---

What lengths would you go to, to help a pretty girl struggling with her past? Especially, if you knew there was the potential to be more than ‘just friends’?

---

 

Barbie’s Doll
The Cotton Candy Wars

Copyright© 2017 Shauna
All Rights Reserved.
(All image originals sourced from Creative Commons)

---

Part Six

School was nothing special on Monday—other than the posse giggling if any of them happened to pass by me. The first twenty-or-so times, I blush. After that, I just ignore it—well, I try to, anyway.

Our after-school get-together at Jill’s is fairly routine—except for the discussion that somehow gets woven into the studying.

Jill starts, “OK. Should we start with world history? This holocaust stuff is really a downer right at Christmas. I’d just as soon get it over with!”

Barbie and I both shrug and nod.

Jill continues, “So… Chrissy, you’re going with Barbs to see Mitsi’s Momma on Wednesday?”

She asks it in a nonchalant, innocent kind of way.

My eyes are bugging out, “Wait! Dr. Myers is Mitsi’s Mom? Really? I’m dead—it’ll be all over school!”

In case I didn’t mention it—well, I guess I didn’t; why would I? Anyway Mitsi Myers is one of Jill’s posse—another of the ‘Hot Girls’ in school.

Barbie grabs my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, “Breathe, Chrissy! Dr. Myers can’t tell anyone what you talk about without your permission—unless she thinks you’re going to harm yourself or someone else.”

Jill winks at me and gives me a smug look.

I resolve to kill her later—maybe something from this history book! Or maybe just with the book itself—it’s certainly heavy enough!

She says sweetly, “You didn’t answer the question, girlfriend. You—as in Chrissy—are going with Barbs to her see our peep’s Momma?”

I notice she doesn’t say ‘psychiatrist’ or ‘shrink’ and suddenly get why she said it that way. Oh! She’s still going to get it! But, I am beginning to better understand some of what would have gone over my head just two weeks ago. Maybe my brain is turning into pink cotton candy.

No! No, no, no! I am a guy, dammit!

I pale. I’m a guy going to see a shrink, as a girl, and the shrink is my best friend’s peep’s mother.

I groan and retort, “Yes, I’m going to see Dr. Myers. So, what?”

She slaps my hand, “No need to get all bitchy, girl!”

Barbie giggles for the first time since I got here. I finally get what’s going on—Jill is putting Barbie at ease. Of course, it’s at my expense. Jill gives me an ‘it’s about time’ look and I sigh and cool my jets, “Yes, I am going. But I had no idea that she was Mitsi’s Mom.”

Jill changes gears and talks about Hitler for a bit, then, just as I am getting settled into the subject of actually studying, she circles back around—throwing me off my game again, “Mitsi’s really nice, you know. I’m sure her Momma is nice, too. What do you think about her Barbs? You know her.”

Barbie spouts off some stuff about the Holocaust, then casually adds on, “Oh, yes. She’s really nice!”

Now, I have been subjected to this ping-pong type conversation between them over the past two weeks. Well, actually, it’s more like ping-pong on a spinning carousel that is on a Ferris wheel. But this time is the first time that I have been pulled into it in any significant way.

Mostly, they would talk their girl-code around me while we study. I find my brain hurting as I try and keep up.

“Who is nice?” I look at them, confused. I thought we had moved on.

Barbie says, “Dr. Myers, of course. Who did you think? Mitsi? She’s nice, too—but then, so are Sara and Kate!”

My eyes bug out. I’m sure my head is going to explode!

Before yours does, let me catch you up to where I am at—you’re on your own, then. No promises your head won’t explode with mine, though.

Sara Gibson—you’ve already met her in the drive-by talk in the cafeteria in school—and Kate Greer are the other two ‘peeps’ in Jill’s posse, along with Mitsi Myers and now Barbie.

Now you’re caught up!

See? I told you it wouldn’t help!

My head explodes and pink cotton candy falls all over the history book in front of Barbie. Well, not really—but it feels like it!

I shake my head to make sure it really is still in one piece, “OK, so let me get this straight… Hitler is bad—Dr. Myers, Mitsi, Sara, and Kate are nice… And that has…what…to do with the Holocaust?”

Jill looks at me like I’ve lost it, “Well, Hitler can’t be nice if he caused the Holocaust! Really, Chrissy! I swear you’re not paying attention today.”

