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!”