When Mark arrives at school two days late, he is mistaken for Marcie Gray-something... Marcie Gray-whatever... Anyway, everybody thinks he's a girl.
I wanted to tell him that it was a stupid idea. I didn't know which was worse: either way, the girls would know I was a boy dressed as a girl. If I pretended to be a girl for the gym class, any of the girls would recognize me later in day when I was dressed as Mark. I was about to object when the bell rang. It startled Mr. Bruce into action. "Come on," he said, pushing me. "We both got places to go."
Suddenly, in August, as the end of summer was coming into view, my parents told me that we were going to move from California to New Jersey. Why? Because my father got laid off. His company was bought by a bigger company, and the bigger company's first move was to let my father go, along with most of the people he worked with.
Luckily, my dad has lots of friends and connections. And, luckier still, my mom saw the big change coming. She sensed my father's frustration at work, and she put together remarks he made about office life. A month before the layoff was announced, Mom insisted that Dad start reaching out to see what opportunities there were. Because of that, my father pretty much walked out of one job into another.
And so, a mere week after the layoff, Dad was gone. He moved to New Jersey to start his new job. Mom stayed behind to do the packing and moving, and to put our house on the market. I stayed behind with her. Dad lived in a hotel until he found a month-to-month rental, a little apartment that belonged to the friend of a co-worker.
As soon as Dad moved into the little apartment, he wanted me and Mom to come and squeeze in with him, so we could be all together while Mom did the house-hunting.
Mom wanted to go, but she pointed out a huge flaw in that plan: school. I was just about to start high school. By now it was the second week of August, so there wasn't much time to figure things out.
The difficulty was this: Before I could go to school in New Jersey, we had to find a house. Mom didn't trust Dad to pick a good house, so Mom needed to go East. The sooner she got there, the sooner we'd get settled, and the sooner I'd have a school to attend.
Mom said, "I love your father, but he'll pick a place with no windows, or one with a tiny kitchen and no bathrooms. He'll think that we can fix it up, but it will never happen."
After some long talks, they decided to leave me behind. I didn't mind much... this way, I'd get to start school with my friends. But their solution brought up the next problem: where would I live?
Mom called pretty much everyone we knew, and although everyone was sympathetic, no one wanted to put me up for what could end up being four months. Her plan got back to the school somehow, and the principal called. He told Mom that I couldn't be considered a resident if I was just camping out at a friend's house. And if I wasn't a resident, I wasn't eligible for public school.
After a few days of indecision and almost desperation, my Aunt Jane came to the rescue.
Aunt Jane lives an hour's drive away in a town called Tierson. Tierson High School is just a few blocks from her house, and her best and oldest friend is the principal's secretary. This friend assured my aunt that she could get me in for the fall semester without any problem. So, problem solved! I'd go live with Aunt Jane while Mom and Dad settled us in New Jersey. Once they found a house, they'd find me a school, and I'd transfer.
Honestly I didn't mind. My Aunt Jane is my father's younger sister, and she's a lot of fun. She assured my mother over and over that she'd keep me in line, but I didn't buy it. I felt like I was in for four months of vacation, rather than four months of school.
For the same reason, my mother was not too crazy about the idea. I heard her say to my father, "No offense, but your sister is a little flaky. Are you sure Mark will be okay with her?" In the end though, Mom agreed. She had to: she couldn't find an alternative. And that's how it was decided: I'd do my fall semester in Tierson with Aunt Jane, and then I'd move East for Christmas.
"It'll take at least that long to close on a decent house," Mom said.
Once the big decision about school was made, Mom and I got packing in earnest. We gave things away, we threw out a ton of stuff, and we had an enormous yard sale. It seemed like the packing and the trash would never end.
But of course it did end: a week after the yard sale, the moving company came and carted off our boxes and furniture.
Once the moving company left, I thought we were done, but three days of cleaning followed, and there was still more to throw away!
At last that ended, and then Aunt Jane came. She took Mom to the airport, and me and my boxes to Tierson.
Aunt Jane is a nurse. Her schedule is pretty irregular: she has different days off every week, and sometimes her shifts change, but most of the time she works the first shift, from 7am to 3pm. She said we could plan on having dinner together most nights.
Jane told me that school started on the first Thursday of September. I expected it to start on Tuesday, the day after Labor Day, but I didn't mind the delay. Jane insisted that we use those days to drive to Big Sur. She was appalled when I told her that I'd never been. It was beautiful, but I was itching to get back, to get ready for my new school. After all, I wasn't just starting high school, I was starting a new school where I wouldn't know anyone. Understandably, I was pretty nervous. Nervous and excited.
We got back to Tierson at lunchtime on Wednesday, and I went to bed at nine that night. I was still tired from the packing and the move, and the long coastal drive took all the energy I had left. Plus I knew I'd be waking up early: I wanted to get to school early so I could scope things out.
My aunt told me that there would be an assembly for freshmen in the gym, so I figured the first thing to do was find out where the gym is, and after that I could take some time to look around.
When I entered the building, I knew that something wasn't right. The moment I walked in, I had that What's wrong with this picture? feeling, so I stepped aside a moment to figure out exactly what it was. After a minute, it hit me: things seemed far too orderly! I mean, *everybody* seemed to know where they were going. Nobody was looking around, no one looked lost or puzzled — well, no one but me. It didn't look like the first day of school; it looked like school was already underway.
Somehow, the school year had started without me. At least, that's how it looked.
The school day on the other hand was still a half hour away. I still had time to get my bearings. I wandered around, following hallways and stairs, exploring, but it didn't take long before I felt lost and alone. The corridors were featureless. No one said hello. I kept shuffling along and turning one corner after another, and somehow ended up at the doors to the gym. I figured the best thing to do was to wait there until the assembly began.
When I pushed through the doors and entered the gym, I was sure that something was wrong. And not just a little wrong: the place was completely empty. Empty, dark, and cold. There was nothing; no sign that an assembly was going to be held: no chairs, no lights, no people. Bewildered, I walked to the middle of the basketball court and turned around in a slow circle, looking in every corner and finding nothing. I began to feel a little scared, so I jumped when a man's voice called to me from the darkness.
"Hey! What are you doing out there? If you have gym class, you need to get suited up!"
I called to the voice in the darkness and explained that I was waiting for the assembly.
"Assembly?" he repeated. "There's no assembly today."
"For the freshmen?" I ventured. "Orientation?"
"Oh," he scoffed. "That was two days ago! Where were you?"
It turned out that school had started Tuesday, not Thursday, as Aunt Jane had insisted. It also turned out that this man was my gym teacher, Mr. Bruce, and that gym was the first class on my schedule today. There were still twenty minutes to the start of the school day, so he brought me to his office to work things out. He sat down at his desk, sighed, and shuffled through some papers. He stopped at one sheet, grunted to himself, and said to me, "Yeah, just like I thought. You're a drop."
In the public school system, if a student doesn't show up in the first few days of school, he or she is automatically dropped from the rolls. "Don't worry," he said. "It can be fixed. It's not a big deal. I'm pretty sure we still have space for students in the ninth grade. If the grade was full, it would be another story, but it's not. You should be alright there.
"But you've got a more immediate problem. Your first class today is gym, and I'm your teacher. But I don't see a gym uniform there, in the stuff you're carrying."
"No, I thought the assembly would take the place of gym," I replied.
"It did," he said, "two days ago. But not today! And, unfortunately for you, I have a strict uniform policy. This was announced on Tuesday, but I'm going to have to apply it to you anyway. You'll be the first this year. Probably the only one this year. In fact, you'll be the first in... uh, a couple... uh, three years. Since I've started this policy, nobody forgets their uniforms."
"Do I have detention?" I asked, nervously. I didn't want detention on my very first day. I hoped that my meek demeanor, and the fact that I was new, would move him to let me off.
"No," he said. "Detention doesn't work. Boys were always forgetting their gym outfits, figuring they could take the class in whatever they happened to be wearing, but I won't have it. So I found the remedy: I went out and bought a few of these." He held up what looked like a old-fashioned girl's tennis outfit, with a blue skirt and a white top. "The policy is, any boy who forgets his uniform has to wear one of these, and take gym class with the girls."
I was horrified. "Oh, no!" I cried. "But... but, this is my first day of school! I just moved here, and I don't know anyone! I don't want to start off my life here with everybody laughing at me! And I didn't know!"
I could see my pleas had moved him, and he said, "Yeah, I understand. It's not exactly fair... you didn't know... but I don't know what else I can do. If I make an exception for you, the whole thing will get shot to hell. Next week another boy will forget his outfit, and he'll complain that I let you off. And then the kid after him and the kid after him, and pretty soon no one will be ready for gym, and it will take a whole 'nother year to get back on track."
"Couldn't you just give me detention?" I asked. A moment ago I was frightened by the idea of detention, but now detention was starting to look appealing.
"If I could, yeah," he said with a grimace. "The thing is, the principal's already told me that he won't give detention for that. All he'll do is send a note home to your parents. I could do that myself. As if that would help anything."
"Could I skip the class, and go see the principal?" I asked. "I have to straighten out this 'drop' thingy, anyway."
"The 'drop thingy', as you call it, is not a big deal. It'll take all of five minutes. I can let you go a little early and you can straighten that out before your next class."
"What if I go back home, and get my gear?" I suggested. "If I'm late, I could get detention for that."
He scoffed and shook his head.
"But school hasn't started yet!" I protested. "I'm pretty sure I have time to go there and back."
Again he shook his head. "I've already seen you," he replied. "If something happened to you, It would be on my head."
"Can I take gym in what I'm wearing, then?" I asked.
"No," he replied in a flat, heavy tone.
"Why not?" I cried. "The uniform isn't that important, is it?"
That was absolutely the worst thing to say. The uniform issue, as it turned out, was a very sore point for him. A very sore point. He launched into a tirade. Nothing made Mr. Bruce angrier than a boy who was unprepared for class, and not having the proper clothes amounted to not being prepared for class. It showed that the boy didn't take gym class seriously, or didn't think that gym is important. Gym, however, is very important: at least as important as other classes, and maybe more important. If you were out of shape, all your grades would suffer.
He went on and on and on. His voice got very loud, and I found myself unconsciously edging closer to the door.
He said he'd tried everything he could think of to make the boys remember, and still they would forget. He'd make them sit out the class, but that didn't work. He sent them for detention until the principal told him to stop. He sent notes home, with no result. He didn't even want to talk about grades...
"The only thing that works," he said, "is this." And he shook the girl's outfit.
As Mr. Bruce spoke, he face got so red, I thought his head was going to explode. Then suddenly, like a thermometer going down, it went pasty white, and he was calm again. I wasn't sure which color complexion was more frightening. He took a few deep breaths before he spoke again.
"I do feel bad for you, kid," he said in a softer voice. "I understand that you didn't know. So I'm going to give you a break. You will have to wear the outfit, and take class with the girls, but I'll let you get changed here in my office. Usually I make the boy change in the boys locker room, so the others can tease him a little. But I'll spare you that. You can go behind that file cabinet. Nobody will see you."
I did as I was told, and I left my things on a shelf. The gym skirt had underwear built in, so I left my underwear inside the pile of my clothes. "Your things will be safe," the coach said. Then he added, "But you don't have anything valuable there, do you?" I thought for a moment, and took my house key and lunch money. There was a little pocket inside the waist of the skirt, so I put the key and money there.
I didn't have any sneakers, so he took me to a lost-and-found bin, where we found some girl's sneakers that fit.
"You know," he said, "and don't get mad when I say this, but you kind of look like a girl, and for today, that might be a good thing. What's your name again?"
"Mark Donner," I said.
"Umm. You know, you remind me of a Marcie that used to go here. Marcie Something. Now, listen. Here's the idea. Why don't you go to class, and tell the teacher your name is Marcie. Marcie Gray... thing... I don't know. Marcie Gray-whatever. When the class is over, you put your boy clothes back on, and nobody is the wiser. It's a win-win. What do you think?"
I wanted to tell him that it was a stupid idea. I didn't know which was worse: either way, the girls would know I was a boy dressed as a girl. If I pretended to be a girl for the gym class, any of the girls would recognize me later in day when I was dressed as Mark. I was about to object when the bell rang. It startled Mr. Bruce into action. "Come on," he said, pushing me. "We both got places to go."
He brought me back down to the basketball court, where some boys were tossing balls and shooting baskets. I was so nervous, I was nearly shaking, and almost stumbled when I heard a wolf whistle. Mr. Bruce opened a door with one big hand and pushed me outside with the other. I blinked in the sunlight, again almost stumbling, but I had to keep walking because Mr. Bruce's hand was pressing in the middle of my back, gently but relentlessly. He stopped when we reached a group of girls dressed for gym. They were standing in a loose group around a young teacher. Her brown hair was tied back in a short ponytail. She had a whistle hanging around her neck and held a clipboard in her hands.
"Grace? I mean, Ms. Price? This here is Gracie Marlin. I mean, Macy Graylin. No — she's Marcie Something. She's an add, or she will be once she stops by the office. I found her lost in the halls."
"Okay," the teacher said. "Welcome, Marcie." To Mr. Bruce she said, "I guess she can work out the add thingy before her next class."
"Oh, yeah," he replied, grinning. "The 'add thingy'. Sure. Can you let her go five minutes early so she can take care of it?"
Ms. Price nodded, and Mr. Bruce disappeared into the building.
"Okay, Marcie," Ms. Price said, looking me over. "Did you come from a Catholic school?"
"No," I said. "Why?"
"The outfit," she replied. "For today it's fine, but before next time you might want to pick up a pair of uniform shorts and a t-shirt like the other girls. You're just a little, um, overdressed. But anyway... What was your last name again?"
"Donner," I said. Then I (mentally) kicked myself. Saying my name was automatic; it just popped out. I tried to think of some other name, so I could take it back, but aside from my own name (which I'd already said), all I could think of was Gray-something, Gray-whatever. I felt like an idiot as I watched Ms. Price write "Marcie Donner" on her class list. I hoped using my real last name wasn't going to be a big mistake.
We ran over to a field, where a huge sack was waiting for us. It was filled with hockey sticks. Ms. Price gave some directions, and we started playing field hockey. I'd never played before, and I thought it was a lot of fun. After weeks of nothing but carrying boxes and cleaning house, it felt fantastic to be outside and running. I didn't know the game, so I just kept running up and down the field and watching what the others did.
Then, a bad pass sent the ball in my direction. I ran for it and drew my stick back. I saw another pair of legs heading from another direction, so I speeded up, and then—
—BAM! a girl about twice my weight slammed into me. I felt like I'd been hit with a ton of bricks.
I don't remember falling down, but I do remember hearing an ambulance siren in the distance. Ms. Price helped me up, saying, "Come on, Marcie, come sit on the bench." The other girls gathered round to look, but the one who slammed into me hung back. My head was down, and I saw my bare legs sticking out from under the absurdly short skirt. The ambulance lights circled through the trees. I didn't want to go to the hospital dressed like a girl.
"Is the ambulance for me?" I gasped.
Ms. Price smiled. "No, hon, I think you're okay. You just got the wind knocked out of you. You can sit here for the rest of the class, and I'll keep my eye on you." After some more reassurance and a few questions, she stood up, blew her whistle, and got the game going again. Every so often she came over to see how I was doing. Soon I felt fine again, and wanted to get back in the game. She made me wait a few minutes longer, then she let me play.
While the ball was downfield, the girl who hit me came over and apologized. She was a heavy-set girl with short dark hair. "I'm sorry, Marcie," she said. "I didn't mean to hit you so hard. I just wanted to bump you a little. My mom says I don't know my own strength."
"It's okay," I said, and smiled. "I'm fine, and it was an accident, anyway. What's your name?"
"Carla," she replied. She returned my smile and took off after the ball.
I looked up and saw that Ms. Price had seen our conversation. She smiled and gave me a thumbs up.
I was really having fun. I never enjoyed any sport before, and found that it was nice to play when there was no pressure. A few times a breeze fluttered my skirt, and I'd realize I'd forgotten what I was wearing. Whenever I'd get the ball, everyone called, "Marcie! Marcie!" It was great that they knew my name — even if it was a temporary one.
Plus, I scored two goals!
The time flew. Then, abruptly, Ms. Price called me over. "Did they have a team at your old school?"
"Field hockey?" I asked.
"Duh, yeah, field hockey. You're pretty good."
"Thanks," I said. "But no, I never played before."
"Interesting," she said. "We have to talk. Listen, you can go get changed now, and see the principal about the add thingy. Okay?" She pointed me to a door into the building.
The door led directly to the girls locker room, which thankfully was empty. I sniffed at myself and decided that I could get by without a shower. I went from the locker room to the gym, and from there found my way back to Mr. Bruce's office. The light was off, so I switched it on, and ran behind the file cabinet. My clothes were gone! I looked all over the office and in the trash. On an inspiration I ran to the lost-and-found bin, where he'd found the sneakers. But my clothes were nowhere to be found.
Now I felt a little angry. This time Mr. Bruce had gone too far. What did he want with me? I was going to talk to the principal... or maybe my aunt first... but I was going to make sure he got in trouble for this.
I returned to his office. Maybe he'd hidden my clothes so that I couldn't leave without talking to him again. I wanted to look through his desk and file drawers, but angry as I was, I didn't want to get into any more trouble. So I sat in a chair by the door and waited. At first I was mad. Then I was concerned. And then I got worried.
There wasn't a clock anywhere that I could see, but after what seemed like fifteen minutes, he still hadn't come. I got up and headed toward the basketball court. Before I got there, I could see that it was empty, and a boy was climbing the stairs toward me.
"Are you lost?" he said. "Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Mr. Bruce," I told him.
"He's in the hospital, haven't you heard? He had a stroke at the start of class this morning. The ambulance came and everything."
"The hospital?" I repeated stupidly.
"Yeah, the hospital. Are you okay?" he asked. He was a nice looking boy, about my age. I liked him right away, but remembering how I was dressed made me feel quite awkward. "I'm Jerry Auburn. What's your name?" When I hesitated, unsure what name to say, he said, "Don't worry, I don't bite. You're not one of the Graylens, are you? You kind of look like–"
"Marcie," I said, suddenly deciding. I'd already pretended to be a girl for gym class and got away with it. I might still get away with not being recognized later on, when I turned back to Mark. No need to throw that chance away now.
"Yeah, Marcie Graylen. You look a lot like her. Are you her little sister?"
"No, I'm Marcie Donner," I said, going with the lie. "Somebody took my clothes, and I have to see Mr. Bruce."
"Why Mr. Bruce? Why don't you talk to your own gym teacher?"
"Oh," I sighed. "I'm all mixed up. I really need to talk to the principal."
"Do you know how to get there?" Jerry asked. When I shook my head no, he offered to walk with me.
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
"Oh, Marcie," Ms. Price said with a concerned frown, "What happened to you? I thought you'd get here ahead of me."
In answer I looked up at the Queen of Hearts lookalike standing next to me. I wanted to say, What happened to me? She happened to me. That's what happened to me. Then I looked from Ms. Price's eyes to the hand on my arm, to try to tell her, I'm her prisoner now.
Jerry was a tenth grader. He was a few inches taller than me, so I had to look up to talk to him. He was very confident, positive, sure of himself, and likable.
I, on the other hand, was embarrassed, felt overexposed, and was scared to death of what would happen when the school found out that Marcie was a boy. I had to hope that the principal would understand and help me out. At the same time, everything inside me was screaming that the best and only thing to do was to cut and run, right out the door, and head straight for home. Once there, I could change my clothes, cut my hair crew-cut short, and come back to school as Mark to do the 'add thingy'.
But Jerry put me at my ease. Walking with him, talking with him, calmed me. When I blurted out that I couldn't and wouldn't walk through the halls dressed in my silly outfit with its too-short skirt, first he told me, "You make it look good." And when I laughed at that, he told me that I had to brazen it out: "Walk through the halls like you own the place," he said. "Hold your head up. Don't show weakness. Imagine that everyone wishes they were dressed like you."
"Even the boys?" I asked, half laughing, half scoffing.
"Especially the boys," he replied.
So I tried to imagine Jerry wishing he were dressed like me, and Mr. Bruce wishing he were dressed like me. Then I imagined Jerry and Mr. Bruce wearing the too-short skirt and silly top, and burst out laughing.
"That's the spirit!" Jerry said. "Now you're ready, so let's go!"
We opened a door onto a hallway full of students and noise. I froze for a moment, took a step back, and told Jerry in a low voice, "We should wait until class starts and the halls are empty." He looked disappointed.
"I have to get to class myself," he replied. "If we don't go now, I won't be able to walk you to the office."
That made me stop and reconsider. I really didn't know where the principal's office was. I had no idea at all, and I sure didn't look forward to wandering the halls alone again, especially dressed the way I was. So I took a deep breath and said, "Okay, let's go."
Jerry led me by the arm up the center of the hallway. He saw how frightened and nervous I felt, so he kept talking to me the whole time. I tried to do what he said: I kept my head up, I smiled, I imagined people in the crowd dressed as I was. Then I noticed the strangest thing: Most people didn't even look at me. They were so busy moving or talking with their friends that at most they gave me a quick glance. With Jerry's encouragement, I was beginning to feel less nervous and more confident. Well... not exactly confident, but at least now I felt like I wasn't going to die this way.
But then my fragile confidence broke. Some boy said, "Oh, baby! Check out those legs!" and I lost it. It seemed like everyone was suddenly looking at me. All I saw was a sea of faces, all turned in my direction. I was crazy to ever think I could get away with this: I had to cut and run. My smile fell, and my head started jerking back and forth, looking for an exit. Jerry saw me falter. I don't think he could feel my heart racing, but he could see the terror written on my face. He had no idea why I was so afraid, but he tried to said something. I'm sure it something kind and encouraging, and it might have helped if I had heard it, but there was so much noise I could only see his lips moving. A wave of panic swept through me, but the very instant before I cut into a frenzied run, a woman's voice cracked like a whip through the hallway chaos. When she spoke, I froze like a statue, and everyone else fell silent. "You! Young lady! Stop right there!" I think most of the girls in the hallway also froze, half-afraid she was talking to them. The rest of the students looked around, wondering who she was talking to, and glad it wasn't them. Her voice boomed out, "Stop! You, in the short blue skirt, showing off your legs! I'm talking to you!"
Jerry muttered, "Holy crap!" and with a reluctant "Sorry, Marcie," let go of my right arm as a strong, bony hand grabbed hold of my left.
"Off we go!" the woman bellowed. "Straight to the principal's office!"
"That's where I was going," I told her. "Somebody took my clothes!"
"Save it," she commanded.
I tried again to explain that I was on my way to the office, that I needed help, but the teacher, who was a good foot taller than me and quite a bit stronger, wouldn't listen. The other students, relieved to know that they weren't this woman's target, visibly relaxed. The hallway erupted into whistles, cheers, shouts, and applause, although I didn't know how any of it was intended. I think they were somehow trying to encourage me, but it was hard to tell.
The teacher pulled me through the hallway, but she wasn't hurting me. She just didn't let me stop. I was as helpless as a rag doll in her grasp.
I didn't want to stare, but I shot some quick glances at her. I didn't want to make her any angrier than she already seemed to be.
She looked like the old drawings of the Queen of Hearts, from Alice In Wonderland, with that frightening, frowning face.
I had no idea what I'd done to set her off, but it's not as though anything that happened made sense so far today.
We passed what seemed like hundreds of students and teachers, who all looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy. I didn't like being the object of so much interest, so it was a positive relief when we finally landed in the principal's office.
... or at least his outer office. There was a row of chairs against one wall and a rack of small cubby holes — the kind that teachers use as mailboxes — against another wall. There was a desk near an inner door, the door to the principal's real office, and a counter between that desk and the row of chairs. The gym teacher, Ms. Price, was there, on my side of the counter, talking to the secretary, who was on the other side. When I caught sight of the secretary, I remembered with a smile that she is my Aunt Jane's best friend. She had to help me. For the first time, I felt that everything was going to be all right. I liked the office: it was clean and bright and quiet. I had no idea, of course, how much of that office I was going to see during my time at Tierson High.
When I first entered, Ms. Price said, "Oh, here she is..." but trailed off when she saw who I was with. "Oh, Marcie," Ms. Price said with a concerned frown, "What happened to you? I thought you'd get here ahead of me."
In answer I looked up at the Queen of Hearts lookalike standing next to me. I wanted to say, What happened to me? She happened to me. That's what happened to me. Then I looked from Ms. Price's eyes to the hand on my arm, to try to tell her, I'm her prisoner now.
"I need to see Mr. Bryant," the woman bellowed. "This girl is in flagrant violation of the dress code. Flagrant violation. Arm in arm with her boyfriend, as cool as you please, parading her naked legs up and down the hallways."
"Marcie," Ms. Price asked, "why didn't you get changed before you came here?"
"He isn't my boyfriend," I said, going white.
"And your clothes?" Ms. Price prompted.
"Somebody took them," I said.
"A likely story," the other teacher scoffed. "Ten to one she came to school this way."
Ms. Price asked, "Someone stole your clothes out of your locker?"
"No," I said, blushing. "They weren't in a locker. They were sitting on a shelf..."
"A shelf?" the other teacher repeated. "You stupid girl! Do you expect anyone to believe such nonsense? A shelf! Are you trying to tell us you changed your clothes in the library?"
The principal's door opened, and a bald man with glasses and a disapproving expression looked into the room.
"Mrs. Zeff!" he said in a cautioning tone. "Would you please lower your voice? And someone tell me: what on earth is going on out here? No, please don't answer; I take that back. I heard everything from my office, and I don't want to hear it again. You, young lady, what is your name?"
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Which name should I say? Before I could decide, Ms. Price came to the rescue. "Her name is Marcie Donner, Mr. Bryant. She's an add. A ninth grader."
"First of all, your clothes," he said. "Is there anyone at home who could bring you something more appropriate to wear?"
"I'm not sure," I said. "My aunt might be working."
Mr. Bryant gestured to his secretary. "Ms. Trujillo, could you make a call?" He then drew Mrs. Zeff into his office.
"You know my aunt, don't you?" I asked the secretary. "Her name is Jane Donner. She said she's a friend of yours."
"I don't know your aunt," she replied, looking a little irritated. "Can you tell me her number?"
I was confused. I was sure Aunt Jane had told me that the secretary was her best friend. Ms. Trujillo tapped her pencil and asked for the phone number again. With a little fumbling, and some blank moments, I managed to remember it.
"No answer," she said. "Looks like your aunt's not home."
"Then I'm sunk," I said. "Unless I can go home by myself."
Both women told me that was out of the question.
"I have an idea!" Ms. Price exclaimed, and whispered something to Ms. Trujillo.
"You can try," said Ms. Trujillo with a shrug. "I hope you're right. Otherwise, she'll end up spending the day in here. And while you're off doing that, I'll get these add's done." To me, she said, "Have a seat over there, hon. I think Mrs. Zeff is going to be in there for a long time."
She put her head down and got busy with some paperwork. To herself she muttered, "This part I can do, but the rest... I don't know. I'll just leave a note!"
I watched the clock. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. Mrs. Zeff and the principal were still going at it. I couldn't believe they were talking that long about me. Still, all I could do was wait. I looked down at my legs. I straightened my skirt. Oddly, I was beginning to get used to what I was wearing. It was like a Halloween costume, I guess. After a while you forget that you have it on.
A little more time passed, then Ms. Price returned, flushed and a little out of breath.
"I found some things," she said. "They look like they're about your size," she said as she handed me a pile of clothes. "They were in lost and found, but they seem perfectly clean. I found this black bag, too, where you can put your... gym outfit. Isn't it cool?" She held up the bag, turning it this way and that. I had to admit that the bag was pretty nice. I liked it enough that I'd probably use it when I went back to being Mark.
"And here's a plastic bag for your shoes," Ms. Price continued. She seemed to enjoy unloading all these presents on me. Then she stopped, bent close to my ear and whispered, "I know it might seem icky, but I managed to find you some underwear. Don't worry: I'm sure it's clean." With a small friendly smile, she pushed me into a tiny bathroom behind the secretary's desk. "Try to be quick," she said. "I think the principal will be easier on you if you're dressed properly."
She caught the door as I was closing it, and whispered, "Have you ever worn a bra?"
My eyes grew big and I shook my head no.
"I found one that must have belonged to a small girl like you. It has a tiny bit of padding. Try it on, okay? If it doesn't work, I can always rummage a little more."
I locked the door, and looked through the clothes. Of course, they were girl's clothes. There was an aqua tiered skirt that fell to just above my knees, and a white top with long, loose sleeves that ended a couple inches above my wrists. There was also a pair of light brown shoes that looked like slippers. I didn't see that I had much choice: it was either this or the idiotic gym skirt, so I quickly dressed and came out of the bathroom. I was stuffing the gym clothes and sneakers into the nice black bag, when I noticed the way the two women were looking at me.
"Why aren't you wearing the bra?" Ms. Price asked. "I got it because you really need it with that top."
I blushed. "I didn't see a bra," I replied, and turned to look in the bathroom. Both women stifled their laughter.
The bra was hanging out of my waistband in the back. Ms. Price pulled it out, handed it to me, and pushed me back into the bathroom. When I came out the second time, Mr. Bryant was also there, and Mrs. Zeff was gone.
"Much better," Mr. Bryant said. "Big improvement. Thank you, Ms. Price."
Ms. Price gave me a wink and a smile, waved a small pack of papers at me, and left the office.
"Now come with me," Mr. Bryant said, and entered his office.
We both sat down and were silent for a minute. I opened my mouth and was about to explain what had happened to me, but he began talking first. He asked me, "Do you know that we have a dress code at this school?"
"No, sir."
He raised his eyebrows. "You don't?"
"No, sir..." I started again to explain, but he held up his hand to stop me.
"If I were to ask you for example, whether sneakers are acceptable footwear, what would you say?"
"Yes?"
"No."
I frowned in surprise.
He rubbed his chin. "You're new. Apparently you're an 'add' just arriving today, so I don't want to be too hard on you. However, you ran afoul of Mrs. Zeff, and she has put you on her blacklist. I wouldn't worry about that IF — and I stress the IF — if you don't violate the dress code again. And *if* you avoid getting into any other trouble. You don't look like a troublemaker. You're not a troublemaker, are you?"
"No, sir." I said. "Do I have detention?"
"No," he said. "Nothing so serious. This time, anyway. I think — and hope — that Mrs. Zeff put the fear of God into you. Can you sit there for a moment? I'll be right back." Mr. Bryant went to the outer office and talked with his secretary. As he opened the door to come back in, he was saying, "... two copies: one with the letter, and the other in an unsealed envelope by itself."
Then, as if he were meeting me for the first time, Mr. Bryant chatted. He asked about my family, about my aunt, about the move, and whether I liked living in Tierson. I began to relax, and for the third time was about to explain my situation, when there came a soft tap at the door. Ms. Trujillo entered, holding two envelopes, which she placed on Mr. Bryant's desk. Mr. Bryant waited until she left, then said. "Well, here's your punishment. I think you'll have to admit that you're getting off pretty easy. However, if you don't take this seriously, we'll have to come up with something more memorable." He handed me the two envelopes. "As you can see, one envelope is for you and the other is for your aunt. Your envelope has something I want you to memorize. And please take it seriously, because Mrs. Zeff might stop you in the hall and ask you to recite it for her, as well.
"Have your aunt sign her note, so I know that she's read it. Tomorrow morning, you need to come to school ten minutes early, and report directly here to me. Bring the note, signed, and be ready to recite that text. Okay?"
I nodded. This was going to be easy. "You'll also be coming here so that I can check that you conform to the dress code. Is that going to be a problem?"
"No, sir," I said. Especially when I explain that I'm a boy.
He continued, "And you will do that for the following two weeks, making eleven school days total. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," I said.
He stood up. Something in the way he did it made me stand as well. He came around the desk and ushered me out the door.
"There is something else I need to talk to you about," I said. "It's pretty important."
"I'm sorry, but it will have to wait until tomorrow," he told me.
"But—"
"Tomorrow," he repeated, kindly but firmly, and he shut his office door. I was about to knock, when he suddenly opened the door again. "Oh, there is one more thing," he said, "and then I really have to leave you. It's in the note to your aunt, but I forgot to mention it to you. Make sure you wear a dress for the next two weeks. One that fits the dress code. No jeans, no pants, no shorts, etc. A dress or a skirt. Understood?"
Then, before I could say another word, he shut the door a second time.
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
Silly dress? Look at me now: my first day of high school in a new town, and I was dressed like a girl.
I lifted my hand to knock on Principal Bryant's door, but Ms. Trujillo stopped me. "Don't do it, honey. He has an important phone meeting, and then he's leaving for the day. Whatever it is will have to wait for tomorrow."
"But it's important," I whined.
"Listen," she said. "Unless you're dying or giving birth, you've got to wait until tomorrow."
I struggled inside. I wanted to knock, even if I wasn't supposed to. But of course I didn't. So far I hadn't been able to tell anyone that I wasn't a girl. I didn't tell Ms. Price or Jerry, because I still thought I had a chance of changing back to Mark and letting Marcie disappear. Mrs. Zeff wasn't interested in anything I had to say, and Mr. Bryant — although he was very nice about it — didn't give me a chance. He was so good at guiding the conversation, he didn't leave me any space to say, Excuse me, but I'm not a girl.
I sighed, and realized that I had to tell Ms. Trujillo, the secretary. Yet she was another puzzle. I know Aunt Jane told me that the principal's secretary was her best friend. She was the one who got me into Tierson High in the first place, wasn't she? But Ms. Trujillo was very emphatic that she didn't know my aunt at all.
I'd have to leave that question for later. I'd ask my aunt when I saw her after school. Still, friend of my aunt or not, Ms. Trujillo ought to be able to help me out of my predicament. I walked over to her desk, took a deep breath, and said, "It's been a crazy day." That seemed like a good place to start my story. Then I paused. Should I just say, Listen, I'm really a boy or should I begin at the beginning, with Mr. Bruce in the gym?
"Crazy day?" she repeated with a smile. "Don't worry, hon. At least you don't have detention, right?"
"Uh... I guess," I replied. "But see... I'm a... uh... I mean, I'm not... uh..."
Ms. Trujillo waited for me to finish. We looked at each other for a few moments, but the words just didn't come. At last, she picked up a piece of paper and said, "Don't worry. Today is your first day. It probably seems all crazy and complicated, but trust me, things will get better." She handed me the paper. "Here's your new schedule. I don't know where your old one went. In fact, I couldn't find your records at all, which is weird... so anyway, I filled out some temporary forms, just for today. Miss Truman can work the whole records thing out tomorrow — not that it matters to you."
But it did matter to me. My records would tell her who I really am. So I said, "Yeah, about my records... I want to say—"
"Tell me something," she interrupted. "Where were you the past two days? Just sitting at home, watching TV? Why weren't you here? You live just down the road."
"Where was I? My aunt took me to see Big Sur."
"Oh, how nice for you! Big Sur? It's lovely, but, Marcie, you had all summer to visit Big Sur. Did you think that cutting school would somehow make it a better experience?"
"I didn't mean to cut school. My aunt told me that school started on Thursday, not Tuesday."
Miss Trujillo frowned. "It sounds like your aunt is a little mixed up."
"It was an honest mistake," I said.
Ms. Trujillo gave a look of disapproval. "Well, her 'honest mistake' caused you a lot of trouble. Make sure you tell her that. But that's between the two of you. Now listen: Ms. Price took your 'add' notices to all your teachers. So you won't need to do that. You're lucky: you made a good friend there. You really owe her one." She nodded approvingly at what I was wearing. "Things could have gone a lot worse." She smiled and handed me two more slips of paper. "Now, go. You gotta get out of here. These are for tomorrow: they're excuse notes for the classes you missed this morning. Go have your lunch, finish the day, go home, and talk to your aunt."
Ms. Trujillo stood and came out from behind her desk. She ruffled my hair, and gently pushed me out the door. I stumbled into the empty hall. I was in a state of shock. I hadn't been able to tell her, and now I was back in that awful hallway, where everyone had seen Mrs. Zeff drag me like a rag doll in that silly dress.
Silly dress? Look at me now: my first day of high school in a new town, and I was dressed like a girl.
I set my teeth and made a firm decision: I was going back into the office, and I wasn't leaving until somebody in charge knew I wasn't a girl.
Then the bell rang, and a flood of students filled and flowed through the hall. It was unbelievable how many kids there were. Dozens... could there be hundreds? I pressed my back into the wall. The sheer numbers were overwhelming.
Then someone came and stood right next to me, her shoulder to my shoulder, and over the noise she called me by my name: "Marcie! Marcie! Are you all right? You look like you're going to faint."
It was Carla, the girl from gym class. She had a concerned look, but when I recognized her, she smiled.
"Hey," she said. "You wanna have lunch with me? We can sit together!"
"Yeah, sure," I said, still feeling a little lost and uncertain. "Which way do we go?" It wasn't until we started walking that I realized I needed to go back to the office, but there were too many bodies behind us, all of them going forward. The office would have to wait until after lunch.
As we walked, Carla took my schedule out of my hand and, after a quick look, shoved it into my bag. She guided me into the cafeteria, through the food line, and found a table. We sat down opposite each other.
"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked again. "I didn't hurt you in gym, did I?"
"No," I smiled. "I'm okay."
"Can I look at your schedule again?" she asked. I nodded, so she pulled the card from my bag, and a notebook from her own. Her schedule was taped inside the notebook's cover, and she compared the two. "Wow, Marcie! We have almost the exact same schedule. A couple things are kinda flipped... and I have Shop instead of Home Ec."
"Oh, that's good," I said. What else could I say?
"So how come you missed Math and English this morning?"
"Huh? Oh... I was in the principal's office."
"For TWO HOURS?"
It did sound extreme. Maybe I'd waited for Mr Bruce longer than I thought. "I guess so," I said.
"Are you in trouble?"
"I dunno. I had to do the add thingy, but somebody took my clothes while we were in gym..."
"OH!" Carla cried. "Were you that girl? I heard you were parading down the hall with your boyfriend. Who is he?"
I blushed. "He's not my boyfriend."
She grinned. "Then why are you blushing? Do you think he might have a friend for me?" Then she glanced over my shoulder and did a double take. "Oh, there's a cute boy coming this way, and he's looking right at you. Is that him?"
