, I’m sure that we can get a fun group together. Just leave it to me!”

We finish our coffee and talk for a while. It is clear that Emily needs practice—but it is also clear that she really IS a girl. How did I miss that all of this time?

o~O~o

As it turns out, Penny, Amanda, and I don’t have practice on Wednesday night—well, none of us do, but the two of them want to go to the mall with me…and Emily.

Emily is SO excited when we get into Penny’s car after school and she drives us to the mall. On the way, Amanda asks, “So, how are you holding up, Emily? I know you’re catching SOME flack.”

She plays with the green bracelet on her arm—the one with REAL stones, like mine, signifying her as certified TG. She says, “Overall, it’s OK. Thankfully, Paige paved the way for some of the issues—at least there is some clarity as to expectations. Other than that, yeah, I catch the same shit that Paige does.”

Penny pulls into a parking spot and says, “Well, I think this house thing IS helping. I know it has opened up a BUNCH of cans of worms, but that really is taking the spotlight off of us and putting it back on those that thought they were above it all.”

I nod and say, “Yes. It will be interesting to see who switches next week—and to where…”

We all get out of the car and I ask, “So, anywhere in particular you want to go, Em? Anything special you want?”

She blushes and pulls a paper out of her purse and says, “I got my Mom to sign this permission slip…would you girls mind going to Claire’s with me? I want to get my ears pierced!”

We all scream in excitement and give her a big hug—and walk in unison towards the door.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

I know that I have taken some artistic license with our U.S. legal system here, but this is all in the vein of fiction and fun—so, all of you lawyers and legal-minded readers, please forgive me!

HUGS!

o~O~o

The next day, about mid-morning, I am called to the front office and then straight into Ronnie’s office. I am, once again, surprised to find Mummy and Momma there—along with the school lawyers.

Ronnie asks me to take a seat and gets straight the point, “Paige, normally I wouldn’t include a student in these affairs, but, once again, I’m afraid you’re embroiled in this.” She looks at Momma who is on her phone—Momma looks up and nods.

Ronnie continues, “OK, Sheila, your lawyer is on her way—but, I want to go ahead and continue, if that’s alright. We can catch her up when she gets here?”

Momma nods.

Ronnie sighs and says, “Well, Jonathan Malloy’s parents have filed suit—we all knew that. It seems they have been able to get it moved into federal district court—so, at least for now, it isn’t a civil suit. Although, I’m not sure I’m happy about a constitutional suit, I AM told by our legal team that we have a good argument. Depending on how THAT goes will likely determine the extent of any civil suit.”

The lawyers around the room all nod in agreement.

Ronnie looks at me and says, “It will be up to you and your lawyers as to how they want to handle YOUR part in this, Paige, but I thought you should know—your Mom agreed. I and our lawyers think it would be good if you ARE a part of this.”

I look around the table and ask, “So, what does this mean?”

One of the lawyers says, “Well, it will basically come down to a question of whether the school, through the implementation of your experiment, violated anyone’s constitutional privacy rights. We will argue that there was informed consent in the case of the minors—and once the school was aware of the results, it had no choice but to inform the parents and act. Failure to act would have made the school liable for sexual discrimination under Title VII. That is oversimplified, but we think we can pull it off—depending on the judge.”

Momma looks at me and says, “Normally, this is another of those things that would take MONTHS—somehow, they got it moved into court under an emergency declaration. We go to court next WEEK!”

o~O~o

The rest of the week is ALL about preparations for the case. It is decided that I will take part even though, technically, I could get out of it, since I am a minor and acted within the scope of what my mother and the school was allowing.

Sheila and the school lawyers work with us all. Mrs O’Dell also has her team working on an amicus brief. The night before the first day of court, we go to the mall and get my three new outfits to wear that are court ‘appropriate’. We also get mani-pedis and have a nice dinner. Then we go home and do more prep.

When the alarm goes off, I open my eyes and want to throw up when I realize what day it is. I get up and quickly get dressed. I go down and force a smoothie down, since the thought of anything solid doesn’t sit well with my stomach.

An hour and a half before it is time, we all get into Momma’s Mercedes and she drives us to the courthouse. We meet up with the legal team in a conference room that is provided to us and go through some last minute details.

Then it is time…

I sit there letting all of the preliminary court ‘stuff’ go in one ear and out the other. I fight back the queasiness in my stomach. I look around and see that Jonathan is NOT here. As a matter of fact, I am the only student here—the others are all in class. I think this is the first time I have EVER envied anyone for being IN school when I am not.

I wish I could say it gets more interesting—it doesn’t. It’s all about people getting up and telling their side of things—only all wrapped up in all kinds of legalese. I wish we were allowed phones, so I could at least text…

Finally, it is my turn…

I get up on the stand and swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth…

I tell my story of how I was tricked into changing genders and the repercussions it has had on me in school, given the laws around transgendered individuals in the State. The judge asks me several questions as do the lawyers on both sides. Then I tell about my idea for using the houses in school to get over the discrimination—or to at least force people to THINK about it. To understand that there IS a spectrum—that it is NOT all black and white.