I put my head in my hands.

We finally do get our studying done, but I am sure I am going to need to ask Mom for some headache medicine when I get home.

On the way out, Barbie gives me my usual goodbye hug. This time she whispers a simple “Thanks” in my ear and gives me an extra squeeze. Jill just winks at me over her shoulder.

I walk home in a daze. I still don’t understand everything that happened this afternoon.

---

After Jill and Barbie leave the next, the study session was at our house, Mom says, “OK, Hon, we need to get your stuff ready for tomorrow. Mrs. Greeley is going to pick you up from school at 2:30—an hour early. The front office is already aware and you’re officially excused. You will then go to their house, where you will need to quickly change before you go to the appointment that is at 3:15.”

I numbly nod—trying to process all of this. Mom smiles and hugs me, “You’ll be fine, Hon. Now, what do you want to wear. You need to go as Chrissy—but there are many Chrissies, as we’ve seen. There’s the more androgynous, tomboy Chrissy—all the way to the girly-girl Chrissy that sometimes comes out; though never as much as at the mall that night. I know you haven’t been comfortable in those Chrissy shoes, since.”

I shake my head, “I don’t know, Mom. I mean, I don’t know what Dr. Myers is expecting.”

It’s Mom’s turn to shake her head, “It doesn’t matter what she is expecting, Hon. I don’t think she is expecting anything specific, in any case—other than that Chrissy is there to support her peep.”

I give her a double-take at that.

She continues, “I know you’re nervous about going out in public as Chrissy, again. Just remember that no one noticed anything the last time—or, if they did, they didn’t care. I honestly don’t know what version of Chrissy is best for the meeting, Hon—but, I think the more you gravitate to the girlier side, the better you’ll feel that you’ll not be noticed. Total girly-girl is probably not best, since you don’t have the mannerisms for that—but something on the girly side of how you have been studying. I would say a bra is a given…”

I sigh and nod, “OK, what do you suggest, then?”

Mom giggles, “Oh, what is a girl to wear?”

She smiles to let me know she is kidding with me and holds out her hand, “Let’s go explore your closet, shall we?”

Thirty minutes later, we—that’s a loose ‘we’, but I willingly go along—decide on the mid-length denim skirt and the pink cashmere sweater, with a pink cami under it. Of course, I will be wearing a bra.

What? Yes, I argued against a skirt, at first. I haven’t worn one since…the mall. Mom does make some sort of weird sense, though, when she says the skirt will keep reminding me that I’m ‘Chrissy’ and that I need to act that way—the best I can.

I have gotten used enough to the bra by now that there is no guarantee that it will—even though I only occasionally have worn one.

So, I need a skirt to remind me that I am a guy pretending to be a girl—which is what everyone needs to see. A girl that is—not a guy pretending to be one! Duh! Keep up! I swear!

Mom gives me her impish look and I know I’m in trouble. She says, “Of course, if you really want to do it right, you’ll wear your heels.”

My poor eyes. I’m afraid they’ll never fit back in their sockets, now. Like the Grinch’s heart—they grow three sizes in that moment.

She continues pounding the stake through my heart, “Your toes are still in really good shape and would look adorable in the opened-toe pumps. The heels are just kitty ones—at an inch-and-a-half—and you can practice walking in them tonight. OK, the stiletto is more of a challenge than if it was a block… Of course, you could also wear the pink flats, I guess. But, the heels just go better with the overall look.”

My head explodes pink cotton candy all over the room again.

Mom picks them up and says, “Just try them. If you break your ankle, then you have a legitimate excuse to back out of the meeting!” She has that impish grin on her face again.

I sigh and some other person’s hands take the shoes from her—I know they’re not my hands.

I shake my head and take off the flats that I am currently wearing and slip on the ‘pumps’ as she calls them. To me, they represent the ‘Towering Inferno’. I had just seen that movie on one of the classic movie channels—and while it was really cheesy, the height of the heels certainly matches the height of the building!

Mom holds my hand to steady me and I walk around the room—looking at my white nails peek out the holes in the toes of the shoes. To my surprise, I only wobble for about one round, then I figure out how to steady my ankles and not twist them.