I turned, and saw Jerry grinning as he approached me. My blush deepened. When he reached our table, he said, "Hey, Marcie. I almost didn't recognize you with your clothes on. You look nice. Where did you find them?"
I couldn't stop blushing. "They're not mine," I said. "I'm just borrowing them."
"You ought to keep them," he replied. "They look great on you."
I introduced him and Carla. "I know you," Jerry said. "I saw you playing field hockey last summer. You're good. Are you going be on the team here?"
She smiled and nodded. "I hope so!"
"So," he said, turning his attention back to me. "Want to go for a soda or something after school?"
I blushed all over again. "Oooh," he cooed. "You are such a blusher! Does that mean yes?"
"No," I said. "I really have to get home right after."
"How about tomorrow?" he asked.
What the hell? I thought. Tomorrow I'll have short hair; Marcie will have disappeared. If I say I'll go, maybe I can at least get Carla set up.
"Maybe," I said. "Do you have a friend for Carla?"
He cocked an eyebrow at her and said, "Maybe I do. What do you say to Pat MacKinney?"
Carla blushed scarlet and couldn't speak. Jerry chuckled. "So both of you are blushers! Okay, me and Pat, you and Carla, tomorrow, drinks and small talk!" And then he was gone.
Neither of us could speak for a while. Then Carla gushed, "Wow, Marcie! Do you know who Pat MacKinney IS? I've had a crush on him for, like, forever!" She started babbling about Pat this and Pat that. I tried to listen, but my attention flagged pretty quickly. I just kept smiling and nodding my head. At least one good thing was coming out of my situation.
Carla was great. She was in both my afternoon classes, and showed me the way to each. The afternoon went pretty well. In History, even after I told the teacher my name, he was convinced that I was one of the Graylen girls, and turned my last name, Donner, into a first name: Donna Graylin. I didn't bother to correct him since tomorrow Marcie would be gone anyway.
The last class of the day was Computers. The teacher made it pretty interesting, and the time flew.
Near the end of the school day, though, I started to worry that Carla might live in the same direction as me. I didn't want her — or anyone from school — to see where I lived. I didn't want anyone to connect Marcie with Mark.
As soon as class was over, I asked Carla where she lived. She told me, but the address meant nothing, so I asked which direction she was walking. It turned out that she was staying to play some field hockey, so I didn't have to worry about her coming with me.
All the way home, I kept looking over my shoulder, but didn't see anyone from school following me. In fact, I didn't really see anyone on the street until I got home. My aunt was sitting on her front steps, taking sips from a bottle of water.
"Oh!" she called, smiling, nearly laughing. "You must be my lovely niece, Marcie!"
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
"Oh, my lord!" she cried. "You have to wear a dress every day for the next two weeks?" She actually sat down on the sidewalk, she was laughing so hard. I wanted to smack her, I was so mad. "We're going to have to do some shopping!" She clutched her sides.
"Is that how you were dressed when you left the house this morning?" Aunt Jane asked.
"No," I said, "these aren't my clothes. I can explain."
"Good," she said, grinning. "I'm sure it's a very interesting story."
"First let me go inside and get changed," I told her, taking a step toward the front door.
"Hold on," she told me, barring the way with her arm. "Tell me first. You look too cute in that outfit! I really need to drink it in."
"It's not funny!" I said. "I need to get changed so I can get a haircut. I need to get a SHORT haircut today, so people don't recognize me tomorrow."
"Your hair is already pretty short," she teased. "How could it be any shorter? You'd look like a boy."
"That's the idea!" I said. "I *need* to look like a boy!"
"Relax," she said. "I'm only teasing you! Your school left me the strangest voicemail. They wanted to know if I could bring some clothes for my niece Marcie." She smiled and shrugged. "I'm glad I missed the call. I wouldn't have known what to say. How come they didn't call my cell?"
"Does the school have your cell phone number?"
"Denise knows it by heart. She's the principal's secretary."
"Oh! The principal's secretary? She is not your friend, by the way! She had no idea who you were!"
Aunt Jane frowned. "What do you mean, she's not my friend? What did she say?"
"When I asked her if she knew you, she said she didn't! She had no idea who you were! I was lucky I remembered your number!"
"Denise Truman doesn't know me? She said she doesn't know me? Wait until I get my hands on her!" Jane looked bewildered and a little hurt.
"No, not Truman! Trujillo! The secretary's name is Trujillo."
"No, no," Jane countered, shaking her head. "That's wrong."
"I met her! I know! I don't know her first name, but her last name is Trujillo."
Aunt Jane frowned, puzzled. "You know what? Apart from her everything else, why didn't they look up my number in your records?"
"That's another thing! They couldn't find my records!"
Aunt Jane fell silent for a moment, taking it in. "Are you sure you went to the right school?"
"Of course I went to the right school!"
"Then why couldn't they find your records?"
"I have no idea! How am I supposed to know?"
"Were they looking for Mark's records or Marcie's?"
"Ohhh," I said. "Duh!" It was so obvious. But still, none of it should have happened. And none of would have happened if we hadn't taken that trip to Big Sur. So: "By the way," I told her, "School started Tuesday. NOT Thursday!"
"Hmmph," Jane commented, not seeming to care very much. "So you missed two days of school. It's not that big a deal. AND you got to see Big Sur. You know, school is important, but it isn't the most important thing in life."
"Not the most important?" I repeated. "Do you know how much trouble it caused? Look at me!"
"Wait a minute," Jane said, holding up her hand. She smiled, but she sounded defensive. "Just hold on. Because you went to school two days late, you ended up wearing a dress? And that is somehow my fault? Kids miss school all the time, but they manage to come home wearing their own clothes. What would have happened if you didn't start until next week? Would you have sprouted breasts?"
"It isn't funny!" I insisted. "I'm in trouble, and it's all your fault!"
"No, no," she said, waving her hands, "I'll admit I made you miss two days of school. I hope that's the worst thing that ever happens in your life, because it's nothing. But there's no way that the clothes you're wearing have anything to do with me. It's not my fault. I'm not saying it's your fault, but it's sure not mine."
My mouth fell open in astonishment. Not her fault? How could she say that? It was her fault! Now I began to see why my mother was worried about my coming here. She was right: Aunt Jane was a flake.
But then I remembered something else, something my Dad often said: "Jane is a merciless tease." And it made sense: that's why she wouldn't let me go inside and change. She wanted to milk every ounce of embarrassment she could from the situation. My embarrassment, obviously.
In any case, I didn't really care whose fault it was. I just wanted two things: (1) to get back into my own clothes, and (2) to get a short haircut so no one would recognize me tomorrow. And maybe, too, I could change my schedule, so people wouldn't immediately identify me as Marcie.
So I looked at my smirking aunt and said, "Okay: never mind whose fault it is. Can you at least help me?"
"Of course," she said. "That's why I'm here! No worries. First of all, let's call Denise Truman and find out why she says she doesn't know me."
"Hello!" I shouted. "That's not the most important thing at this moment!"
"Yes it is," she countered calmly. "We need her help to straighten everything out. She is our man on the inside. Without Denise, this could be a complicated mess. With Denise, It'll be a piece of cake." Jane poked at her phone for a moment, then stopped. "I've got a better idea. Let's go over and talk to her."
"Can I get changed first?" I demanded.
"No," Jane said. "She needs to get the whole picture. Besides, she lives right in back of us, on the next street over. We can cut through the backyard. Nobody's going to see us. Plus, that outfit is really cute on you. Did you know that?"
She jumped up, pulled the front door closed, and led me down the driveway. She stopped abruptly, patted her pockets, and turned to look at me. "Hey, uh — you do have the house keys, right?"
I nodded, and she continued on her way.
We passed our garage, then the garage of the house in back. When we emerged in the neighbor's driveway, we saw a woman sweeping her back steps.
"Hey!" she called. "I told you to stop cutting through here! Didn't I?"
"Uh, yeah," Jane replied, "But this is kind of an emergency. My niece here..."
The woman cut her off. "I've told you many times. Over and over! I told you I was going to call the police and have you arrested if you did it again! You're trespassing, do you understand? And now you're teaching another generation to trespass!"
"Forgive us our trespasses..." Jane intoned. I could hear the smirk.
The woman lifted her broom and ran at us. I didn't wait to see what she could do: I turned right around and ran like hell. Behind me I heard a wallop, followed by Jane swearing.
"Ow!" she cried. "That hurts!"
"Good!" the woman shouted. "That'll teach you to stay off my property!"
Another wallop followed, and Jane swore again.
It made me smile, I have to confess.
"Shoot!" Jane complained as she stood in her driveway rubbing her butt. "That old witch knows how to swing a broom! Damn!" She gave an exasperated huff. "I guess we have to go all the way around the block now."
Jane started walking, and took a right out of the driveway. I followed.
"So how did you end up with the name Marcie?" she asked.
"Apparently I look like a girl named Marcie Graylen. Do you know anybody with that name?"
"Sure," Jane said. "The Graylens are cousins, somehow. They live here in town. My mother's cousin married a Graylen, and John was one of the boys in that family... and Marcie is his daughter. I guess she's about your age. We used to see them all the time, growing up, but I kind of lost touch when I was traveling. You've never met them?"
"No," I said.
She studied me for a moment. "Huh!" she concluded. "You do look like a Graylen."
"Like Marcie Graylin?"
Jane shrugged. "I haven't seen her since she was a little girl, but maybe we can go visit this weekend." Then she smiled. "Maybe Marcie will have hand-me-downs for you!" She laughed at her own joke, and then in a more serious tone asked, "So — all joking aside — tell me: what happened in school today? Where did you get those clothes? And where did your clothes go? And, just... uh... I'm sorry for teasing you before. I know you're upset." She walked in silence for a few steps. Then she glanced at me and said, "But in one thing, I wasn't kidding — that outfit really does look good on you."
I stuck out my tongue at her, and we both laughed.
As we walked on, I told her about Mr. Bruce, gym suits, field hockey, the ambulance, and the walk to the principal's office (I left Jerry out of the story). Then I told her my "punishment." I handed her the note. She stopped to read it, and laughed so hard she was crying.
"Oh, my lord!" she cried. "You have to wear a dress every day for the next two weeks?" She actually sat down on the sidewalk, she was laughing so hard. I wanted to smack her, I was so mad. "We're going to have to do some shopping!" She clutched her sides.
"Aunt Jane," I said. "You have to get me out of this mess. I need to get a haircut so nobody recognizes me tomorrow. And somebody has to explain to Mr. Bryant."
"Oh, hon," she gasped. "At this point, I don't think a haircut's going to do it. It sounds like you made a big splash today, so somebody's bound to recognize your cute little face."
I went white. "So what will I do?"
"We need some help from Denise," Jane replied. "Don't worry. We're adults. We can work everything out."
By that point I had plenty of doubts about the last two things she said, but I hoped that Denise at least would have some common sense.
Jane led me up the walk to a pretty little yellow house. As she rang the bell, she said, "Let me do the talking, okay?"
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
"So what happened to your nephew Mark?" Denise asked. "Did Marcie come instead?"
"Yeah, sort of," Jane replied, laughing. "It's a funny story–"
Before she could start, I blurted out, "I'm Mark. I'm her nephew Mark."
Denise answered the door in her bathrobe. She had been sick with the flu, she explained. "I'm fine now. And I'm not contagious. I'm just a little snuffly and tired."
She let us in, washed her hands, set some cookies on a plate, and started boiling water for tea.
Jane introduced me as her niece Marcie, but before she got any further, I took the lead and asked Denise whether she really was the principal's secretary. I was getting a little tired of not being able to speak for myself.
"Sure I am," Denise said. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Well, uh, my aunt said you were, but..."
Denise grinned. "You figured that since she said so, it probably wasn't true, right?"
"Hey!" Jane objected. "That's not fair!"
I ignored the jab. "Uh — there was a Ms. Trujillo in the office today..."
Denise nodded. "She's just a sub from the district. I'll be back at work tomorrow."
"Oh, good!" I replied.
"So what happened to your nephew Mark?" Denise asked. "Did Marcie come instead?"
"Yeah, sort of," Jane replied, laughing. "It's a funny story–"
That's when I jumped in. As I said, by now I was fed up with being cut off before I could tell anyone that I'm a boy, so before Jane could say another word, I blurted out, "I'm Mark. I'm her nephew Mark. There is no Marcie. Only me. Mark."
At first Denise didn't believe it. The fact that Aunt Jane kept laughing didn't help, because it made the whole thing sound like a joke. Each time I insisted it was true, Jane scoffed and laughed and told Denise not to believe me. In the end I think it was my desperation that convinced her.
But what really sealed the deal was when I told her about Mr. Bruce's obsession with gym uniforms. She stopped short and said, "Oh, no... he didn't. Did he really? Oh, no..." And when I pulled the silly outfit from my bag, Denise's face went white. She sighed heavily.
"Oh, my God," she said with a frown. "I've seen that thing once or twice before. Last time was a couple of years back."
Jane took the outfit from me, shook it out and felt the material. "Wow, this thing is butt-ugly," she observed. "Where on earth did he find this relic? It reminds me of a Victorian bathing suit! And it feels like... ugh... the cheapest kind of polyester." She turned to Denise. "How can he get away with this? Don't the parents complain? I'm surprised nobody's sued him." She shook her head and shoved the outfit back into my bag. "Is this some crazy kind of kink of his?"
Denise gave an offended look. "Jane! You know him! He's a nice guy! A nice, normal, decent guy!"
"Yeah," Jane acknowledged. "But still... in this day and age..."
"Anyway," Denise told her, interrupting, "The principal doesn't condone it. I guess he turns a blind eye, because he and Bruce fought about it for years. And Bruce should be retiring soon. When he does, the whole issue goes away. For the past couple, maybe three, years, no boy ever forgot his gym clothes. So I guess the threat worked, and before that, I guess none of the boys ever told their parents. If they had, it would have been the end of it."
Jane didn't know what to say, she she gave a hmmph! Then she looked at me. "Alright. Now, back to your story. So, you had to wear that silly thing for gym class. Then how did you end up wearing all this?" She gestured to what I was wearing.
"Well... I had to take gym class with the girls," I began. I explained about Mr. Bruce's mix-up with the name, which prompted Jane to explain exactly how Marcie Graylen and I were related, and then...
"So it turned out that Mr. Bruce had a stroke, and now he's in the hospital," I told them, and the two women's jaws dropped. "What!?" they exclaimed together. Denise jumped to her feet and ran to look out the front window.
"Donnie Bruce is in the hospital?" my aunt demanded.
"I don't know his first name," I replied in a cautious tone, "but Mr. Bruce had a stroke and went to the hospital today."
Aunt Jane looked to Denise, who was still standing by the front window. "Is Alice home?"
"I don't think so," Denise replied. "Her car's not in the driveway."
"I'll try to call her," Jane said, and turning her back to us, walked into the kitchen.
I sat there for a moment, looking at the two of them. They both seemed to have forgotten I was there. So I walked over to Denise, because she seemed to be the sensible one.
"So what do I do?" I asked her.
She frowned a moment. "About Donnie, you mean?"
"What?" I replied. "No, about me. What do I do tomorrow? Can you fix it?"
Denise sighed and ruffled my hair. Jane emerged from the kitchen, poking at her phone. "She doesn't answer. I'm sending a text."
"Oh, Jane," Denise said, "You're my friend, I love you, but you just make things so crazy. How do you do it?"
Jane shot a defensive look at Denise. "What are you talking about? I didn't do anything," she said. "How can you say that?"
"If Mark had started school on time, he would have known about Bruce's fixation, and he would have been ready for gym this morning."
Jane retorted, "When you say it like that, it only *sounds* like it makes sense. There isn't any cause and effect here. This is just the way things turned out. It's just a series of strange coincidences and weird luck."
"Whatever!" I cried. "I don't care who did what, or why or when, or how it might not have happened! At this point, I just want a way out. AND, I need to get my hair cut short today, really short, before the barbers close."
"Okay," Denise said. "I'll be back at work tomorrow, and we will work it all out. Come to school tomorrow dressed normally, as a boy. Come straight to the office and we'll talk to Principal Bryant together."
"I can't come," Jane commented. "I have to work."
"Maybe it's better that way," Denise said, laughing, and Jane stuck out her tongue in response.
"Come a little early, like a half hour early," Denise told me.
"Can you just say that Marcie called to drop out, and quietly put Mark back in?" Jane asked.
"First off," Denise replied, "I never put Mark's drop through the system. So he's still enrolled. I tried to call you Tuesday, but couldn't reach you. I even tried, sick as I was, on Wednesday, but of course I couldn't find you.
"Anyway, if Marcie doesn't show, I'm sure Bryant will want to call or visit her home to make sure there are no bad feelings or serious problems. Plus, I don't like to do underhanded stuff. Especially when there's no need to. You know that. It's best to come clean with Bryant. He's a good guy.
"And *I* can cut your hair, Mark. I have some clippers somewhere in the house. If all you want is a crew cut, I can buzz all the hair right off your head. Okay?"
That sounded great to me. I was glad that Denise was finally in the picture. Clearly, my aunt was a flake, like my mother said, and I couldn't rely on her to be the adult. Denise, on the other hand, was a responsible adult, and she at least, had my back.
Denise took another look out the front window.
"You always were the sensible one, Denise," Jane complimented. "I knew you'd work it all out. But there's another alternative I think we ought to explore..."
"And what alternative is that?" Denise prompted.
"What if Mark remains Marcie?" Jane asked. "For the rest of the semester? After that, he goes off to New Jersey, and no one will be the wiser."
I rolled my eyes. Of course, my aunt had to get some last cracks in. As long as she could joke about this, she would. But I knew Denise wouldn't go along. It was too crazy and silly and stupid. Denise would never. I looked from my aunt to Denise, and then it was my jaw's turn to fall.
Imagine my surprise and alarm when I saw Denise's thoughtful frown turn slowly into a laughing smile.
"Well," she said thoughtfully. "He does make a cute girl."
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
"Stop!" I told her. "It's not funny any more. I never said I wanted to be a girl! Or even pretend to be a girl!"
"Trust me, Marcie-Mark," Jane told me. "I'm your responsible adult. You're in my care. And I'm telling you, this will be good for you. You'll like it. You'll learn all kinds of useful things about girls, and you even can write a book about it when you're older.
My eyes nearly popped out of my head, I was so surprised and shocked.
"You could stay Marcie for the rest of the term," Jane said, "and then go back to being Mark when you move East."
Denise looked at me with a kind of neutral smile. She glanced at Jane, then turned away to look out the front window.
"Bu– wha– I... you sa– ha," I spluttered.
"Look," Jane told me, "I said before: you made a big splash today. You've already started making friends with students and teachers. And...," she said, pausing dramatically, "you like the clothes!"
"I do not!" I said.
"Do too!" she countered. "You've been home for two hours, but you haven't gone to change. You haven't even said you want to change. You like those clothes!"
"They do look good on you," Denise said quietly. "But don't worry, Mark. Jane's just teasing you. *I* was just teasing you. She knows it would never work."
"Never work!? Of course it would work!" Jane countered. "Everyone believed it today."
Denise huffed impatiently, and turned to face Jane. "One day! It worked for one day! What about the rest of the semester? You don't think the other kids will have time to take a closer look, to get to know him better? You don't think that he — or you! — would slip up? And what about gym? What about bathrooms?"
Jane waved her hand. "In the bathroom, he'll just have to remember to sit down and not stare. For gym, I think I can get a doctor's note."
"So he won't take gym?" Denise asked.
"No, so he can shower and change by himself," she replied. "I'm sure I can find a doctor who'll do me a favor. It's just a note, anyway. I just have to think of the right condition, but that shouldn't be a problem."
Denise studied my face for a few moments. I shook my head no, and she smiled encouragingly.
Jane went on, "And for the paperwork... you can't tell me that it would be hard to finagle that. You're the woman on the inside, you can do whatever you like with the records."
"No," Denise countered. "I can't. And even if I switched Mark for Marcie..." she fell silent, thinking. "You know, it actually wouldn't be very hard. In fact, it would be easy: If this is only going to last a semester or less, I could do it. I could leave Mark's record in the system, and set it inactive, so no one will see it. I'd copy all his background into a new record for Marcie. Then, when it's time for Mark to move on, I'll just copy Marcie's grades and attendance and notes into Mark's record."
"That's what I said!" Jane asserted.
Denise went on, "The requests for transcripts and records from his new school would come to me anyway, but even if someone else gets it, his record would be there, right next to Marcie's."
"Then it's settled," Jane said, and clapped her hands. Denise giggled.
"And what about me?" I demanded. At this point, I had no idea whether they were teasing or serious. With these two, it was impossible to tell.
Denise caught my worried look and reassured me. "We're just talking," she said. "Don't worry — it's not going to happen. It can't happen. I won't go along with it. AND, your aunt can't make you do it. Remember, Jane is nothing but a tease. She's trying to get a rise out of you."
"No, I'm not," Jane said with a laugh. "It *is* going to happen. And Marcie and I have to do some shopping!"
"Stop!" I told her. "It isn't funny any more. I never said I wanted to be a girl! Or even pretend to be a girl! And I have told you — several times — that I wanted to get out of these clothes!"
"Trust me, Marcie-Mark," Jane told me. "I'm your responsible adult. You're in my care. And I'm telling you, this will be good for you. You'll like it. You'll learn all kinds of useful things about girls, and you even can write a book about it when you're older.
"Now come on," she commanded. "We have to get to the mall. You need at least one outfit for tomorrow, some underwear, and a starter set for boobies."
Denise, who was standing behind Jane, rolled her eyes and shook her head at me. She twirled her finger near her ear and pointed at Jane, meaning, She's crazy. To me she mouthed the words Don't worry, but aloud she asked, "Can I come? I need to get out, and I have nothing to eat here. We can have dinner at the food court in the mall."
While Denise got ready, Jane went into the backyard to make a phone call. She claimed the signal was better, but I didn't believe her. I paced back and forth, thinking. Denise had assured me that Jane was only teasing. But there was no way I could be sure of that, so I had to be ready to put up a serious fight. In any case, one thing was certain: the longer this went on, the harder it would be to stop. However, I wasn't sure that I'd be able to put my foot down by myself. It seemed like Denise had my back, but would she stand up to my aunt? She seemed responsible, practical, and realistic. Thank God she was coming along with us to the mall: I needed all the help I could get.
Whatever happened next, I needed to flat-out refuse anything that pulled me in the girl direction. That included changing my clothes before we left for the mall.
And then it hit me: I could pull my parents in. Even if it meant going to New Jersey before I was ready. It might be a mess, but it would be better than whatever humiliation I'd go through when the kids at school found out that I'm not a girl.
So when Aunt Jane came back in, I asked if I could use her phone. She handed it to me.
Once I had the phone in my hand, I told her, "I want to call my parents." Then I realized that I didn't have the number.
"It's in the contacts," she said, and touching the screen without taking it from me, she pulled up the number at Dad's little apartment. It rang for a while, but there was no answer.
"It's late afternoon out there," Jane said. "Your father's probably at work or on his way home, and your mother might be out looking at houses. If you call two or three hours from now, you'll get them for sure."
Denise came rushing into the room. "I just saw Alice pulling into her driveway. We've got to go talk to her!" She ran out of the house, leaving the front door open.
"Who's Alice?" I asked.
Aunt Jane's face looked serious for the first time today. She glanced out the window, and in a soft voice said, "She's an old friend... and she's married to your Mr. Bruce."
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
Alice asked, "How will you handle tomorrow? What are you going to do? How are you going to explain to everybody?"
They all looked at me, and I looked back at them. A slow smile came to my lips, and Alice said, "No! You're not! You... you can't! You're not going to pretend to be a girl, are you!?"
We followed Denise outside. She was across the street, talking to a girl who looked about my age. I froze for a moment, then quickly turned to go back in the house.
Aunt Jane frowned, puzzled, and stopped me by putting her hand on my arm. "What's wrong?"
"That girl!" I hissed. "I don't want her to see me!"
"What girl?" Jane's head swiveled, scanning the empty street. "Where? Someone you know?" Jane asked, puzzled.
"The girl Denise is talking to! I don't know her, but if she goes to my school, and she sees me, it's going to make it hard to change back to Mark."
Aunt Jane gave a small smile. "You've got it all wrong," she said. "That woman isn't your age. She's my age. That's Alice. She, Denise, and I went to high school together. We used to call her Tiny Alice because she was always the smallest girl in our class."
Jane glanced across the street. "You can see she hasn't grown any since then."
"She really went to school with you?" I asked, full of doubt. I was beginning to wonder whether I could believe a single word that my aunt said.
"Yes," Jane replied, surprised by my disbelief. "Why wouldn't she?"
"You might say that just to trick me, and get me stuck wearing a dress."
Aunt Jane scoffed and said, "No, I swear. And you're not going to be stuck wearing a dress. Alice is an old friend, and she needs some support right now. Come on, you'll like her. She's great."
As we crossed the street and got closer, I could see that Alice didn't exactly look like a girl. The way she dressed and acted was more adult, more like Denise.
But the thing that really struck me about her was how tired and sad she looked. Well... not sad exactly... but definitely not happy.
"Hi, Alice!" Aunt Jane called. "How are you holding up? How is Donny doing?"
Alice sighed and said, "I guess he's going to be all right. His doctor said it wasn't really a stroke. It was a transchemic something attack..."
"Transient Ischemic Attack," Jane offered. "It's like a mini-stroke. So his symptoms cleared up?"
"Yes," she said. "Pretty much. After a couple hours he kind of came to, and started talking and acting normally. Now he's worn out, and they want to keep him for a couple days to do some tests." She sighed again. "They said it was a warning sign."
"Will he be back at school?" I asked.
Alice gave me a kind of blank stare for a moment. "No, hon, I'm not going to let him. It's time for him to retire. Past time." She kept on looking at me, but there was no expression on her face. It was a little unnerving. She glanced back and forth between me and Jane, and said, "Who are you? Are you two related?"
"Yes," Jane said. "This is my niece, Marcie."
"I'm her nephew, Mark," I countered.
"Niece."
"Nephew."
"Stop," Denise said, gently but firmly. "Alice, we'll let you go. I guess you need to rest."
"No, no, don't go!" Alice cried. "Can't you come in the house with me? I don't want to be alone right now. It'll be too weird without Donny."
"All of us?" Denise asked.
"Yes," said Alice. "All of you! If you don't stay... if you don't come in, it'll just be me and my thoughts. I'll go crazy! Come on, I'll cook you dinner. Please?"
The three women went back and forth for a tiny while longer, but I tuned them out. Something else was happening, something more important... for me, anyway. I had a moment, an unusual, eye-opening moment, and it changed the course of the rest of my life.
As we stood there on that suburban street, the sun sank behind the houses. Everything — houses, cars, trees, people — took on a warm, liquid, golden glow. A soft wind unrolled itself and filled the street, its soft feathery fingers rustling my skirt and rippling its tiers and ruffles.
I'd been outside with bare legs plenty of times, but there was a world of difference between wearing shorts and wearing a skirt. A gentle wave of wind quietly slipped under and slid all the way up my legs, brushing my light cotton underwear, reminding me that every stitch and thread I wore said girl.
A thrill of gooseflesh rushed over my back and arms. Its electric tingle spread up my neck into my scalp.
I drew a deep, smiling breath and saw my little fake breasts rise, then fall.
In a strange and indescribable way I felt right and good. It was a new sensation for me. After a whole day of fighting and fearing what I was wearing, I suddenly relaxed, and when I relaxed, I saw that I belonged right there, that I was part and parcel of the whole scene, and something secret part inside of me said, Oh, God! It's good to be a girl! and then it said, I can do this. I want to do this. I want to be a girl!
And when that secret part of me said those things, the rest of me agreed.
I could have stood there longer, drinking in the magic of that transforming moment, but it ended abruptly when Aunt Jane shook my arm and called out, "Earth to Mark! Earth to Marcie! Come on, boy! Come on, girl! We're going to be with Alice. We can talk more inside."
The warm golden moment ended, but I knew what I'd felt and seen, and I knew what I wanted to do.
I followed the others. We trooped into Alice's house and sat down around her kitchen table.
I drank soda; the women drank white wine. Alice tied an apron around her waist, and got busy washing and chopping vegetables. She put water on to boil and poured some oil into a pan.
All of us offered to help, but she refused. "No," Alice said, "I need to be busy. What you can do is talk to me. Distract me. Tell me anything, everything." She looked me in the face, and said, "You — Tell me the niece/nephew story." Then she pointed at Jane and said, "You — Don't interrupt her."
Jane shrugged and sipped her wine.
I took a deep breath and began, "I might have been one of the last people to see Mr. Bruce before his stroke–"
Jane open her mouth to correct me, but Alice wagged her finger. "Go on," she said.
I told her the story of how I missed the first two days of school, and how I didn't have my gym suit. As I talked, her face betrayed a series of silent reactions. I didn't know what her reactions meant, but each time I paused, she said, "Go on."
When I got to the part where I was in the girls' gym class, Alice asked me to describe the outfit I had to wear. I had some trouble, so I ran across the street to Denise's house and pulled it out of my bag. Alice spread it on the table.
"Oh, my God. These ugly old things. I wonder where on earth he got them! No girl would ever be caught dead wearing one of these." She balled it up and shoved it into the kitchen trash.
"Donny is just insane about gym clothes," Alice went on. "He used to talk about it for hours. Literal hours. I asked him to stop, but I could see it was eating him up. I got tired of asking him to give up on it, to drop it. Once he got on it, he was like a runaway train."
"It's a big deal to him," I said.
She nodded. "I finally realized what it was. He felt that people looked down on him for being a gym teacher, and when the boys forgot their outfits he felt like they looked down on him too. He took it as an insult, like they didn't care, like it didn't matter." She paused. "Like he didn't matter." She looked at the floor and sighed.
I wasn't sure what to say.
After a moment, she collected herself and asked, "Okay: I understand how you ended up in gym class with the girls, but how on earth did you end up in those clothes you've got on? My husband didn't have anything to do with that, did he?"
"No," I said, and told her the rest of the story. Again, I carefully left Jerry out of it. A few times I had to pause because the three of them were laughing so much. Alice stopped me twice because her sides were hurting, and Denise jumped in at one point to paint a short, unflattering portrait of Mrs. Zeff, the woman who hauled me into the office.
"Okay. So that was today." Alice concluded. "How will you handle tomorrow? What are you going to do? How are you going to explain to everybody?"
They all looked at me, and I looked back at them. A slow smile came to my lips, and Alice said, "No! You're not! You... you can't! You're not going to pretend to be a girl, are you!?"
I kept smiling and looking at the three women, but I didn't answer right away.
Denise gently told me, "Come on now, Mark. You know we were only teasing you before, don't you? No one ever wanted you to wear a dress."
"Unless you want to...," Jane prompted, chuckling to herself. But I knew she didn't mean it.
Jane was busy laughing, but Denise and Alice gaped in surprise, because they saw what I wanted. It was written all over my face.
"I want to try it," I said. "I want to try it to be a girl. If I can, I mean. If that's okay."
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
"Mark, look. This isn't some sitcom on TV. It's real life. It's high school. Kids can be very cruel. You never know — one tiny slip, one little detail could give you away, and it would all be over. Then what would you do? Leave school? Run away?"
Alice cried, "Jane, is everyone in your family crazy?"
Aunt Jane sputtered for a bit, then recovered, saying, "Good one, Mark, good one. You really had me going there for a minute. No, Alice, he's just getting me back for teasing him before."
Alice looked closely at my face and replied, "I don't think he is. You're serious, aren't you, Mark?"
I licked my lips and nodded.
"No, no, nonono," Jane said, waving her hand. "Out of the question."
"Why?" Alice asked. "I'm still having trouble believing that this is a boy sitting in front of me. I mean, I do believe it — Mark, you need some 'girl' lessons, by the way — but my eyes tell me that this is a girl."
"Everybody at school thought I was a girl," I offered.
"Girls don't sit with their legs splayed like that," Alice replied, pointing at my knees, which I quickly closed.
Jane was about to speak, but Denise signalled her to wait. She said to me, "Mark, look. This isn't some sitcom on TV. It's real life. It's high school. Kids can be very cruel. You never know — one tiny slip, one little detail could give you away, and it would all be over. Then what would you do? Leave school? Run away?"
"It's only one semester," I put in.
Denise continued, "It's not just about you, either. If you were found out, my job would be on the line. I would not only get fired, I'd never work in the school system again."
"You could just say you didn't know," I suggested.
"And the records?"
"If I get caught, you can take away the Mark record and say you didn't know."
She thought a moment, then said, "Then where did the Marcie transcript come from, if I didn't know?"
"Could I say I made it?"
Denise puzzled over that, but before she could speak, Jane burst in, "What about bathrooms? What about gym?"
"We talked about that before, remember? You said I could sit down and not stare, and you said you'd get me a doctor's note for gym."
"I was only kidding about the doctor's note," she said. "I just made that up."
"Anyway," I said, "Now I have gym at the end of the day, so I don't need to shower at school. I can just come straight home."
"She has an answer for everything," Alice said.
"He," Aunt Jane countered.
"Whatever," Alice said, smiling slightly.
Jane returned to the charge. "What about your parents? What are they going to say? They'll think I'm a total flake!"
Alice and Denise exchanged glances.
"Don't they think that already?" Denise muttered. Jane didn't take the bait.
"They don't have to know," I replied.
"If you get caught, they'll know," Jane retorted hotly. Then she turned on Alice and Denise. "And what's with you two? I see the looks and faces you're making."
"Uh," Denise faltered.
"The thing is," Alice replied, "is that Marcie is sounding a lot like you. You were always a master at talking people into stuff."
"Stuff they wanted to do anyway," Jane replied.
Denise looked doubtful. "I don't know about that," she countered. Jane glared at her.
"What all of you don't seem to realize," Jane said, "Is how much trouble I could get into."
Alice and Denise erupted into laughter.
"Do you know how many people have said that to you?" Denise countered. "The two of us included."
Now that the heat was off me for a moment, a thought suddenly hit me: None of them realized that I was just as surprised as they were. I didn't mean to say what I said. I meant it, but I didn't mean to say it. It just kind of came out. The moment of insight that I had on the sidewalk was like something out of time, a kind of cosmic moment that I didn't know how to process or what to do with. It was like a curtain was lifted and I saw this whole girly dimension calling to me. It felt like home. And now, sitting here, dressed in a skirt and cute top — well, it felt so incredibly natural, as if I always dressed this way. Jane was right: I liked these clothes. I didn't want to get changed.
Another thing: I liked being with these three women. For the first time I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up: I wanted to be like them! Was that strange? Whether it was weird or strange, well, whatever it was, it was right.
It sounds so logical and clear when I write it down like this, but at the time it was just a jumble of inarticulate feelings. I felt them, but didn't know what they meant. I went with it, because it looked like the best way to go.
My experience on the sidewalk and my time with these women... sure, it was brief, hardly an hour. Still, it was enough to convince me that I could do it and that I wanted to do it. It would be fun and interesting to be a girl for a few months. And yes, maybe it wouldn't always be easy, but it would definitely be worthwhile.
Alice said, "Face it, Jane. All your life you've gotten people into mischief. Sometimes they've landed in more trouble than they could handle."
Denise added, "For once, the shoe is on the other foot."
Jane shook her head. "I can't believe this! I can't believe the two of you are ganging up on me!" She waved her hand as if to shut Alice and Denise off, and turned to look at me. "Mark, listen. You know I was only kidding before, right? I was just teasing you. I never, never, never meant for you to wear a dress to school. I will even go so far as to say that I'm sorry that I made you late for school, and I'll admit that this is all my fault, okay?"
I could see that she was almost choking on the words — that it was hard for her to apologize. Denise and Alice were astonished.
Denise said, "Wow! That's a first."
"I wish I had a video camera," Alice added.
Jane ignored them. "Don't do this, Mark," she asked quietly. "Don't do this to me."
"I can do this," I replied with a firmness and decision that surprised even me. "I can pull it off. Alice and Denise didn't believe I'm a boy, and no one at school thought I was a boy. I can do this, and I want to do this."
Jane sighed.
"Okay," Alice said. "But you're going to need some help. Seriously. You have to come over this weekend and I'll help you." Suddenly her face lit up. "Oh! And I have something you can wear tomorrow!" She grabbed my hand and said, "Come on, I'll show you." She led me out of the living room into a short hallway. "You two, stay there," she called to Denise and Jane.
I followed Alice into her bedroom and she pulled open her closet. "I have a dress that I think you could wear tomorrow. You can try it on now, anyway. I bought it, but then I never had the nerve to wear it. It looked good in the store, but when I got it home it looked more like a costume than a dress, but I think you can pull it off."
She handed me a dress on a hanger. It was a brown Bohemian dress. There were swaths of three or four different patterns, separated by blue or purple lines. If the pieces were arranged differently, it would have looked like a crazy quilt. One pattern was a soft tie dye of white, red and brown; the second was light red and white flowers; the third looked like cells under the microscope, drawn in brown and white, and the last was blue paisley. From the waist up, the stripes ran diagonally, but they were horizontal on the skirt. The sleeves were long and loose.
Alice said, "I'll leave you to it." Before she left the room, she said, "Are you really a boy? Tell the truth."
"Yes," I said. "Cross my heart."
After she walked away, I heard her tell the other two, "Let's open a bottle of wine. Dinner's just about ready."
The dress fit me perfectly, and I have to say, I liked it a lot. Being a boy, I'd never worn colorful clothes anyway, but I guessed that even girls didn't wear so many colors at once. Once it quieted down out front, I came out to show them.
"Is this too much?" I asked. "Too many colors?"
Jane's mouth fell. Alice's eyes lit up. Denise said, "No, it's you. It's just fine. It looks really good on you."
They asked me to spin, to walk up and down, to sit and stand again. Alice examined the fit. Denise and Alice commented on which shoes might suit the dress. Just then, a timer dinged.
"Oh!" Alice cried. "You can't eat dinner in that. If you spill something on it, you won't be able to use it tomorrow. Come on, I've got another one I can't wear. Then I'll put dinner on the table."