There are LOTS more questions after that… I feel really sick and tired after nearly a full day of it.

Finally, after three days of it all, the judge says, “Well, normally, I would not render a ruling so quickly, but since this was fast-tracked, I will have my verdict ready at thirteen hundred hours tomorrow. Court is adjourned!”

Everyone files out. The lawyers are not sure how it will go, since they could not really get a read on how the judge may be leaning. Sheila says, “I think it may go more in our favor than not—I can’t say why; it is just a feeling. PLUS, we are RIGHT!”

Momma, Mummy, and I go out to eat and I go to bed early.

The next morning, I sleep in a little later and get up in time to get ready for us to get to the courthouse for the verdict.

Of course, there is media all over the place and of course, they try to get US to say something. Momma says that we will be happy to talk after the verdict and we go in to take our seats.

The judge comes in precisely at one o’clock and sits down. He gets straight to the point.

He looks at the Malloys and says, “I have to say that I am truly disappointed that parents would use a venue like this to try and discriminate against their own child. By your own admission in your statements, you agreed to your child taking the profile test, knowing full well that it was a test designed to profile an individual on the LGBT spectrum, because you thought that it would prove that your child was quote-unquote NORMAL.”

He turns a little red and says, “That is wrong on so many levels. First, that you have created an environment for your child that was so hostile to the very idea that being transgendered is an unfathomable thing and so toxic that your child was scared to death to let you know. Then, that you would approve a test only with the goal that it would prove your world view, then sue when it does not.”

He takes a breath as the Malloys squirm. He continues, “Your contention that your child’s and even YOUR privacy was violated by the release of the information is completely undermined by this fact, plus that the information was to be used in the fully disclosed school experiment. The fact that it did not result in an outcome that fits with your outdated and bigoted worldview is not in support of your case. As for the school releasing the information to ANY of the parents of minors that signed the consent form, there is no violation of privacy.”

He takes a breath and says, “What the court was not asked in this case and will not rule on, is the question of informing the parents of those minors that are sixteen and older. The question becomes that of is being on the LGBT spectrum a MEDICAL issue that protects that information under HIPAA. One can see the argument that underlying cause of being, say transgendered, at the psychological level is no more a medial issue than having red hair. Yes, there is a medical component, in that there are some remedies to the fact that the internal gender does not fit the external body—but, to say that the internal gender itself is a medical issue, would raise that condition to be disease. Based on discussions here, that would seem to be a questionable determination and would not speak against providing the information to the parents, but it is a question that needs further investigation. In the meantime, I can see no reason to withhold the information from the parents.”

He then looks at me. He smiles and says, You, young lady, are very brave indeed. You have been wronged on so many levels, yet you still try and make things better, not only for you, but for everyone around you. That is very commendable. I hope that you can maintain that quality for the rest of your life. As for your perceived experiment, I applaud you on that, as well. In spite of flawed State laws that are indeed unconstitutional and illegally discriminatory, you prevailed in coming up with a viable plan to fully bring your school in line with the very spirit of Title VII. It may be a slightly different interpretation of workplace, but I agree with your lawyers that school is indeed your place of ‘employment’ at this stage in your life and that you have every right to not be subjected to illegal discrimination.”

He looks to the courtroom at large and says, “This court was not initially asked to rule on the constitutionality of LB1345—the State’s ‘wristband law’, since there was a separate request to the court on that. However, it is such an integral part of this case that I have agreed to fold it in. Requiring anyone to have to wear a distinguishing marking based on sex, race, gender, sexual orientation, marital status, or any other protected status, is so against the foundational beliefs of this country that it is beyond comprehension. We entered a second world war to stop the VERY SAME THING in other countries! We have fought hard as country to not have a culture of branding individuals. Yes, we have a sordid past on this issue, but it is not in line with the founders’ intent and it is not in line with this court’s thinking.”

He takes a sip of water and continues, “As such, I declare LB1345 as constitutionally and morally corrupt. The law and its requirements must be immediately vacated.”

There is a loud murmur that ripples through the room.

The judge continues, “As for the experiment. I find that this experiment is FULLY in line with the constitution and Title VII. As such, I not only encourage the school to continue the experiment, but I order that this experiment be continued for the remainder of the school year and beyond as a pilot to determine whether the same or similar programs need be implemented in all schools across the circuit to counter known discrimination against protected statuses, similar to the busing orders in the south during the mid-twentieth century. A known wrong must not only be stopped, but also corrected.”

The murmur turns into a buzz…a LOUD buzz.