Mom lets go of my hand and coaches me to put one foot more in front of the other and to put the heel solidly down first. Then we practice on the stairs for a bit. When we get down to the hall—off the carpet—I am shocked to hear that signature sound of women’s heels on the hardwood floor in the hallway. A sound that I normally only hear Mom make—well, or occasionally Jill; or some other woman or girl visiting.

Now it is coming from me!

I see the pink cotton candy landing on the hardwood and give Mom a terrified look. She gives me an encouraging smile and says with a hug, “Just think about it, Hon. I guess we can put both pair in the bag and you can decide tomorrow?”

I nod and she makes me walk around the house for another ten minutes before she relents and lets me go up to take them off. As I make it to the top of the stairs, she says, “I’ll be right up, Hon, to show you where the razors are.”

I nearly trip in the heels and fall back down the stairs, I turn so quickly.

I look at her confused—I am sure that I don’t have any hair on my face. I check closely every day, after all.

I told you, I am a guy!

She smiles that smile that makes my head hurt. I feel more cotton candy getting ready to forcefully escape my ears.

She shrugs and says, “Heels or flats—you can see your legs. You don’t have much hair. But, Hon, any is too much—for a girl. It’ll grow back, I promise! Why do you think girls are always looking for longer-lasting options, like waxing or laser treatments?”

I let out the deep breath I didn’t even realize I was holding and hold my retort.

The pink cotton candy covers the whole upstairs, though, when she throws in that I need to do my underarms, too.

“Yes, I know no one can see—but it’s like with the lace. A girl knows.” There’s that impish grin on her face again as she hands me a pink razor and this bottle of girl’s shaving gel. “I know you’ve never shaved before. Do you need help? It’s easier in the bath than the shower—at least to start out with.”

I just turn red and shake my head.

I’m a guy! I think I can figure out how to shave!

I am totally embarrassed when I look at the little bandaids on my ankles when I get into bed. Mom was good about it when she got them out and put them on for me, “You did really well only cutting yourself twice, Hon!”

I sigh—and marvel at how the sheets feel on my hairless legs. It feels…good!

I groan as the cotton candy floats in the air above my bed.

---

The one thing I notice first thing when I put on my clothes is that they feel totally different with no hair on my limbs. As for none under my arms, it tickles when I put on my deodorant.

I sigh—I can still sort of smell the ‘chocolate strawberry’ scent of the shaving gel I had used last night. I am starting to regret not showering this morning, but I had spent over an hour in the bathtub last night. Mom had even surprised me by putting in bubble bath before I got in. Of course, it had its own flowery scent—but it left my skin feeling…well, soft. There was some kind of bath oils in the potion she poured in.

I finish getting ready and grab the bag with my neatly folded ‘Chrissy’ clothes in it. I also grab…my…purse. It has all of my makeup in it.

I once again beat Mom’s breakfast call when I enter the kitchen and give her a hug. She doesn’t say anything this morning—there is no need. She knows why.

I silently eat my oatmeal and give her a hug on my way out to the bus. She squeezes me and says, “It will be OK, Hon. I promise!”

I nod and walk out to the bus stop—more like a zombie than a human. I mean, isn’t that just another definition of ‘dead man walking’?

Jill doesn’t say anything—she just hugs me and doesn’t let go until the bus door opens. I really do ignore the giggles this time. I sit down and open up my ‘Flash’ graphic novel.

---

I look up at the clock and Mrs. Thomas, our English teacher, nods at Barbie and me. We both quietly gather our things and leave the classroom. I can tell Barbie is nervous being alone with me in the hallway in Jimmy mode—even after all this time. I sigh to myself and am happy I decided to do this. I can only hope it helps.

We sign out in the front office and go outside to find her Momma waiting for us in the visitor’s parking right in front of the school.

Barbie gets in front and I get in back. I see my bag and purse in the back seat, waiting for me. She was supposed to pick it up from the house before coming—so, I guess I don’t have that as an excuse.

I squelch the urge to…giggle…when I think about breaking my ankle in the heels and getting out of this. But, I have already decided to wear the flats. Well, and that feeling I got walking down the hall with her.

Mrs. Greeley greets us both and quickly drives off as we are returning the greeting. It’s like a switch is thrown, once Barbie is in the car with her Momma and I’m out of site in the back seat. She chatters about school the whole way to their house—which only takes about five minutes. They live closer to town and the school than we do.