She shut off the burners on the stove and ran back to her bedroom, pulling me behind her. From the closet she quickly extracted a white minidress. "Don't worry about how it fits," she said. "This will help you learn what to do with your legs."
"But it's white," I said. "What if I spill food on this?"
"Don't worry," she said, "Neither of us can wear this dress in public anyway," and she ran from the room.
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
"That's not what I meant," she countered. "I mean that you have to behave. You can't be tricky and get around the rules. Rules are rules, and if you don't watch out, they can really bite you in the butt. If you're going to be a girl and not get caught at it, you have to keep your nose clean, keep a low profile, and not draw attention to yourself. You might think that teachers and adults are old and stupid, but they ignore a lot of stuff. They let a lot slide. If you flaunt the rules, people will notice, and when they have their chance, they'll lower the boom on you. Do you get me?"
As Alice disappeared down the hall, she called, "Be quick, because dinner's ready."
Soon I heard the clank of plates and the clink of knives and forks. Someone was setting the table.
After one last look in the mirror, I took off the Bohemian dress, and held up the white dress in front of me. I had t-shirts as long as this dress! Well, almost as long.
"Hurry up in there, Marcie!" Alice sang out.
I sighed, and stepped into it. After some struggle I got it up my body and was able to slip my arms in. Surprisingly, it wasn't hard to zip myself.
"Marcie!" Alice called again, "Dinner's on the table!"
I quickly adjusted myself and tugged the hemline down. "Brazen it out," I told myself. "Brazen it out."
The three women were already sitting at the table when I entered the room.
Denise said, "Whoa!"
Jane said, "No way. No way! You can't go anywhere dressed like that!"
"Okay, mom," Alice said. "This is just for practice. I already told her she can't wear it in public."
Jane sighed heavily and hung her head with a black look. I almost found myself apologizing, but then thought, If you want to do this, you've got to keep going. I sat at the small round table between Jane and Denise, facing Alice.
Alice lifted her glass. I looked and saw that mine was filled with water. Alice said, "I really appreciate the three of you coming tonight. I know I've been a little wild, but I didn't want to be alone... with my thoughts... and fears... tonight. Sorry, Jane. I wanted to be distracted, and I guess it's been at your expense."
Jane's mouth moved a little, but she didn't look up or say anything.
Alice went on, "I'm worried about Donny, and I don't understand what's going on. The doctors didn't really explain..."
Jane took a breath and said, "Right. That's why there are nurses. The doctors run in and run out. Most of them don't take the time to sit down with their patients, let alone their patients' families." Then she explained the difference between strokes and transient ischemic attacks, which was what Mr. Bruce had had. Her explanation was remarkably clear and easy to understand. Jane talked about how lucky Mr. Bruce had been, about it being a warning, and so on...
Alice listened closely, every so often sipping her wine. Denise surreptitiously winked at me, and then I understood. Alice was drawing Jane out, calling on her professional side. I could see Jane relaxing as she explained, and Alice kept asking questions, so Jane kept talking. Alice really wanted and needed to know — and the conversation lasted the whole dinner — but Jane needed it, too. While Alice sipped her wine, Jane gulped hers, and between the wine and the explaining, Jane warmed and grew expansive. She didn't get drunk, you understand. She just loosened up.
Denise and I kept silent. Every so often she'd smile at me. A few times she signalled me to eat slowly, take smaller bites, to keep my knees together, to sip (not gulp) my water.
Once the meal was over, Denise told me, "You better get to your homework. We'll do the cleanup." She gestured to Alice's desk in the corner of the living room. "You can work over there."
As I crossed the room, I scooped up the principal's letter to Aunt Jane, and grabbed the bag Ms. Price had given me. My only homework was some History reading. Oh, and memorizing the dress code for girls. I read it through four times.
A shirt or blouse that can be tucked in (any color). Skirts or dresses (no higher than one inch above the knee), suits, casual pants or slacks (any color). A belt must be worn with pants. Sleeveless outfits are not allowed. Solid color stockings, dress shoes or dress boots. Skirts with slits are not acceptable. Tight fitting or revealing clothing will not be permitted. Girls may wear one pair of small earrings and a watch. Makeup is not encouraged, but if worn, must be minimal.
When I finished the History reading, the women were still cleaning up. It looked like a good moment, so I took the principal's letter and a pen. My aunt was in the middle of telling something long and complicated, and she was smiling, so I slipped in next to her, smoothed the letter on the counter, and held the pen toward her. Without a thought, without missing a beat or stopping her story, she signed with a flourish and I stepped away.
Behind Jane's back, Denise pretended to be shocked. She put her mouth in an oh and shook her head. Smiling, she whispered, "You are a bold girl, Marcie! Just like your aunt."
I went back to the desk, and started packing my books into the bag. Denise followed me over.
She said, "I hope you know I'm on your side." I nodded. She went on, "I hope you'll be on my side, too."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"That was clever, the way you got your aunt to sign that note."
I smiled.
"It's good to be clever, but not too clever."
I didn't follow.
"Look," she explained. "If you're really going to do this thing, you're going to have to be good."
"Don't worry," I replied. "Everyone will think I'm a girl."
"That's not what I meant," she countered. "I mean that you have to behave. You can't be tricky and get around the rules. Rules are rules, and if you don't watch out, they can really bite you in the butt. If you're going to be a girl and not get caught at it, you have to keep your nose clean, keep a low profile, and not draw attention to yourself. You might think that teachers and adults are old and stupid, but they ignore a lot of stuff. They let a lot slide. If you flaunt the rules, people will notice, and when they have their chance, they'll lower the boom on you. Do you get me?"
"Yes, I guess I do," I replied.
"So, if you're going to be a girl, you have to be a good girl. Okay?"
"Okay," I said.
"If you're tricky or troublesome, your parents might hear about it, and the whole thing could unravel."
"Okay," I repeated.
"'Nuff said, then," she told me, and smiled and ruffled my hair. Then she grinned and said, "Okay, girlfriend, give me a hug." She gave me a big squeeze. I put my arms on her back and squeezed a little, too, until she let go and walked back to the kitchen, chuckling.
I had no idea what that was about.
As I set my bag by the front door, Denise gave Alice a hug, too. Alice gave her a look of alarm.
"Oh, no," she said. "You're not going, are you?"
"I better," Denise said. "I was sick yesterday and I ought to get home, get ready for tomorrow."
"Yeah, me too," Jane said. "I have to be at work by seven."
"Oh, oh," Alice cried. "You can't leave me. Can't you all stay here tonight?"
Jane and Denise hesitated.
"Please?" Alice begged. "The four of us can have a sleepover. You can leave for work from here. I have plenty of room. I'll make you breakfast!"
"I guess," Denise said. "I can run across the street for a shower in the morning. Okay. Yeah."
Jane's shoulders fell and she shook her head. "Sorry, Ally," she said. "I have to sleep in my own bed, especially after the all the heart spasms I've gone through tonight." She looked at me as she spoke. My eyebrows shot up and my mouth went into an oh. Jane saw this, and said, "Yes, Miss Innocent, I'm talking about you. You can stay if you want, Marcie," she laid heavy emphasis on the name, "and don't think I didn't notice that note you had me sign.
"You can have your game," she said. "But if it comes apart, don't come crying to me. Got it?"
I nodded, a little frightened, and barely managed to say, "Thanks, Aunt Jane."
At this her face softened, and she said, "Come here, you little monkey!" She wrapped me in a bone-breaking hug.
"Do you know you're my favorite aunt?" I said.
"Oh, man, what bull!" she shouted, laughing.
"No, really!" I protested.
"Okay," she said, and hugged me again. "You be good, okay? Don't be wild like these two. Or like me. Keep out of trouble."
"I will," I said.
"And if it does come apart," she said, "do come running to me, okay?"
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
Ms. Tandy held up the doll and asked if anyone knew what it was.
One girl said, "A doll."
The teacher replied, "Come on, if it was that easy, I wouldn't have asked."
"Oh! Oh!" another girl called. "I know! I know!"
The rest of the evening was pretty uneventful. After Aunt Jane left, Alice showed me the guest room. I took a shower, then called my parents. They were tired from house-hunting. I told them about my trip with Aunt Jane and a little about school. It wasn't hard to leave stuff out — they didn't have much energy to listen. It was nice to hear their voices, even if they sounded a little discouraged. My mother hadn't seen anything she even remotely liked.
After the phone call, I returned to the living room, but Alice and Denise were talking intently about who knows what, so I waved good night and settled in the guest room for the night. I thought about calling Aunt Jane, but instead read the dress code a dozen times until I knew it by heart.
The next morning I only stumbled once when I had to recite it for the principal. I got it off perfectly for Mrs. Zeff, who happened to catch me in the hallway. She actually complimented me on my dress! Carla and I had lunch together. Carla dominated the conversation by talking about Pat McKinney, and what a great friend I was to have set her up.
This unfortunately reminded me of my date with Jerry. He and Pat arrived near the end of lunch to firm up the date. Carla looked ready to burst, and Pat, who turned out to be a beefy monster, was obviously very interested in Carla. There was no way I could let her down, so we arranged to meet after school at a soda shop. My many blushes made Jerry smile, and I couldn't help but smile back. I had to get a grip on this blushing business. Maybe Alice knew some trick to keep it from happening.
The rest of the day was uneventful, until the last class of the day, Home Ec. Thank God it was my last class.
Now, even if I did want to be a girl for a few months, I had no desire to take Home Ec. I wasn't even sure what it covered, but I knew it wasn't for me. On the other hand, Shop didn't tempt me in the least, and there were only two girls (Carla being one) who'd taken that class. There was no point in sticking out AND doing something I was no good at.
So, on to Home Ec.! The teacher, Ms. Tandy, had a doll on her desk when we entered. I guessed we might be learning infant CPR or some such thing. That wouldn't be so bad.
While the roll was called, I couldn't help but notice the one boy in class, John Martin. He seemed a little uncomfortable, but he bore it well. The teacher asked him why he'd taken the class, and he explained that he was going to be a fashion designer, and he was here for the sewing. His candor surprised me. I guess I'd always assumed that guys who followed that career were gay, but this guy didn't seem to be gay or effeminate at all. In fact, I began to suspect that he'd taken the class to be with all the girls.
But who was I to wonder about a boy taking Home Ec., anyway!
Ms. Tandy held up the doll and asked if anyone knew what it was.
One girl said, "A doll."
The teacher replied, "Come on, if it was that easy, I wouldn't have asked."
"Oh! Oh!" another girl called. "I know! I know!"
"Yes?"
"It's Baby Thinks-A-Lot!"
"Close, but not quite," the teacher replied. "This is Baby Think-It-Over™. This is your assignment for the weekend. Each of you, except for Mr. Martin, will get a baby, a bracelet, and a notebook.
"When you get your baby, I will activate it."
"What does it do?" someone asked. "Does it wet itself?" There was some laughter at this.
"No," Ms. Tandy replied, "but I think, before the weekend is over, you might wish that it did. This is an infant simulator. This is a scale replica of a three-month-old. It will give you an idea of what it's like to care for a baby. You need to keep this baby with you from now until Monday morning, when you will return them to me. I'll be here early on Monday morning, and I'm sure most of you will be as well.
"The baby cries at random intervals, and you must soothe the baby by putting this key in its back." She showed the key, which was attached to the bracelet. She inserted it and removed it. "Sometimes the baby stops in five minutes, sometimes it takes as long as a half hour. You hold the key inside until it stops crying. This simulates feeding, changing, giving affection.
"Each baby has a recorder inside that will show how prompt you were in soothing the baby. It also will show whether you dropped, threw, shook, or hit the baby, which — I shouldn't need to say — are very bad things to do. Any of those actions could kill a real baby."
"What happens if the batteries fall out, or the key gets stuck inside?" I asked.
"Hmm, you're a clever one," the teacher replied. "I'll have to keep an extra eye on you. No, you can't do either of those things. If you take out the batteries, it will be recorded as abuse. If you could somehow leave the key inside, the recorder will show that you neglected the baby. It would be like taping a baby bottle to a baby's head.
"Also, before anyone asks," she said, looking directly at me, "You can't get your mother or grandmother or friend or anyone else to 'babysit'. The bracelet is tamper-proof. If you succeed in getting it off, it will show, and you will get an F for this assignment."
In a loud voice, she announced, "You will be graded on how well you treat your baby. Be good to your baby. Don't hurt your baby."
She held up a notebook. "You also need to record your observations and feelings during this weekend. Don't worry about what you write; just write. It's important to be candid and honest.
"Any questions?"
I raised my hand. "How come he doesn't have to take a baby?" I asked, gesturing to John Martin. "That isn't fair."
"Welcome to the world of women, Miss Donner!" she replied. "Men can't have babies. That's not fair, either, but there isn't anything we can do about it. Feel free to write about it in your notebook this weekend.
"Mr. Martin, you can also take a notebook. If you happen to have any observations about your classmates, you can write them down."
"I think I have my first entry," he said, grinning. He turned to me and said, "What's your name now?"
I glared at him, and Ms. Tandy said, "Marcie, why don't you come on up and get the first baby?"
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
"Oh, my God, Jerry!" I said when he emerged, "Everybody thinks this baby is real and that's it's mine!" At that moment, the baby stopped crying and let out a soft coo. I sighed in relief...
I felt like an ass. Like a stupid ass. Here I was, a thirteen-year-old girl (apparently) with a doll! Could anything be more embarrassing?
Yes, it could. I could be a thirteen-year-old girl with a doll in a soda shop.
"What a thweet widdle dolly-wolly you have, Marcie-Warcie," Jerry said. Carla and Pat snorted with laughter.
"What are you doing with that thing?" Carla asked.
"It's her dolly!" Jerry said.
"The damn thing looks real," Pat commented.
"It smells real," Jerry added.
"It sounds real, too," I said, "and that's the bad part." The four of us were sitting in a booth, and I shoved the little monster behind my back, between me and the wall. The waitress rushed over with a shocked expression.
"Miss," she said. "You can't treat a baby like that."
"It isn't real," I said. "It's just a doll. See?"
She clearly didn't believe me until she looked at it for a while and touched it.
"I'll be darned," she said. "There I was, thinking how awful! You, a little slip of girl, with a baby!" She glanced at Jerry, and it was clear she'd been thinking something about him, too. He blushed, and that made me feel a little better about my own blushing.
The waitress took our orders and left. Jerry asked who my teachers were, and told me something (usually something funny) about each one. Our food came, and we started into it. Carla and Pat were getting along great. He had his arm around her, and she actually put her head on his shoulder at one point. It seemed awfully fast to me. I guess they'd been admiring each other from afar for a long time...
Suddenly, the baby started to cry. I fumbled a bit, but quickly got the key into its back.
"Jerry, I think I better go outside until the baby stops crying," I said. "There's no telling how long it goes on." The piercing cries made everyone in the place stare.
Jerry stood up and I slid past him, holding the doll awkwardly. A wet spot on the floor made me slip, and I almost dropped the baby. Someone let out a shocked gasp, and I heard a stage whisper, "A child at her age, can you believe that?" My face turned a deep crimson, and I got out the door as quickly as possible. I looked back through the window and saw Jerry putting money on the table.
Unconsciously, I started rocking the baby in my arms and talking to it. "It's all right, it's all right," I cooed. When I caught myself, I stopped. How stupid could I be? The only thing that helped the "baby" was the plastic key: I just had to hold it in until the crying stopped.
"Maybe it's hungry," a woman passing by suggested, "Don't you have anything to feed your baby?"
Her friend said, "It's either hungry or it needs to be changed. Doesn't look like you have any diapers, either."
"No, no," I said, "it isn't that," but before I could explain, they shook their heads in disgust and walked off.
"Of course, she knows better!" one said.
"Girls that age having babies!" the other replied. "What did her parents teach her? A child having a child!"
They looked at me with heavy disapproval.
"Oh, my God, Jerry!" I said when he emerged, "Everybody thinks this baby is real and that's it's mine!" At that moment, the baby stopped crying and let out a soft coo. I sighed in relief and removed the key.
"Do you want to go back inside?" he asked. "I have your stuff here, but if you want, we can go in and sit down again."
"No, I hate to spoil the day, but I ought to go home."
He cocked his head and smiled. "'Date?' Is this a date for you?"
I blushed. "No, I didn't say 'day', I said 'date'. I mean... I said... oh, whatever."
"Don't worry about it," he said. "I was just teasing. Anyway, we met, had some food, your baby cried... Hey, this is my first time out with a single mom!"
We laughed and I felt a little better.
"The thing is," I said, "Is... ah, that I'm not technically allowed to, uh, go out..." It sounded lame as I said it, but Jerry shrugged.
"There's no law against talking, is there?"
"No," I said. "I like talking to you." Why did I say that!?
"Good!" he replied. "I like talking to you. Hey, what if we talk at a movie tomorrow? Or maybe we could whisper?"
"I just told you," I said, incredulous. "I'm not allowed to go out with boys."
"What if you go the movies by yourself, and we happen to bump into each other? And what if we accidentally sit together?" he asked.
I gaped at him in disbelief. "You are persistent, aren't you?"
"It's my middle name," he replied. "Before you get there, I could buy two tickets by mistake, and way too much popcorn for one person..."
"I can't anyway," I told him. "For one thing, I have this doll that could cry during the movie, and for another, I have to go shopping."
"You could do that anytime," he scoffed.
"No, I can't," I countered. "I don't have any clothes for school."
"Did someone steal them all?" he laughed.
I blushed. "I just... oh, Lord. Listen, I can't explain."
"I get it," he said. "It's a girl thing. Just as long as you're not avoiding me."
"I'm not," I said.
"Then how about next weekend?" he smiled as if he already knew the answer. I looked in his face and eyes, and tried to think of an excuse.
"If my aunt finds out, I'll be grounded forever," I said.
"We can meet inside the theatre, in the dark," he said. "No one will even see us."
I agonized in silence.
"Keep it simple," he said. "Just say yes."
I started thinking. This was only my second day as a girl, and already I was getting asked out. If I said no to Jerry, some other boy or boys could start pestering me — not that Jerry was a pest! In fact, I liked Jerry. If I was a boy — I mean, if I — what I mean is, I'd like hanging out with Jerry anyway. So maybe it was best to encourage him... up to a point. He could deflect the attention of other boys. So I said, "Yes."
"Great!" he replied.
"We can talk next week about when and where and what..."
"...and how," he finished.
"And how," I echoed, smiling.
"Great!" he repeated. "So, next weekend, then... So, in the meantime, can I walk you and your baby home? I hope you don't mind if I don't offer to carry it."
"I don't mind, if you don't mind walking with a girl and her doll," I replied.
"I should line you up with a stroller," he said. "And don't you need a big bag for diapers and bottles and stuff?"
"Yes, that's all I need," I replied, rolling my eyes and laughing.
I couldn't help it. His banter was irresistible.
I shifted the doll from one arm to the other. It wasn't heavy, but it was inconvenient. Jerry was watching me, and he said, "I was kidding before about the stroller, but I think we might have one at home. I mean, my little sister probably has her doll stroller. I think she'll lend it to you." His eyes twinkled. "But you'll have to swear that you won't keep it."
I smiled and shook my head at his silliness. Why not? I asked myself. I already look ridiculous. "Do you really think so?" I asked. "How old is she?"
"Nine," he said. "But she still has all her old toys."
And so we made a slight detour to Jerry's house...
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
Cassie cut in with a question to me. "I was thinking about what you said before. You came here to Tierson without any clothes? Without any at all?"
"Were you naked?" Nina giggled.
"No," I said, blushing yet again. "I had some clothes, and I did bring a big box, but it was all boy clothes."
"WHAT!?" Cassie cried. "Boy clothes?"
I guess I imagined that we could just pick up the stroller and leave... I didn't think about having to meet Jerry's family, but of course, that's what happened.
We came in the back door, into the kitchen, where Jerry's big sister Cassie was munching on an apple. The family resemblance was pretty strong, although Cassie is a little taller, and her hair is a reddish blonde. She's beautiful, like a model, and when she smiled, her smile was perfectly symmetrical.
"Hi, Jerry!," she called. "Starting a family?"
Jerry ignored the remark and introduced us. Cassie shook my hand, which struck me a bit odd. As she did, she looked at me in a funny way, as if she was trying to remember something. Then she got it.
"Oh! Jerry, is this the girl with the legs?"
Jerry opened his mouth to say something, then shut it.
"Is everyone in your family a merciless tease?" I asked.
"Pretty much," he shrugged.
"Come on, now, Marcie," Cassie prodded. "You're practically a celebrity. Everybody knows about the two of strutting down the hall, arm in arm, you in a miniskirt... I need to hear your side of the story."
"We're here on a mission," Jerry interrupted. "Where's Nina?"
"What's with the doll?" Cassie asked me.
"It's homework," I said.
"And you want Nina's help?" she asked, grinning. "She does know a lot about dolls."
Jerry's mother entered the kitchen at that point. "What's all the ruckus out here?" she asked, and stopped dead when she saw the "baby" in my arms.
"It's just a doll," I said. "It's an infant simulator."
Cassie chuckled. "Years from now, Marcie will be saying, 'I remember the first time I met my mother-in-law...'"
"Cassie, that's enough," her mother cautioned. She had thought it was a real baby, my baby, and just for an instant was afraid her son had brought home an underage, unwed mother. Thank goodness I was able to nip that misconception in the bud.
After the introductions and explanations, Jerry's mother offered me a snack and then went upstairs to look for Nina. Jerry and I sat at the kitchen table with some iced tea (neither of us wanted food), while Cassie studied us from behind a counter, smirking. Nina, a wiry, likeable little girl with dark hair, zoomed in, pronounced the doll "cool!" and zoomed off to get her stroller. While Jerry and I took a sip of our drinks, Cassie resumed the attack.
"Marcie, I heard that your clothes were stolen. Is that true? How did it happen?"
I was ready for this. Alice and I (with some help from Denise) had worked out the kinks in my story, and here was my first chance to tell it. My new and improved story was mostly the truth, with a couple of fixes.
Here's how it went: I began with Aunt Jane making me miss the first two days of school. Early on Thursday I ran into Mr. Bruce. I explained that he was a family friend (through Aunt Jane and Alice). Since I didn't have a gym outfit, he lent me the tennis dress. (That part was important, because older students like Cassie might have seen a boy in that same outfit.) I changed in the bathroom, and when I realized I didn't have a lock for my locker, he let me leave my clothes in his office.
"Why didn't he just lend you a lock?" Cassie asked.
"He didn't have one," I replied. "Anyway, after class he was in the hospital, and my clothes were gone."
"Where did you get the ones you were wearing later?" Jerry asked.
"Ms. Price got them from lost and found."
Looked like the story worked pretty well!
"But you got in trouble, right?" Cassie asked.
"Yeah, I have to wear skirts for two weeks, and recite the dress code every morning for Mr. Bryant — and Mrs. Zeff, if she sees me. It's not so bad. Still, if Mrs. Zeff hadn't been seen me, I don't think I would have gotten in trouble at all."
Cassie grunted at Mrs. Zeff's name. "She can be a bear, but she's great once you get on her good side."
"Good to know," I commented.
"Why do you have to wear skirts?" Cassie asked.
"To show that I know how long a skirt has to be to meet the dress code."
"How come you have to go shopping tomorrow?" Jerry asked. "Didn't you do that before school began? Isn't that a rule for girls?"
"Oh, yeah," Cassie sneered at her brother, "It's on page ten of the How-To-Be-A-Girl rule book."
"You went crazy, shopping before school started!" he told her.
"Of course I did!" she retorted. "I had to be ready!"
"My point exactly!" he cried, and turning to me asked, "So why weren't you ready, Marcie?"
Alice had seen that one coming, too. "We didn't know we were moving until August. That threw everything out of whack. What with the packing and everything, we didn't have a chance. Plus, until my parents find a house, all of our stuff is in storage, including a big box with most of my clothes. The movers took it by mistake."
"Too bad," Cassie sympathized. "That's a nice dress, though."
"Thanks," I said. "Alice lent it to me."
"Lucky you," she said.
Nina came in during that last exchange, carrying a folded-up stroller and a few other items. "Maybe Cassie can lend you some clothes," she offered.
Cassie scoffed. "Nothing of mine would fit her! She's like a two, at most!"
"What size are you?" Nina asked her.
"That's classified information," Cassie retorted.
"Oh!" Nina shouted. "You know what? We could be like those Russian dolls, you know? The ones that stack up inside each other? I could fit inside Marcie, and Marcie could fit inside Cassie!"
"Great," Cassie muttered, and left the room, pushing past her mother as she left.
"She's not that big," I said. "Plus, she has a great... uh, figure."
Jerry's mother nodded. "She is a bit tall for a girl, and she's a little self-conscious about it."
Nina was busy unfolding the stroller. "See?" she said, "It's the perfect size for your doll!" She took it from my arms and strapped it into the stroller. It was a perfect fit, and would be a lot more convenient than carrying the thing in my arms. She tucked a blanket around the baby.
"AND," Nina announced dramatically, "This is a nice bag for diapers and bottles and stuff. There's already some bottles and diapers in here, see? You can hang it on the stroller like this."
"Great!" I replied. "Thanks, Nina!"
"Oh, honey, she doesn't want that bag," Mrs. Auburn said.
"Yes, I do," I countered. "People think this is a real baby, and two old ladies were yelling at me today because I didn't have any food or diapers with me."
"Really?"
"Well, not yelling, but they were pretty mean."
Mrs. Auburn invited me to dinner, and I accepted. My aunt was out tonight anyway; I would have had to cook for myself.
Now that Jerry was at home, he wasn't teasing me at all, which was nice, and Cassie was upstairs, probably sulking.
I sat on the couch with Nina while Jerry set the table. Nina wanted to hold the doll, and she asked me to read to her. She handed me a book called Pish Posh by Ellen Potter. I'd never heard of it, but I think I liked it more than Nina did, and she liked it a lot. After I'd read one chapter, the doll started crying. I held out my arm so Nina could push the key in its back. It cried for a full 15 minutes, but no one seemed to mind. I just kept on reading through the noise.
I felt so at home, sitting in the Auburn's living room. They were a nice family, and — even with all the teasing — I felt comfortable with them, as though I'd known them all my life. It was such a contrast to how I grew up! I mean, not that my home wasn't nice and all that... and of course I had plenty of friends and things to do, but my family is just me, my mom, and my dad, and a lot of the time dad was at work. There wasn't all the warmth that all these... people generate. I mean, knowing that there's someone in the next room, somebody upstairs, someone sitting next to you... that's more "someone's" than I ever had before.
We sat down to dinner when Mr. Auburn got home. One of the first questions he asked me was: "How many brothers and sisters do you have?"
"I'm an only child," I said. "I've always wondered what it was like to have brothers and sisters. It seems pretty nice."
"It is nice," Cassie replied, "It's so wonderful that I'd like to give you mine. You can have Nina and Jerry for your brother and sister. Please take them with you when you go home." Cassie smirked. "Oh, wait — that won't work, because if Jerry is your brother, he can't be your boyfriend."
"Is Jerry your boyfriend?" Nina asked me.
"Um," I said, and looked to Jerry for help. He didn't know what to say either.
Mr. Auburn came to the rescue. "This is a family of terrible teases, Marcie. Don't let them scare you."
"I wonder where they get that from," Mrs. Auburn commented.
"Not from me," Mr. Auburn said, feigning innocence.
"When I first met Skip," Mrs. Auburn said to me, gesturing at her husband, "he had me in a state of continual embarrassment. My face was so red, it felt like sunburn."
"I know what you mean," I told her.
Mr. Auburn looked at Jerry and raised his eyebrows. "What are you doing to embarrass this girl, son?"
Jerry shrugged and smiled. "Maybe you should ask Marcie that question."
I sighed and rolled my eyes.
"Don't answer, hon," Mrs. Auburn told me.
Cassie cut in with a question to me. "I was thinking about what you said before. You came here to Tierson without any clothes? Without any at all?"
"Were you naked?" Nina giggled.
"No," I said, blushing yet again. "I had some clothes, and I did bring a big box, but it was all boy clothes."
"WHAT!?" Cassie cried. "Boy clothes?"
I blushed and looked at my plate. What a stupid mistake! Thinking quickly, I said, "Oh, I, uh, used to be a tomboy..."
"That's hard to believe," Mr. Auburn commented.
"I've changed a lot in the past couple... in the... recently," I faltered.
"How did you change?" Nina asked, frowning.
Mrs. Auburn stepped in: "You'll find out soon enough, hon, but we're not going to discuss it at the dinner table. I think we've grilled poor Marcie quite enough. I mean, really, you're giving her the third degree. No more questions for Marcie!"
"What is Marcie short for, anyway?" Mr. Auburn asked, as if his wife hadn't spoken. "Marcella?"
"Uh, yeah," I said, a little stupidly.
"Marcella Donner," he said. "It's a nice name."
"Do you have a middle name?" Nina asked.
"No."
Cassie smiled. "Ursula or Angela would be good middle names for you."
"Thanks," I said, uncertainly.
"Don't thank her," Jerry cautioned. "She's thinking about your initials: MAD or MUD."
"Oh."
Nina thought for a minute, her lips moving. "If your middle name started with 'O', you could be MOD!" She smiled, proud of herself.
"Thanks, Nina."
"Okay, now," Mrs. Auburn said. "No more picking on Marcie, or I'll pull out your baby pictures." She looked at Cassie. "That means you, too, young lady."
Cassie grunted and looked down for a moment. Then she smiled and looked up. "Are you making any friends at school?" she asked. "I mean, aside from Jerry."
"Yes," I said. "I guess Carla Richio is my best friend there, and I know Pat MacKinney."
"Marcie and I set them up," Jerry boasted. "They're a hot item now."
"Ah," Cassie said to me. "Nobody's going to be picking on you, then."
"Aside from you all," I countered, smiling.
"What do you mean, Cassie?" Nina asked. "How come nobody will pick on her?"
"Carla and Pat are both big bruisers, either one of them could beat up anybody in the school."
"Anybody?" Nina got wide-eyed. "Even you, Cassie?"
Cassie hesitated. She really didn't want to say it! Finally she sighed and said, "Yes, even me."
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
He stopped walking. "How can you ask me that? Have you ever looked at yourself? I mean, it isn't even that... I don't know. How could I pass up a chance to be with you? I remember the first time I saw you, when I was walking up the stairs from the basketball court, and I saw you, lost, in that cute little dress...," he was grinning, and I had to smile too. I could see that moment in my mind, too. "I had to talk to you. I had to try to go out with you. I couldn't not try. I really like you."
After dinner, Mrs. Auburn asked me, "Is there anyone you need to call? Doesn't your aunt need to know where you are?"
"She's out tonight with friends," I said, "but I ought to call Alice. She's going shopping with me tomorrow."
Mrs. Auburn brought me to a quiet room and pointed out the phone.
Alice sounded glad to hear from me. I asked about Mr. Bruce. Alice told me he was fine, and was coming home from the hospital on Tuesday.
"Do you want to come with me tomorrow to visit him?" she asked. "He wants to see you."
"Uh," I hesitated. I didn't want to go, but what could I say?
"Come on, I told him all about you! Don't worry, he won't spoil your secret!"
"Okay, then," I agreed — there was no way out of it!
Alice said she'd come pick me up at 8:00 AM. "Be ready!" she said. "Eat a big breakfast! It's going to be a long day."
I explained about the baby and the stroller. She laughed and said she didn't think it would be a problem. Little did she know!
After the phone call, I returned to the living room to find Jerry and Cassie clearing the table. I moved to help them, but Mr. Auburn said, "No, no. You relax. Take a seat. Guests don't work in this house."
"I can't sit here and watch somebody else work," I protested.
"You could read to me some more," Nina suggested.
I did want to know what happened to the girls in Pish Posh, so I sat down with her. She held the doll while I read. The baby cried, and just like last time, I held out my wrist so she could insert the key in the doll's back.
While we waited for the crying to stop, Nina asked, "What's a tomboy?"
"It's a girl who acts like a boy and dresses like a boy."
"And you do that?"
"I used to do that."
"Why?"
Cassie had stopped to listen, and she — never one to miss a chance to tease — echoed Nina's question. "Yes, Marcie, why did you dress like a boy?"
I sighed. What could I say? "I don't know," I said. "I guess I didn't like girly stuff, dresses, dolls..."
"And now you're making up for it," Cassie smirked, gesturing at the doll in Nina's lap.
"I guess so."
Nina had another question. "Why did you stop?"
Cassie's eyebrows rose. "Now that's an interesting question! Marcie, please tell us, why did you stop dressing like a boy?"
These Auburns were such terrible teases! Cassie was ten times worse than Jerry. At the same time, I didn't really mind. She didn't seem mean. The teasing was a family thing, so it was her weird way of welcoming me, or something like that.
"Well, uh, I grew up," I answered.
"So what?" Nina objected. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"When a girl grows up," I began, lamely, "um..."
"Go on," Cassie prompted. "What happens when a girl grows up?"
"Well..."
Nina looked at me expectantly. Was there any non-embarrassing way out of this? I didn't want to explain about how a girl's body changes! Suddenly, I was inspired.
"She outgrows it!" I concluded. "So I grew up, I outgrew being a tomboy. Okay?"
"Okay!" Nina said.
Cassie frowned, disappointed, and returned to clearing the table.
"Excellent save, Marcie," Mr. Auburn commented.
The next time the baby finished crying, I decided it was time to head home. Of course, Jerry came with me.
"That was nice of you to read to Nina," he said. "You got big points for that with mom and dad."
"I like her," I said, "Plus, the book was pretty good!"
"I'm sure she'll let you borrow it," he teased.
"Seriously, I would like that."
He laughed and said he'd ask her. "On second thought, you can ask her Monday, when you bring the stroller back."
"Okay," I shrugged. "It's a date."
"Hmm," he said. "A date on the calendar? Or a date-date?"
"You can't tease me with that any more," I declared, laughing. "You have to figure it out yourself."
"Hmm," he said. "You're not getting immune to me, are you?"
"Let me put it this way: It was nice to see you blush for a change," I said.
"Oh, yeah," he said. "Cassie can be a gigantic pain."
"She's nice. I really like your family."
He smiled.
Although I'd been talking, I was thinking too. The Auburns are nice people. Jerry is a nice guy. And here am I, deceiving them, deceiving him, using him as a shield from other boys... It wasn't right... was it?
When I decided to "be" a girl, I was mainly thinking about the clothes, but with the clothes came a way of relating to others. Was it right to fool people like this?
"Jerry, I have to talk to you about something..." I ventured.
"I'm all ears."
"We've only known each other for two days..."
"Really? It seems longer, doesn't it?"
"Yeah." Wasn't it weird? How could I have gotten so deep into being Marcie? Maybe it wasn't a role I was playing — it sure didn't feel like I was acting. I was sincere, just being me. And yet, it's a different me. How could I be attracted to Jerry? Certainly I wouldn't be so flirty if I were dressed as a boy. I'm sure I'm not gay, but it's like, when I put on a dress... well, I feel like a girl! Maybe I'm just going with my feelings more than I usually would?
"Marcie? Marcie? What did you want to talk to me about?"
"Um, you know I'm going to be moving at the end of the year, right?"
"Yeah," he replied. "I wish you weren't."
"I wish I wasn't, too, but unless my parents can't find a house, I'll be gone."
"Let's hope they don't find a house, then."
"Yeah," I said softly. "But, they will. And I'll be gone. How can you get involved with me if you know it's going to end soon?"
He stopped walking. "How can you ask me that? Have you ever looked at yourself? I mean, it isn't even that... I don't know. How could I pass up a chance to be with you? I remember the first time I saw you, when I was walking up the stairs from the basketball court, and I saw you, lost, in that cute little dress...," he was grinning, and I had to smile too. I could see that moment in my mind, too. "I had to talk to you. I had to try to go out with you. I couldn't not try. I really like you."
"I really like you, too," I replied.
"People date. A lot of the time — maybe most of the time — it doesn't work out. Does that mean people shouldn't date?"
"No," I admitted.
"We all have to try. We never know what could happen. Your father might get a job next month in Tierson, and then you'd be stuck with me." He smiled his sunny smile. I had to smile back.
"Okay," I said. "So, we'll see what happens."
"Don't worry about the future," he said. "Just enjoy the present."
"Okay," I said. "But I have to tell my aunt about you. I can't be sneaky about this."
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
"We'll also get your legs waxed, and we'll take a peek at your chest and back to see if you need any waxing there."
"Waxing?" I asked. I'd never heard of it before. "What is that like? Is it like waxing the floor?"
"Ahhh, yeah, it's a lot like that," Alice said, tongue in cheek. "It's fun, you'll like it."
My aunt wasn't home when I got in, and she was asleep when I got up. I changed into my shorts and sneakers, and put on a t-shirt that I never dared to wear before. It always looked girly to me. It was a pale blue, with a big round neck and too-big sleeves that almost reached my elbow. I'd never even tried it on before, and now that I did, it confirmed my old opinion: girly.
At five to eight I put the stroller and the diaper bag outside. I sat on the front step with the doll in my arms.
Alice laughed when she saw the doll. I told her, "You won't laugh after it's cried a few times."
"Whatever!" Alice replied. "Here's the plan for the day. We can't realistically do all the shopping you need, so we're going to get enough to take you through next week, and then we'll shop again next Saturday."
"What kind of sense does that make?" I asked. "How hard can it be to buy clothes?"
"If you're going to buy random clothes, it's not hard at all," Alice replied. "If you want to build a wardrobe, it takes time. You'll see." I started to object, but she cut me off. "Trust me. You'll see. Let me tell you what-all we have to do today.
"First, the hospital. Donny really wants to see you." I so didn't want to go, but how could I tell Alice that I didn't want to visit her husband in the hospital?
"Second, you're going to get your hair cut."
"Why?" I cried out. "Do you know how long it took me to grow this?"
She glanced at me. "The length is fine. It needs some shaping... you need a cut that screams 'girl'. You don't have it. And that reminds me: we have to get you a decent shampoo and conditioner and talk about how to use them."
"I know how to use shampoo," I sulked.
"Hmm," she smiled. "Won't hurt to go over it again, though, will it? Anyway, we're going to get your nails done. You can think about whether you want to use nail polish. There are pros and cons..."