The judge bangs his gavel and says, “I will supply my written ruling by the end of the day. This session is adjourned.”

We all hug each other and congratulate the lawyers. I kiss Francie, who had come into town to hear the verdict. I can’t help but notice the venomous looks we get from the Malloys.

o~O~o

Of course this makes the national news and there is a HUGE buzz across the nation. The news shows are all talking about it—with mixed interpretations, depending on the station. The bigots immediately file an appeal but the Appeals Court won’t stop the lower court’s ruling until it can take on the case…in approximately two years.

As such, Ronnie immediately starts working with Mummy to solidify the program—it was never intended to be a PERMANENT program, it was only supposed to last a month. Momma works with the parental board, since there will need to be help and support from that side—of course, not everyone is HAPPY about the ruling and there is a faction that vows to do what they can to derail the program.

Since this is now going to be a foundational part of the school structure, a new student body board is stood up that is devised of the heads of each house (moving forward, to be voted on by each house) and then, of those, a president that is voted on by the board members. I am voted in as both official head of the Pinks and subsequently as the first president of the board.

All of that does create intermittent conflicts with my cheer plans—but, I am still pushing the group towards State…only a couple of months away. I will just HAVE to make it work—oh, and not derail my grades; Momma and Mummy have BOTH made that VERY clear.

o~O~o

About a month after the ruling, Jonathan comes up to me after our weekly Pink meeting—he had never made the effort to swap out of the group and, as such, is still officially a Pink. He doesn’t really ever attend the voluntary weekly after-school sessions, only the mandatory in-school ones, but for some reason he had come to today’s.

Thankfully all of the others in the group were really nice to him, especially Emily.

He looks at me and has a strange look on his face. It is a mixture of sadness and…hope? He says, “Paige, I know we got off on the wrong foot about this whole thing. I was really mad that this whole thing—that I blamed totally on you—had outed me to my parents and I didn’t think it was fair. I STILL don’t think anyone should get outed against their will, but that is another topic.”

I stand there silently and just nod. I don’t know where he is going with this, but I don’t want to get all defensive and shut him off.

He sighs and says, “My parents have basically pushed me out of the house—it doesn’t matter that I am not following my innermost desires. It doesn’t matter that I KNOW I am a girl and not pursuing it…for THEM. They…have made me move in with my ‘eccentric’ Aunt. For them, ‘eccentric’ means that she is very liberal…and is a big supporter of LGBT rights. When she found out about my ‘problem’ from my parents, she immediately offered to let me move in with her.”

I give him a thoughtful nod, but still remain silent—my eyes encouraging him to continue.

He says, “There is no pressure from her at all for me to transition. She is happy to let me be…well, me. Anyway, I thought I would tell you. I…I…I think I am going to try some things…at home. I’m not ready to be like you or Emily at school, though…not yet, at least.”

I go over to her and hug her. It is an overtly girly thing to do and I feel tears drip from her eyes onto my shoulder.

I slowly push her from me, holding onto her arms, so that I can see into her eyes and say, “You need to do what is best for YOU in this and not worry about what others think. I KNOW how hard that is, TRUST me! Honestly, though, what Emily…and now you…are doing is a lot harder than what I did, I think. Thankfully, you’re both now in safe and encouraging environments where you can blossom.”

I sigh and continue, “I’m sorry that this has driven a wedge between you and your parents. I also am sorry that you were outed against your wishes. None of that was EVER the intent. I can’t say the ends justify the means, but in this case, I can hope the ends ARE better than the alternatives.”

Jonathan bites his lips in a very girly way and, after a few seconds, simply nods.

I smile and say, “And, if you would like for me to come over to your house at some point and meet…well, YOU, then I would love to!”

He nods and says, “Emily said the same. Give me some time to adjust and I would love that, too. By the way, between us only, well, and Emily, I’m…Felicia.”

I hug her again and say, “I am VERY happy to meet you, Felicia. And, of course, this stays between us. Have you talked to my Mummy, yet? I think she would be happy to know that you are…becoming YOU.”

She shakes her head and says, “I want to but it’s tough to get an appointment with her right now…”

I smile and take my phone out my purse. I send a brief text. After a minute, I get one back.

I hug Felicia and say, “Tomorrow morning at 9:30. Us Pinks look out for one another, you know!”

I wink at her and she gives me a bright smile as we walk together towards the front entrance to go home for the day.

Quite honestly, the rest of the school-year is anti-climactic. Yes, we DO go to State as a cheer squad. No, we don’t win—we don’t even come close at third place. BUT WE WENT! And we will go next year, too—at least if I have anything to say about it.

Felicia slowly comes out of her shell. Emily and I spend a fair amount of time with her. They both come over to the house about once a week and we spend a lot of girl time—especially after I don’t have to go to cheer practice.