Mrs. Greeley just parks in the drive, without pulling into the garage, but she does open the big garage door. Barbie hurries in ahead of us and Mrs. Greeley shows me to the guest room with an apologetic smile.

I quickly open up the bag, knowing that we need to hurry, and let out a huge groan when I see that the flats are not in it. I must have forgotten to put them in before I zipped it up this morning!

I shake my head and get out of my uniform. This is just off to a great start! Not!

I check that things are still properly tucked and put on the bra. I don’t really have time to warm the breast forms, so my nipples just have to deal with the stiffening cold. I put on the cami, then the skirt. I gasp as I feel the silky lining caress my hairless legs—it’s like the sheets on steroids!

I shake my head, knowing I have to focus. I put on the sweater and smile at it’s soft warmth. I sit down at the vanity and see there are actually lights on it, like on Jill’s—in the guest room? Huh!

I switch on the lights and quickly put on my makeup. Either I am getting better, or I just luck out—it turns out perfectly on the first try.

I look at the heels with that feeling of impending doom, again, and slip them on. I take a few steps to steady myself and look at the clock on the nightstand. It’s only been fifteen minutes!

I take out the little magnetic studs and place them on my ears, letting them snap together in just the right spot on the first try.

What? I got lucky again! What did you think?

I close the clasp on the little heart-shaped necklace and let it fall into my ‘cleavage’ on top of the pink sweater.

I stand up and take one final look.

Jimmy’s gone—there is a hot chick looking back at me in the mirror.

I gasp and hurry out of the room after grabbing my purse and the bag with my uniform.

I make it back down the stairs and into the kitchen even before Barbie does. Mrs. Greeley comes over and hugs me, “Chrissy! You look lovely—you’re a real doll!”

I sigh and say, “Thank you, Mrs. Greeley. I’m still not sure about these heels. It’s my first time…”

She looks down at them and say, “I think it’s time you call me Grace, Hon. And the way you walked in here, I would never have suspected that you’re a novice in them!”

I give her a funny look.

She smiles, “After what you have done—and are doing for Barbie. Don’t you dare let her know I called her that. Anyway, you have more than earned the right to call me Grace, Hon.”

I nod, suddenly shy. I simply say, “OK…Grace. If you say, so.”

She smiles and says, “I do say so.”

At that moment Barbie comes rushing in. She stops in her tracks when she sees me—the words, “Say so, what,” dying on her lips.

She walks around me and just lets out a low whistle, “You go, girl! Here, give me your eyeliner.”

In a wink, I have flicks on my eyes again and…Grace…giggles with her.

She says, “I was telling Chrissy she has earned the right to call me Grace, Hon.”

Barbie looks between us and then simply asks, “Really?”

I must have missed something.

Grace just nods and waves at her face with hands—I’ve noticed girls do that to keep from tearing up and ruining their mascara. I still have no idea, but then says, “OK, we have to go!”

Still totally confused, I follow Barbie and…Grace to the car and we make the short trip to a private medical facility downtown. The whole car ride takes about ten minutes.

We get out—yes, I make sure to get out ‘properly’, since the skirt is doing a really good job of reminding me—and go into the modern glass and steel building. A quick ride on the elevator, dispatches us out onto the eleventh floor—to an open reception area for Dr. Myers’ practice. It seems she has the whole floor.

I look at the clock over the receptionist as…Grace signs us in—3:10. Well, at least I only have to suffer for five minute—if the doctor is on time.

I don’t even get a chance to show that I remember to sweep my skirt in the waiting area, since we are called straight back to an office-type room with several comfortable-looking chairs around a table—well, Barbie and I are. Grace stays in the waiting area with her tablet and a book downloaded onto it.

I guess she is used to all of this.

I follow the girl in scrubs—she doesn’t introduce herself, which seems rude—and Barbie down a marble-floored hallway. I’m conscious of the clicking of my heels on the floor—and the absence of any sounds from Barbie’s flats.

I remember to sweep my skirt in here and take a seat opposite Barbie in one of the chairs. The nameless girl offers us a drink. Barbie takes a Diet Dr. Pepper. I take a Diet Pepsi.

Barbie and I don’t even get a chance to open the cans. At exactly 3:15, a girl that is clearly related to Mitsi Myers comes in—although, I would have guessed her to be her sister more so than her mother.