I looked at my nails. Alice said, "It looks like you work in a garden. Those need to be cleaned up.
"We'll also get your legs waxed, and we'll take a peek at your chest and back to see if you need any waxing there."
"Waxing?" I asked. I'd never heard of it before. "What is that like? Is it like waxing the floor?"
"Ahhh, yeah, it's a lot like that," Alice said, tongue in cheek. "It's fun, you'll like it."
"Okay," I said.
"By the way, all the people who'll be working on you are friends of mine. I've called in some favors. The woman who'll be waxing your legs knows you're a boy. It would be hard to fool her. But don't worry, she won't tell anybody. The others all think you're a girl.
"And what else? Oh, right! It would be nice to get some cosmetics, but I doubt we'll have the time. I want someone to show you how to use them.
"Aside from that, you need underwear and better padding for your breasts. As far as clothes, I cleaned out my closet and went through my stuff. Those bags in the back seat are stuff I can't wear that I think you can use. With that, and a couple — like two — skirts and tops, you'll be ready for next week and a little beyond.
"So how does today's program sound to you?"
"It sounds like a lot," I said.
"It is," she agreed. "I don't know whether it's physically possible to do it all, but we'll find out."
"Oh!" she suddenly remembered, after she parked her car near the hospital. "Do you want to get your ears pierced?"
Alice didn't give me a chance to reply. I had to run a little to keep up with her.
Once we entered the hospital, getting to Mr. Bruce's room turned out to be quite difficult. Nearly every hospital employee felt obliged to stop me and explain that children were not allowed as visitors. I had to explain to the receptionist at the front door, to a nurse in the hallway, to another nurse near the elevator, to an intern on the elevator, and another nurse who got on the elevator, that it is not real baby.
When we got off the elevator at Mr. Bruce's floor, they really ganged up on me. It started when one nurse spotted me. She said loudly, "Miss? No, you cannot bring that baby on the floor! You must return to the lobby."
That was the signal that mobilized the others. Nurses blocked me from moving down either hallway. I was surrounded, like a wanted criminal. Alice was separated from me by the crowd.
"It's for the good of the baby," one of them said, over and over, "You must return to the lobby."
I was gaping, trying to talk, but nothing came out. The nurses talked all at once — the chatter confused me to the point of speechlessness. A doctor took me by the shoulders, spun me around, and pushed gently but firmly, making me walk back toward the elevator. I couldn't resist, but suddenly I knew what I could and couldn't do: I couldn't fight or shout. That would only make things worse. So in a clear, calm voice, I said, and kept repeating, "It's not a real baby. It's an infant simulator. It's a doll." The doctor got so far as to press the [-DOWN-] button on the elevator.
At the last moment, as the elevator doors opened, and the doctor was about to shove me inside, a nurse intervened and got the man's hands off me. She hustled me past the crowd and — guided by Alice's waving — escorted me into Mr. Bruce's room.
"Sorry about that," she said. "They meant well. Just stay in here until you're ready to leave."
I was a little short of breath, but managed to thank her.
"You go to Tierson High, right?"
I nodded.
"My daughter must be in your Home Ec. class. She has one of those creatures this weekend, too."
"What's her name?" I asked.
"Eden," she said. "Eden Hensel. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a little taller than you?"
I immediately knew who she was. "Oh, yeah," I said. "I know who she is. The prettiest girl in class."
She smiled. "Nice of you to say. Anyway, now you have something to talk to her about. I'll shut this in case the doll starts making noise." She left, closing the door behind her.
I turned around. Mr. Bruce was sitting in a chair by the window. Alice stood next to him with her hand on his shoulder. "Hi," I said, shyly.
"Holy cow," he said to Alice. "You weren't kidding." To me he said, "Come a little closer, let me look at you."
I did. As I got closer, he scowled. I hesitated, so he said, "It's not you, kid. It's that damn doll." He shook his head.
"Do you know about them?" Alice asked.
"I wish I didn't," he said, "But it was all that Tandy woman could talk about for months. Every blessed teachers meeting. I almost stopped going to the Teachers Lounge all together! She wanted every girl in the school to take one of those things, but luckily all the rest of us agreed it was excessive." He shook his head. I set the "damn doll" on the bed.
"I'm sorry if it starts crying," I said, apologizing in advance.
"Don't worry about it," he sighed. "Listen, I'm glad you came. I thought Alice was pulling my leg when she said you were going to continue — uh, to wear a dress." He looked embarrassed. "Is the rest true? Did someone steal your clothes, and you had to go to the Principal's office?"
"Yes," I said, "but it wasn't bad."
He colored. "Listen, the first thing I'm gonna do when I get back to school is to throw away all those damn outfits. I'm not going to make anybody wear them anymore."
"It's okay," I replied. "I understand why you did it."
"It's not okay. I owe you an apology. A big one. I'm sorry. I never should have done it."
"It worked out alright, though."
"If you say so. Even if it did — which I doubt — I have no excuse. What I did was wrong. I should have found a better way to deal with my frustration."
"It's alright," I said.
"Don't beat yourself up, Donny," Alice added.
"Listen," he said to me. "I'm going to retire. Alice has been begging me for a few years now, and it's clear that it's time. I'm gonna finish this semester, see if I can go out on a positive note, with a little dignity, instead of carried out on a stretcher. And, uh — if you're really going through with this, I'll keep your secret. I guess I owe you."
"Thanks."
"I don't understand why you want to do it, but I know I'm partly to blame, so..."
"Okay, honey, we get it," Alice said. She bent down and kissed him. "I'll be back tomorrow, but now we have to leave. We've got a big day ahead!"
"Fine," he said. "Have fun, uh... girls."
As we were leaving, I saw that nurse, Mrs. Hensel again. "I don't remember whether I thanked you," I said. "I'll have to tell Eden how you saved me today."
She smiled. "I wish you would. We just moved here, you know, so she doesn't have many friends yet. People don't realize, but it's often hard for a pretty girl to meet people."
Alice pulled me into a closing elevator.
"Did you hear what she said to me, Alice? Why did she said that?"
"I don't know. Guys can be intimidated if a girl is really pretty, and girls can imagine that she's stuck up. I hear that being beautiful can be a burden, but I wouldn't know."
"Are you fishing for compliments?" I smirked.
She looked at me in surprise. "Since when are you such a tease?"
"Sorry," I apologized. "I guess a friend is rubbing off on me."
Alice gave a wry smile.
A woman in the elevator turned and said, "Do you mind if I ask how old you girls are?"
"Thirteen," I said. Her jaw dropped, so I quickly added, "It's not a real baby," and held it up so she could see.
She stood in embarrassed silence for the rest of the elevator ride.
As we walked to the car, I was surprised to notice that Alice was seething.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"That woman on the elevator," she said through clenched teeth. "She thought I was thirteen, too."
"I didn't get that," I countered. "She was wondering if this was my baby."
"No," Alice retorted. "She thought we were the same age."
"Isn't that a compliment?" I asked her. She answered with a glare.
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
I won't go through every detail of the day, but I will say that it didn't take me long to realize that Alice was joking when she said that waxing was fun. AND that it was nothing like waxing floors.
I won't go through every detail of the day, but I will say that it didn't take me long to realize that Alice was joking when she said that waxing was fun. AND that it was nothing like waxing floors. Her friend told me that I didn't really need it, but that if I wanted, she could pick off some stray hairs here and there.
When she pulled the first strip came off, I let out an astonished shriek that made Alice's friend jump back. The woman turned to Alice and said, "She really doesn't need it. She's too young, and there's no point."
Alice asked her to take a look at my back and chest, which she did. "No," the woman confirmed. "She doesn't need it! I'm not going to torture her. You're all done, hun."
The other thing I ought to mention is that my hair (the hair on my head, I mean) went from being long and shapeless to cute. At first I didn't think I could deal with the new look, but soon I couldn't stop looking in the mirror. The biggest difference was the bangs, which — being a guy — I had never had before. The rest of my hair was parted in the middle and fell straight down. It was shortest in the front, near my cheek bones, and then got longer and longer as it passed my shoulders and hung maybe three inches down my back. I loved it.
PLUS, she colored my hair, so that, instead of a vague brown, it's a caramel color, slightly closer to blonde, which I also loved!
Alice made me buy a hair dryer and a styling brush, and told that it would take me a half hour longer to get ready in the morning. "So start earlier on Monday, okay? And practice tomorrow, so you're not late for school."
She helped me carry all the bags inside, and then sat down to talk with Aunt Jane. I was exhausted. I dropped all the stuff on the floor in my room, kicked off my shoes and fell on the bed. I was almost asleep when the phone rang. Aunt Jane stuck her head in.
"Hey, cutie! Phone's for you. A little girl named Nina?"
Nina? I ran to the phone. "Hi, Nina. It's Marcie. How are you?"
"I'm good," she said. "My brother needs to talk to you."
When she handed the phone to Jerry, I teased, "That's a little low, isn't it? Getting your sister to make the call?"
"It isn't what you think," he said. "She really needs to ask you something, but I figured I ought to explain first.
"Tomorrow my father's company is having this outing for employees' families. We've gone the last couple of years, and it's deadly boring. When I say it's 'boring', I'm making it sound much better than it is. Even if I could invite you, I wouldn't, because you would hate me forever for bringing you there."
"Is it really that bad?"
"It's worse than I can convey in words. Anyway, Cassie and I have tried everything on earth to get out of it. My mother doesn't even want to go, but we have to, or it will make Dad look bad. It's our family duty."
"So what does Nina have to ask me?"
"Hang on." He took the phone away from his face to talk to Nina. "Nina, will you go in the kitchen a sec? I have to get all mushy with Marcie. I'll call you when you can talk to her, okay?"
I heard Nina say, "Yuck!" and Jerry returned to the phone.
"Sorry, but I had to get rid of her to tell you this. My parents have taken pity on Nina, and they'll let her stay away, but there's nowhere for her to go. Unless you'll watch her. She wants to go to Tierson Park, for the pony ride and the merry-go-round and stuff like that. Would you mind? My parents will pay you to babysit her, but Nina can't know. She really likes you, and she wants it to be like a friend thing."
"Okay," I said.
"Okay?" he repeated. "Wow! Great! Listen, you don't have to do this. I'll understand. But you'll be rescuing a poor little girl from a fate worse than... well, worse than school, anyway."
"I'll do it," I said.
"You're a lifesaver. I wish you could babysit me too."
"Hmm," I said. "Maybe we can arrange that some other weekend."
"All right," he joked. "For future discussion. Now I'll put Nina back on."
The next morning at ten thirty, the Auburn family came to pick me up. Jerry's father and mother were in front. Nina was sitting between Cassie and Jerry in the back.
"Where do I go?" I asked.
"You can sit on my lap," Jerry said.
"I don't think so," his mother said. "Nina, slide onto Cassie's lap."
"Jerry, you're forgetting that Marcie has to hold your love child," Cassie put in.
"What's a love child?" Nina asked.
"Do you see what you're teaching your sister?" Mrs. Auburn asked. "Never mind, Nina. Please don't repeat it."
Jerry got out so that I could slide in, between him and Cassie. They were both a little dressed up: Cassie was wearing a dress, and Jerry wore a dress shirt with a collar, and some freshly-pressed khakis.
Cassie asked me, "Why didn't you bring your stroller?"
"Nina told me she had something better," I replied.
"It's a surprise," Nina said, smiling.
Mrs. Auburn turned to face me. "Cassie?" she prompted.
Cassie handed me her cell phone. "For emergencies only," she said. "If it rings, don't answer unless it's my mom or dad. Understood?" Her face was red from embarrassment.
"I won't even look at it unless I have to," I promised. "Nina can watch me."
Cassie showed me how to find the numbers for her mother and father.
"How do I dial 911?" I asked.
"Duh," she replied.
"I never had a cell phone!" I protested. "It could have been something different."
Cassie rolled her eyes.
"Okay, girls," Mrs. Auburn said. "Marcie, in the trunk there's a backpack with water and a picnic lunch. It will get lighter as the day goes on." She handed me an envelope. "Here's money for the little train and the pony ride, and whatever else you girls do." She winked at me.
"Nina knows her way around, so she can be your guide. Just be back at the front gate at 5:00. I'll call you when we're on our way."
When the Auburns dropped Nina and me at Tierson Park, I was about to struggle into the backpack, but Nina stopped me.
"You have to put my surprise on first," she told me.
Nina's surprise was a baby carrier. It's a harness that you wear on the front of your body, with the baby facing forward. If I wasn't wearing the backpack, it would have been fine, but as it was, I felt like a sandwich, with one weight behind me and another in front of me.
"Let me know when you're hungry, Nina," I told her.
"Oh!" she said. "How come the pack will get lighter? Mom said it would get lighter as the day goes on."
"It's got food and water in it," I replied. "Every time we eat and drink, we will be taking stuff out of the pack."
"Mmm," she said. "Oh! What's a 'love child'? What did Cassie mean?"
"It's when two people who aren't married have a baby together."
"How can people who aren't married have a baby?" she asked.
"Oh, Nina..." I hesitated. "Do you know where babies come from?"
"No," she said simply.
I sighed. "Well, I'm not going to tell you. You have to ask your mother that one."
"Okay," she agreed. After a few moments she said, "Oh! I have to ask you something about tomboys."
"Fine," I said with a sigh, "but let's walk while we talk, okay?"
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
"Nina," I asked, "Do you think anybody knows this is just a doll?"
"Nope!" she replied brightly. "It looks too real."
"But it doesn't move," I said.
"So?"
I got more than my share of strange looks. Look at me: holding a little girl's hand, carrying an apparent baby in front of me, and wearing a heavy backpack. People had to see that Nina couldn't possibly be my child... maybe that would make them think the baby wasn't either...
"Nina," I asked, "Do you think anybody knows this is just a doll?"
"Nope!" she replied brightly. "It looks too real."
"But it doesn't move," I said.
"So?"
After climbing what seemed an endless hill, we came to a large, old fashioned carosel. Nina wanted to get enough tickets to go around three times, so that's what we did, changing horses each time the carosel stopped. After we exited the ride, the baby cried, so we sat at a picnic table until it was done. Thankfully, Nina was hungry at that point. She managed to put away an amazing quantity of food and water. The pack was now a more manageable weight, so the walk to the pony ride wasn't too arduous.
After Nina took a few turns on the pony, we found a pretty field where I spread our blanket and rested. I set the doll between us, and rolled onto my back, with my arms behind my head. I felt so light after dropping all that weight. The doll cried again, this time for a half hour, but I didn't mind. It gave me an excuse to lie there on the blanket.
Nina peppered me with questions. Some she'd asked before, but didn't seem to remember. She wanted to know why I was a tomboy. Did I ever have a doll as a girl? Did I prefer baby dolls to Barbie dolls? How did I feel about stuffed animals? Did I ever have a canopy bed? Did I ever want one? Did I ever wish I was a princess? Could any girl be a princess?
I told her about Grace Kelly and how she became Princess Grace of Monaco.
"Wait," Nina objected. "She was a movie star and then a princess?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
Nina sounded disappointed. I couldn't understand why.
"It isn't fair! If she was just a girl, like any girl, then that would be interesting. But she was already a movie star!"
I think I got it. "She was already somebody special, so it wasn't — uh," I couldn't think of the word. Special? Romantic? No, not quite.
"Could someone — I mean just a regular girl — find out she was a princess? Like in The Princess Diaries?"
"I don't know, Nina. I never saw that movie."
"You NEVER saw it!?" she cried. "Never?"
"No," I said. "I could watch it with you sometime."
"Okay," she said. She sucked on her lower lip, thinking. After some silence, she said, "Were you always a tomboy?"
"As far back as I can remember," I sighed. Honestly, I was getting pretty tired of the "tomboy" topic.
"So you never went to ballet class?"
"Nope."
"Did you ever play house?"
"Nope."
"Did you have any dolls?"
"You asked me that already."
"Oh. Did you ever play with dolls?"
I thought for a minute. Maybe it would be good to say "yes" to something... but Nina didn't give me a chance.
"Did you ever see any Mary-Kate and Ashley movies?"
"Who? Oh, never mind. Nope."
"Were you ever a flower girl in a wedding?"
"Nope."
"Huh." Nina mulled this over. Or maybe she was trying to think of other typically girly things. The baby stopped crying, but Nina remained on her back, hands clasped behind her head, looking at the sky. She was chewing on the stem of a long spike of grass. I waited in silence. It was nice to be free from the questions for a while, so I left her to her thoughts. After about five minutes, she suddenly glanced at me and asked for water. Then we made our way to the Little Train.
One of Tierson Park's claims to fame is the Little Train. The ride takes twenty minutes, and the route is landscaped like a toy train's, with little buildings, depots, and scaled-down bridges and streams. The ticket line was rather long, but it moved quickly. Once we had our tickets, we waited in another line for the train.
In front of us was a mother with twin boys. They boys were probably about three years old, and cute, but very stocky — a pair of tiny juggernauts with curly blond hair. The mother was with her friend, another woman, who kept glancing at me. I never got a chance to tell her it's not a real baby because she never stopped talking.
We stood there for fifteen minutes before the train came, and in that time, the twins escaped three times. Each time it was the same: The boys stood on either side of the mother. One boy would run off to the left. The moment his mother would turn and grab him, the other boy would run off to the right.
The first time, some stranger caught the escaped twin and brought him back. The second and third times Nina stopped the boy before he could go anywhere. The poor, harassed mother thanked her each time.
The amazing thing was that her friend didn't move to help her and didn't stop talking, either!
Nina told me in a low voice, "When we get on the train, they have to sit in a closed car, because they're little. We can sit in an open car because we're bigger." She pointed out a sign that explained this policy.
In spite of that, and much to Nina's irritation, the women and the twins sat on the seats directly in front of us in one of the open cars.
"They're not supposed to!" she grumbled, but one of the boys turned and smiled at her, and she smiled back.
It was a fun little ride, and it was pretty relaxing, too. I set the pack between my feet, and held the baby on my lap. I looked up, and the mother's friend was watching me. She had taken a seat facing backward.
The twins were even more active on the train than they'd been on the ground. They kept squirming and wiggling and climbing everywhere. Their mother kept grabbing them and sitting them back down on either side of her. She was getting a bit desperate because they could easily slip out of the car. It was an almost constant struggle with no let-up. Again, the friend never thought to take one of the twins in hand!
At about the middle of the circuit, the train came to a big curve, and it tilted a little into the turn. The ground fell away from the tracks on that side, and the drop was littered with sticks and rocks. Imagine if one of the twins took a spill down there!
As if on cue, I looked up, and guess what was about to happen! The twin on the left was kicking and screaming, and the twin on the right was getting ready to make a break for it. He stood on the seat, and put his hands on the rail. The mother's friend kept talking, oblivious to the danger.
"He's gonna jump!" Nina cautioned, and just then the boy did a little experimental hop. I put my hand in front of him like a stop sign. I figured that if he knew he was watched, it would be enough to keep him in his seat.
It wasn't. He took two more little test jumps, and a third hop carried him right over the rail. I clutched at the front of his shirt with my right hand, and grabbed him from behind with my left. His momentum nearly pulled me over the side, so I braced my legs under the seat in front of me, and held on. I had a good grip on him, but I couldn't pull him in at first. For such a little kid, he was incredibly heavy.
It all happened in seconds.
While I was grabbing the boy, my doll popped off my lap and flew from the train. I didn't see it — I was so focused on the little boy — but the doll rolled down the hill, tumbling all the way to the bottom.
Several women started screaming, and the screams got all the little children crying. The train came to a stop, and the conductor went bounding breakneck down the hill, chasing what he thought was a baby.
I bent over the seat in front of me, and managed to haul the boy back onto his seat. His mother started crying, saying, "Thank you! Thank you! Oh, my goodness!" over and over. I had to hug myself, my arms hurt so much.
"Your doll went down the hill," Nina told me, and I looked down to see the conductor struggling towards us.
"That's mine," I called to him.
"Cripes!" he panted. "I thought the damn thing was real!"
Good thing it wasn't. The poor doll took a stick through its neck, and was dirty and pock-marked from the fall.
I sighed. It looked like I'd get an F in Home Ec.
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
"Good Lord!" my aunt exclaimed as she looked at my arms and listened to my story. "How many days is it? Not even four days as a girl, and your life is an adventure!"
By the time we got back to the Little Train Station, answered questions, and exchanged contact info with the mother, it was time to head to the front gate. I'd been massaging my arms the whole time, and the pain had finally gone.
When we climbed into the Auburn's car, I looked and felt like a wreck. Jerry put his arm around me and I rested my head against his chest. It felt good for someone else to be strong for me.
Nina, on the other hand, was supercharged. "You should have seen it!" she shouted. "Marcie caught this boy in the air! She saved his life!"
"What happened to that doll?" Cassie asked, bewildered.
"It fell off the train!" Nina shouted. "You should have seen it!"
"Nina, you're breaking my eardrums," Cassie cautioned her. "Maybe Marcie should tell the story."
"No, Nina can tell it," I quietly said, and so she did.
The family looked tired when we first got into the car, but Nina's story woke them up. Mrs. Auburn invited me to dinner, but I begged off. I wanted my aunt to look at my arms.
"We could take you to the emergency room," Mr. Auburn offered.
"No, I think my aunt will be good enough," I said. "She's a nurse."
"I'm sorry you had such an awful experience," Mrs. Auburn said. "I never thought..."
"No, no," I said. "It was great. Even with the train thing, it was fine. I had a good time, and I think Nina did, too."
"Let's go do it again!" Nina shouted.
"Next year, maybe," I said, laughing.
Cassie didn't tease me once all the way home. Jerry just smiled. He really couldn't talk or even whisper to me. Nina would have drowned him out. He just held me and hugged me, and somehow I wasn't surprised at how much better it made me feel.
"Good Lord!" my aunt exclaimed as she looked at my arms and listened to my story. "How many days is it? Not even four days as a girl, and your life is an adventure!
"Seriously, though," she added, "As a boy you were kind of colorless, you know? You were a nice kid, but you were just kind of there. Not much personality. No offense."
"None taken."
"But as a girl, you've blossomed! You draw people in, you develop relationships, things happen to you. It's amazing."
"I guess." I was exhausted.
"Your arms look okay. Do they hurt anymore? No? If they do, let me know right away. If I'm not around, you can get Denise or Alice to take you to the emergency room. If you're at school, go right to the office. Especially if they start hurting suddenly. And take it easy in gym class this week."
She gave them some more diagnostic squeezes and prods, then asked if I was hungry.
"I guess," I said. "Mostly I'm beat. I still have to write all this stuff in my notebook."
"Hmm," she said, picking up the baby. "Has this thing cried since it fell off the train?"
"No," I said. "Oh, no! Those things are expensive."
"Don't worry about that yet," Aunt Jane said. "Listen, I'm going to make you a nice hot bath. I have some salts that should relax you. While you do that, I'll try to clean this crazy doll, and then I'll make some dinner. When that's all done, you can write in your notebook. How's that sound?"
"Like heaven," I said.
The next day I was at school an hour early. If Ms. Tandy wasn't there, I'd wait, but if she was, I could dump the little monster and be free of it. Almost free, anyway. I was pretty nervous about the state of the doll. Aunt Jane had cleaned it up pretty well, and it had cried a couple of times in the night, but the fall from the train would look like the worst child abuse imaginable to the recorder. And what if I had to pay to replace it?
Still, I didn't think the doll looked too bad until I ran into Eden.
"Holy cow!" she exclaimed. "What did you do to that poor thing? Throw it off a train?"
"You're a good guesser," I replied. I told her a quick version of the train story. First she did goggle eyes, then she said, "No way!", and finally she bent over laughing so hard that I had to stop and wait for her to straighten up and start walking again.
"What did you really do to the doll?" she asked, as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
"That's what really happened!" I cried, which set her off laughing again.
I huffed impatiently and pulled on her arm. "Come on," I said. "I have to get rid of this awful thing."
Ms. Tandy was in her office. We were the first ones there. "Couldn't wait to give them back, could you? Would you like some extra credit? Keep it another week?"
"No way — I mean, no thank you," Eden said, handing hers in, along with her notebook. Ms. Tandy cut the bracelet from her wrist. Then Eden stepped back so she could watch Ms. Tandy's face as I handed my doll in.
"Oh, Marcie," she said, astonished. "What the hell did you do to your baby?"
Eden couldn't control herself. She shouted, "She threw it off a train!" and erupted in a fit of giggles.
"Thanks, Eden," I said. To Ms. Tandy I said, "It fell off a train."
"How did it do that?"
"I was catching a baby who jumped off the train. The doll slid off my lap and rolled down a hill. I didn't notice because at the time I was trying to keep the real-life baby from falling."
Eden's body was wracked with silent laughter. Ms. Tandy took a look at her, and opened her mouth to say something, but then she, too, succumbed. She let out some high-pitched peals of laughter. At last, with some effort she got a grip on herself.
"Do you honestly expect me to believe that story, Marcie? Are you out of your mind? Eden! If you can't stop laughing, go wait in the hall."
"Sorry." Eden stopped laughing, but she made some pretty weird faces as she struggled to keep silent.
I handed Ms. Tandy a sheet of paper. "This is the phone number of the baby's mother. The second one is for the little girl I was babysitting. The last number is the train conductor's."
I handed her my notebook. "I wrote down everything that happened in here."
"Oh," Ms. Tandy said, "I'm sure this will make interesting reading!"
At that, Eden let out a screaming laugh, and ran into the hall.
"Please don't give me an F, Ms. Tandy," I begged. "I swear, that baby — the real baby — could have died if I hadn't caught him, and there was no way I could catch that heavy boy and watch the doll at the same time." Eden sobbed out a laugh in the hallway. I wanted to smack her.
"You're serious, aren't you?" Ms. Tandy said.
"Yes! I am! You can look at the recording inside. I was really good with that baby. Nothing bad happened to it until then. And it still works. It was crying last night."
"You're the girl who wanted to take out the batteries and jam the key inside, Marcie."
"Oh, no," I cried, "Oh, no! I wouldn't have done those things! I was just curious! Please, call the conductor or the mother or even the little girl — they'll tell you."
"Do you think I'm that gullible?" Ms. Tandy asked, "Do you think I'd take the word of a little girl?"
"She's Jerry Auburn's little sister." I don't know why I said that; it somehow seemed relevant.
Ms. Tandy shook her head at me in disbelief. "Your boyfriend's little sister? You expect me to..." She sighed.
She studied my face and after a few moments said, "I will call this conductor and then we'll see. And I'll check the doll to see how badly it's damaged. We can talk later in the day. Try to not have a nervous breakdown in the meantime, okay?
"And Marcie, the next time you have a wild story to tell me, don't bring Eden. Her giggling undermines your credibility."
Eden and I still had almost an hour before school began. I could see she was fighting to keep the giggles down.
"I'm sorry, Marcie. Listen, let me buy you breakfast. Are you hungry?"
As if in answer, my stomach growled, which set her giggling again. I grabbed her arm again and pulled her toward the stairs, away from Ms. Tandy's office. "Where could we possibly have breakfast?" I asked her, more than a little irritated.
"In the cafeteria, duh!" she replied. Her giggles finally subsided. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to 'undermine your credibility'."
"That's okay," I said.
"Did that stuff really happen?" she asked me, as she stifled one last giggle.
"YES!" I said. "Yes, it really happened! I really hurt my arms! I thought I broke something!"
"Okay," Eden said.
"Oh, listen, I met your mother this weekend, too."
"My mother?" Eden was puzzled.
"Before you ask, no, she was not on the train. It was at the hospital." I told her about my adventure there.
"Wow, Marcie. Does stuff like this happen to you all the time?"
"I don't know," I said. "Only lately."
"Maybe you should keep that doll," she giggled. "You could do a reality TV show."
I gave a wry smile and told her, "If I kept that doll, I'd shoot myself on the first episode."
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
"Miss Donner?" he asked, "Is your life usually so... exciting?"
"No," I said. "Just since I came here."
"Hmm," he said. "If things keep up at this rate, I won't need to watch television any more."
Eden was fun. I liked her. She was an only child, like me, and had just moved to town, like me. Her father was in the Army, stationed in Pakistan.
She was in the middle of telling me about her move when the PA system clicked on. We both fell silent.
"Marcie Donner, please report to the Principal's Office. Marcie Donner, to the Principal's Office immediately."
My jaw dropped. Eden's did as well.
"What did you do now, Marcie?"
"I'll tell you if you come with me," I said.
Mr. Bryant was standing in the outer office. He was smiling.
"Forgotten me, Miss Donner? Too busy catching babies who fall off trains?"
"How do you know about that?" I asked.
He smiled and said, "I have my sources."
Denise coughed and smiled. "Oh," I said.
"Yes, 'oh'," Mr. Bryant said. "That's a nice outfit you're wearing. Now let's hear the dress code for girls and you can go about your business."
I rattled it off without a hitch.
"Miss Donner?" he asked, "Is your life usually so... exciting?"
"No," I said. "Just since I came here."
"Hmm," he said. "If things keep up at this rate, I won't need to watch television any more."
I didn't get it, but Denise laughed, and I ducked out to join Eden.
Eden was in my three morning classes, and the two of us hooked up with Carla in second period. I copied Eden's schedule, and found that either she or Carla was in every one of my classes, and the three of us were together most of the time.
"So, are we all going to sit together at lunch?" I asked.
Carla smirked and said, "I'm sitting with Pat."
"Okay," I joked, "Don't get too smoochy in the cafeteria, Carla."
She arched her eyebrows as if to say, You know I will.
Eden and I got our food and sat down together. I looked around the room and spotted Carla at a table with Pat and Jerry.
"Doesn't your boyfriend eat lunch with you?" Eden asked.
"I was just wondering about that myself," I said, but I was soon to find out why he didn't.
I was busy trying to catch Jerry's eye, so I didn't see Ms. Tandy approach. I jumped when she spoke.
"Hi, girls. Mind if I sit for a moment?" Without waiting for an answer, she sat down next to me.
"Marcie, I have good news for you," she said. "I talked to your conductor, and he confirmed your story. Out of curiosity, I called the baby's mother. She says you're a hero and an angel." She smiled.
"I couldn't talk to the little girl you were babysitting, so I talked to her mother." Her eyes twinkled. "You gave me these numbers yourself, so you can't blame me if I used them.
"Anyway, Mrs. Auburn had all sorts of nice things to say about you. You're in like Flynn there, girl."
"Um, is that good?" I asked.
She laughed. "Believe me, if your boyfriend's mother likes you, it's a good thing. You're lucky.
"About the doll," she said, pausing to build suspense, "The Little Railroad is going to pay to replace it. So you're off the hook there, too. Also, they're going to send you a lifetime pass to the Little Railroad for you and a guest, so you can go on catching babies as often as you like."
"What about my grade?"
"I looked at the recorder, and you're right. Except for the fall from the train, you did well. You were a little rough, but most of the girls were. If it was a real baby you would have realized it, so don't worry. It was the same for you, Eden, in case you wondered. You both did fine for the doll part of your assignment. I still have to grade the notebooks. That will take me a little longer." She suppressed a grin and said, "Marcie, I think I'll save yours for last."
I nodded and thanked her. There was one last little thing bothering me, though, so I had to ask: "Ms. Tandy? How did you know that Jerry is my boyfriend?"
"Oh," she said. "Did you think that was a secret? Look, Marcie, this is a little school; there aren't that many students. There are teachers all over the place, and we see and hear things. We compare notes, especially about students who stand out."
"Do I stand out?" I asked, a little afraid.
Eden burst into giggles. Ms. Tandy smiled. My jaw dropped.
"I was trying to keep a low profile," I said softly.
Ms. Tandy looked puzzled. "You were? Well, you're not doing a very good job. In fact, if this is you keeping a low profile, I'd hate to see what would happen if you cut loose."
Eden's giggles kept bubbling out.
"And why in the world would you try to keep a low profile, Marcie? Wait... don't tell me. You've made my head spin enough for one day." She stood up. "In any case, congratulations on catching that baby. It was the right thing to do, even if it wrecked the doll. A real baby is more important any time." She smiled at me and left.
As soon as Ms. Tandy was gone, Carla roughly pushed her tray of food onto our table. She sat down with a thump! and a sullen expression. "Stupid cafeteria monitors!" she muttered.
"What happened?" I asked.
"That witch standing by the wall told me I couldn't sit with Pat. She said we were too 'hot and heavy' and that it wasn't appropriate."
"Oh, Carla," I said sympathetically. I looked over at the other table and Pat shrugged.
"Listen, I'll be right back," I said. "I have to ask Jerry something."
"Good luck," Carla said.
In fact, before I reached the table, the woman that Carla called a witch stepped in my way.
"Miss Donner," she said, "I just sent your crony away. Do you think you have some special privilege? Boyfriends over here–" she gestured at Pat and Jerry's table "–girlfriends over there." She gestured at my table. Behind her, Jerry shrugged at me, just as Pat had.
I opened my mouth, but couldn't find anything to say.
"Go," the monitor told me. She took one of my shoulders and turned me around.
"What a witch!" I exclaimed as I sat down again with Carla and Eden. "And how does she know my name? I've never seen her before."
"It's Big Brother," Carla growled. "It's repression."
I saw Eden fight off some giggles, and it made me smile.
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
It was a nice evening, and Jerry walked me home. He put his arm around my shoulders and steered me so I could dig into the bag. There was a little coral-colored teddy bear, a brand new Barbie, and a small baby doll.
"Ah," Jerry said, as I showed him my presents, "It's remedial, you know? She's trying to get you caught up on the girly stuff you missed."
Monday night I had dinner again with the Auburns. I returned Nina's stroller and bag, and she lent me a book called A Little Princess by Frances Burnett.
Cassie looked at me in disbelief. "How old are you, nine?"
"I never read it," I protested.
"What's next? Are you going to join Nina's Brownie troop?"
"I'm a Junior Girl Scout!" Nina protested. "Brownies is for little girls."
"Sounds just about Marcie's speed, then," Cassie quipped.
"I think she likes me," I said in a stage whisper as Nina led me upstairs. Cassie scoffed loudly below.
Nina showed me her room. She pointed out that her bookcase was chock full of books, and offered to choose the best "girl" books to lend me. She cautioned, "You can only borrow one at a time. I need them back."
I liked her room. It was definitely a little girl's room — it couldn't be mistaken for anything else. There was a canopy bed, lots of stuffed animals, baby dolls and Barbie dolls. Nearly everything was white, soft blue, or pink. "Pink is my favorite color!" she said as she held up a pink gift bag. "This if for you, but you can't open it until you go home, okay? I'm gonna put it by the front door, so you don't forget it. Remember: no peeking!"
Nina had also organized Wednesday night: I was invited to see The Princess Diaries. "But you can't get all mushy with Jerry!" she warned. I smiled.
It was a nice evening, and Jerry walked me home. He put his arm around my shoulders and steered me so I could dig into the bag. There was a little coral-colored teddy bear, a brand new Barbie, and a small baby doll.
"Ah," Jerry said, as I showed him my presents, "It's remedial, you know? She's trying to get you caught up on the girly stuff you missed."
"She's so nice," I said. "I have to get her a thank-you gift."
He shrugged.
"Oh," I suddenly remembered. "I have to talk to you about something. Did you know that you're my boyfriend?"
"Uh, well, I kinda, but, um, what..."
"All the teachers think we're boyfriend and girlfriend. Ms. Tandy does, the cafeteria lady..."
"Oh, yeah, yeah. They spy on us. They think they know everything. Does it bother you?"
"The boyfriend part, no." We smiled at each other. "Them knowing, yeah. That does bother me. I didn't like it when the cafeteria lady knew my name. It's not like I'm a troublemaker."
"No, but you do stand out."
"Hmmph."
He smiled and stopped. "Hey," he said, "If you're my girlfriend, how come we've never kissed?"
My aunt was reading a magazine when I came in. "Have a good time?" she asked.
"Yep!" I replied.
"What's in the bag?" she asked. I showed her the dolls, the bear, and the book.
"I see," she said. "I remember this book. Trying to make up for what you missed, huh?"
"I guess," I said.
"Oh, I have some news for you," she said. "I was talking to your father today. He said they're closing on your old house this Thursday."
"Closing? What's that mean?"
"It means the sale is final. The closing is when the buyer and seller sign all the papers and the money is exchanged."
"I thought they sold our old house when we left."
"No, no, these things take time." She looked like she was going to say more, but stopped herself.
"Hey, check this out!" she said, reaching behind her. "I got a digital camera today, and I haven't used it yet. Mind if we try it out together? I can get a shot of that outfit."
"Okay," I said happily. I posed for a couple of shots, some with my teddy bear and others with my baby doll. We looked at them together. I'd never used a digital camera before. I was impressed by the way we could check out the shots and delete the bad ones. In fact, we re-took a few of the shots until we both liked them.
"Great," Aunt Jane said. "I think I got the hang of it now."
Then we sat down and had a long chat. She wanted to know how things had gone with Ms. Tandy. That led us naturally to Jerry. Somehow she guessed that we'd kissed on the way home, so we had a pretty frank chat about boys and being careful. At first I was worried about what she'd say, but I think she made an effort not to judge or lecture me — she wanted to be sure I'd keep on talking to her.
While we talked, I noticed that Aunt Jane was unusually upbeat and happy. I wondered whether something good had happened to her.
"Oh, I cleared something up today," she said, in a mysterious voice. "I kind of ironed out a problem that was hanging over me."
Tuesday was uneventful. It was my first day of gym class since I'd started school, and it worked out fine. I wore my gym suit under my clothes, so I just had to slip out of my skirt and top and change my shoes for sneakers. I took a locker near the door, and after class, I quickly slipped my clothes on over my gym suit and headed out. Eden is in my class, and I was surprised to see that she and several other girls had done the same.
"I can't use those showers here! Ugh! They are so disgusting!" one of the girls commented as we left the building.
"Are they really that dirty?" I asked Eden.
She shrugged. "I dunno. I didn't look. I'd just rather shower at home."
After we got outside Eden asked me, "Hey, Did you hear about the show? The school is doing Bye Bye Birdie."
"No, I don't know anything about it."
"I can lend you the movie. It's pretty fun. I'm going to try out. I can't sing, but I'm a good dancer." She smiled and pointed one toe. "Do you know how to sing, Marcie?"