The one big thing that happens right before the end of school? My sweet sixteen! Momma and Mummy put on a surprise birthday party for me. The bigger surprise, though, is that FELICIA is there. She officially comes out to the rest of my friends at the party…and to the school the next week. While I would say that is the COOLEST thing about my party—I really can’t. That honor falls to the pink Audi TT convertible that Momma and Mummy give me as a birthday present! (Well, there is another, but I won’t talk about the birthday present that Francie gives me that night…)

So, what about school? Well, after things settled down, it is working really well. Starting next year, we will be a magnet school. Another high school is being commandeered by the intolerants and will OFFICIALLY be a magnet school that caters to political science (the right wing type, that is). No matter; there is already a waiting list of students from the surrounding schools in the district that want to be in a house. As it is, the school is looking to expand and build on. Other schools, from out-of-state, are also contacting ours to build on our model.

So, when we reach the last week of school, it is bitter-sweet. A lot was accomplished… I made a lot of friends… A lot of people were freed to be themselves, in part because of what I put in motion—intentionally, or not. I just wish we could have brought home that trophy—there is still next year, though!

On the last day, I hug Penny and Amanda—they are graduating and I already miss them. I hug the rest of the girls on the squad and we vow to bring home the trophy next year. I hug Emily and Felicia—we vow to keep up our weekly visits over the summer. I hug each and every Pink before I get into my TT and drive home—not even thinking about the fact that I am driving in five-inch heels. SO much has changed…

o~O~o

I zip up the back of Momma’s dress—she looks SO beautiful! Alecia comes in for the hundredth time—she keeps running back and forth between this room and Mummy’s where Francie is helping HER get ready.

We are at Gramma and Grampa’s chalet in the mountains and the procession is about to happen up the mountain (in cable cars, of course) to where Momma and Mummy are going to get married.

Alecia says, “They’re ready! And…Aunt Dawn—you look AMAZING!”

Momma hugs Alecia and says, “Thanks, Love! You look very beautiful, yourself!”

Grampa knocks on the door and comes in. He smiles brightly and hugs Momma. He says, “Angi and Francie just left for their ride up—Gramma is with them. We will wait a few minutes and take our car up. Are you ready? No cold feet, right?”

Momma smiles and shakes her head. She says, “No, I have never been as certain about anything in my life. I can’t thank you enough for doing this for us, George.”

He shakes his head and says, “Nonsense! That’s what family is for!”

Momma steps into her shoes and we all head out and down the stairs to the car waiting to take us to the cable car station.

Fifteen minutes later, we are looking out the window of the cable car. Alecia is taking a lot of pictures on her phone. The ride is about 10 minutes to the top and we get out of the car where there is a horse-drawn carriage awaiting us. We get in and the driver takes us on another ten-minute ride across the meadow to where the wedding is to take place.

The official photographer is there and snapping away as Momma takes Grampa’s arm and gets out of the carriage. Alecia and I hurry up to where Francie is standing, close to Mummy who is waiting. We take up our places and the wedding music starts.

Since there was only one Grampa, it had been decided that Momma would walk down the aisle with him and Mummy would wait at the altar. It has nothing to do with one being the ‘man’ in the relationship and one being the ‘woman’—they are BOTH very much women. It was just…well, sweet watching Grampa proudly walk Momma down the aisle, like she really was his daughter.

Grampa ‘delivers’ Momma to the waiting Mummy and the minister and the ceremony starts. There is not a dry eye at the top of the mountain when Momma and Mummy kiss each for the first time as a married couple.

Of course, then we party…until the last cable car takes us down the mountain. And then we party some more at Gramma and Grampa’s.

When we finally get ready for bed at around three in the morning, I kiss Francie and say, “Someday that’s going to be us, right?”

Francie snuggles up to me and asks, “Why Paige, are you asking me to marry you?”

I am stunned—I hadn’t even thought of it that way. I swallow a little nervously and say, “Well, yes…I suppose I am… Will you?”

Francie squeezes me and gives me a hard kiss with soft lips. She pulls back and says, “Yes, my Love. I can’t think of anything I want more!”

I give a little shriek and Momma and Mummy stick their heads in the door. Momma asks, “Is everything OK, girls?”

Mummy looks at us with concern.

I smile and say, “Yes, Mothers. Everything is perfect! You are now both officially my mothers—and, well, based on the fact that Francie just agreed to marry ME, in a few years, you are going to officially be hers, too!”

Well, let’s just say that after that, there is no sleep to be had that night as the party, albeit now just close family (including Gramma and Grampa) starts back up…

o~O~o

To be continued…
I know this is a short epilogue, of sorts for ‘Junior Year’, but I am really busy with RL and my brain can’t totally focus on the story. It is not over, yet, by any means, so don’t go away. It will just take me a couple of weeks to continue it on—although, it will most likely be with Paige in College. No worries, though, I will get everyone caught up!

HUGS!