She smiles at Barbie and comes and gives her a hug. She then smiles at me and clasps my hands in hers. She says, “You must be Chrissy! Welcome to my practice. I’m Rita Myers and I am certainly happy to make your acquaintance. Thank you so much for coming!”

I smile awkwardly at her and don’t know what to say, so I just respond, “It’s nice to meet you, too, Dr. Myers.”

She sits and starts asking us a bunch of questions about school and studying. She doesn’t address the elephant in the room, though: Me.

After a bit, she excuses Barbie to go sit with her Momma and we are left alone in the room.

I sigh—now comes the truth of what this is about. I prepare myself to be criticized and proclaimed the proverbial pervert.

I am stunned when she says, “Well, Chrissy… Shall I call you that—or do you prefer Jimmy?”

I sort of mumble, “Chrissy is fine—dressed like this.”

She nods sagely and continues, “Well, Chrissy—I have to say that I’m very impressed.”

I take a nervous sip of my now luke-warm Diet—we’ve been in here nearly thirty minutes of the hour-long session. I guess she notices my grimace and gracefully rises to get me a glass filled with ice from a small freezer in the room.

She hands it to me with a wink and continues, “I hate warm soda, don’t you?” I nod, still wondering where this is going. She says, “Like I was saying, I’m impressed. I do want to emphasize, again, that what you say here is confidential. You’re technically not my patient, but you’re under the confidentiality clause for this session. Now, when I look at you, I see a beautiful young woman that is coming out of her tomboy stage. How does that make you feel when I tell you that, Chrissy?”

Confused, I take a sip of my Diet, now on ice and contemplate how to respond to that. I mean, what does it have to do with anything?

Sure, I am happy that she is confirming that I can pass as a girl in public—when needed. But?

She smiles and says, “Just for clarification, Hon—this is where I wait for your answer. Oh, and there is no wrong one. You obviously present as a gorgeous young lady—one with some obvious boyish tendencies. Like I said, a beautiful young girl coming out of her tomboy stage. How does that make you feel when I describe you that way?”

I take a deep breath and then let it out in a big sigh. I finally respond, “I don’t know. I don’t know how that should make me feel. I guess a little safer that I can present well enough that I won’t have some idiot kill me for being a pervert. But, I am not really out to present as a girl—not really—other than to put Barbie at ease. So, I guess it’s a little confusing to me, too—that I can pull it off.”

She smiles broadly and says, “Beautiful! Thank you, so much, Chrissy, for being honest with me. I, honestly, would be worried if you weren’t confused. So, tell me. I’m dying to know—why are you doing this?”

I look at her like she’s lost it. Then I remember—she’s a shrink…

I sigh, “Well, for Barbie, of course. To help her. But, yes, to be honest, for me, too. No! Not because I’m some girl inside a boy’s body, or anything… I want her to get better—so, that…maybe…I can date her.”

She nods and laughs—not in a mean way. I don’t feel dirty when she does, or anything. It’s actually a good-natured laugh. She says, “Bully for you! Good luck with that, Hon! She’s certainly a catch—if, and I do mean if, we can get her over her hump. So, you are determined to keep this up?”

I nod resolutely.

She smiles and says, “OK, you will have an hour right after Barbie every Saturday, then.”

I worry about my eyes again. I feel them about to drop in my lap.

She actually giggles, “Well, Hon, this is certainly an experience for you—one that most boys never get, but it’s going to be confusing for you and the Greeleys are determined to not let anything bad happen to you. It seems Grace likes you—a lot. I understand you haven’t met Mr. Greeley, yet, with him on his business trip, and all—but Grace seems to be pretty sure you’re worth protecting. After this session, I tend to agree with her.”

She winks at me.

I take a gulp of my Diet and hope I don’t let it dribble down my sweater.

She then looks at me seriously, “You aren’t confused about anything, yet, are you? Remember, this is confidential.”

I sigh—and let her know about my…issues…with the panties. Well, and now, my newfound love of hairless legs.

She nods and says, “OK, well I stand corrected. You’re a pervert!”

I think I’m going to die. Then I get mad!

I say, “What? I thought you were supposed to be here to help! What kind of bull therapy is this?”

She smiles and says, “Good! Get mad at that, Chrissy! Because it is bull! Why do you care what I, or anyone else, thinks? By the way, I think you’re perfectly normal! Anyone that genuinely prefers guy’s underwear over women’s is certainly insane! You’re just brave enough to admit it. We’ll continue this on next Saturday. I understand that you have other commitments this Saturday, but I’ll see you next, then? OK?”