"Only in the shower."
"Do you want to audition with me?"
"As a dancer? I can't dance."
"Are you sure? Come over my house, and we can see. I'll show you the audition routine I worked out. And I can teach it to you!"
"I don't know..."
"Come one, give it a try, Marcie! It'll be more fun if we do it together."
I was doubtful, but Eden was persistent. She weedled and cajoled, and finally I thought, Why not? It could be fun.
"I'll try," I told her. "But I can't promise anything. I've never danced."
And so the two of us trooped off to Eden's house. It was pretty close — about as close to school as my house, but in a different direction.
Eden's mother made us a snack of fruit and sandwiches. After we demolished that, Eden led me to a big, empty family room.
"We don't have enough furniture to fill the house," she said, "But I like it this way. It's my dance studio. Now watch. This is part of a song from the show."
She put on "Telephone Hour," a 50's-style song about "goin' steady," and danced to it. She really danced. I was impressed, and told her so.
"I've been taking lessons pretty much my whole life," she said, proudly. "Now you try it with me."
We worked for a couple of hours. Eden was very patient, and pointed out mistakes I didn't realize I was making. In the end, I could do most of the moves, but couldn't remember how they fit together.
"You'll get it," she said. "We just have to practice. Can you come over tomorrow? Are you free this weekend?"
"Tomorrow I'm going to Jerry's, and Thursday my aunt's taking me out. But Friday and the weekend are good."
She looked a little disappointed, but said, "Okay. We could work lunchtimes, I guess. And if we work hard this weekend, I think we'll get it. Auditions are next week, though, and that's not much time. They didn't say which day the dance auditions are, so we have to use every day — we don't know how much time we've got. The routine's got to be rock solid."
"If I can't learn it, promise me that you'll audition by yourself? I don't want to drag you down or keep you out."
"You won't drag me down," she said. "You'll get it."
I still had my doubts, but I was determined to try. I walked home, passing the school on the way. As I walked, I wondered: When I go back to being a boy, will my life still be as interesting and fun as it is now? Or can my life only be this way while I'm a girl?
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
"Anyway," Ms. Tandy continued, "Why are you trying to keep a low profile? You're not on witness protection, are you?"
A student walking by overheard that remark, and his eyebrows shot up.
Wednesday during lunch hour we worked on the routine. Eden found an empty classroom with enough room to move. The dance felt a lot different, and more fun, with the skirt swirling around me, catching my momentum, stopping, and swirling back again.
"You're right," Eden said. "We need to practice and audition in skirts. We have to make sure the swirling's not jerky."
The evening at Jerry's was nice. After dinner, we popped in the Princess Diaries DVD. Jerry, Nina, and I sat on the couch together. Mr. Auburn disappeared, but Mrs. Auburn sat in an armchair near us. She knitted the whole time, but I was sure she had a weather eye on her son.
At first, I was sandwiched between Nina and Jerry. Then Nina climbed into my lap. After a hour I asked them to pause the movie because I was being cooked alive. Nina was as hot as an electric blanket, and since I was leaning into Jerry, the heat had nowhere to go.
I stood and shook my clothes to cool off a little. Then Jerry and I went to the kitchen to get drinks.
"You like the movie, don't you?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah, it's fun," I replied. "Don't you?"
He peeked to make sure Nina wouldn't hear, and then said, "It's a chick flick, Marcie. No — it's not even a chick flick, it's a movie for little girls. The only reason I'm watching is so I can be with you."
"That's sweet," I said. He rolled his eyes comically, and spread his arms, as if to say, What else I can do? I put my hands on his chest and popped my foot, like the girl in the movie.
Nina peeked in the door and said, "Quit the mushy stuff! Let's watch the movie!"
We sat back down arranged in the opposite direction, with Jerry on my left and Nina on my right. This time it wasn't as hot because Nina started fading, and lay on the sofa with her head on my lap and her legs dangling over the arm. Mrs. Auburn cleared her throat, and Jerry and I moved apart a little bit. I don't know how she communicated it, but we got the message.
As he walked me home, Jerry said, "No offense, but I can't watch another movie like that. It's way too much girly sweetness. I can't take it." I laughed and made a vague silent promise.
On Thursday morning, when I got to school, something was going on. It was still early, so not every one was there. It was a good thing, because the few students who were there were all looking at me. At first I thought I imagined it, but pretty soon it was too obvious to ignore. I began to feel quite uncomfortable, and I heard the soft sound of whispers everywhere I went.
By the time I reached the Principal's Office, I was almost jumping out of my skin from paranoia.
"Ah, Ms. Donner," Mr. Bryant said. "Am I safe in assuming that you haven't seen this yet?" He was holding the school newspaper.
"No, I haven't," I admitted.
"Why don't you have a seat and take a look at page five," he said, handing me the paper.
I'm glad he asked me to sit down. When I opened to page five, my jaw fell. A cartoon took up almost a quarter of the page. It was a very fanciful depiction of the incident on the Little Train. It showed me, swinging on a rope, in the act of catching (with one hand!) a round, fat baby in midair. Far above was the train. You could see the frightened mother's face, the shocked passengers, and the crying children. The whole thing looked like the cover of a comic book. It showed me wearing a very short skirt that rippled in the wind.
"Do I really look like that?" I asked, hardly knowing what I said.
"It is a speaking likeness of your face. The rest is fairly idealized... I won't comment on the legs," he said, clearing his throat.
"It makes you look like a superhero," Denise said.
I was speechless. Mr. Bryant handed me a glass of water.
"I'm sorry," he said, "but I can't censor the paper. I have already lodged a complaint. If your parents or your aunt would like to come in, I can arrange to have the paper's moderator–"
"No, never mind," I interrupted. "It's probably better just to let it blow over."
"Fine," he said. "However, if you change your mind about that, or if you need, ah, sanctuary, feel free to come back here. Understood? Will you be alright?"
"Yes," I said. "After the shock wears off."
The day was a little weird, but really wasn't that bad. I guess people either didn't see the paper, or if they did, they didn't connect the cartoon with me. A few people openly stared at me, and a few others pointed me out to their friends as "the one in the cartoon." Only two people actually teased me about it, and one yelled "Hey, Legs!" But that was about it.
Except that at lunch time, Ms. Tandy came and sat down with Carla, Eden, and me. She gestured with the school paper and said, "So much for the low profile, eh, Marcie?"
"I guess," I said. "But I think it's going to blow over."
"I don't know the boy who drew this," she said, "but he got your face perfectly. It's almost photographic."
"The legs are pretty exact, too," Carla added. We all looked at her in surprise. "What?" she demanded. "I've seen you in gym class."
"Anyway," Ms. Tandy continued, "Why are you trying to keep a low profile? You're not on witness protection, are you?"
A student walking by overheard that remark, and his eyebrows shot up.
"What's witness protection?" I asked. "Whatever it is, I'm not on it."
"I guess I shouldn't joke about things like that," Ms. Tandy said. "It's actually pretty serious. Let's say you know something about organized crime — maybe you witness a mob murder — I don't know. So you go to the police, and you testify against the crooks. Because of that, your life could be in danger, so the FBI gives you a new identity and moves you to a new city. In that way, you're safe, because you have a new name, a new life. The crooks don't know how to find you."
"Wow," I said. "Does that really happen?"
"Yes, it does," she said. "But if your cover is blown — for instance, you run into someone who knew you before, or you tell someone — then the FBI has to move you again."
"Oh, there's a movie like that! Kate whats-her-name's mother is in it and Mel Gibson — Oh! What is it called?" Eden babbled.
Ms. Tandy stood up. "I better go. You girls have fun. And you, keep a low profile!" Laughing, she left.
Carla frowned. "Why are you trying to keep a low profile?" she asked me. "And BY THE WAY, did you notice it's not working?"
Eden went wild with giggles. I let out a big sigh.
"Oh!" Eden exclaimed, suddenly remembering. "Are we going to rehearse our dance tonight? We really need to get it down."
"No," I replied. "I told you, tonight my aunt's taking me out to dinner."
"Mmm," Eden mumbled, obviously disappointed.
Aunt Jane and I arrived home at the same moment. She was trying to unlock the door. It was a little tricky because she was holding two bags and had half a dozen copies of my school newspaper under her arm.
"Where did you get those?" I asked.
"Denise dropped them off at lunchtime." Smiling, she shook her head at me. "You're really going all out, aren't you?"
"What did I do?" I asked. "And why do you have so many of those?"
"Oh, memories, scrapbooks," she said vaguely. "I thought your parents might want a couple copies."
"My parents!?" I squeaked fearfully.
"Wow, that got a rise out of you," she said, laughing, as she dropped the papers on the coffee table. "Calm down, girl."
I did calm down, remembering that she would get into a lot worse trouble than I ever would if my parents found out.
"Let's see what you're going to wear to the restaurant tonight," she said, with a twinkle in her eye.
I never thought of my aunt as feminine. She always seemed very — what's the word? — I don't want to say "tomboy" because I've grown to hate the word... and "plain" doesn't quite do it, either. She definitely wasn't mannish, but... What I'm getting at is that I've never seen her wear makeup, and only seen her in a dress two or three times at most. Her hair has always been the same short, functional cut.
Because of all that, I was pretty surprised when she helped me get ready. She picked out my prettiest outfit, and she brushed and styled my hair way better than I ever could.
Then, to top it off, she did my makeup — the first I'd ever worn. It was very light, but it made a big difference.
"Too bad you didn't pierce your ears. I don't have any clip-ons," she commented.
Next she inspected my nails. "They look okay," she said. "I don't feel like fooling with nail polish, and I don't think you know how to do it, so let's stop there."
"Okay," I said, admiring myself in the mirror. "Thanks. It's really nice... I mean, I look nice."
"See?" she smiled. "Your old aunt knows a trick or two."
"So what's the occasion?" I asked. "Why are we getting so dressed up?"
"It's nice to get out once in a while," she said. "Let's say that you've inspired me."
Forty minutes later, she emerged wearing a nice but simple dark blue dress. She'd done her own makeup, and was wearing a pearl necklace and matching earrings.
"Wow!" I exclaimed.
"I clean up pretty good, don't I?" she said, posing this way and that.
At the restaurant, a valet took our car. The moment we entered, I felt intimidated — it seemed you'd have to be rich just to look in the window. We were ushered to a very separate and quiet table. I was so impressed, I didn't dare talk above a whisper. "I've never been in a restaurant this nice before!" I hissed to my aunt. "I've never been anywhere this elegant!"
In a low voice, she replied, "I don't think I have, either. We're getting a very special treat tonight."
That confused me. She said "we" as though she was being treated, too. I also noticed that the waiter hadn't removed the two extra place settings.
"Aunt Jane," I whispered, "Is someone else coming?"
She smiled and nodded.
"Who?"
"I'll tell you," she said. "If you promise not to faint, scream, or run away." She took my hands firmly in hers and asked, "Do you trust me?"
"I don't know," I replied, nervously.
"Okay then: no more suspense. Your parents are coming to have dinner with us."
© 2006,2007 by Kaleigh Way
"You certainly owe me and your mother an apology," he said. "If you wanted to do this, you should have called and told us before you did it."
"Would you have said yes?" I asked.
"No," he replied. "I wouldn't."
21. Laying Down The Law
"My parents!? Oh my God! Oh my God!"
"Calm down, Marcie. They already know."
"They know?" I squeaked in a frightened whisper.
"Yes, I told them on Saturday, while you were out with Alice."
I gulped.
"And I sent them those pictures of you."
I didn't know what to say or do. I looked around, lost. I opened and closed my mouth but didn't say a word.
Aunt Jane spoke softly. "Look, hon. How long do you think I could go without telling them? If I hadn't, they could have called the school for any number of reasons, and your secret would be over. Plus, they have some liability for what you do... if there were any problems or trouble, they would get called on the carpet."
"How could they get in trouble if they didn't know?"
"It doesn't matter if they know. They're your parents; society expects them to know. If something happened and they didn't know, it would make them look like bad parents. It would be much worse for them.
"Your parents and I have been talking about this several times a day for the past week — well, since Saturday anyway."
"And what do they say? Are they going to make me stop?"
"No, I don't think so. Yesterday your father kind of worked things out. Your mother is a little... well, she's having a harder time. You'll see."
I was so nervous, I was shaking.
"Calm down," she repeated. "They're your parents. You're their only child, their baby. They're not going to kill you." She glanced over my shoulder. "Speak of the devil! Here they are!"
She stood up and kept hold of one of my hands. I think she was afraid I might cut and run. The waiter came over at the same time as my parents, so he was kind of in the way as Jane gave each of my parents a hug and a kiss. Then Jane stepped aside to present me.
"Holy–" my father said, trying to hide his shock. He blinked a few times, then recovered, saying "Come give your father a hug, Mar–cie."
I gave him a frightened little squeeze. He gave me a smile that was meant to be reassuring, than stepped aside so my mother could see me. The waiter was standing next to her, in the perfect spot to witness my mother's jaw drop and her face go white. I'm sure he had an equally good view of the anxiety on my face.
Dad frowned as the waiter gaped, glancing back and forth between the Mom and me. He cleared his throat, but the waiter didn't take the hint. So Dad said, "We haven't seen each other for a long time. Could you give us ten minutes?" The waiter didn't seem to hear — he stood stock-still with his mouth open. "How about five minutes?" my father asked. No response. "A little privacy?"
My mother held out her hand to me, but suddenly her eyes closed and her knees buckled. My father must have seen it coming, because he caught her, held her up, and gently lowered her into a chair at our table. He sat down next to her and talked in a quiet voice as he held her hand. My aunt sat on my mother's right and took her pulse.
"Is she okay?" I asked.
"She fainted," my dad replied. "She'll be fine in a few moments." He drew a breath and looked around, only to see the waiter at his elbow. "Are you still here?" he asked. "Okay, how about this? Bring two light beers and a cosmo for the adults, and a diet coke for the young lady."
The waiter continued to gape stupidly, so my dad said, "Now!" in an icy, low voice. At that, the waiter finally snapped out of it and left.
"Thought I'd never get rid of him," he growled. I began to sit down, but my father barked, "Don't sit opposite your mother. We don't want her fainting all night long. Stand by me until she comes to, and then you can sit here, between me and her. Okay?"
"What happened?" my mother asked in a weak, breathy voice.
"You fainted," Dad told her. "Are you alright now?"
She nodded, so Dad stood. He took me by the shoulders and pressed me into the chair next to Mom, and then sat himself on the other side of me. My mother smiled and took my hand.
"Sorry," she said. "But even after seeing the photos, it's still quite a shock." She carressed my hand and studied my face. "Maybe it would be easier if you looked like someone from my side of the family. Art, who does your daughter look like?"
"Uh," he said, looking at me with a frown, "I don't know — one of my cousins, I guess."
"Marcie looks like a Graylen," Jane put in. "In fact, we have a cousin Marcie who is supposed to be very similar to this young lady here."
"'Supposed to be'?" my father echoed.
My aunt prompted me to tell the story of how it all began. I didn't do a very good job of it at first, partly because I got a bit mixed up between the edited version that we'd invented and what really happened. Plus, I didn't want to mention Jerry. On top of all that, it was my parents I was talking to — I was pretty nervous about how it would all turn out.
Still, they were a good audience.
They asked about my friends, so I mentioned Carla and Eden, and spoke of Nina as a girl that I'd babysat. I talked and talked, telling them about Ms. Tandy, the baby simulator, the hospital, and the Little Train. The three adults were pretty quiet, listening, sometimes asking questions.
"And all these things happened in the past week?" my mother asked. I nodded.
The waiter handed us dessert menus and left. I realized then that I'd monopolized the conversation. "So how are things in New Jersey?" I asked.
"Much quieter than they are out here," my father said drily. "My job is good, I like the people. I told you that. We haven't found a house yet, and that's a little discouraging. But you knew that, too. Why don't we stick to the subject? But first, let's have a look at the desserts. Why didn't that waiter bring a dessert cart?"
As if on cue, the waiter came, wheeling a cart full of amazing treats. He described each one, and it was very hard to choose. To be fair, after his initial cluelessness, the waiter turned out to be very quick and helpful. We each chose a different dessert, and passed them around the table for everyone to taste. Then my father said, "Okay, back to the subject at hand: is there anything else you need to tell us about what you're doing that we don't know?"
"Um, no?" I said. I didn't want to mention Jerry.
"You certainly owe me and your mother an apology," he said. "If you wanted to do this, you should have called and told us before you did it."
"Would you have said yes?" I asked.
"No," he replied. "I wouldn't. I hope you can understand the position you've put me and your mother in here. Suppose one of the girls' parents found out that a boy was in her gym class, watching her get changed each day in the locker room? Do you think they could sue us and the school for letting it happen?"
"I don't know," I said in a small voice.
"I didn't either," my father said, "So I spoke to a lawyer about that and some other related issues."
"What did he say?"
"We'll come to that. The point is, you can't do this behind our backs."
"Sorry," I said. "You're not going to make stop, are you?"
My father and mother looked at each other for a few moments, then my mother asked, "You really want to do this?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I want to see what it's like to be a girl for a while."
"And what do you think so far?"
"I like it."
My father asked, "And what will you do when you start school in New Jersey? Cut your hair short, leave the skirts behind, go back to being a boy?"
"Yes."
He shook his head. "I don't believe it. I don't think you can. Look at yourself. You clearly enjoy what you're doing. Your aunt's kept us pretty up-to-date on your activities. It's like you've turned into a different person."
"Are you going to tell the school?" I asked.
"By rights, we should," my father replied. "But... well, what the lawyer said was–" then he hesitated. "I think I'll keep that to myself for the moment."
He was silent, thinking about how much he wanted to tell me. Then, finally: "No, we won't tell your school — for now. But you have to keep your nose clean. Squeaky clean! If you get in the least bit of trouble, I'll jerk you out of that school so fast, it'll make your head spin, and you'll find yourself in New Jersey, where we can keep a close eye on you. I've even considered military high school. There's a good one not far from where I work. I'm going to send you the brochure, so you know where you could end up."
"What!?" I cried.
"And, if you're going to continue to do this, and if you don't want us to tell your school, there's a condition: you have to get counseling."
"Counseling?" I echoed. "There's nothing wrong with me!"
"I didn't use the word 'wrong'," he pointed out. "But answer me this: how many other boys in your school come to school in a dress?"
I looked down. "None."
"How many pretend to be a girl?"
I hung my head. "None."
"Do you have an afterschool club, where you can share your experiences?"
"No," I admitted.
"It would be useful for you to have a little help," he concluded. "And that is what a counselor will give you."
"I don't need help," I protested. "This is just an experiment."
"Hang on, Art," my mother said. "Let me try a different tack. Marcie, listen to me. You look very nice tonight, do you know that?"
"Thanks," I replied, smiling shyly.
"Did you choose that dress? Did you go out and buy it yourself?"
"No," I admitted.
"Did you find a stylist and tell her that you wanted that cute hair cut? Did you choose the hair color?"
"No."
"And your makeup — did you do that?"
"No."
"Someone helped you with all those things, didn't they?"
My father cut in. "Let me try a different tack. If you don't go to a counselor once a week, and follow his recommendations, you will not continue with your 'experiment'. That's final. I've already made an appointment for tomorrow morning at 10:30. Your mother and I will come and pick you up at school, and while we're there we'll stop in and say hello to your principal. What do you think about that?"
"It sounds fine?" I replied.
"That's my girl," he said dryly.
© 2007 by Kaleigh Way
Dad shook his head. "Your Mr. Bryant told me that in case we were in witness protection, our cover had been blown. I told him we aren't, but of course he doesn't know what to believe. How in the world do you get into these messes?"
"I don't know," I protested. "I don't do anything!"
22. Good Comic Material
On Friday morning, soon after the beginning of second period, the PA system crackled. The teacher stopped talking and waited.
"Marcie Donner, please report to the Principal's Office. Marcie Donner, to the Principal's Office immediately."
"Miss Donner?" the teacher prompted. I gathered my things and left the room.
My parents were waiting in the outer office, and Mom was chatting with Denise. They broke off when I entered the room.
"Ready?" my father asked, and he took my backpack.
"I can carry that," I said, taking it back.
"Sorry," he said. "It's a reflex."
Their rental car was parked next to the school. I don't know what kind of car it was, but it was black and very cool. There were a lot of kids staring from the second-floor windows. Dad opened the back door for Mom, and the front door for me.
Once we were inside, before he started the car, he took off his sunglasses and turned to me. "Have you been telling people that you're on the witness protection program?"
"Witness protection? No," I replied in surprise. "I didn't even know what that was until yest– oh!" The scene suddenly flashed before my eyes, and I told him about Ms. Tandy's joke. "That boy passing by overheard."
"And he started a rumor," my father concluded. He shook his head. "Your Mr. Bryant told me that in case we were in witness protection, our cover had been blown. I told him we aren't, but of course he doesn't know what to believe. How in the world do you get into these messes?"
"I don't know," I protested. "I don't do anything!"
My father laughed. It was the first time he'd laughed since he arrived, and it made me feel a lot better.
"We happened to meet your gym teacher, Grace Price," my mother said. "She's very nice, and thinks quite highly of you. She's sorry you won't be here next year to play on her field hockey team."
"Yeah," I said. "I like her."
"We're going to meet your other teachers at lunch time," my father said. "An impromptu parent-teacher conference, since we live so far away. All of your teachers. I got the feeling that they're curious to meet us. Very curious." He gave me a searching look, then smiled. "Don't worry," he said. "It's just normal stuff — for a change!"
"At least I hope so," my mother added.
"Hey, am I going to get out of school every Friday for this?" I asked.
"No," my dad replied. "It will be an after-school thing — we'll fix the day."
I groaned.
Dad explained, "We need to jumpstart this. That's why the appointment is now. And this is the deal — don't forget that."
We spent over an hour at Mr. Marks' office. He is my "counselor" — he's a psychologist, and so far I like him. Half the time was spent doing paperwork. My father had to sign all sorts of permissions and releases, and fill out insurance forms. My mother worked on my health history and some other documents. In the meantime, I had a long questionnaire to do.
Then the four of us sat down and at first, my father took over. He explained the situation until he was sure Mr. Marks understood his point of view and what he wanted. Mr. Marks wore these huge eyeglasses that made his face look small, and he was pretty thin, so he looked kind of wimpy, but after listening to my dad for a while, Mr. Marks took the wheel.
He explained that although there were parental rights and controls, my parents had to understand that I (me!) had to have a "reasonable expectation of privacy," or it would "compromise the therapeutic relationship." My father protested, but Mr. Marks insisted that the things he was talking about were a matter of law, not personal preference.
Then, when he was done explaining, he gave me a huge wink without my father seeing, and asked — in a very stagey, goofy voice that made him sound like a complete idiot — "I just have one question, ah–" he looked at his clipboard, as if reading from there "– 'Mark'. Why would such a pretty girl pretend to be a boy?"
I could see my father's blood pressure rise up into his head. If he had a hat, I think it would have flown off. "Dad! Dad!" I exclaimed, and put my hand on his arm. "He's just joking! It's just a joke!"
My mother laughed, and my father harrumphed a bit, but in the end he smiled too. He shook Mr. Marks' hand, and after some parting remarks, we left.
I realized as we drove back to school that Mr. Marks, by standing up to my dad, had won my father's respect and confidence. He made my mother feel that he cared and would protect me, and made me feel like he was on my side, even if my dad (or my dad's insurance) was paying the bill. So it was a success all around.
"Is that your father?" Carla asked at lunch time. "He looks like one of the Men In Black."
"Uh, I guess he does," I said. He is pretty tall and imposing.
"Your mother's cute, but you don't really look like her," Eden said.
"Mmm," I said. I was only half-listening.
"I wasn't saying you're not cute, you vain hussy," Eden retorted, giggling.
"I don't know which is worse," I complained, "to sit with my back to them and miss what's happening, or look at them and see what's happening."
"Face it," Carla said. "Having your parents at school is pure humiliation. You gotta pray that they don't come over and talk to you."
"Oh!" Eden added, "And hugs and kisses, in front of everybody!"
"You gotta pre-empt that stuff," Carla agreed. "And hope they have the sense not to call you any cutesie nicknames."
"In a loud voice," Eden added.
I realized I was wringing my hands, so I said, "Thanks, you guys are great."
There was an eruption of adult laughter. It came, as I feared, from the table where my parents and teachers were sitting. My mother caught my eye and smiled. My cheeks burned red. What in the world could they be saying? Ms. Tandy was talking, and the laughs just kept on coming. My father wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.
"I'm glad I'm such good comic material," I muttered.
At last, the teachers took their leave, and my parents came over to talk to me. I introduced Carla and Eden, then said, "Sounds like you had a good time over there."
My father smiled and said, "You really hit the ground running."
My mother said, "We heard a lot of good things about you."
My father said, "And some that's hard to believe."
Eden giggled, and my parents smiled. I wanted to melt into the floor.
"Your aunt told me that you're going clothes shopping with Alice tomorrow," my mother said. "Do you mind if I come with you instead?"
I groaned quietly. "Can we talk about this at home?"
"Are you coming straight home from school?" Mom asked.
"No," Eden replied, before I could speak. "We have to work on our dance routine at my house."
"Oh, really?" my mother said, interested. "You didn't tell us about that. Can I come see?"
"Not tonight," Eden put in — again, before I could say anything! — "It's just a quick run-through. If you want to come tomorrow, it would be better. More like audition quality."
"It's for Bye, Bye, Birdie," I explained.
"How about this?" Eden said. "Marcie, you come at 7:30. We can work for an hour and a half, and your mother can come at 9. We show her the routine, and you guys can go shopping!"
"That sounds fine," my mother said.
I gaped silently at Eden. Seven-thirty in the morning!? AND inviting my mom!?
I looked at the clock. There were still ten minutes left to lunch. I felt like the whole cafeteria was watching. How do I cut this short? I wondered, and turned to my dad. "Dad, are you sure the car is parked in a good spot? I heard they hand out parking tickets like, uh — like, uh–" I couldn't think what to compare it to. Water?
My father frowned, but then his eyes lit up. "Oh, I see!" He put his hand on top of my head and messed up my hair. "Linda, we're embarrassing her!"
"We are?" my mother said. Carla was grinning like a fiend. Mom said, "Well, we'd better go then! But first, I need a great big hug from my little girl!" At that, she grabbed me from behind, and put her cheek against mine.
"Mom... Mom — MOM!"
She let go, smiling, and said, "Art, don't you want to give your daughter a hug?"
"No," he said, "I think we've done enough damage. Bye, hon."
"First let me fix your hair for you," my mother said. "Do you have a brush handy, Marcie?"
Before Mom could make good on her threat, my father took her arm, and they went off, much to my relief.
Eden's eyes were like saucers. Carla's grin threatened to split her face in two. "Hey," she said, "I got a great idea! You ought to invite Jerry to your audition tomorrow, so he can meet your mother." She laughed at her own joke, but I felt the blood drain from my face. That would be all I'd need!
"Wow, Marcie," Eden said. "You're really good at changing colors. You turned all these different reds, and now you're white. It's amazing!"
"It's a gift," I told her, imitating Mr. Monk. "It's a blessing... and a curse."
© 2007 by Kaleigh Way
"What's the problem?" she repeated, almost in a shriek. "I'll tell you what's the problem! What if you fell and split your silly head open?"
"But I didn't," I protested weakly.
23. Jinxed!
The last class of the week was Home Ec. with Ms. Tandy. She gave back our baby notebooks. I glanced inside. A-plus! I guess I really earned that grade!
Ms. Tandy said, "Some of your notebooks were pretty sketchy, and that's reflected in your grade. About the babies: most of you were pretty good. At the same time, most of you were a little rough. I think if it was a real baby, you'd see the baby's reaction and be more gentle. That said, a couple of you actually hit the baby."
"Or threw it off a train," someone muttered, and everyone laughed. I looked at the floor.
"Right," Ms. Tandy said drily. "I'm going to talk individually with the girls who mistreated their babies, and then I'll give you that part of the grade. For now, let's talk about how what this experience was like for you."
"The crying drove me up the wall," one girl said. "It kept waking me up."
"I just stayed home all weekend," another remarked. "I was too embarrassed to go out with that thing."
"Those of you who did go out," Ms. Tandy asked, "did people treat you any differently?" My cheeks colored at that, so she called on me.
"People thought it was real," I said, "and they thought I was a teenage mother. They made all kinds of rude remarks and looked at me like I was some kind of — I don't know — something awful. They said my parents didn't raise me well. It was horrible."
"One lady called me a tramp," someone said. "And some other names I can't repeat. Can I?"
"No," Ms. Tandy said. "I think we can imagine. So what have we learned?"
After school Eden and I went to her house and ran through the routine a few times. "Tomorrow we have to work on the weak spots," Eden said. "We have to get more flow. It's got to be more fluid."
"Okay," I shrugged.
"Are you mad at me for inviting your mother tomorrow?" she asked.
"No, I don't care."
"Hey," Eden said. "I have a present for you!" She ran out of the room for a moment and came back with a short skirt. "When I saw that train cartoon, I realized that you always wear long skirts."
"It's the dress code," I said.
"Yeah, but other girls wear short skirts to school."
I sighed. "I guess Mrs. Zeff didn't get her claws into them. They watch me. They check what I'm wearing, every day."
"Right, I forgot." she said. "But it's the weekend! So put it on!"
I quickly changed. It was a cute little thing that came to middle of my thigh. It was blue, and had some white lace trim. The skirt fanned out a little, sort of like a bell. "Do you like it?" Eden asked. I nodded. "So twirl!" she said.
I twirled and jumped and swung my hips to make the skirt shake. "Hey, I like it!" I said. "It's fun."
Eden was pleased that her gift was a success, and she walked with me when I left for home. "I'll go as far as the school," she said.
We talked about one thing and another, and when we reached the school we stopped. I don't know if you remember, but the front door of the school doesn't face the street: it's on the side of the building. And there, near the front door, were two boys. One was sitting on the ground, and the other was running around like a freaked-out chicken. As we got closer, we could see that the sitting boy was having trouble breathing. Eden and I ran over to see.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"Cory's having an asthma attack!" the panicked boy told us. "I knocked and I rang, and I ran all around the building, but nobody's inside!"
"Okay," I said. I looked at Eden; she was goggle-eyed. "Does he have any asthma medicine?"
"Yeah," his friend said. "But it's in the building. In there." He pointed up, to an open window on the third floor.
"You mean his medicine is in that room?" I asked.
"Yeah! That was our last class. He left his backpack in there."
I looked at the brick wall and said, "All right. I can do this." I took off my shoes, and said to the boy, "Don't look up my skirt." He nodded, frightened, and I started to climb.
My toes and fingers fit into the space between the bricks, and I kept close to the wall as I climbed. At first it was pretty easy, but once I got about halfway up, my arms started shaking. Still, I didn't have any choice but to keep going. I didn't look down, and I didn't stop.
The worst of it came when the window I was aiming for was just a few feet away. I felt a burst of panic welling up inside me and a little voice said I'm not going to make it! but I had to. I had to. If I didn't make it, I would fall. I had to make it!
When they do this on TV it looks easy! I told myself. Beads of sweat ran from my forehead into my eyes, stinging them, but I didn't dare stop to wipe.
I'd imagined that once I grabbed the windowsill that I could just haul myself up and in, but my arms were so weak that I had to keep climbing with my feet until half my body was over the sill, inside the room. As soon as I slid to the floor, the lights came on. In that moment I spotted the backpack and saw Ms. Tandy at the light switch. My arms were shaking like crazy.
"Marcie Donner! Have you lost your mind? What in the world are you doing?"
I didn't have the breath to speak, so I grabbed the backpack and threw it out the window to Cory's friend. I waved Ms. Tandy over and gasped, "Come see."
When she got to the window, the friend had pulled the inhaler from the backpack, and was just handing it to Cory. "Asthma 'tack," I puffed.
She was speechless for a moment, then said, "Let's get down there!" At that, I put one leg up on the windowsill. She pushed it back to the floor, incredulous. "Are you crazy!? Not that way! We'll take the stairs! Like normal people do!"
As we ran, she looked at my feet. "Barefoot, too? Oh, Marcie, what are we going to do with you? I saw you climbing, but I was afraid to say anything — I didn't want to make you fall."
By the time we exited the front door, Cory was drawing deep, heavy breaths, like someone who'd been running a long time. "Thanks," he gasped to me.
Ms. Tandy knelt beside him and put her hand on his forehead. "Are you all right?"
Cory nodded. "I just needed my inhaler."
"Don't any of you kids have cell phones?" Ms. Tandy asked. We all shook our heads. She looked at me and said, "Marcie, you need to get a cell phone."
"Me? Why me?"
Her hands shook for a moment, then she said, "Because somehow YOU are always in the middle of things! If you had a phone, you could have called your aunt, who is a nurse, or some other emergency number, or even 911! Oh!" I could see she was frustrated, but I didn't understand why.
I looked at Cory, who was panting slowly, as if he'd been running. "Are you sure you're alright?"
"Yeah," he said. "Thanks. I really appreciate it." Then his eyes drifted down, and he stared at my legs, not leering, but as if he was studying them.
I put my hands on the hem of the skirt and pressed it against my thighs. "Hey!" I gently chided.
He was startled. "Oh, sorry!"
"Marcie," Ms. Tandy said. "Look at me."
"What's the problem?" I said. "I got his medicine, and he's alright."
"What's the problem?" she repeated, almost in a shriek. "I'll tell you what's the problem! What if you fell and split your silly head open?"
"But I didn't," I protested weakly.
"You were lucky!" she retorted. Then she sighed. "You did a good thing and a bad thing at the same time, Marcie. Normal people — especially girls in short skirts — don't go scaling walls! Into locked buildings! Someone could have called the police, and — by the way — if you think you're keeping a low profile, guess what! You're not!"
Cory, who was still sitting on the ground, followed this with great interest.
Ms. Tandy was struggling to find the right words. Then she said, "Look, Marcie. You have to realize that life isn't like a comic book! You're not some kind of action hero!"
Cory's face lit up, as if he'd just had a revelation. His breathing became regular, and he stood up. "Maybe she is!" he said. "Maybe she is an action hero!"
Ms. Tandy and I looked at Cory in disbelief, and at the same instant we both said, "Give me a break!"
Ms. Tandy's eyes twinkled. Then she pointed at me and said, "Jinx! You owe me a coke!"
© 2007 by Kaleigh Way
"So...," Mom began, "What are you going to do about boys?"
"Uh, boys?"
"Yes, what are you going to do when boys start showing interest in you?"
"What do you think I should do?" I asked (and I think I managed to sound very innocent).
24. Miss No-Secrets
"Seriously, though," Ms. Tandy said. "There are times when I wish I was principal, but right now I am so glad I'm not."
"What?" Cory said. "You're not going to tell Mr. Bryant, are you?"
"She's not in trouble, is she?" Cory's friend cried.
"Oh, Marcie!" Eden murmured, and for once she wasn't giggling.
"I have to," Ms. Tandy said. "I don't know what he'll do or say, but we can't have students climbing the walls. You know what I mean."
"Oh, no," I said. I felt crushed. "You're not going to tell my parents, are you?"
She looked at my face for a moment, then asked in a low voice, "When are they leaving?"
"Sunday night."
"Look," Ms. Tandy said, in a confidential tone. "I know for a fact that Mr. Bryant is on a trip, and he won't be back until late Monday morning. So I can't tell him until then, and we should probably let him decide what the appropriate course of action is."
"Thank you," I said breathlessly.
"But," she cautioned, "BUT — don't go running around bragging about this, or saying that I let you off. You could still be in big trouble, and the more people talk about this, the more likely it is that you'll get some kind of disciplinary action."
"Disciplinary action!?" the three other students echoed, and Cory's friend said, "Punishment?"
Cory told her, "That's not fair! She helped me!"
"Let's leave fair and not-fair up to Mr. Bryant. Can you four just sit on this until Monday?"
"Yes," we all agreed.
"Okay," she said, and she gave me a hug. "Marcie, you are a panic. Seriously — for once, try to keep a low profile!" Smiling, she went back into the building.
The moment Ms. Tandy was gone, I turned to Eden and said, "Listen, Eden: DON'T TELL YOUR MOTHER. Okay? If you do, she'll tell my mother. Can you do that?"
Her eyes were enormous. She nodded. "Do you swear?" I asked.
She nodded again. "I swear."
Cory thanked me many times over, and promised that he'd get his parents to tell Mr. Bryant that I'd saved his life–
I interrupted him, and said, "Listen, whatever you do, don't do it until Monday, okay?"
He took some convincing, but after I explained my reasons, he finally agreed.
The next morning, Eden pushed me hard. I don't think I've ever had such an intense workout. Friday night, I thought I had the dance down pat. But today she showed me all kinds of stuff that I was doing wrong — stepping with the wrong foot, putting my foot down too hard, turning on my heel instead of my toe, starting movements too early, hanging my head when it should be up, and not opening my arms enough. At about ten to nine, I heard my mother arrive, and faintly we could hear the two women in conversation.
"We're almost ready for them," Eden told me.
"Are we?" I asked. "I don't know if I know this dance at all!"
"You do!" she said. "I'm just fine-tuning. Don't worry." Then she sniffed the air and told me, "I think you might need a quick shower before you go shopping with your mom, though."
"Thanks," I said, mugging.
She laughed and said, "You'd tell me if I was stinky, wouldn't you?"
"Would I?" I asked.
She looked shocked and gave me a little punch on the arm. "You're my friend! You'd have to tell me!"
"Okay," I said, grinning.
We ran throught the dance once more, then called our mothers.
"So," my mother said, as we drove off, "since I didn't get to give you your first doll, or send you to dance lessons, at least I can take you to get your ears pierced."
"Oooch!" I said, clutching my earlobes. "Does it hurt?"
"No, it doesn't hurt," she said. "At least, I don't think so. It was so long ago, I don't remember."
When we stopped at a red light, she took my hands and looked at my nails. "Do you know how to do your nails?" she asked. "Have you ever worn nail polish?" When I said "no" to both questions, she said that we could do that together tonight. "Unless you have other plans," she added.
"No, I don't have any plans," I said. Jerry knew that he couldn't call me while my folks were in town.
"So...," Mom began, "What are you going to do about boys?"
"Uh, boys?"
"Yes, what are you going to do when boys start showing interest in you?"
"What do you think I should do?" I asked (and I think I managed to sound very innocent).
"I think you should tell them that you're not allowed to date."
"That is what I told them," I replied, proudly.
"'Them'?" she repeated. "So boys, plural, have already asked you out?"
"Well, no," I hedged, "No, not boys — boy — one boy asked me out."
"Hmm," she said, and much to my relief, she let the subject drop.
Parents are so sneaky! The thing is, you have to pay attention ALL THE TIME around them. They wait until you're relaxed and happy, and then they throw in a zinger! I'm talking about my mother — at the moment.
What happened is that we had a nice morning. Mom had gone through my wardrobe on Friday, and pointed out — just as Alice had — that with the addition of a few skirts and tops I could do a lot of mix-and-match. Our mission was to find other pieces that fit with what I already had. We dug through an enormous thrift store together. In the beginning I was overwhelmed. I felt like we were going to have to look at everything, but she narrowed it down: women's clothes, skirts, my size. That was more manageable. And then, we only looked at the nice ones, so in the end, out of a ton of junk, we found six possible skirts. I tried them all. The one that I loved was way too tight (I couldn't pull it up over my butt!), but we ended up buying three.
So I learned something about how to shop. The whole day went like that. Mom really knew what she was doing. I would look at a rack of clothes and see a bunch of ugly stuff for old ladies. She would go through the same rack and find things that I wanted to wear. It was like magic!
Somewhere along the way we had a quick lunch, and in the late afternoon I got my ears pierced. I didn't even know I had a birthstone, but now I have an aquamarine stud in each ear! (That's March, in case you don't know!) My mother smiled. "Now you can borrow your aunt's earrings," she said.
"Does she have any?" I asked.
Mom raised her eyebrows. "You'd be surprised. Your aunt is like a dozen people in one. You think you know her, then suddenly you find a new side to her, one that's been there all along. Did you know that she worked for a couple of years at an AIDS mission in Africa?"
I was astonished. It didn't seem like something Aunt Jane would do at all.
"Well, she did," Mom replied. "She's like a cabinet full of hidden drawers. You never know what you'll find." Mom looked at me in silence for a while. "I'm beginning to think that you're like that too."
"I don't think so," I said, sincerely. "I don't have any secrets."
My mother almost choked, she laughed so hard. When she was done, she said, "Okay then, Miss No-Secrets! Let's go have a snack."
She was still shaking her head and chuckling to herself when the waiter left our food. "Oh, Marcie," she said, laying emphasis on my name. "It must be nice to have no secrets, nothing to hide."
I blushed and poked at my ice cream.
"Oh, I wanted to ask you," Mom said. "That little girl on the train, what was her name?"
"Nina," I replied.
"Is she Jerry's little sister?"
"Yeah–" I froze with my spoon halfway to my mouth. "Uh...," I wasn't sure what to say next. How much did Mom know?
She looked at me, waiting to see what I'd say. I couldn't read her face. Was she mad? Upset?
"How..." I began.
"Eden's mother told me," she said. "I was so shocked I almost dropped my coffee cup on her nice clean floor. Why didn't you tell us? Your father specifically asked if there was anything else you should tell us. Does your aunt know?"
"Yes." I managed to swallow a bit of ice cream and said, "Aunt Jane knows everything."
Mom looked off in the distance. "I doubt that very much."
Then she sighed. "The longer I stay here, the longer I think I should stay. You've been doing this for one week and... and all I can think is What's going to happen next week? I don't know if I can stand the suspense."
The suspense was killing me, too. I wanted to ask the obvious question, which was Are you going to tell Dad? but the even bigger question was whether she'd stop me from being Marcie.
"You know what I'd like to do?" she said. "Not far from where your father and I are staying, there's a high school — it's run by nuns, and it's just for girls. I'd like to take you back with us and send you there."
My jaw dropped. My eyes goggled. "A Catholic girls school?" I asked. "You'd send me to a Catholic girls school?"
She said, "You'd look cute in their uniform. The skirt is a blue plaid. It's actually pretty nice. With white knee socks. It would make the whole wardrobe issue a lot easier, and there wouldn't be any boys to worry about."
"Mom!" I said — I didn't know what else to say. I was in total shock.
"Or maybe you'd prefer your father's option — military school?"
"No!" I said. Compared to military school, Catholic school sounded great. Not that I wanted to go there, but at least I could still be Marcie.
My mother looked surprised. "Look at your face!" she said. "If you had to choose, you'd go to the girls school!"
"Well, yeah," I said. "I don't want to go to military school."
"Oh, my goodness," she said. "Your father was just trying to scare you."
"He was?" I said. "So there is no military school? And is there really a girls high school near you?"
"Well, yes, that part is true," she said. "There is a military school and there is a girls school. And frankly, if you're going to be doing this, I'd feel a lot better if you were down the street instead of across the country. At least I could keep an eye on you. And don't think that your father wouldn't consider the military school."
Well, *that* was confusing.
I took a big breath and let it out slow. What could I say? I didn't want to go anywhere. I liked things the way they were: my parents off in New Jersey, me in California with my new life and new identity... I didn't want to move. Still, I couldn't get the image of the girls-school uniform out of my head. I tried to fight it, to block it out — I was afraid that if it stuck in my head and took hold, I'd have to do it.
Plus, my parents didn't know about my wall-climbing incident. That could be the last straw.
"Don't look so glum," Mom said, as she scooped a spoonful of my ice cream. "Tell me about Jerry."
© 2007 by Kaleigh Way
She started laughing, but I cut her off.
"I know that everything I do is oh-so-funny, but I'm really scared. Should I tell my parents? Or hope that they won't find out? And are you going to narc me out just so you don't get in trouble?"
25. Oh-So-Funny
"Catholic girls school!?" Eden and Carla cried out together. I had called Eden, and she conferenced Carla in.
Carla said, "Whoa, girl, you are deep in doo-doo."
Eden agreed. "Oh, Marcie, I don't want you to move."
"I don't either," I said. "but I don't know what to do."
"Why don't you talk to your aunt?" Carla asked. "She sounds pretty cool."
"I don't know," I said. "She might tell my parents behind my back."
"How about Alice?" Eden suggested.
We worked and re-worked the topic until it was exhausted, and then I hung up.
I immediately dialed Jerry's number, and right after Jerry answered, my father picked up. "Are you still on the phone?" he asked. "I have to make a call."
"I'll be done in a minute," I promised.
"You've been on for a over an hour," he pointed out. "I need the phone." With that, he hung up.
"Oh, Jerry!" I said. "I have to be quick. Ms. Tandy is right — I have to get a cell phone!"
"Huh?" he replied, "Why would she say that?"
My father knocked on my door. "Are you done yet?" he asked.
"I gotta go," I whispered.
"It's okay," he said. "Will you call me later?"
I went to the kitchen, where I found my aunt alone, pouring herself a cranberry juice. "Can I talk to you?" I asked in a low voice. "Alone?"
It was almost overwhelming, the fear, the anxiety... the sense of impending doom. I didn't want to go to New Jersey. I didn't want to go to military school. Girls school... *that* was something I didn't even want to think. Mainly, I didn't want to stop being Marcie, and now, without wanting to or meaning to, I'd stepped right into trouble again, and I needed help before my parents found out.
Jane walked to the back door and motioned with her head for me to follow. We sat on the back steps together and I told her about the asthma-wall-climbing incident. She started laughing, but I cut her off. I was almost trembling as I spoke.
"I know that everything I do is oh-so-funny, but I'm really scared. Should I tell my parents? Or hope that they won't find out? And now that I told you, are you going to narc me out just so you won't get in trouble?"
She frowned at my last question, but then she said, "Alright. I guess I deserve that. No, I won't rat you out. I swear and I promise to you that from now on, if I feel I have to tell your parents something, I'll tell you first. Okay?" I nodded.
"Okay," she said. "I want you to be able to trust me, because if you feel like there's nowhere to turn, you're going to get into trouble." The trace of an amused smile floated across her face, but she banished it. She took a deep breath and said, "Now let me think for a minute." She looked at the ground, and up at the sky, and after a bit she asked, "What was that teacher's name again?" and "Will you get me my cell phone?"
When I handed her the phone, she said, "I'm going into my garage for a little privacy. I'll make a couple calls and then come find you. Okay?"
I nodded silently and ran off to my room.
About twenty minutes later she came to find me. I was sitting on the floor, hugging my knees, leaning against my bed, nearly dying of suspense and anxiety.
"Denise gave me Tandy's number," Jane said, "and I talked to her about what happened. You did the right thing, telling me while your parents are here. The best thing to do is to tell your parents right now."
"Are you sure?" I said.
"Yes," she replied, "Because there is no way that the principal isn't going to call them. Put yourself in your father's shoes. He goes all the way back to New Jersey, he's at work, and then a phone call comes about you literally climbing the walls."
"He'd throw me into military school," I said.
"He'd be mightily pissed, at very least," she said. "You have to tell your story first. Ms. Tandy offered to come over and talk with them, if you want." She stopped for a minute, then said, "I hope you realize how lucky you are, that she's willing to go to bat for you."
"I guess," I said as I bit my nail.
"No," she said. "Don't guess. I'm telling you." She grabbed me by the shoulders and smiled. "We can do this. You and me. Okay? You ready?"
"No," I replied.
"Good," she said. "Let's go do it. And don't bite your nails."
My parents were sitting in the living room, in a pair of armchairs, reading. I sat down on the couch opposite my dad, and told them a highly condensed version of what happened. It was like pulling a bandaid: I wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. I don't think my father was really listening at first, because he didn't really react. His mind was still inside whatever it was he was reading, so when I finished, he asked me to start at the beginning. Something must have registered, though, because he was listening with a cautious look.
When I came (again) to the part where I climbed up the wall, he threw down his papers and howled, "You did what!?"
I gulped and explained, but each phrase that came out of my mouth was like dry wood on a hot fire. He got angrier and angrier with every detail.
"Let me get this straight," he said. "You climbed up the side of a building, at night, to the third floor, so you could throw a bag out the window?"
"No," I protested. "Cory needed his medicine!"
Jane spoke up. "Artie, hold on. That boy was having an asthmatic crisis. If Marcie hadn't stepped in, he would have ended up in the hospital."
"Of all the lame-brained, thoughtless stunts!" he roared. "What if it was a prank and those two wanted to get you into trouble? What if you'd gotten yourself arrested, or thrown out of school? Did you think about that?"
He paused to make sure I was listening and said very deliberately, "What if you fell? You could have died. You could have been crippled. At the very least you could have been hurt. Did you think about that?"
"No," I whimpered.
By now, he was mad as a simmering volcano. "We told you to keep a low profile. We told you NOT to get into trouble. But what do you do? You put on a skirt and climb up a building! In the dark!"
I struggled for something to say, but all I could do was cry.
"Well, *that* is the end. That's finished it! No more! You're DONE!" he shouted. "You're coming back with us tomorrow! Start packing, because I'm booking your ticket right now! Say goodbye to California!" In a fury, he crammed his papers haphazardly into his briefcase, squeezed it shut, and stormed off to the kitchen.
There was a bang from the kitchen, and he shouted, "And DON'T get on the phone!"
My mother came over to sit next to me. She gently wrapped me in her arms.
"I was only trying to help!" I cried softly.
"I know, hon, I know," she said. "Give your father a chance to calm down, and I'll talk to him."
"Will you really?" I asked. "Will you let me stay here?"
"I'll do what I can," she said. She gave me a little squeeze and rocked me gently. I felt much calmer in her arms, but deep down I was still a quivering mass of fear.
Aunt Jane got up and strode into the kitchen. She said something to my dad, and then I heard the back door slam. I fell silent. Mom stopped rocking.
She whispered, "They went into the back yard." I stopped crying and strained to hear. Soon I heard my aunt yelling. I couldn't make out the words. I heard my father yelling back. They went back and forth for a while, then stopped.
The actually shouting didn't last very long, but they must have kept on talking, because they didn't come back inside.
I nestled deeper into my mother's embrace, and took a deep breath. "Mom," I said, "if I have to go back, I'll go to the girls school, okay?"
My mother started laughing and said, "You would, would you? Oh, you are just too much, Marcie-Warcie! You really are my little girl, aren't you?" and she rocked me in her arms some more, until — after a long time — the back door opened and shut, and my father returned to the room.
I looked up from the safe place in my mother's arms. He didn't look so angry any more.
He cleared his throat. "I talked to your teacher, Ms. Tandy," he said. "She, uh, gave me her point of view... her side of the picture. She said that you did a good thing and a bad thing at the same time."
"Yes?" I said. It sounded promising, but I was still afraid to move.
"And," he continued, "against my better judgment, she persuaded me to let Mr. Bryant decide how best this should be handled. After all, you did what you did on school property." He took a deep breath and went on. "And, ah, Ms. Tandy also pointed out that what you did was, ah... well... heroic." His voice cracked a little on the last word.
"Oh, Artie," my mom said, "are you crying?"
He didn't answer, but he came and sat on the other side of me. We had a big family hug.
I didn't dare ask if this meant that I could stay in California and keep on being Marcie, but it sure looked that way. The wisest thing, I was very sure, was to keep my mouth shut.
Dad said softly, "I'm proud of you and angry at you at the same time. What you're doing worries me terribly, and the fact that you're thousands of miles away doesn't help the situation. I want to put my foot down, but at the same time..."
"Shh, shh," my mother said.
It wasn't long before my father had enough of the hug, and he stood up. "Your Ms. Tandy told me — I mean suggested — that you get a cell phone. Now, I've seen how you tie up the phone like a teenage girl, but I think she's right. I've thought about this before, and we could go tomorrow to pick one up, and put you on our family plan. But you have to promise that you won't abuse it. Don't make me a pauper by yakking it up with your friends."
I nodded. "I'll just use it for emergencies," I promised.
"Famous last words," he countered.
© 2007 by Kaleigh Way
No one had ever called me "babe" before (of course), and I wasn't sure that I liked it. In fact, the whole phone call left me feeling uncomfortable, as much as I liked talking with Jerry.
When I called Jerry's house, Cassie answered the phone. "Hello, Miss Witness Protection!" she said.
"I'm not on witness protection," I replied.
"I figured that. Why does everybody think you are?"
I told her the story, and she laughed. "You know, some kids thought your dad was the FBI guy, come to relocate you."
"Yeah, I heard. Cassie, is Jerry there?"
She ignored my question. "They figured that when you walked out the door, we'd never see you or hear of you again. You'd be in some new suburb in a new school,with a new name. They couldn't believe it when you came back for lunch. Some people are so gullible!"
I like Cassie, and usually I don't mind her teasing, but right now she was proving to be quite the pain. For a moment I considered hanging up and calling back, but she'd just answer again. "Cassie, come on. Let me talk to Jerry."
"No, you come on," she said. "Nina gets Marcie time, Jerry gets Marcie time, how come I don't get any Marcie time?"
I sighed. Was she kidding? Did she really want some "Marcie time"? It didn't seem likely, but... I had nothing to lose. In fact, there was something I wanted to ask her. "Okay," I agreed. "It's *your* Marcie time."
"Oh, how nice!" she exclaimed. "But now I have to go! Thanks for calling!" and she hung up!
I stared at the phone for a moment, blinking, before I called back. This time Jerry answered.
There wasn't any point in telling him about Cassie. I'd already wasted enough time with her, so I skipped to the important stuff: I told him about my conversation with my mother: how Eden's mother told her we were dating, and how she'd threatened to send me to an all-girl school.
"Catholic girls school, huh?" Jerry said. His voice had a strange tone, as if he was... I don't know... savoring the idea.
"Jerry, it sounds like you'd like it if I went there."
"Marcie, do you think your mother could send you one of the uniforms? So you could, you know, model it for me?"
"Model it for you?" I repeated, incredulously. "Jerry! I am truly shocked!"
"Hey," he said. "You put the picture in my mind. Now I can't get it out. I have the feeling that tonight I'll dream of you dressed that way."
My cheeks were hot. He'd never talked like this to me before, and I didn't like it.
Partly to change the subject, I told him about the wall-climbing incident.
Again, he didn't seem to understand the trouble I was in. He was simply excited about what happened.
"Wow!" Jerry exclaimed. "I can't believe it! You climbed barefoot, to the third story!? You are amazing! Do you think you could do it again? Oh! Oh! I just thought of something! Oh, this is great!" He could hardly contain his excitement. I didn't think it was all that amazing, but I didn't know what he thinking until he asked, "That kid, the one on the ground, the one with the asthma — did you say his name is Cory?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Is he a little chubby, green backpack, hangs with a skinny kid who looks like a chicken?"
"Yeah." I squirmed a bit at the unflattering descriptions.
"Don't you know who he is? That's the guy who drew the cartoon of you and the Little Train. It's Cory something. Cory Fleet. Oh, babe — I think you might be featured in another cartoon this Thursday!"
I flashed to the way he was studying my legs, and it clicked. He was going to draw me.
"Oh, no!" I cried. "He can't!"
"What do you mean 'oh, no'? This is so sweet!"
"No, no, it isn't 'sweet' at all. It's bad! It's *very* bad!"
"No, no, no. This is good! How could it be bad? How could it possibly be bad, babe? Everybody loved the first cartoon! I have it hanging in my room."
"You do?"
"Of course I do! I fall asleep looking at it every night."
I was in stunned silence, until Jerry was struck with another idea: "I wonder if that Cory guy could draw you in one of those uniforms. Wouldn't that be wild? Then you wouldn't have to ask your mother to send one."
No one had ever called me "babe" before (of course), and I wasn't sure that I liked it. In fact, the whole conversation left me feeling extremely uncomfortable, as much as I liked Jerry.
I wanted to talk to my aunt and my mother about it. I didn't think Eden could help, and I was sure Carla couldn't. Carla was making out with Pat on their first date; she would just tell me to run with it.
Still, I was afraid that my mother might think that girls school was the best solution. Maybe I'd wait until my parents were gone, and talk to Aunt Jane.
In spite of my misgivings, I walked to the living room anyway. My mother and aunt were busy with towels and bottles and files and buckets and things, which made me remember that we were doing our nails tonight. "Just in time!" Mom said, when she saw me.
"Is Dad here?" I asked. If I was going to broach the subject (and I still wasn't sure I would), I wanted to make sure I didn't set off any volcanos.
"No," Mom replied. "He went out... to get some air. He'll probably be gone a while. Do you need to talk to him?"
"No, no," I replied hastily. He was the absolute last person I wanted to talk to at the moment. "I was just wondering."
They sat me in a chair and put my feet in a bucket of warm water and... bubble bath, I guess, and set each of my hands in a bowl. Well, my fingertips, anyway.
"Don't move, and be careful not to knock the bowls over!" Aunt Jane commanded.
I sat there, feeling a little like a prisoner, while the two women bustled around the room. There was nothing to do but wiggle my knees and scrunch my itchy nose.
After what seemed like ten minutes, they came back to me and set to work on my hands.
Aunt Jane saw me making faces, so she scratched my nose for me.
"You're awfully quiet," Mom observed. "What are you thinking about?"
"I bet I can guess," Aunt Jane said.
I took a deep breath. "If I tell you," I said, with much trepidation, "Do you promise that you won't pull me out of school?"
"Uh oh!" Jane laughed. "Maybe we ought to get a good stiff drink ready before we hear this one!"
My mother pursed her lips and frowned. "Oh, honey," she said. "Why don't you just tell us what's on your mind? We'll take it from there."
"Okay," I sighed.
I told them about my conversation with Jerry, and said, "I knew that he liked me, but I didn't think he really liked me. I mean in such a... physical way."
"You thought you were just friends?" Mom asked.
"Well, no."
"Friends who kiss?"
"I guess. Something like that. I figured that if I was with him, other boys wouldn't bother me."
"I don't think it works like that," Mom said. "You might just have to break up with him."
"Really?"
Mom shrugged. "I think you'll be better off and safer if you don't go out with boys. Your friend Eden doesn't date."
"She's new here," I countered.
"So are you," she replied.
I fell silent. Aunt Jane said, "Well, you could go the old-fashioned way. You know, there actually used to be rules about stuff like this."
"Really?"
"Yes, like 'Never be alone with a boy.' In fact, I wanted to tell you: never invite him over here unless I'm home and I know he's coming."
Mom chuckled. "I remember another one: 'Don't sit on a boy's lap unless there's a phone book between you.'" We all laughed.
Aunt Jane said, "You have to make it clear, more by what you do than what you say, that kissing is as far as you'll go."
"Okay," I said. I was starting to feel better.
I thanked her and went into the inner office. Mr. Bryant and my aunt were there, waiting. "Well, well, well," he said. "My favorite student."
That didn't sound good. I didn't want to be the principal's favorite student, did I? "Am I in trouble?" I asked.
On Sunday, my mother was torn — she couldn't decide whether it was better to go or to stay. She needed to leave, so she could look for a house, but she wanted to stay, so she could keep an eye on me. In the end, she went back to New Jersey, thinking that the sooner she found a house, the sooner the three of us would be together.
Jane and I left them at the airport at 4 PM. Whenever my father flies, he insists on being at the airport two hours before the flight — "Not leaving the house, not ready to go, but AT THE AIRPORT." So at the airport they were, and in no time at all, they passed through security.
That left my aunt and I at loose ends. It was too late in the day to start anything, and too early to have dinner, so we went back home and hung around aimlessly. Eventually we ordered a pizza.
The phone and the doorbell rang at the same moment. I stood up, vacillating, unsure which way to go.
"Marcie, I'll get the door," my aunt called out, "You get the phone — it's probably for you anyway."
The call *was* for me, and (of all people) it was Mrs. Wilson, the mother of the twins on the Little Train. She apologized for calling, hoped she wasn't interrupting dinner, and so on... She seemed to have a hard time getting to the point.
After she'd chatted a bit, she asked if I'd ever heard of Brenda Earshon, a local psychic. I hadn't.
"She is amazing! She's just amazing! Every so often I go for a reading," Mrs. Wilson said, "And she is amazing! Oh, I said that already, didn't I!" She giggled at herself and went on. "Do you know, she told me two years ago that I would have twin boys? At the time I couldn't even get pregnant! Can you believe it?"
Mrs. Wilson seemed like a nice lady, but I had zero interest in her psychic friend and all her amazing predictions. In the background I could hear her little boys shouting, and then a loud BANG!
"Do you need to go?" I asked her. "It sounds like something happened there."
"Oh!" she scoffed. "Something is *always* happening here. That's what it's like when you have children."
Aunt Jane, who imagined I was talking to one of my friends, gestured impatiently, calling my attention to at the pizza. I rolled my eyes and pointed desperately at the phone, and she got the message. She called loudly, as if from far away, "Marcie! The pizza's getting cold!"
That startled Mrs. Wilson, and she got to the point. "I'm sorry, dear! I won't keep you from your dinner. I'll tell you why I called. Marcie, Mrs. Earshon wants to meet you. She can give you a reading — it'll be my treat. Okay? I'm telling you, you won't believe it! Do you have any time this week?"
"No, this week is going to be pretty busy. How about next weekend?"
"She doesn't do readings on the weekends, but anyway she told me you'd find some free time this week."
That put me off. What business did this lady — psychic or not — have with my schedule? "She told you that, did she?" I asked, a little testily. "I don't have *any* free time this week." Didn't I just say that?
I didn't like being so rude to Mrs. Wilson, but she didn't seem to notice or to mind.
"I know," she said. "You don't have free time now. She meant that you would find free time that you don't expect."
I sighed. Aunt Jane pointed again at the pizza. I gestured helplessly at the phone. "Mrs. Wilson? They're calling me to dinner. It's getting cold. I'm sorry..."
"Will you do this for me?" Mrs. Wilson asked, "and then I'll let you go. If you suddenly find yourself with a lot of time and nothing to do — during the week, this week — will you call me?"
I promised I would, and hung up.
"Weird," was my aunt's only comment when I repeated the conversation.
Monday was a quiet day. Eden was on pins and needles, wondering what Mr. Bryant would do or say about my wall-climbing.
"I'm dying to tell my mother," she said. "I can tell her tonight, right?"
Surprisingly, I was very calm about the whole thing. I guess from the very start I was mostly concerned about my parents' reaction, and whether I'd have to leave school — or worse, leave Marcie — behind. Since neither of those things was likely to happen, I felt that I was in the clear.
In fact, it was well into into third period before the PA system crackled to life and called me to the office. Ms. Tandy was talking to Denise as I arrived. "Here she is," she said, and then to me: "I tried to put you in the best possible light."
I thanked her and went into the inner office. Mr. Bryant and my aunt were there, waiting. "Well, well, well," he said. "My favorite student."
That didn't sound good. I didn't want to be the principal's favorite student, did I? "Am I in trouble?" I asked.
"Let's try to avoid those stereotypical labels, shall we?" he said. "Good, bad, trouble, punishment — let's just talk about what we're going to do."
I swallowed hard. It sounded like I was in trouble.
"As Ms. Tandy said — several times — you did a good thing and a bad thing at the same time. Luckily you weren't hurt, but if the student body hears that you scaled the wall, you can be sure that others will try to duplicate your stunt. And you can rest assured that at least one attempt will end badly.
"So, while I admire and applaud the way that you selflessly helped Cory, in the interest of public safety, I have to take some kind of disciplinary action. I've talked with your aunt, and we've agreed that you will be suspended for one day — tomorrow — but that it will not appear on your record."
"Suspended!?" I cried.
"It won't go on your record," my aunt pointed out.
"So?"
"The point is," Mr. Bryant said, "that — as far as the student body can see — you've been punished. From your point of view, you could look at it as a day off from school. And nothing will go into your permanent record."
"It's a good deal, Marcie," my aunt told me. "Your father is on board with this."
"But, but...," I floundered.
"I would appreciate it if you would keep the part about your permanent record to yourself," Mr. Bryant said. "I'm also going to make sure that the school newspaper doesn't feature the event in another cartoon."
I frowned. "I thought you said you couldn't censor the paper."
"This is a matter of public safety," he replied smugly.
"And there is one more thing I have to say: Could you try to think before you act, Marcie? Next time you're going to do something out of the ordinary, ask yourself what someone else would do — what would your aunt or Ms. Tandy or Ms. Price do in the same situation? You have a big heart, and you seem to be absolutely fearless. That's wonderful... but you need to... you need to think first. You don't want to be all heart and no head. Do you understand?"
"Suspended!" Carla shouted. In a lower tone she added some more colorful comments that actually shocked me.
"Oh, Marcie!" Eden sympathized.
"It's okay," I said. "At least my parents won't freak out on me." When I told them how Saturday had gone, they were wide-eyed.
"Man, Marcie," Carla said. "You're just a magnet for trouble, aren't you?"
"Do you want to start again?" I asked.
"No, no. Let's just... Okay. Here's what we'll do. I'm going to tell you what I see and hope it makes sense to you, because it doesn't make any sense to me. Okay?"
Tuesday morning I tried to sleep late, but I'd been getting up early for so long that I couldn't keep my eyes closed. My aunt was already at work, so I was home alone with nothing to do. I didn't want to think about it, but I remembered what Mrs. Wilson had said: "If you suddenly find yourself with a lot of time and nothing to do..."
For some reason, I was a little miffed. I felt manipulated, as though someone had backed me into a corner. I know it doesn't make sense, but it seemed like Mrs. Earshon was rearranging my schedule. I wanted to be mad at somebody, but I liked Mr. Bryant too much to be mad at him, and I couldn't be mad at Ms. Tandy or my aunt, or even Mrs. Wilson. So, I was mad at Mrs. Earshon.
At the same time, I had absolutely nothing to do, so I called Mrs. Wilson, who practically jumped out of her skin for happiness. An hour later she drove up with the twins strapped into their car seats. Both boys were wiggling and struggling to get out, straining to grab anything in reach.
"They must be a handful," I said. "I mean, they're really cute..."
"Oh, tell me about it," she said. "They're my joy and my dispartation."
Dispart... Disper... Desperation! I thought, but I kept it to myself. I had the feeling that if I didn't correct it right away, the wrong word would get stuck in my head and I'd end up saying it that way myself.
She dropped me in front of an ordinary suburban house, told me when she'd come to fetch me, and drove off. I stood on the sidewalk, feeling as I'd been abandoned. I wasn't scared, but I didn't want to go inside. Once again, there was nothing else to do. So I walked up to the door and rang the bell.
In spite of my misgivings, I liked Mrs. Earshon right away. She insisted I call her Brenda. She was an inch or so taller than me, with curly brown hair, brown eyes, and a nice smile. She had a nice figure, but her hips were wide, as if she'd had a child or two. She brought me inside and looked me up and down. The first thing she said was, "How old are you?"
"Thirteen."
"Hmm. And you're flat, aren't you? This is all padding, right?" She didn't poke my little fake breasts, but she didn't seem to need to.
I was embarrassed. Was it that obvious?
"I don't know how you usually look," she replied, "Maybe today you weren't as careful as usual. I have something that can help. Some girls just need a little kickstart." Then she turned and walked to her dining room. I followed.
She shuffled a deck of tarot cards, and had me cut them. Then she dealt them out, face up, and studied the result. She was smiling a little as she arranged the cards, but then she frowned slightly. She pointed at one card and another, and her lips moved, was if she was trying to do difficult sums in her head. Her frown deepened.
I'd never been to a psychic before, so I thought this was how it always worked. I waited in silence as she frowned and rubbed her chin. I guess there were about twelve or fourteen cards on the table, each with a strange and interesting picture.
She cleared her throat and said, "Do you mind if we start again? This uh, ..., well, let's just start again." After another shuffle and cut, Mrs. Earshon dealt out the cards. Again, it was a dozen cards or so, arranged in the same pattern as before.
She blinked a few times, and held her breath. She put her chin in her hands and stared at the cards in silence. I don't know the tarot deck, but it looked like a lot of the same cards had come up again.
"Is it something bad?" I asked.
"Uh, no," she replied, hesitantly. "It's not... uh, ''bad'', it's just..." She sighed, and frowned, wrinkling her forehead.
"Listen, I have to tell you the truth — I've been doing this a long time, but this just stumps me. It's pretty much the same as the first layout... different cards, but similar... Hmm..."
"Do you want to start again?" I asked.
"No, no. Let's just..." She found the card layout so confusing, she was at a loss as to what to say.
"Okay. Here's what we'll do. I'm going to tell you what I see and hope it makes sense to you, because it doesn't make any sense to me. Okay?"
I shrugged, so she began.
"Okay. What's weird about this is that almost every card appears with its opposite. It's like you're two people, or you have a secret life or something. But you're too young for something like that!
"And here — this is not even you — this is somebody near you, close to you, who is young and old at the same time. They need your help. This is an old person who seems young or a young person who seems old. Does that make sense?"
"No," I said, genuinely puzzled.
"Not old-old," she said. "Just older than you, like twenties or early thirties."
Again, I shrugged.
She studied the cards a bit more. "Here's another weird one, and... okay, I'll tell you, but don't get all worried about this. Here is an older man — NOT your father, but a father figure — and see this card over him?" The card was Death, a skeleton in a black robe, holding a scythe. "Now that doesn't necessarily mean that someone's going to die, but it's a big change, and in this case not a good one. This is somebody near, but not someone you're close to." She licked her lips and looked at me. "Does that make any sense? Is there someone physically close, who's like a father figure, but not emotionally close?"
I was about to say "Mr Bryant, my principal," but before I did, she added, "He has dark hair."
"No," I said. "If you hadn't added the dark hair, I would have said yes."
"Well," Brenda said, a little put out, "This guy has dark hair." She sighed and looked over the cards some more.
"Okay, moving on, then. See this card here? It says you're going to be famous. But this card here says you won't. And they way they go together, it's like — I don't know — like — I know this sounds crazy, but — it's like your shadow breaks off and becomes famous, but you stay the same. Does that make any sense?"
"Maybe," I shrugged. It didn't really make any sense at all — nothing had, so far, but I was beginning to feel badly for Mrs. Earshon. After all, if she knew I was really a boy, she might have been able to make sense of things. Still, a secret is a secret, and a secret's to be kept.
"Okay," she said. "Some things are pretty clear, though. Like, uh, no enemies, no big problems, you're surrounded by friends and supportive family, which is great. I don't see anything about money or health, so I have to assume they're not issues."
She tapped on one card with her forefinger and said, "This card in this position is key. It's the central theme. In your case the theme is change, transformation. I guess that could be puberty, but when the card is in this position it means that your puberty is a greater unfolding and transformation than it is for most people."
"Well, that makes sense," I said. I felt like I had to throw her a bone.
"It does?" she asked, unconvinced. "These other cards... I'm not even going to say. It's like... This is in the weeks ahead... like an accident that's not a mistake, or... oh, I give up." She scratched her head. "I've never had so much trouble doing a reading. Do you mind if we run a quick verification? It's just a four-card thing."
"Sure," I said, and after another shuffle and cut, she dealt out four cards. I recognized two of them.
She sighed and scooped them up. "It's the same thing all over," she said, frowning. "Opposites, contradictions... you're not on your period or sick or something, are you?"
"No."
"And you don't take drugs or anything like that?"
"Nope."
Again, I almost opened my mouth to tell her, but I stopped myself again. I had to remember: I didn't know this woman, really. How could I trust her? She might know someone connected to the school, and one loose word from her could end everything.
She clutched the cards and puzzled over the situation. "Well, it's almost time for you to go. Will you do me a favor? Will you come back — in the middle of January or so — will you come back for another reading?"
"I can't," I replied. "I'm going to move to New Jersey around Christmas."
"You are!?" she was genuinely shocked. "I didn't see that. Are you sure?"
"Pretty sure."
"All right," Brenda said. She was clearly flustered. "I don't mind admitting when I'm stumped. It doesn't happen very often. Marcie, you're just a complete puzzle to me. Listen, then: if you're still here in the middle of December, will you come back? Before you move? I'll give you the reading for free. And tell Mrs. Wilson she doesn't owe me for this one. I can't take money if I can't tell you anything."
At that, we saw Mrs. Wilson's car pull up outside. "Oh!" she said, suddenly remembering, "I've got something for you! Go wave to her, so she knows you're coming, but don't leave just yet."
Mrs. Earshon ran to her kitchen, while I opened the front door and waved. Then she bustled up and in a confidential way handed me a small brown bag, the kind that coffee comes in.
"This is an herbal tea. One good tablespoon in a big mug. Pour in boiling water and cover for 15 minutes. Drink it once a day for ten days. Okay? Now run!"
When I got home, I opened the bag. It held a mixture of crumpled leaves and tiny sticks. I was pretty suspicious, but it smelled good, so I brewed a cup. The tea smelled even better than the dry mixture. I took a tiny sip, and liked it. I drank a slightly bigger sip, and then another, and soon the cup was empty. After a couple of minutes, I felt warm all over and suddenly had a lot of energy. So put on the music Eden had given me, and ran through our dance routine a couple of times. Then I had lunch, straightened up the kitchen, and cleaned my room. When I finished my room, I did my homework. That took me to three o'clock. Time to leave for my appointment with Mr. Marks!
Before I left, I hid the tea in my room. I liked it, and didn't want my aunt drinking it up or throwing it out by mistake.
"Wow," Eden said. "You made me look beautiful."
It was true. Eden was standing under the window in the third frame. Cory had obviously spent most of his time drawing her. The clothes, the hair, her face, were all exactly as they were that night.
"Earth to Eden," I said. "That's how you look. You *are* beautiful."
On Wednesday, Cory Fleet flew across the cafeteria and dropped into a chair at our table. He looked distracted and upset. Then, suddenly realizing what he'd done, he asked, "Oh, hey, can I sit here a sec?"
"You're already here," I replied, smiling. "What's wrong? You don't look very happy."
"I've been censored," he said, "And I'm not even supposed to tell anybody."
"So why are you telling us, then?" Eden asked, sipping her juice.
"You already know about Marcie climbing the walls," he replied. "I made a cartoon about it, and as soon as I handed it in, it was like they were waiting for it! They didn't just tell me that it couldn't go in the paper, they said I couldn't show it to anybody."
He frowned and scrabbled at his backpack as it slipped from his hands and slid to the floor. He was also holding a portfolio, but I noticed he kept a firm grip on it.
"It's supposed to be a public safety issue," I said.
"Yeah," Cory said, eyeing me suspiciously. "That's what they said. How did you know?"
"It's what Mr. Bryant said when he suspended me," I said.
"Oh, right, I forgot. Talk about not fair! You get suspended and I can't use my cartoon!" Cory slumped. I didn't think the two events were really in the same category, but I didn't want to make him feel worse by saying so. Honestly, I was kind of glad that another picture of me wasn't going to appear. Maybe Cory thought he was doing me a favor... more likely, he hadn't taken my feelings about it into consideration at all.
Still, he was obviously very upset, so I kept my thoughts to myself.
Cory's jaw worked spasmodically, and then in a low voice he said, "Do you want to see the cartoon?" We nodded, and after a quick look around the room, he pulled some xeroxed sheets from his portfolio and said, "Don't let anybody see."
I have to say, it was beautifully drawn. It was a six-panel comic in black and white. And yet...
"I don't think my skirt was quite this short," I observed drily.
He grinned sheepishly. "Artistic license."
It showed me climbing the wall like Spiderman, without effort, and when I tossed the backpack down, Cory's friend fell over catching it. Again, he made me look like a super-confident superhero, with hair and skirt rippling in a personal breeze.
Eden was in the picture, too, and the real-life Eden couldn't get over it. "Wow," she cooed to Cory. "You made me look beautiful."
It was true. Eden was standing under the window in the third frame. Cory had obviously spent most of his time drawing her. The clothes, the hair, her face, were all exactly as they were that night.
"Earth to Eden," I said. "That's how you look. You *are* beautiful."
Eden and Cory were both blushing. Carla and I exchanged a look. Cory quickly took the sheets back and tucked them furtively into a folder.
"Aren't you having lunch?" I asked him.
"I'm too upset to eat," he said.
"Hey, how come the cartoon is so big? Did you think they'd let you use a whole page?"
"No," he scoffed. "The original is even bigger. You draw it big, and shoot it small. You get better quality that way."
I didn't know that.