I pull myself down off the ceiling as I figure out she was just baiting me. I nod.

She says, “Good! Oh, and don’t worry so much about school—I have a feeling that things will iron themselves out there, as well.”

I give her a funny look, but she doesn’t elaborate and gets up to indicate the ‘session’ is over. She personally escorts me out to the waiting area and hugs Barbie and Grace, then me. We are about to leave when the elevator opens and Mitsi steps out.

Dr. Myers smiles and waves at her, then I feel my heart fall to the floor and crash when she looks at me—and I know she knows!

I see…black…and feel myself falling.

---

My eyes flutter open before I actually hear anything. I’m lying on a couch, Barbie kneeling next to me—holding one hand in hers; her other pressing a cold compress onto my forehead.

She sees me open my eyes and exclaims, “Chrissy, are you OK?”

I try to sit up, but someone else pushes me back into the couch. I look up and see Grace. I ask, “Wha…what happened?”

Then I remember!

I groan, “Oh…yeah. Mitsi knows!”

Then I wail, “Mitsi knows!

Then I see her—Mitsi, that is. She comes over to me and says, “Yes, I know. Is that bad? I don’t get it?”

Dr. Myers comes into my field of vision and says to Grace, “Let’s let her sit up.”

Grace and Barbie help me sit up and I groan again when I see Mitsi looking at me with a mixture of concern—and confusion.

I look at her in abject terror.

Dr. Myers looks at me with obvious concern, now. She asks, “Chrissy, what are you feeling, right now?”

I look at her, hopeless, and say with no intentional sarcasm, “What? You mean besides crippling terror and complete hopelessness that my life is over? Besides that? I’m not sure… That I’m dead maybe?”

She shakes her head and says, “Well, I feel a little better that you’re joking about it.”

I’m joking? Good to know! I thought I was being serious!

She looks at Mitsi and asks, “Mitsi, what are you feeling, right now?”

She look confused and says so, “Confused. I still don’t get it.”

I take a deep breath and say, “You don’t get that you have my life in your hands. If you utter a word about this at school, I’m dead.”

A light goes on in her eyes, “But I won’t.”

That’s all she says. It’s my turn to be confused.

Now, she takes a deep breath, “Look…Chrissy, is it? Aside from the fact that I was raised to honor confidentiality, I get that you’re doing this—mostly—for Barbs. Why would I jeopardize that? Just because you think I’m some shallow babe, doesn’t make it so.”

Ouch! That stung. No, really!

She doesn’t stop, though, “Look, I know you’re Jill’s BFF—always have been, always will be. All of us in the ‘posse’, as you call it, know that. Jill is the first to admit it. We would actually all like a chance to get to know the infamous ‘Jimmy’—the one that Jill so fiercely protects. I now get why she thinks you’re so sweet—doing what you’re doing for Barbs. Yes, they caught me up while you were out. But being Barbie’s doll doesn’t change anything. Even if I also get that there is a selfish piece to that—I don’t hold that against you. Barbs is a prize worth fighting for.”

Dr. Myers looks like she’s going to have a stroke. Grace is trying hard not to die laughing. Barbie is just looking back and forth between us, in shock.

I suddenly grin and giggle, “You’re OK, Mitsi. You won’t tell? ”

She shakes her head, but adds, “I hope you will tell the rest of the ‘posse’, though. They really care about both Jill and Barbs—and, well, they deserve to know.”

I start to protest.

She cuts me off, “And…don’t you deserve some friends, for once? We all see you—even if you think you’re all invisible at school.”

My jaw drops to the floor, then snaps shut.

I stutter, “I…I…I’ll think about it.”

She just nods her head and asks, “Are you OK? If so, I have homework to tend to. Jill has your English assignment.”

I have a sudden newfound respect for this little fireball. I nod, “I think so.”

She gives me a genuine, heartfelt smile and says, “Good, it was really nice to meet you, Chrissy!”

And she’s gone before I can respond. Barbie is giving me a hug and Grace and Dr. Myers are helping me up.