"What really bothers me," he went on, "Is that I spent hours on that cartoon, and now I can't use it."
"Does it really take that long?" Eden asked.
"Yes!" he replied. "First you have to work out the story and the layout, before you sketch it. After that, you draw it in pencil, and then you ink it. Plus, this one had a complicated background, with all those bricks..."
And all the details in Eden's mini-portrait...
"Couldn't you have left the bricks out?"
"If I left the bricks out, how would you climb the building?"
"Wouldn't it save time if you just drew it in ink in the first place?" I asked.
"No, because then you can't correct mistakes. One slip, and you have to start all over, from zero. You can't erase, cause it would smudge, and you can't use white-out, because it will look crappy."
Cory fidgeted and shifted in his chair. He looked over his shoulder at the food line. He jiggled his leg and licked his lips. "Uh, thanks for listening," he said abruptly. "I think I could eat something now. Laters!"
After he was gone, Carla beat me to the punch: "Oooh, Eden, did I see sparks fly? Did you hear music playing? Violins and angels singing?"
Eden turned red, and said, "What do you mean? I don't know what you're talking about."
"You like Cory don't you?" I said. She turned redder by way of response.
Carla observed, "And Cory obvious has the hots for you, girl."
Eden looked down and asked in a careful voice, "Why do you say that?"
"Why do you think he spent so much time drawing you?" I replied. "Everybody else in the cartoon was kinda sketchy, but he took a lot of time with you — it was like a tiny portrait."
"Oh," she said, smiling happily. "I didn't notice."
The Bye, Bye, Birdie dance tryouts were Thursday after school. We were almost the last ones up. I guess they were going in order of class, so as freshmen we were at the end of the line. By the time our turn came, I had it figured out. Anybody with real talent or training would get to be a featured dancer. The rest of us would be a dancing chorus.
I don't know exactly what a dancing chorus would do, or how it was different from the singing chorus, or the people who made up the crowds, but anyway, the dancing chorus was clearly for people who wanted to dance, but couldn't.
Eden started the music, and we ran through the routine. When we finished, there was silence. At first I didn't know what to think. I thought we'd done a good job. Nobody clapped or smiled. The two women running the tryouts whispered to each other for a couple of minutes. I glanced quizzically at Eden, and she shrugged.
Finally, one of the women asked, "Where did you get that routine?"
"Eden made it up," I said.
"And she taught it to you," she said. It wasn't a question, but I nodded in response.
"Have you ever danced before?" she asked me.
"No," I said.
"How long did you two practice?"
"About a week."
She nodded, then turned to Eden. "Listen, I can't make you a featured dancer because you're only a freshman. But how would you feel about helping me teach the actors to dance? I don't think we can count on them knowing one foot from the other, but they all have to dance."
"I'd love to!" she cried.
The woman looked relieved.
"Great!" she said. "I *really* need help with the one-on-one teaching. A number of kids here can dance, but you're the first one who can teach. You'll get a mention in the program for it."
Eden beamed.
"Good," the woman said. "Put your name, address, and phone number on this sheet here. I hope you can make this your only after-school activity until the show." Eden nodded. "And will you be available weekends?"
"Whatever it takes," Eden replied.
Wow! Talk about making a splash.
"And what about Marcie?" Eden asked.
"Who?" the woman asked, puzzled. Eden gestured to me. I waved and smiled.
The woman looked as if she'd utterly forgotten me.
"Oh. She can be in the chorus."
An upperclass girl came in to use one of the toilet stalls. I didn't look at her, but I heard her sit down. At the same time, there were noises from the boy's bathroom, which is on the opposite side of the wall. In a vague way I remembered Carla once telling me to never use this bathroom, but she didn't have a chance to explain why. I suddenly found out.
Friday was a big day.
It was the last day of my dress-code punishment - the last day I'd have to go to Mr. Bryant's office to recite the dress code for girls and have him check my outfit. By now, it was just a friendly formality, more like saying "good morning" than a disciplinary thing.
In any case, I took a detour before going to the principal's office, on account of another big thing: my first pimple. It appeared that morning, under my right cheekbone, red and ugly. It wasn't ready to be squeezed, but it hurt enough to make me constantly aware of it. I went to the first-floor bathroom to study my face in the mirror. I wondered whether Eden might know how to cover it up... I hadn't had time to ask my aunt.
While I was there, an upperclass girl - she looked like a junior - came in to use one of the toilet stalls. I didn't look at her, but I heard her sit down. At the same time, there were noises from the boy's bathroom, which is on the opposite side of the wall. In a vague way I remembered Carla once telling me to never use this bathroom, but she didn't have a chance to explain why. I suddenly found out.
Behind the wall, there were fast, excited voices. I could make out one boy saying, "Throw it! Throw it!" over the sound of a toilet flushing. Then came a muffled explosion, followed by a low, heavy gurgle. I turned, completely puzzled, and saw a geyser of water shoot upward in one of the toilet stalls - the only occupied stall, of course, and the girl inside shrieked and screamed, then started to cry.
I gingerly stepped through the water that now covered the floor and gently knocked on the stall door.
"Are you okay in there?" I asked. I knew it was a stupid question, but what else could I say?
"Of course I'm not okay!" she shouted. "I'm covered with sewer water!"
"Listen," I said. "I can help. I'm going to go to the nurse's office to get a blanket and a towel you can wrap yourself in. Just stay there. Okay?"
"Okay," she replied in a small voice.
When I emerged, I saw Jerry and Pat. "What's going on in there?" Jerry demanded. "Was that you screaming?"
"Can I tell you later?" I said. "You guys — don't let anyone in there until I get back, okay?" They nodded, so I ran upstairs to the nurse's office, explained the situation, and grabbed a blanket and a towel. While I was running back down, the bell rang. Jerry said, "We got to get to class. Are you going to be okay?" I nodded, and they quickly left.
Back inside the bathroom, I coaxed the girl out of the stall and draped the towel over her head, covering her face. "This way no one will see who you are." Then I pulled the blanket around her, covering her whole body. "Now let's get you to the nurse's office."
She followed me with slow, tiny steps. It took forever just to get out of the bathroom and into the hallway, which was empty except for one big senior in a varsity jacket.
I didn't mind helping this girl, but at the rate she was going, I'd never get to class. I looked at the boy's big shoulders and made a quick decision. "Hey, can you help me?" I called. "This girl was hurt. Can you carry her to the nurse's office?"
The girl gave a tiny yelp from under the towel, but I whispered, "You'll get there a *lot* quicker!"
"Sure," he said. "Anything to get out of class!" He moved to pick her up, but I stopped him.
"Is that jacket made of leather?" I asked. He nodded, so I had him take it off. "Just a precaution," I said. He gave me a puzzled smile, but when I didn't explain, he shrugged.
He scooped her up as if she weighed nothing, and ran up the stairs two at a time. I meant to hold the doors for him, but instead he left me running to catch up, holding his jacket. When we got to the nurse's, he set the girl on a bed, and the nurse unfolded a screen to hide her.
When the two of us were left alone outside the screen, he looked at himself and then at me.
"Why are my arms all wet?" he asked in surprise.
"It's just water," I told him, "but it wouldn't hurt to wash them well with soap and hot water."
"Ah," he said, comprehending. "Cherry bomb in the toilet, right?"
"I guess," I said. "Thanks for your help."
I ran to my homeroom, and was just dropping into my chair when the PA clicked on. "Will Marcie Donner please report to the principal's office? Marcie Donner to the principal's office."
My teacher said, "Took the words right out of my mouth."
At lunch, right after Carla, Eden, and I sat down, Cassie plunked into the chair next to me. "Hi, there," she said, smiling.
"Hello," I said. "What brings you here?"
"My long, lovely legs," she replied. "How come you were called to the principal's office this morning? Seems like you go there a lot."
"I was supposed to go before school," I said, "It was the last day of my dress-code thing."
"Thing?" she repeated. "As in punishment thing?"
"Yes," I said, "What's up, Cassie? Why are you here?"
"Why are any of us here?" she replied.
Inwardly, I sighed. Lately Cassie was getting to be a bit much. She was going beyond just teasing me to hassling me. At first, I thought that the teasing meant she liked me, but now I wasn't so sure. And I didn't see a way to make her stop.
At that moment, the girl who had been doused walked by my table, followed by the tall guy in the varsity jacket. He smiled and gave me a big thumbs-up. I returned the gesture. The girl was wearing different clothes, and her hair was clean. She looked none the worse for her experience that morning.
"What was that about?" Cassie demanded.
"What is anything about?" I responded, smiling. Might as well give as well as I got!
She cocked her jaw to the side and narrowed her eyes slightly as she considered me.
"Okay," she said. "I'll tell you why I'm here if you tell me why Mahon the Man gave you the thumbs-up."
"You go first," I responded.
A quick blush spread across her face, then disappeared. "All right. I brought you a book. It's from Nina. I was going to tease you with it." She pulled a 'Nancy Drew' book from her bag and slid it across the table to me. I stuffed it into my bag. "Now spill."
"Why did you call him Man-The-Man?" I asked her.
"His last name is Mahon. M-A-H-O-N. It's pronounced like 'man', so everybody calls him Big Mahon or Mahon the Man. So how do you know him? Why did he give you the sign?"
I told her, Carla, and Eden about the cherry-bomb incident.
Cassie eyebrows shot up to her hairline. "You got him to carry the girl upstairs? Who was this girl?"
As she questioned me, she seemed angry, though I couldn't for the life of me understand why.
"I don't know her," I lied. "I don't think I'd recognize her, either. She was all wet and bedraggled when I saw her."
Cassie stood up and looked at me with disdain. "You're a miserable liar," she said, and walked away.
Carla and Eden were silent for a few moments, then Carla said, "Marcie, I never thought I'd say this, but school is getting way more interesting than television."
I sighed. "That's what Mr. Bryant said, too."
Eden was munching on a cracker. Between bites, she asked, "Why is Cassie's sister giving you a Nancy Drew book?"
As if in answer, a bored-looking girl from one of my morning classes threw a note on the table, next to my elbow. "It's from your boyfriend," she said, as if that was the lamest, most abjectly stupid source that a note could ever come from.
"Thanks," I said, unfolding it. I read the first part of the note aloud to Eden and Carla. "Watch out for Cassie — she is going to tease you with some dumb book. It isn't from Nina. It's just a joke." The rest I didn't read to them, I just blushed at it.
"Hey!" I called to the girl. "How long did you hang on to this before you gave it to me?"
She stopped, turned slowly, and glared at me. "Oh, no you didn't!" she said, wagging her finger like a metronome.
"Uh-oh, here we go," Carla said.
The girl wound up and let loose a tirade. "Hey, yourself! Don't 'hey' me, girl! Think you're all Marcie Donner, Darcy Monner, Fartsy Gonner-ee-ah or something? Do I look like a mailman? Am I wearing a mailman's uniform? Am I post-office-special-delivery? I don't think so!"
I thought she was done, but she took another breath and went back to it.
"Do I look like some kind of bicycle messenger to you? Hey yourself! Hey! HEY! Barcy Bonner! Parcy Ponner! Where's my bike? I'm not a bike messenger! Did I ring my bell at you?"
Everyone was watching, but I was too stunned to be embarrassed. And still the girl wasn't finished.
"Don't you go calling me 'hey' - My name's not 'hey' - I did you a favor. Check it out: It's not a telegram. Nobody died. It's same-day service, right? Check the postmark, before you start giving me lip."
She blew a bubble and popped it with a loud crack! "You got a complaint? Do you have a complaint? You can go right on down to the complaint department and give it a great big kiss." Turning, she pointed with both index fingers to her butt. She stared at me for a moment, said, "Yeah, I didn't think so," and started to walk away. Then she stopped and announced, "Oh, yes, and by the way, I DID read your note." She rolled her eyes and gave another resounding crack! with her bubble gum before leaving the room.
"What the hell was that?" I said.
Carla shook her head and laughed. "That girl is a trip."
"Why in the world did Jerry give the note to her?" I wondered.
"He probably doesn't know her," Carla replied. "I mean, you thought she was normal until just now, right?"
"Are you going to read it?" Eden asked.
"Read what?" I asked, blushing. "The rest of the note? It's kind of personal."
Carla guffawed.
"No, silly," Eden replied. "Nancy Drew."
"Oh, I guess so," I replied, and the three of us laughed.
"Oh," I said. "Remember when I told you that I'm not supposed to date? Well, I'm really not supposed to have you over when no one's home."
"You'll be home," he said playfully.
"Hey, thanks for the note and everything," I told Jerry as he walked me home, "but that girl you gave it to is a nut case!"
"Yeah, I saw the scene in the cafeteria," he said. "When I gave her the note, she looked pretty normal. Anyway, I knew she was in your class, and I didn't get the chance before school to tell you about Cassie."
"It was a nice note, anyway," I said, tipping my face up towards him. We stood on a corner, smooching, until we had to stop for air. He held me close and whispered, "Is your aunt at home?"
"Oh," I said. "Remember when I told you that I'm not supposed to date? Well, I'm really not supposed to have you over when no one's home."
"You'll be home," he said playfully.
"Sorry," I said. "We can't."
"I'll be good," he promised.
"No, no, no," I said. "I can't. I really can't."
"Okay," he said, letting go.
"Sorry. Remember — Catholic school."
"Ooh, ooh!" he said excitedly.
"No, silly — my parents will put me away!"
"Okay. I get it, I get it. See ya tomorrow!"
Once he was out of sight, I ran into the house and pulled off my top and my bra. The little bags of birdseed I'd been using for padding fell to my bed. They'd been driving me crazy all day long. I first noticed after coming back from the principal's office. They were chafing and irritating me, and I couldn't wait to take them out.
I went into the bathroom and found some body lotion. As I spread it on my chest, I noticed that there was a little lump under each nipple. They were like big pimples. They didn't hurt, but they were uncomfortable, like the zit on my face. The cream, and taking the padding out, made them feel better.
I put on a light cotton t-shirt, but even that chafed. I thought about putting bandaids over my nipples, but instead I tried wearing a sports bra. It seemed to be the only thing I could wear that didn't bother me.
The next day (which was Saturday) the zit and the bumps had disappeared, much to my relief, but I decided to take a break from the padding — give my chest a rest. It was Saturday, anyway, so I wasn't likely to see anyone from school.
I got dressed and ran over to Alice's house.
I guess I need to back up a little. I told my aunt all the things the psychic had told me. Clearly, some of what she said made no sense at all. Other parts, like the business about a double life, was pretty obvious — not to Mrs. Earshon, but they made sense to me. I did feel a little badly about not explaining that I was both Mark and Marcie, but still... it's my life. I have to be cautious about my secret identity.
I told Aunt Jane, "Oh, there was one really weird thing she said, about a young/old person: someone who's old but looks young. But not old-old; just older than me."
Jane looked at me in surprise. "You don't know who that is?" she asked.
I shook my head in the negative.
"You really can't figure it out? It sounds just like Alice. She's my age, but she looks as old as you."
"Oh!" I flashed back to the scene in the hospital elevator, and recalled how angry Alice had become when the woman thought that she was 13 like me.
"Most women would be glad to appear younger," Jane said, "but I guess when you're short, people take you less seriously. The worst thing to call Alice is 'cute'. She hates that more than anything."
So, I figured I ought to go see her. She'd helped me a lot, and even if Mrs. Earshon turned out to be wrong about Alice needing help, there was nothing wrong with a little visit.
Alice was still in her bathrobe. "Hi," she said. "Did you have breakfast yet?"
I'd only had my tea, so she cooked some eggs and made toast for both of us.
"Where's Donny?" I asked, forcing myself to use his first name.
"Oh, he's at school," she said with a frown, looking down as she ate.
On a Saturday? That didn't sound right. "But he's going to retire at the end of the year, isn't he?"
Alice sighed. "That's what he said, but I can see he's setting himself up to stay indefinitely." She took a sip of coffee. She added, with some bitterness, "I guess he wants to die with his boots on."
"Oh." I didn't know what to say. It looked like Mrs. Earshon was right — Alice did need help.
Still, I didn't see how she needed my help. What was *I* supposed to do? Convince Mr. Bruce to retire?
Then again, maybe there was some way to cheer Alice up?
I suddenly had a terrible, terrible idea — it would probably make Alice angrier than anything, but it was the only idea I had, so I went with it.
"Alice, do you want to do something fun with me?"
She smiled. "What did you have in mind?"
"First you have to promise you won't get mad..."
An hour later we were driving away. Alice looked at herself in the rear-view mirror. "I don't know how I let you talk me into this," she said. "This is the one thing I always try to avoid: looking like a teenager."
The two of us were dressed in our shortest skirts, flip-flops, and belly shirts. Her hair was pulled back in a scrunchy. "Let's just hope I don't run into anyone I know," she added.
"It'll be fun," I said, for the umpteenth time. I sure hoped I was right.
She drove us to the Glenn City Mall, which was pretty far from home. "And what are we going to do here?" Alice asked. "We're not picking up boys."
"No, no," I said. "I told you: We're just going to hang out, walk around, window shop. We'll just pretend we're two teenage girls at the mall."
Alice took a deep breath. "Okay. I must be crazy, but... Let's do it!" She got out of the car and started marching across the parking lot.
"Hey, hey, slow down!" I called. "I can't keep up in these flip-flops. Besides, remember you're a teenager. You're not going anywhere, you don't have a mission."
She stopped, and after waiting for me to catch up, she linked her arm in mine. "Fine. Now you drive," she said.
We walked around, and wandered through some goofy novelty stores. It took Alice about an hour to loosen up. She went from clutching my arm and saying, "I feel so exposed in this outfit" to giggling and playing with her hair. Every boy, and most of the men we passed were checking her out, looking her up and down. I didn't think she noticed, but when I mentioned it, she said, "Oh, yeah! I caught that! Nice to know I've still got it!" And she waggled her tail a bit, laughing.
We also did some dress shopping, which I'll tell you about later.
Eventually we ate lunch. Boys kept wandering by, but none of them stopped to chat us up. The guys in the stores were very attentive, but again, more to her than to me. I didn't really mind, but it was a little disconcerting. Maybe it was just the breasts — I hadn't bothered padding my chest today. Anyway, the point had been to cheer her up, and it did do that.
"Wow!" she said, as we drove home. "I never thought I'd like being mistaken for a teenager!"
"We could do it again sometime, if you want."
"I don't think so," she said. "But maybe I won't be so pissed next time somebody thinks I'm your age. I don't know. Anyway, today was fun!" She smiled in silence for a bit. "Thanks, Marcie, I really needed that. It was nice to have a little vacation from myself."
As I walked home, I felt like I ought to explain things to Mrs. Earshon, or at least tell her about my day with Alice. Maybe next time I had time off during the week? I wondered... if she understood my real situation, what could she tell me about my future?
"Maybe your little breasts are growing."
I didn't realize she was joking, so I said, "Maybe. Maybe wearing a bra is making it happen."
"Oh, right!" she laughed. "Are you serious? If that was all it took... Oh, wait! Your breasts are growing? You're not taking hormones, are you?"
One thing that Alice and I did at the mall on Saturday was to buy a dress for me. It was the first piece of girl clothes that I bought with my own money. I needed a formal dress for dinner with the Auburns.
"How dressy does it have to be?" Alice had asked.
"The invitation says black tie," I replied.
"Ooh, fancy!" she cooed.
It took a lot less time than I feared to find a dress. We visited two outlet stores, and found the dress in the second store, after only an hour and half of looking. It was a beautiful dark plum cocktail dress, and it shined in a way that gave some subtle color changes when I moved. It was sleeveless, had a v-neck, and a full skirt. I loved it the moment I saw it, and it fit like it was made for me. It was so comfortable and cool, I didn't want to take it off!
Alice gave it the thumbs up, so I bought it. She also told me she had a silk shawl I could borrow, to wear over my shoulders. As we were stowing the dress in her car, she asked me about my breast pads. "I noticed you only used them when you were trying on dresses."
"I'm giving my chest a break," I explained.
"Why?"
"The little bags were irritating my... uh, they were chafing."
"Maybe your little breasts are growing."
I didn't realize she was joking, so I said, "Maybe. Maybe wearing a bra is making it happen."
"Oh, right!" she laughed. "Are you serious? If that was all it took... Oh, wait! Your breasts are growing? You're not taking hormones, are you?"
"Hormones?" I repeated. "What are you talking about?"
"Female hormones, to make your breasts grow!"
"No!" I said. "I'm not taking anything! But... can you do that? Take hormones to make your breasts grow? Can you get them in a drugstore?"
Alice was almost speechless. "Are you really that naive, or just pretending?" she asked. "You need a prescription. A *doctor* has to give them to you!"
She huffed, frustrated as she searched for words, and finally said, "Go ask your aunt about it. I don't really feel comfortable explaining this stuff to you."
"Okay," I said. As we walked, she kept glancing at my chest, until I asked her to stop.
The Auburns picked me up at 5 PM. I felt beautiful in my new dress and heels. Aunt Jane had helped me with my hair and makeup, and lent me her pearl earrings, along with many warnings about not taking them off or playing with them.
Jerry rang the doorbell, wearing a tuxedo and looking very handsome.
My aunt had us pose at the foot of the stairs so she could snap the classic prom-type photo.
As we walked from my front door to the Auburns' car, I had a sudden thought: "Jerry, how are we all going to fit in the car, wearing these nice clothes?"
"Don't worry," he replied. "Cassie is going to meet us there. Her date is giving her a ride."
"Oh. Who's her date? Anybody I know?"
"Mahon the Man," he replied, as he opened the car door for me.
I suppose you're wondering why we were all dressed up. What was the occasion? Mr. Auburn's job — whatever it was — demanded a lot of family involvement. The company frequently hosted family events, and regarded all of them as obligatory — even for the family of the employees!
The point of this dinner was to celebrate some company milestone. I don't know (or care!) what it was, but it must have been something big, because the invitation extended even to people like me — dates of the children of employees! It seemed awfully invasive. My name was even on the guest list at the front door!
While we were waiting to have our names checked against the list, I noticed (reading the list upside-down) that Cassie and Mahon had not yet arrived.
Just as the receptionist was putting little blue checks next to our names, Cassie and Mahon walked in. They really made a beautiful couple, and Cassie attracted her share of looks from the men in the area.
Mahon was behind Cassie, and as soon as he saw me he again gave me the thumbs up, but added the motion of zipping his lips. I smiled by way of response.
Cassie noticed some of this exchange, so she turned to Mahon and asked, "How do you know Marcie?"
"How do I know Marcie? She's famous! The baby on the train, scaling the wall, not to mention the miniskirt incident..."
"Okay, okay, I get it," Cassie said, cutting him off. She must have noticed, as I did, that he left out the toilet-bomb incident, which happened only yesterday.
We were seated at a round table, alternating boy/girl, so that I was between Jerry and Mahon, and Cassie was between Mahon and some stranger, who looked to be her father's age.
The man started chatting with Cassie. He was obviously feeling quite lucky to find himself next to such a young, attractive girl, and Cassie was too polite to give him the shoulder.
While her attention was drawn that way, Mahon asked me, "Did you tell Cassie about that girl and the toilet?"
"Yes," I replied. "She knows you carried the girl upstairs, but I don't know who she is."
"Bad and good," he commented.
"Do you like that girl?" I asked him.
"That information is on a need-to-know basis," he replied, and tried to look mysterious.
I shook my head and wrinkled my brow. "Can you tell me what your first name is, then?"
"Manfred," he replied.
"Is it really?" I asked.
"It'll do for now," he said. "No more questions, little girl."
After some introductions and a short speech from some company executive, hors d'ouvres and drinks were served. Then Cassie announced, "I need to use the ladies room," and she looked pointedly at me.
"Uh, so I do," I said lamely. "'Scuse me, boys."
Cassie took my arm and marched me down the hall. The bathroom was really nice. There was a lounge with armchairs, two vanities, mirrors everywhere, and little tables and lamps. Next came a huge room full of sinks. Cassie stopped and leaned her hands on one. We were the only two people in there. She studied her face in the mirror.
"Uh, Cassie? I actually do need to pee."
"Uh, Marcie?" she said, copying my tone in a sarcastic way, "I actually do too."
"Oh," I said, a little confused. "I thought you brought me here so we could talk."
"That too!" she said. "What is with you? Were you born yesterday or something?"
"Kind of," I admitted.
She growled impatiently, and pushed past me to enter one of the stalls. I hesitated a moment, then sat in the stall next to hers.
"Listen," I said. "About that girl..."
"Keep your voice down!" she hissed. "The people in the hall don't need to know my business. Look, Marcie, I know I tease you and everything, but I don't think you have any reason to lie to me."
"I didn't lie!" I said. "I don't know her name, and I wouldn't recognize her. She was all wet and her hair was in her face when I saw her. Then I wrapped her up–"
"Spare me the adventure story!" she interrupted.
"I'm trying to tell you–" I said, but was interrupted by the sound of her flushing.
When I joined Cassie at the sinks, I said in a low voice, "Listen: I am pretty sure that the girl who was walking in front of Mahon at lunch yesterday is the one."
She looked at me with wide eyes.
"Do you know her?" I asked. She shook her head. "You're a miserable liar," in a pretty fair imitation of the way she said it. I figured I might as well try to make her laugh.
Instead, she looked at me with disdain.
"Listen to me," I told her. "I didn't say anything at lunch because I didn't want to embarrass her. You wouldn't want anyone to know if you were soaked in toilet water, would you?"
She sighed. "I guess not." She looked at the floor for a moment, and I thought I saw two tiny pearls of tears appear in the corners of her eyes, but then they were gone.
"Okay," she said. "I'm sorry." She took a big breath and let it out. "You know what really bothers me? What really makes me mad? It's that he just walked right by me with her. I was RIGHT THERE and he didn't even see me."
I thought back to that moment. "You kinda had your back to him. Plus, he probably didn't expect to see you sitting with a bunch of freshman girls."
"Maybe," she said.
A little light went on in my head. "Did he expect you to not be there?" I asked.
"I was supposed to be in a lunch meeting," she admitted. "It started late, so I ran in to t... to talk to you."
"If it will make you feel better," I said, "I'll find out who she is. Okay?"
"Never mind," she said, "I'm just going to ask him. It's nice of you to offer, but..." She seemed calmer, not angry any more.
"Are we okay?" I asked timidly.
"I guess," she said. "I want to be mad, but after talking to you..."
I smiled. She smiled back at me, opened her arms and gave me a big hug. "You really are a nice kid, you know that? I'm sorry I'm so mean to you. My brother is a lucky little dope."
She let me out of the hug, held me by the shoulders, and looked me in the face. "You know what? I promise that I will never, ever, EVER tease you again — for the rest of the night." Then she let go of me.
Cassie looked into the mirror and fussed with her hair, smiling. "I wish you could be my little sister," she told me. "We could trade Jerry for you. Maybe your family would like to have a boy in the family for a change."
"Yeah, I think they would," I replied, and we both laughed.
"Yeah, whatever," he said. "Hey, I can only give you a quick kiss with my parents watching."
I smiled. "I understand." I got up on tiptoe, and he gave me a peck on the lips. Resting my head on his chest, I hugged him tight. Then I noticed that my left foot had "popped," like the girl in The Princess Diaries, so I put it back on the ground and let go. "Thanks. I had a lot of fun."
Cassie looked down at my chest, and said, "You better adjust your pads before we go back out there."
Embarrassed, I looked into the mirror and quickly shifted the little bags.
"That's better," she said. "I'll try to keep an eye out for that when the dancing starts."
"There's dancing?" I asked.
"Yes, didn't you know?" She looked at my shoes. "I guess you didn't. I don't think you'll do a lot of dancing with those pointy toes."
"They're comfortable," I countered.
"Now they are," she said. "See what you say later! Anyway, don't change the subject. Are you flat? I didn't realize."
I blushed by way of response.
"Don't worry," she said. "I didn't see it until now. I have something that might help."
"Is it a tea?" I asked.
"Yeah," she said. "Have you heard of it? I hung on to it for Nina — I figured it would keep, but you can use it."
"Where did you get it?"
"A friend of mine," she said. "Don't worry, it's safe. Turns out I didn't need it, by the way." She bounced her breasts and laughed.
I didn't say more, because I wanted the tea and didn't want to give away the fact that I already had some. I liked it, and was planning on asking Mrs. Earshon how to get a fresh supply once I ran out. Now I might not have to.
We returned to the table just as dinner was being served.
"What do girls do in the bathroom?" Jerry wondered aloud. Mahon shook his head.
"Same thing you do," I said.
Nina guffawed.
"Then why does it take so long?" he asked.
"Next time, I'll bring you with me and you can find out," I retorted.
Nina gaped.
Mrs. Auburn explained to Nina that I was only kidding, and suggested we change the topic.
Nina was sitting to Jerry's left, and she kept cutting into our conversation. I didn't mind so much. I could see that it bothered Jerry, but he didn't let Nina see. In the end, we made it a three-way conversation. It was easier. At one point, Nina was telling Jerry the plot of some Disney movie, and he was patiently listening. Mahon took advantage of the distraction, and tapped me on the shoulder. Cassie was leaning on his arm, smiling at me.
"Listen," he said. "Yesterday morning after I washed my hands, I recognized the girl's voice — the one who was doused. She's my cousin. I don't want people laughing at her, so I'd appreciate it if you keep the story to yourself. Okay?"
"Sure," I said. "No problem."
"Great," he said. "You're alright." Then he turned back to Cassie, and I turned back to Jerry.
"When are we going to start dancing?" I asked him.
"I'll dance with you!" Nina shouted. Jerry grinned.
"Okay, Nina," I said as I stood. "Let's get this party started." To Jerry I said, "Don't think this gets you off the hook."
Cassie was right about the shoes. I danced a lot. Then I danced as much as I could take. Eden's lessons didn't really teach me how to dance, but they did help me to relax and not worry about how I looked. Jerry surprised me — he was quite a good dancer, and had me spinning and dipping. I had a great time until my feet started to hurt. Once they started, even after I took the shoes off and massaged them, they didn't get better. I tried dancing barefoot, but the damage was already done. In fact, it was a week before I was walking normally again.
Afterward, when the Auburns dropped me home, Jerry accompanied me to my front door. I held my shoes in my hand. I walked on the grass next to the walkway.
Jerry said, "Women and high heels! Why can't you just wear shoes that feel good?"
I looked up. Barefoot, I was a lot shorter than him.
"High heels bring me a little closer to you. Anyway, they did feel good until I started dancing. I have to get Cassie to explain why her feet are fine."
"Yeah, whatever," he said. "Hey, since my parents are watching, I can only give you a quick kiss."
I smiled. "I understand." I got up on tiptoe, and he gave me a peck on the lips. Resting my head on his chest, I hugged him tight. Then I noticed that my left foot had "popped," like the girl in The Princess Diaries, so I put it back on the ground and let go. "Thanks. I had a lot of fun."
It wasn't late, so my aunt was still up, sewing with a needle and thread. "All my pockets have holes," she explained, holding one up for me to see. "So how did your evening go?"
"Great, except that my feet are killing me!"
"I guess you need some lessons in buying shoes," she said. "Boy feet are different from girl feet. Your feet are more square, so the pointed shoes are going to hurt you, even if they feel good in the store."
"I didn't know," I said.
She shrugged and smiled, and set down her sewing. She went and got me a basin of epsom salts and warm water. I sat there in my cocktail dress, soaking my feet, while she, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, went back to mending pants.
She had her legs bent under her, and she was looking down, wearing her reading glasses, intent on her sewing. I cleared my throat.
"Can I ask you something?" I said. "Is it true that if I take hormones, I'll grow breasts?"
"Ow!" Aunt Jane cried, and tiny dot of blood appeared on the side of her index finger. "Jeez Louise!"
"Sorry!"
"I should know by now," she said, putting down the needle and sucking her finger. "When you start talking, I have to get ready for a shock. Yes, female hormones will cause men to develop breasts. You need a prescription to get them, and a doctor has to monitor you."
"So the breasts don't get too big?"
"No, so you don't get a hormone imbalance. Hormones are very powerful — there are several different kinds, and they regulate healing, growth, metabolism — pretty much everything. They interact, and if one gets out of whack, the others won't be right, either."
"If I could take them, how soon would I have breasts?"
She looked at me, considering something for a moment. "Breast growth is very individual. It happens over months and years, not days and weeks. You don't just take a pill and have two hooters pop out the next day."
I was quiet, thinking. She had stopped sewing and was studying my face. I smiled, not knowing what she was thinking.
She took off her glasses and asked in a serious tone, "You haven't gotten your hands on some estrogen, have you? Birth-control pills?"
"I don't even know what you're talking about."
"Does that mean no?"
"Yes."
"Yes, it means no?"
"No, I don't have any kind of pills. I don't even know where to get those pills. I'm just asking questions. I'm curious."
"Okay," she said. "I'm just trying to be careful. If you want to take feminizing hormones, you have to talk to Mr. Marks, and you'll have to get your parents' permission. It's really serious, so — listen to me carefully — don't get into it on your own, okay? You can really screw yourself up."
"Okay," I agreed. "But are you saying that there's a way to get the pills without a doctor's permission?"
She looked at me in surprise. "People do break laws," she said. "But you better not, or I'll pull you out of that school and put you on the next plane to New Jersey! I won't even bother asking your parents first!"
"Hey," I protested, "I'm only asking questions!"
"Okay," she said. "But don't fool around with pills or shots or anything, okay?"
"Okay!"
"Ah, I'm sorry, Marcie," Mr. Bryant said, "but I can't hug you. I can send for the nurse, though."
In spite of everything, this made me laugh. "So she can hug me for you?"
The next week at school was quiet for a change, and yet it was a very exciting week for me. Mrs. Earshon's tea was working! At first I wasn't sure, but each day I let out a little birdseed from the bags I used to stuff my bra.
It looked like my original supply of tea would run out by Saturday or so, but on Tuesday after school, Cassie gave me a plastic bag (with a wink!) full of the same mixture, more than twice the amount Mrs. Earshon had given me.
"Once it starts working, you're supposed to stop taking it," Cassie said. "If you have any left, pass it on."
"Cool! Thanks!" I replied, and she ran off to join Mahon the Man.
On Wednesday at lunch, Carla gave me a serious look. "It's already Wednesday, Marcie," she commented.
"Yeah, so?"
"Everybody wants to know what you're going to do this week."
"Do I have to do something?"
"You have every week so far. You don't want to disappoint your fans."
"'Fans'? If I have fans, this is the week I will disappoint them. And hopefully next week and the week after, too."
"We'll see," Carla replied as she shoved some chips into her mouth. "You seem to have a talent for finding hot water, no matter where it's boiling."
"That's pretty good," Eden commented. "Did you make that up?"
"Yes I did," Carla replied proudly. "I think I'm going to get the copyright."
Wednesday passed without incident, but Thursday morning something *did* happen, and it wasn't funny at all.
I woke up thinking of Alice. Mrs. Earshon had been right — Alice had needed my help. Maybe she still did. In my mind's eye I could see her face from last Saturday — how glum she was about Mr. Bruce continuing to work.
As I turned it over in my head, I realized that maybe there *was* something I could do. I could visit Mr. Bruce.
Remembering my first day of school, I figured that I could catch him in his office before homeroom. He'd been pretty embarrassed when he saw me at the hospital. Maybe if he saw me in a dress at school, it would help him remember his promise to quit teaching.
Right! He felt so guilty when I visited the hospital, seeing me at school, on his own turf — it would guilt-trip him directly into retirement!
As I looked through my closet, I tried to find my most girly outfit.
Unfortunately, I didn't have anything that was very frilly or girlish. In the end, I settled for the outfit Ms. Price had pulled out of lost and found. I hadn't worn it since the first day, but it was a pretty nice. In case you don't remember, it was an aqua tiered skirt, a white top with loose sleeves, and a pair of light brown shoes. The shoes had a very low heel, which was perfect. My feet were still aching from dancing in high heels.
As I walked to school, another idea came to me: I could ask him — just an innocent question! — whether he'd gotten rid of the girls' tennis outfits that he used for punishment. I could ask if he'd give them to me, now that he wasn't going to use them. I chuckled to myself.
The closer I got to his office, the better I felt about what I was doing. It had to work.
I walked past the principal's office, where Mrs. Zeff had grabbed me three weeks earlier. I entered the door that Jerry had led me though, full of encouragement. I slowed down as my footsteps echoed in the dark hallway above the gym. It was kind of a creepy place. Finally, after the lost-and-found bin, I arrived at Mr. Bruce's cage-like office.
He was sitting in his chair with his back to the door. I knocked, but he didn't answer. I called his name, but there was no response. Laughing to myself, I realized he was asleep, and slipped quietly up to his desk.
The moment I saw his face, I realized that something was terribly wrong. His head had fallen back, and his chin rested against his shoulder. White spittle trailed from the corner of his mouth.
I stood stock-still staring for a minute or so, and then, full of fear, I reached for his neck to feel for a pulse. There was none. Involuntarily I jerked my hand back, because his skin was so clammy and cold. With my other hand I tested my own neck to be sure I knew where to find the pulse, then tried him a second time, and once again, my hand jerked back by itself. Hardly knowing what I did, I backed away, away from him, until I bumped into a file cabinet.
I gulped, trying to wet my throat, and fished in my bag for my cell phone. Once I found it, I fumbled it open, and dialed 911.
"What is the nature of your emergency?"
"Hi, I'm Marcie Donner," I croaked inaudibly. I cleared my throat, squeezed my eyes shut, and started again, this time in a louder voice. "My name is Marcie Donner. I'm at Tierson High School, and I think my teacher is dead. His name is Donny Bruce."
The woman on the other end asked me some questions; she wanted me to take a pulse and to describe what I saw. She told me she was sending an ambulance, and asked me to contact a responsible adult, like a teacher or the principal.
"Don't hang up!" I cried, but it was too late. She was gone.
I looked at Mr. Bruce's desk. Next to his phone was a list of school numbers. Trying not to look at Mr. Bruce, I dialed the principal's office, and Denise answered.
"Oh, Denise!" I said, and began sobbing, "I think Mr. Bruce is dead!"
She spoke to me in a calm voice. I told her that I'd called 911. She said something to Mr. Bryant, and then kept on talking to me, trying to keep me from flipping out.