Dr. Myers says, “Well, I guess you know my daughter. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize her seeing you would be an issue. But, maybe it all worked out OK. I can promise you, Chrissy, that she won’t say anything that you don’t want to be said. Not because I will tell her not to, but because she knows not to betray a trust—intentionally given, or not.”

I nod, “I think I get that. Please…thank her for me.”

She just smiles and says, “Why don’t you do that for yourself. Tomorrow, at school—or on the bus; I know you ride the same route.”

I sigh and say, “I’ll…try.”

She hugs me and says, “That’s all anyone can ask, Chrissy. I’ll see you next Saturday, but Grace will give you my private number. If you need to talk, don’t hesitate to call. If I don’t answer, leave a message. I’ll call back as soon as I can; that I also promise you. OK?”

I nod and Grace and Barbie lead me, still shocked, to the elevator.

---

I get out of the car at our house. I have a cup carrier with five extra-large chocolate shakes in one hand, my purse over my shoulder, and my bag in the other hand.

Normally, our study session would be at Jill’s today, but Grace had called my Mom and explained that we should all talk—after we study—so, Mom had insisted it be at our house.

What? Oh! The shakes—Grace insists it’s some magic that only girls know about. Chocolate and ice cream… I don’t know. I’m a guy, but maybe it will help them. Sounds like voodoo to me.

What? No, I am a guy! Really!

What? The heels… So? And so what if I fainted? I mean, really??!?

Anyway, we walk in and Mom and Jill are already there. Mom fusses over me, but I hand her and Grace one of the shakes and insist we need to study. I take the other three shakes into the kitchen and am followed by Barbie and Jill. I hand each a shake and ask Jill, “So, we have English? What else?”

She slaps my arm and we go into this topsy-turvy mix of studying and ‘talking’. The funny thing is that I half-way keep up, this time.

By the time we’re done, Jill looks at me in complete sincerity and says, “Mitsi’s right, you know! It’s time that you really meet my other friends—they’re good friends. They’d be good friends to you, too—just like they are to Barbs, here. So what if it’s as Chrissy?”

I look at her—my eyes on the counter and pink cotton candy all over the kitchen. I ask in exasperation, “And just how is that supposed to work, genius? I’m not going to be Chrissy at school, so that’s out. Being the posse’s friend as Jimmy is equally out for the same reason that Chrissy even exists!”

Barbie lets out a strangled gasp and exclaims, “I’m sorry I’m such and idiot!”

I quickly poke my eyes back in where they belong and pack the cotton candy back in my brain. I’m sitting next to Barbie, this time—that doesn’t happen too often—and I pull her into a hug and stroke her hair. I say in a soothing voice, “That’s not what I meant, Barbie. This isn’t your fault. It’s not anyone’s in this State, even. It’s all that idiot’s that we won’t name. But that doesn’t help us with a solution, in this instance.”

Jill comes over and takes us both into a group hug. She says, “Let’s just see how this plays out, but Chrissy, I still would really like it if you would open yourself up to Sara and Kate. Mitsi won’t tell, I promise, but Sara and Kate are just as trustworthy—and it will tear at Mitsi and me to have to keep the secret.”

Barbie hugs me back and says in a whisper, “Yes, Chrissy—you need to get to know the peeps. They are special—just like you. We’ll figure something out, OK? You just have to stay open to possibilities—and I’ll try extra hard, too, OK?”

I nod, not sure what I just agreed to. But, for once, it’s not tied to a feeling of impending doom.

Well, much…

Then, Mom calls us for supper. Pizza in the dining room—and Dad’s home. That feeling of doom quickly returns, full-force.

---

I sweep my skirt and sit down in my chair at the dining room table. I sit up straight and cross my feet, still in the heels, at the ankles under my chair, keeping my knees close together. I do all of this at the threatening look of Jill that I have learned to read, all-too-well.

I probably would have done so without the ‘reminder’, anyway—but not because I’m not a guy! No, really, I am!

Right?

Dad says a quick prayer over the pizzas—something that we really only ever do when he’s home, and I take my one piece.

I see the look of surprise in his eyes as I nibble on it.

The wrath of the ladies in the room would be much worse on me than his surprise, let me tell you! I give him an impish smile and enjoy the look of confusion on his face.

I think I’ve just discovered one of the infamous female weapons against men! Just confuse the hell out of them—errr, us…

Mom looks at Barbie and Jill and says, “First girls, I want to say that I agree with Grace that you’re old enough now to call us by our first name. Jill, Barbie, please call me Cindy—and this is George.”

Dad nearly chokes, but regains his composure, so I don’t think he was expecting that—although, I doubt he really cares. Especially not with Jill—and he knows how much I care about Barbie…

Grace smiles at Jill and says, “The offer is open to me, too, Jill. Please call me Grace. You have certainly earned that privilege, as much as Chrissy, through your friendship and support of Barbara.”

Dad is still trying to wash down the pizza stuck in his throat. I decide to test my theory of complete confusion, “So, Daddy, did you sell any cars today?” I finish it off with another impish grin.

I think Mom is going to choke herself, on giggles.

Grace, Barbie, and Jill all look at me, confused—then burst out laughing. Finally, Dad gets it—and clears his throat with a huge gulp of beer before guffawing, himself.

All of that doesn’t save me from the hangman, though. Mom says, “So, Chrissy, Grace told us about the…incident…today. Would you care to elaborate?”

By that, I know it’s not really a request…

I slowly chew my nibble, then, when it’s clear that it’s not going away, I swallow and say, “Errr…what did you want to know, Mom? I was worried that Mitsi Myers would out me at school. Well, not ‘out’ me, since I’m not like trans, or gay, or anything. Oh, crap! You know what I mean!”

Mom smiles dangerously and says, “Language, young lady!”

I know she is—half—kidding. She says, “Yes, I think so. And?”

Now, I look her, exasperated. I look around the table and see a mix of curious and impish faces. I look back at Mom and can’t help but parrot, “And? And what? It terrified me!”

She nods, “And? Don’t keep making me pull this out of you like hen’s teeth!”

I sigh. I really have no idea what she wants.

What? Like you do? If so, you tell me!

I shrug, “And I still don’t know what you want. When I came to after I…fainted… We talked it all out and I believe Mitsi when she says she won’t tell.”

Mom just cocks her eyebrow, the ‘and’ left unsaid, but clearly in the air none-the-less.

I splutter, “That’s it! We came home and studied.”

Mom sighs and says, “Is there anything about the session before all of that you want to talk about?”

I shake my head, “Not really. I just told Dr. Myers about some of my concerns and she listened. She wants me to meet with her on Saturdays after she meets with Barbie and I told her I would—but mostly to get her off of my case. I appreciate the gesture, but there is no sense wasting either of our time—or the money.”

To my surprise, Dad speaks up, “Well, you let us worry about the money. We’ve already told Grace that we’re picking up that tab—and I think it is a good idea for you to go.”

He says it in a way that doesn’t really leave any doubt that I will be going.

I look at him in a shocked…and hurt…way, “So you do think I’m crazy?!”

He takes Mom’s hand and they both shake their heads—in that way that I know they aren’t just placating me. Mom says, “No, Hon. We don’t think that at all—we haven’t been lying to you and we still aren’t. But we do agree with the Greeleys that talking through some of this with a professional will be good for you—and may help Barbie in the process, too. You do still want that, right?”

Dammit! They played the Barbie card on me!

I nod.

Mom gets that impish look on her face and says, “Good! Now that that’s settled. What else did you want to talk about?”

I groan.

The impish look gets worse, “I think we need to decide on a second name. Just Christine won’t work. Before we knew your sex, your Daddy…” More choking from that end of the table. “…and I were in a serious debate. The boy’s name was quickly decided on—you know about that one. We also quickly agreed on Christine… It was the second one that caused us problems… I was in favor of Amanda, or Janice. Your father wanted Uhura…or T’Pau!”

Jill gets up and slaps his back, he is choking so hard.

Mom wiggles her eyebrows and says, “You get to choose, Hon. The wife of a Vulcan ambassador and the mother of one of Star Fleet’s finest; a poor sexually harassed yeoman; a token African-American communications officer; or a Vulcan powerhouse?”

I groan again and watch the cotton candy fall all over the leftover pizza and my untouched side salad.

Mom just giggles; Dad continues to choke; Jill is smirking; and Barbie and Grace are clearly lost.

Mom gives me a serious look and says, “It’s up to you to settle this nearly sixteen-year-old argument, Hon. No pressure! Who will you pick?”

I groan again, “Ummm… Really?”

---

As always, if you enjoy this story, please remember to hit the ‘Thumbs Up’ button.