Soon Mr. Bryant appeared. He put his hand on Mr. Bruce's neck, took the phone from me, and told Denise, "I've got it from here. Yes, she's right." To me, he said, "Will you be okay if we wait for the medics?"
I nodded dumbly, hardly knowing what he said.
"I'm sorry," he told me, "but I need to keep an eye on him and I don't want to let you out of my sight." We sat in the chairs outside Mr. Bruce's office, the same spot where I'd waited for Mr. Bruce on my first day. I hung my head and wrung my hands. Mr. Bryant put his hand on my shoulder.
After an eternity, Denise arrived with the medics, and she led me back to her office. She gave me a drink of water, and I realized that I was shaking.
When Mr. Bryant returned, Denise told him that she'd already called Mr. Bruce's wife. "Do you mind if I go and drive her to the hospital? She's a very close friend."
"Of course," Mr. Bryant said. "Take the day, if you need it. Whatever the school can do, remember. Call me for anything."
"Can I go with her?" I asked. "She's my friend, too!"
Denise looked to Mr. Bryant, who shook his head. "I'm sorry, Marcie. There's no way I can let you go. It's policy." He gestured to Denise, who gathered her things.
I sniffed. "But there's no way I can go to class today!" I cried.
"I understand," Mr. Bryant said. "However, it's a point of law. I can only release you to your aunt."
Denise hugged me tight and said, "Sorry, kiddo." To Mr. Bryant she said, "Can you give the kid a hug? She needs it." Then she left.
"Ah, I'm sorry, Marcie," Mr. Bryant said, "but I can't hug you. I can send for the nurse, though."
In spite of everything, this made me laugh. "So she can hug me for you?"
He shrugged in an embarrassed way. "If you want to sit here, you're welcome," he said. "You might be more comfortable up in the nurse's office, though. She's better at dealing with, uh... girls' issues, uh... I mean emotional issues, than I am. But once you feel better, you ought to go to class. Being busy will help you."
"I don't think so," I said, and another wave of silent tears spilled from my eyes.
"Let me try something," Mr. Bryant said. "Don't move." He hurried into his office and made a phone call. When he came back, he used the PA to call Ms. Price. "I need someone to cover the office," he explained.
Of course, once Ms. Price arrived, she gave me a hug, but had to let me go so she could pick up Denise's duties. Soon after, Aunt Jane arrived, a little out of breath. "I ran over as soon as I could," she panted. Then she held out her arms and said, "Come here, kid," and she hugged me until I couldn't cry any more.
The moment I finished, she said, "Come on. Let's get out of here. We need to find Denise and Alice."
Denise and I both stayed out of school on Friday. I had my tea with me, and made sure I didn't miss my daily cup. By now I had breasts like little half-apples, and no longer needed padding to fill my bra. They weren't big breasts, but they were mine, and I hoped the tea would keep them growing.
My aunt had her arm around me a lot that day. I was still in shock. I'd never seen a dead person, let alone touched one. Is there any disease you can catch from touching a dead person? My skin crawled. I washed my hands a dozen times, but I could still feel that cold, clammy skin and see those open, empty eyes. I couldn't get his slack-jawed face out of my mind.
We met up with Alice and Denise at the hospital. I don't know why the ambulance had to take Mr. Bruce there at all. I mean, he was already dead! But I didn't dare say anything. An autopsy was going to be done; the police came to ask me and Alice questions, and they wrote down everything I said. Poor Alice! She looked so pale and small, and she didn't even react when the tall policeman mistook her for the high-school girl who'd found the body.
I did a lot of sighing.
The four of us stayed together. We went back to Alice's house, and helped her make phone calls. Each of us ran home briefly to get pajamas and overnight bags. While I was there, I called my mother and told her what happened. She asked me to call her back before I went to bed.
Denise and I cooked dinner while Aunt Jane helped Alice get through plans and papers. Several times Alice broke down, and once she ran from the room to sob alone in her bedroom for an hour. Aunt Jane kept plowing through, making calls, checking things off a list.
"How old was he?" I asked Denise softly.
"Fifty-three," she said. "Alice is thirty-one, like me and your aunt."
"Wow," I said.
"Yeah," Denise said. "Twenty-two years difference. She was twenty-one when they got married, so they've been together ten years. They were a nice couple too. He was never as rough and tough as he pretended to be." She smiled. "He was a big old pussycat, and he was nuts about Alice. They were crazy about each other."
"They never had kids," I observed.
"They tried. Alice had two miscarriages. Don't mention that or children, if you can help it."
"Okay," I promised.
After dinner, Denise insisted I help her clean and organize the refrigerator and freezer. I soon saw why. People kept stopping by, dropping off meals. Denise kept a list of who brought what, of which container or dish had to be returned, and she sorted the foods into fridge or freezer. "No more cooking for a while," she said.
Denise and I both stayed out of school on Friday. I spent a good part of the day cleaning the house. I had my tea with me, and made sure I didn't miss my daily cup. By now I had breasts like little half-apples, and no longer needed padding to fill my bra. They weren't big breasts, but they were mine, and I hoped the tea would keep them growing.
Alice sat or wandered around, pale as a ghost. Periodically she'd hug me and dig her head into my shoulder, soaking me with tears. I wasn't sure what to do or say. I just held her.
Aunt Jane kept finding papers that needed doing, people who needed notifying. She was constantly adding and crossing things off a big list, making phone calls. Most of the time she'd say she was Alice, so Alice didn't have to talk. At one point Jane mentioned to me (while rubbing her red eyes) that she was pushing to get as much done as possible before the weekend, when offices wouldn't be open.
For lunch, we ate some eggplant parmesan that someone had brought. The eggplant was kind of crunchy, but we ate it anyway. It didn't taste very good, but it filled us up. After lunch, Jane sent me to make some copies, buy some stamps, and send some letters. I also had to send some faxes from the copy place. I'd never done that before, so the copy guy helped me. He was tall and gangly, with long spidery fingers.
While the fax machine was making noises and doing its thing, he asked, "Skipping school today?"
"Kind of," I replied.
He nodded. "A bad girl, huh?" I realized then that he was hitting on me.
"No, I'm a good girl."
"Ah." He nodded again, with a knowing look. "And being good takes practice, right?"
I grabbed the documents. "Is this finished now?"
"Yeah," he replied. "All you have to do is pay." We walked to the cash register.
"How much is it?" I asked.
"Your phone number," he replied.
"What?"
"Your phone number," he repeated.
"Um, look," I said. "I'm way too young for you, and anyway I already have a boyfriend."
"Okay," he said. "No harm in trying. Your total for the copies and the fax is $2.16."
After I paid, he said, "When you outgrow your boyfriend, come on back. You know where to find me."
"Sleezeball," I muttered when I reached the sidewalk.
Alice stood or sat, unmoving, looking like a little lost girl. We took turns hugging her, making her tea, and listening to her talk incoherently about Donny. I tried to take her for a walk, but she cried every couple of steps, so we turned back.
Aunt Jane pulled out every document in the house and went through it, organizing Alice's affairs. I thought this was kind of pushy of Aunt Jane, but Mr. Bruce had handled all the finances, and Alice had no idea of what was what. Jane made several lists: the monthly bills, bank and other accounts, debts, insurance, everything. On Friday she had managed to get most of it changed into Alice's name, or at least got the process going. On Saturday she figured out what money Alice would be getting from insurance, pension, and so on, and she worked out a budget. I was pretty impressed.
"It's a lot of work when somebody dies!" she told me, when we were alone for a moment. "Thank God Donny kept good records!"
"Are you almost done?" I asked.
She shrugged. "I'm doing what I can now. A lot will come up in the months ahead. Plus she's got to learn how to do it herself."
The wake was set for Monday evening, and the cremation for Tuesday morning. Aunt Jane told me I'd be in school Monday, but I'd get out Tuesday. She asked if I minded staying at Alice's house for the week. "To get all these days off, I had to take some night shifts. After the funeral I won't be able to be here, but Alice isn't going to want to be alone for a while."
Of course I agreed.
For my part, I kept looking down at my breasts. They weren't very big, but they were mine. Home grown. I grew them myself, I said to myself proudly, from all-natural ingredients. They were the same size as the little bags I used to use for padding, but these babies were real, and they wouldn't shift or fall out.
The funeral was not so sad, really. Even though I had a black dress of my own, Alice insisted on lending me one of hers — a stretchy wool dress. I was afraid it would be itchy, but it wasn't at all, and I liked the way it hung on me.
When I imagined the funeral, I pictured all of us standing around a hole in the ground, crying. Instead, since Mr. Bruce was cremated, there was a short service in a plain little chapel, and then the coffin was rolled away. There were people sobbing, but Alice had cried so much at the wake, I don't think she had any more tears in her.
The whole time we were sitting, Alice kept a tight grip on my left arm. When we stood up, I took the opportunity to move to the other side of her. She immediately grabbed my right arm and hung on tight. She still had that look of being lost.
For my part, I kept looking down at my breasts. They weren't very big, but they were mine. Home grown. I grew them myself, I said to myself proudly, from all-natural ingredients. They were the same size as the little bags I used to use for padding, but these babies were real, and they wouldn't shift or fall out.
"So what happens now?" I asked Aunt Jane.
"We go to a little reception."
Mr. Bruce's family had hired a hall nearby. Aunt Jane drove us. Denise sat in front, and Alice and I sat in back. Alice still had my arm tight in her grip. I wanted to tell her to let go, but I knew she needed it, so I kept my mouth shut. When we got out of the car, I switched sides again. I did that as often as I could. The only time she let go was when someone gave her a hug.
Denise came by and asked, "How are you doing, kid?"
"My arms hurt a little," I whispered. "Can you let Alice hang on to you for a while?"
"I'll try," she said, "but I think she wants you."
Alice emerged from the hug, and turned to look for me. Denise had placed herself between us, and said, "Alice, want to take my arm for a while?"
Alice didn't answer. She just looked at Denise with big, sad eyes.
I couldn't take it. I walked toward her, and her hands moved like magnets toward my arm. She took possession of it, squeezing hard. "Alice," I asked as gently as I could. "Could you please not grip so tight?"
She gave me a weak smile, and loosened for a moment. An instant later she reverted to her vise-like grip. I didn't ask her again.
I've thought about it a lot, then and after, but I don't know why she latched onto me. I met her mother and brother and sister, and even though she hugged them several times and cried all over them, in the end she always came back to holding my arm.
Could it have been because we were the same height? I wondered — with her clutching my arm and standing so close — whether we might look like Siamese twins, but we're so different, different clothes, different hairstyles, different shapes... Some people guessed I was her daughter, so at least the age difference was obvious... Anyway, it was a mystery, and I didn't dare ask why.
The rest of the week was similar. Denise and I camped out at Alice's house. Denise pretty much kept things going, preparing the meals and cleaning up after, while I sat with Alice. I had to do my homework during lunch hour, because Alice was stuck on me all week. We started going on walks together. Wednesday morning we were both up early, and there was nothing to do, so I suggested we go out. I was getting a bit stir-crazy.
It turned out to be an inspired choice. At last she didn't need to hang on to me. She just walked. And she talked. And talked and talked and talked. I didn't need to ask questions or even say uh-huh or nod. She poured out words nonstop. She told me all about her and Donny: how they met, how he proposed, where they thought they were going as a couple. She told me about the miscarriages. She didn't cry, she just wiped her eyes now and then.
When I got home from school that day, she wanted to walk again, and after dinner we walked a third time. It was the same thing on Thursday and Friday. I got to hear a lot more than I ever wanted to know about what it was like to be married. I admit that a lot of it was interesting. There was a lot I had never thought about. I never realized that when you get married, you start living with another person that you haven't grown up with — I mean, you never imagine that marriage can hinge on things like thermostat settings and furniture choices and what goes into tuna salad...
Some of what she said really made me blush. She talked about pretty intimate, physical stuff. Sure I was kind of curious, but I didn't really want that level of detail. Too much information! But I kept my mouth shut and listened and walked.
I'm no psychologist, but I could see it was doing her good. She wasn't weepy or lost any more, and when I got up on Saturday, she had already been out for a jog and was fixing herself breakfast. She served me fruit salad, eggs, and toast. Her mood was a lot better. She was more like the old Alice.
Oh. There's something that I forgot to tell you, what with all the talk of the funeral and crying and whatnot.
The tea kept on working. Every day, my breasts were a little bigger and nicer. By Saturday morning, when Alice was handing me my breakfast plate, they'd gone from being half-apple size to more like full-apple size. Not big apples, but nice apples.
Nobody noticed but me, since Aunt Jane was doing her night shifts and sleeping in the daytime. At lunch time in the cafeteria I was sitting by myself, doing homework as I ate, so I didn't have time to talk with Carla and Eden. I'm pretty sure Eden saw the change when we were in gym class, but she didn't have a chance to say anything. Now my chest was almost as big as hers. Not quite, but almost.
I kind of wanted to keep it to myself as long as I could. After all, I wasn't doing anything wrong, was I? But I got careless. I mean, it was Saturday morning, I was still half-asleep, and I didn't expect Alice to have come out from her "lost" cloud.
I sitting at the table, wearing long cotton pajama pants, a tank top, and a light bathrobe. My robe was open, and I wasn't wearing a bra. Alice sat across from me, crunching on a piece of bacon. She suddenly stopped chewing.
"Is that you?" she asked in a shocked tone.
"What do you mean?" I replied, trying my best to sound innocent as I pulled my robe closed.
"You know what I mean! Look at you! Oh my god, you are so busted, girl! I've got to call your aunt!"
"Uh," I said stupidly, wishing I was more awake. I should have seen this coming! "She's asleep. You can't wake her."
"I can wake her, and I will wake her!" She picked up the phone and dialed a number. As it continued ringing, she frowned and scoffed, "Voicemail." Then, after a wait: "Janey, it's me, Allie. Call me as soon as you hear this. If you could come over, it would be even better. It's about your nephew-slash-niece, Mark/Marcie. She's up to something and you need to know about it. Bye."
Alice turned to me. "So what did you do? Where do you get the hormones?"
"I'm not taking hormones!" I said. "I'm not doing anything!"
She shook her head. "You're going to need a better story than that for your aunt!"
Just then, the phone rang. Alice still held it in her hand, so she answered on the first ring.
"Yeah. Janey? Oh, I'm good. I'm fine. It's this girl you left over here! She's got breasts! ... Breasts, yeah! ... Big enough! ... Yes! YES! No... No, I asked, and she said no. ... Okay... Okay... Right... Bye."
Alice looked at me. "She's on her way over. And she is on fire. So what did you do?"
My aunt didn't appear for about twenty minutes, which was odd. When she did arrive, she was mad. Not boiling mad or hopping mad, but a cold, scary mad. By that time, I'd fessed up to Alice about the tea, and brought out the paper bag I'd gotten from Mrs. Earshon. There was just a little bit in the bottom, not quite enough for a cup. I'd been using the supply that Cassie gave me since Monday, but hadn't gotten around to throwing the old bag away.
"Is this all of it?" Alice asked.
"Yes," I said, while thinking, That's all that's in that bag, yes. So it wasn't *technically* a lie. Not a lie-lie, anyway.
The first thing my aunt said was, "Don't even ask whether I'm going to call your parents. I am. I have to. But first you have an appointment right now with a doctor, so put some clothes on." She opened my robe and looked at my chest. Her face went white. She drew in a breath and said, "Jeez almighty!" before she turned away and fell heavily into a chair.
Alice grabbed me by the shoulders, turned me around and pushed me away. "Go get dressed," she whispered.
I was shaking as I put my clothes on. For some reason, I wanted to wear pants today, but — surprise — they weren't part of my wardrobe. I pulled on the outfit from my first day as Marcie — the aqua skirt and white top. It was comfortable, and it was right there. I listened to as much of the conversation between Alice and Jane as possible, and came out as soon as I could.
"You need a coat," Jane barked, so I went and got one.
"Sorry, Alice," I said softly as we left.
She shrugged and gave me a smile when Jane's back was turned. Then she ran over and gave me a hug. As she did she whispered, "Thanks for helping me so much this week. Tell me how it goes with the doctor!"
"I don't know how parents survive!" she exclaimed. "You've been with me for what — five or six weeks now, and I feel like I'm either going to have gray hair or a heart attack or both! And the thing is, you're just skipping along, tra la la, and — oh! I'm a girl! oh! I have a boyfriend! oh! I climbed the school building! oh! I have breasts!"
The ride to the doctor's was not the most comfortable conversation I've ever had. I wanted to ask questions, but knew I should keep quiet. The saying "bite your tongue" came to mind, so I literally clamped my teeth on my tongue to remember not to talk.
Aunt Jane, on the other hand, just let herself go.
"I don't know how parents survive!" she exclaimed. "You've been with me for what — five or six weeks now, and the whole time I feel like I'm either going to have gray hair or a heart attack or both! And the thing is, you're just skipping along, tra la la, and — oh! I'm a girl! oh! I have a boyfriend! oh! I climbed the school building! oh! I have breasts!
"And every time you convince me that it's not some stunt you pulled, but just 'the way things happened'. Well, that train has stopped. That flag will not fly any more! You did this on purpose. You knew what you were doing. You knew what was happening, and you hid it so no one would stop you."
I sat in silence, and put the tip of my tongue back between my teeth to remind me not to talk.
"Am I right?" Aunt Jane demanded.
"Yes," I replied in a small voice.
"What?" she said loudly. "I didn't hear you."
"Yes, you're right," I said.
"I don't believe this bull-hinky story about a magical tea, by the way. I don't want to hear it. I'm taking you to a pediatric endocrinologist, and he will tell me what you've been up to. And then I want to know where you got the pills from."
"I didn't take any pills," I said, in spite of my determination not to speak. I wanted to ask what an engocryologist was, but went back to biting my tongue.
Jane didn't say anything for a while, but then, in a softer tone, she told me, "I want to believe you, but it's practically impossible, in the first place, for breasts to grow that quickly, with or without chemical help. And if there really was a tea that gave results like that, girls all over the world would be drinking it. Something happened to you, and even if it is the tea like you say, you still need to see a doctor. In spite of everything, you really are a boy, which is something you seem to forget."
At the hospital Jane led me through a maze of back hallways and stairs until we ended up in the employee clinic. A doctor was sitting in a chair, waiting for us. Aunt Jane fell all over herself thanking him for his time.
He said, "It's okay. I had a couple kids I had to see anyway." He was a fairly young, good-looking guy with light brown hair. He was wearing a white coat and had a stethoscope around his neck. He smiled at me, introduced himself as Dr. Monroe and shook my hand.
I liked the feeling of his strong, rough hand. I thought, If I were a girl, I'd have such a crush... but this was no time for thoughts like that. As he led me into an exam room, Aunt Jane insisted on coming with us.
He had me lift up my shirt and open my bra. I felt pretty embarrassed as he looked at my breasts and felt them. He also felt in my armpits for some reason, and then told me I could get dressed again.
"I don't understand why you wanted me to see Marcie. Rapid growth is unusual — I mean, it's rare, but not unprecedented. And you don't mind, do you?" With a smile, he directed the last question at me, and smiling I shook my head no.
"The problem is," Jane said slowly, "that this is a boy here."
"No," the doctor said.
"Yes," Jane insisted.
The doctor smiled. "Is this a joke? Did Hughie put you up to this?"
In the end, the doctor had a to do a more thorough exam to be convinced, and then his manner changed. He asked whether I was "transitioning", whether I was under a doctor's care, and whether I was taking any hormones. Jane answered all the questions except the last.
"I'm not taking any hormones," I said. "I'm not taking any kind of pills or shots or anything like that."
Luckily, the doctor seemed to believe me. Also, he wasn't upset or worried, which made me feel better. He commented, "Boys sometimes have breast growth at the onset of puberty. It isn't harmful. Once their testosterone starts going, the growth reverses."
"This much growth?" Jane asked.
"Well, no," he admitted. "I'm afraid that if you want to reverse this situation, you'd need to undergo, uh, breast reduction. But — based on Marcie's presentation, demeanor, dress — I'm guessing that this is a welcome change. Am I right?"
I nodded again.
"Have you talked to your therapist or doctor about hormone suppression?" I shook my head no. Jane sighed.
"What the hell is causing this?" she demanded. "You don't seem overly concerned."
"No, I'm not overly concerned," he said. "Things like this happen! Usually the problem is how to get rid of them. If Marcie likes them and wants them and her parents don't mind, then I don't see any cause for concern.
"I do want to do some bloodwork," he said, "I'll write up the order, and you can have it drawn right now. Once the results come in, I'd like to see Marcie in my office."
He handed Aunt Jane a card. "Call on Monday and make an appointment for two weeks from now. And get a referral from her therapist. We all need to be on the same page."
Jane insisted, "Aren't you afraid that she's taking hormones?"
"Honestly — just a gut feeling — I don't get that impression, and she says she isn't. Do you have any reason to think she is? I mean, aside from the breasts?"
"What do you mean 'aside from the breasts'? That's why I think so."
"Hmm," the doctor commented. "Puberty is a fairly malleable state. A lot of things can happen before the body settles down. Admittedly, this is a pretty extreme case, but boys do grow breasts. It happens." To me he asked, "Are you using a shampoo or body wash with lavender or tea tree oil in it?"
I shook my head no and asked why.
"Lavender oil and tea tree oil have been known to provoke breast growth in boys. Again, once the boy switches to a different product, testosterone gets the upper hand, and the breast growth reverses."
Jane pulled the brown paper bag from her purse and asked, "Do you know anything about this tea?"
The doctor took a sniff and chuckled. "Oh, yeah, I've seen this stuff before. It's harmless. Girls drink it and hope it will make their breasts start growing, but it has no effect. They drink it, and what was going to happen anyway starts happening, and they think the tea did it. It's just some herbs — wild yam, fennel, some other stuff. Like I said, it's harmless."
"Can I keep drinking it?" I asked.
"If you like it," he said. "Drink all you want. It's not going to do anything for you either way."
Jane and the doctor talked a bit more, and by the end of their conversation, she was a lot calmer.
I liked the doctor, and I had already decided a couple of things:
The blood tests didn't hurt. I had to look away so I wouldn't see the needle, but the woman who did it was good and fast.
When she was done, she asked, "Are you too big for a lollipop, hon?" When I smiled and shook my head no, she gave me a red one.
"How about you, mom?" she asked Aunt Jane, who sighed, then smiled, and took a green one.
As we drove away, Aunt Jane said, "I don't how I'm going to explain this to your parents. The doctor seems to think it's just happening by itself, but your parents are going to flip right out. I'll try to keep them calm, but I'm sorry, Marcie, they might want to pull you out of here." She looked at me. I smiled at her, and she shook her head.
"I don't know how you can be so calm about this. It's a big deal. I mean, you realize that if you want to go back to being a boy, it's going to be difficult. You might need more than a breast reduction."
She took her lollipop out of her mouth and said, "You manage to get into the craziest situations!" She sucked on the lollipop, thinking.
"I guess it would be worse if you didn't want to be a girl and had those things pop out of you, but still..." She didn't finish the thought. She just sighed.
"Hey," she said, "I haven't even had breakfast yet. Are you hungry?" I was. So, we went to a diner, where she had breakfast and I had lunch.
Then she drove home and went to bed, saying she'd call my parents when she woke up.
I walked over to Alice's house, filled her in on what happened, and made myself a cup of tea.
I borrowed a top from Alice that was as daring as I dared to be. "Um," she said, "I don't know if you're old enough for that top, but one thing I do know for sure: if you're going to wear it, you have to take a jacket, so you can close it up. You need the option."
She told me, "It's been nice having you here, and in some ways I wish you could stay forever, but I have to start sleeping alone sooner or later. Tonight, why don't you and Denise go sleep in your own beds. I'll be okay."
Then she gave me a big, big, back-breaking hug and said, "I really love you for being here when I needed you!"
While I was packing my stuff, Jerry called to invite me to the mall. I asked Alice if she was sure she'd be alright.
"Go, take off!" she replied. "I'll be fine. I'm a big girl. Not a tall girl, but a big girl."
"I can come," I said into the phone. "How are we going to get there?"
"My mother's going to drive us. Don't worry, though: she has to get Nina some shoes and clothes and stuff, so you and I can go around by ourselves."
"Okay," I agreed. "And I have a surprise for you!" Afterward I wondered whether it was a good idea to say that, but I couldn't take it back, and I did want to show my assets off to somebody besides Dr. Monroe.
I borrowed a top from Alice that was as daring as I dared to be. "Um," she said, "I don't know if you're really old enough to wear that top, but one thing I do know for sure: if you're going to wear it, you have to take a jacket, so you can close it up. You need the option."
The jacket was zipped up when Jerry rang the bell. "What's the surprise?" he asked. The jacket was bulky, so you couldn't tell that anything was different about me.
"I'll show you when we get rid of your family," I replied, blushing. Now I was pretty sure I'd done a stupid thing. Oh, well. Live and learn.
Jerry sat in front with his mother and I sat in back with Nina, who was very glad to see me.
"Do you know what I'm doing today, Marcie?"
"No, what?"
"Getting my ears pierced! Does it hurt?"
"No."
"Really? Will you hold my hand while they do it?"
"Sure."
She talked for the rest of the trip about movies she'd seen, books she'd read, new dolls she got or wanted. All girly topics. Jerry sighed and looked out the window, tapping his fingers.
"Aren't you hot with that jacket on, Marcie?" Mrs. Auburn asked.
"No, I'm good," I said. I think she knew I was hiding something. It occurred to me that I should get a t-shirt or something at the mall, so she could see me with the jacket open later. It might be a good idea anyway.
Nina was brave about the ear-piercing, and I gave her a big hug afterward. Mrs. Auburn kept looking at my jacket, so I decided that the first thing I had to do was buy a replacement shirt and put it on.
Jerry was waiting impatiently outside the jewelry store. I smiled at him and said, "I need to buy a top."
"Hell, no!" he said. "I've had enough girly stuff for one morning! Come on!" He took my hand and dragged me off to a sports store, where he spent a good hour looking at sneakers, baseball caps, and sports equipment. I tried to be interested, but I was pretty bored. I tried to talk with him, but he didn't hear me. He was so absorbed in the merchandise that he seemed to have forgotten me.
So I wandered off and found a girl who worked in the store. "Do you have any shirts for girls?" I asked.
"Anything in particular?" she asked.
"Um, just something to cover me up better." I patted my chest.
"Any team in particular?" she asked.
"Nope."
She laughed. "You're not a sports fan, are you?"
"Nope."
"Oh-kay-ee," she laughed. "Follow me!"
She showed me to a room in the back of the store that was full of shirts and caps. "These are baseball t-shirts," she said. "Women's on this side. You look like a small. And, uh, this one... if you don't care about teams, um..." she looked down the aisle at Jerry, to see what he was looking at. "Is he your boyfriend?" I nodded. "Then, um, how do you feel about black and orange?"
"Sounds like Halloween," I replied with a shrug.
Her eyes almost popped out of head. She said, "Oh-kay-ee," really slowly. I think she wanted to laugh, but I didn't see anything funny.
Then she reached past me, pulled a shirt off the rack, and put it in my hands. "How about this one? It'll go well with your eyes." She said the last part as if it were a joke, and I felt pretty sure she was putting me on, but I couldn't see how. In any case, I looked at the shirt and really liked it!
"Thanks," I said. "I'll take it." The t-shirt was a nice gray and blue, with a round neck and half-sleeves. She rang it up, and I shoved it in my purse. After another fifteen minutes, Jerry bought a pair of shoes and a baseball cap. The cap was black with orange letters on it. Honestly, it seemed like the ugliest one in the store, but he seemed excited about it.
When we got outside, he said, "Oh, hey, what was that surprise you had for me?"
"Oh, uh, okay," I said. "Now I feel really stupid."
There was an alcove between the sports store and the vitamin store. It looked like a good spot to show him. I pushed him into the alcove, past a big leafy plant, and opened my jacket, blushing (of course).
"Whoa!" he said. "Nice!" He grinned. "Can I touch?"
I hesitated for a moment, then said no.
I closed the jacket, and was about to zip it up, but he gently put his hands on mine. "Don't, don't," he said. He made an effort to look into my eyes, but his own eyes kept wandering down.
"Come on," he said. "Take the jacket off for a while. Let's go for some ice cream."
As we walked, I got a lot of looks from boys and men of all ages. It wasn't that my breasts were so big, it was just that the top really put them on display.
"I didn't know breasts could grow that fast," Jerry commented. "You didn't have those two weeks ago, did you?"
"Could you lower your voice?" I asked him. "I don't really want to talk about it."
While we were eating the ice cream, a big drip fell on my right breast. Jerry's eyes widened. "I can take care of that for you," he offered, smiling broadly.
"No, thanks, I got it," I said. I wiped the ice cream off with my index finger, then had to clean the sticky spot with a wet napkin. When I finished, I realized that I had a audience. I looked up at several sets of male eyes.
"Jerry, I have to go to the bathroom for a minute," I told him, and quickly made my way to a stall where I changed shirts. The new t-shirt was cute. It was a little tight, but not revealing at all. I felt a lot more comfortable. It reminded me that I needed some new bras, but I didn't think Jerry could handle that kind of shopping, and didn't know whether his mother would appreciate my bringing her son into the lingerie department.
On the other hand, Jerry might like it too much! In any case, I'd do it later without him.
When I walked up to our table, Jerry's jaw dropped. I could see the disappointment in his face. "You're kidding!" he said. "I can't believe it! You're kidding me!"
"I'm sorry, Jerry, but that other top was too revealing. It was embarrassing."
He scoffed. "I don't mean that," he said. "It's that Dodgers shirt. I never knew you were a Dodger fan."
"I'm not," I replied. "Is this a Dodgers shirt?" I looked down, and sure enough, the word "Dodgers" was printed on the shirt, just above my left breast.
"You didn't know!?" he exclaimed. "You didn't notice!?"
"No! Calm down! I just got it for the color! Is it really a problem for you?"
"If I buy you a Giants shirt, will you wear it?" he asked me.
"If it's that important to you, sure," I replied.
"Okay, wait here," he said, and he ran off, leaving me at the table. I watched his spoon shift slowly through his ice cream as it melted in the cup.
To tell the truth, I was a little miffed. I liked the shirt I bought, and had no idea what colors I'd just agreed to wear. I felt a little frustrated.
A chubby middle-aged man at the next table was chuckling to himself. "I'm sorry," he said to me. "I couldn't help overhear. If you don't mind my saying, that shirt does look very cute on you. They're nice colors."
"Thanks," I said. "Are you a Dodgers fan?"
"No," he said. "I couldn't care less about baseball."
"Me, neither. Hey, do you know what color the Giants wear, by any chance?"
"I'm guessing it's black and orange," he said. "Like your boyfriend's cap, right?"
"Oh," I said, and my face fell.
"Don't worry," he said. "You'll make it look good."
I had to smile at that, and he smiled back. "Ah, you've made my day," he said. "I better go while the sun is shining." And he left. He was nice, so I waved goodbye when he looked back.
After a long time Jerry returned, carrying a bag from the sports store. "Hey," he said. "Here is a shirt for you." He produced a black t-shirt with some orange letters over the chest. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.
"Okay," I said, and looked at the size. It was a medium. "Jerry, it's way too big!" I looked at the cut. "And it's a man's shirt!"
"I thought you were a medium," he said.
I sighed. "We can go change it," I told him.
"Hmm," he said. "Do you mind going by yourself to do it? I don't want to walk with you while you wear that other shirt."
I was speechless for a moment. Then, in the spirit of compromise, I took out my jacket and put it on.
"Can you zip it up?" he asked.
"Are you serious?"
"Dead serious."
I looked at him for a moment. I was willing to make concessions, but I honestly felt he was going way too far. I know that I don't care about sports, but even taking that into consideration, I felt that he was making a big deal out of nothing.
"It isn't nothing," he said. "It's important to be true to your team."
"If I was a Dodgers fan, would you still want to go out with me?"
"It would be difficult," he said. "And anyway, you say Dodger fan, singular."
"I don't believe this!" I cried.
At the table behind Jerry, a big guy in a Giants cap was sitting with a little girl. He leaned back and touched Jerry on the shoulder. "Listen, man," he said. "Let her wear the shirt. It isn't worth it. Take it from me — I been married 25 years. And let me tell you: your wife doesn't need to be a Giants fan."
"She's not my wife," Jerry said in an irritated tone.
"She's not going to be your girlfriend either, if you don't back down on the shirt issue," the man said. Then he turned back to his food.
Jerry sat, stewing silently, fighting with himself, until finally he said, "Okay. Let's go change the shirt. Together. I'll get one for me in my size, then it will be clear. From now on, when you wear your Dodgers shirt, I'll wear my Giants shirt. Deal?"
I laughed and gave him a big hug.
"Good move, son," the man commented with a smile.
"Come here, you little Dodger girl! You know I love you, don't you? I'm not getting rid of you! I just don't have to be your mother any more! Let's face it, you're like a little soap opera — with breasts!" She laughed and laughed at her own joke.
I was turning my face, pressing my head against him, when a flash went off, followed quickly by several others.
"Sorry," the man with the camera said, "but it was too beautiful to miss." He introduced himself as a newspaper photographer. "If that picture comes out the way I saw it, we could all be famous. Both of you are really photogenic, has anybody told you that?"
He followed that with a stream of flattery, telling us what a nice couple we made. He talked about my cheekbones and Jerry's shoulders, and so on. He asked about the t-shirts.
Jerry gave him a slightly inaccurate version of what happened: He made his purchase of a Giants t-shirt seem like a Solomonic inspiration. In the end, the man asked our permission to use the photo, and then he disappeared.
After that, we went to a bookstore. Jerry needed a copy of Moby Dick for English class.
While I waited, I looked through the girls magazines. I wanted to get one, but couldn't make up my mind. How was I supposed to choose one? Maybe I should pick by the woman on the cover — go for the one I'd most want to be? Was that the way to decide? Maybe I should go with the article titles that interest me... No, that didn't help much either.
I wondered whether Eden had any thoughts on the subject, or whether Cassie would answer me seriously if I asked her. Knowing Cassie, she might steer me the wrong way just for a laugh.
Jerry walked up to me with his purchase in his hand. "Hey, Jerry," I said. "Which of these magazines does Cassie read? Does she read any of them?"
"Oh, pull-eez," he said. "Can we go? Haven't I suffered through enough girly stuff for one day?"
"I don't know," I replied. "Have you? Seriously, come on: you must have noticed the names of the magazines Cassie reads."
He looked at me and shook his head. "You're lucky you're so incredibly cute," he said. I blushed a little and smiled. "Come here," he whispered. He put his arms around me and we started kissing each other as if we were trying to make up for years of being apart.
A man cleared his throat behind me. He did it again, a little louder. Then he said, "Could you two please take that outside? Outside the mall?"
"Sorry," I said, and we left the store.
We wandered around a little longer until it was time to rendezvous with Mrs. Auburn and Nina.
As we approached, Jerry's mother's eyes twinkled. "Are you a Dodger fan, Marcie?" she asked.
"Let it go, ma, let it go!" Jerry cautioned.
"Now I know why you had your coat zipped up earlier," she commented. "You wanted to surprise Jerry."
I grinned at her. "I just liked the colors. I didn't even know it said 'Dodgers' until Jerry pointed it out."
"Jerry HATES the Dodgers!" Nina informed me.
"But he likes Marcie, right, Jerry?" his mother teased.
"We have an agreement," Jerry informed us, in a very serious tone. "If she wears that... shirt, I will wear this one, just so the facts are clear."
"Yes," his mother said, smiling, "We have to make sure the facts are clear."
I had a hard time to keep from laughing. Nina burst out with a laugh, but I don't think she knew what she was laughing at. I gave her a hug.
When I got home, Aunt Jane was awake and smiling. She'd worked the third shift last night. "Good morning/afternoon! Hello there! I didn't know you were a Dodger fan."
"I'm not," I said. "I just got it for the colors."
She laughed.
"You're in a good mood," I observed.
"Yes, I am!" she chortled. "And do you know why? Because I am done being in loco parentis with you."
"What do you mean?" I asked, a little alarmed. I don't know Latin, but I could figure that out — it meant she wasn't going to be acting as my parent any more.
"I mean that your mother is coming!" she said. "It turns out that your parents found a house that they like."
The color drained from my face. "Does that mean I'm moving?"
"No, silly!" she said. "Well, not right away! Your parents made an offer on the house, and it was accepted. Now they have to wait for the closing. That takes at least a month, usually longer. I'm thinking end of November, early December. You might even make it to the end of the semester before everything is settled.
"Anyway, in the meantime, your mother is coming out here so she can keep an eye on you! I mean, both eyes!"
Aunt Jane was crowing with glee, but when she saw the glum look on my face, she grabbed me and hugged me. "Come here, you little Dodger girl! You know I love you, don't you? I'm not getting rid of you! I just don't have to be your mother any more! Let's face it, you're like a little soap opera — with breasts!" She laughed and laughed at her own joke.
I didn't think it was very funny, but her silliness made me laugh anyway.
"Call your mother," Jane told me. "She'll explain everything." Then she turned a critical eye on my shirt. "Then you and me — I have to take you bra shopping. You've outgrown that one by a long shot."
My mother didn't really explain anything. She zipped through a bunch of real-estate lingo that I didn't understand, quickly brushing the subject out of the way.
What she really wanted to talk about was my breasts. She wanted to know how big they were. She was shocked when I told her I was almost as big as Eden, so I tried to backpedal. She wanted my measurements, but I didn't know them. "Call me back when you know your bra size," she said. "In fact, take all your measurements. Get your aunt to do it. I want to know the numbers."
"Aunt Jane is taking me shopping for bras as soon as I hang up," I told her.
"It's not for that!" she exclaimed. "I want to know exactly how big those things are! Look, I don't know how you can be so blase about this. It isn't every day that a boy sprouts a pair of breasts from one day to the next. What are you going to do when you go back to being Mark? You are going to go back to being Mark, aren't you? I hope you understand that this is a big deal — a very big deal — but you're acting like it's nothing out of the ordinary!"
"I guess I like it," I told her.
"Oh, Lord," she said. "It's a good thing I'm going to be out there soon."
"When are you coming?"
"Tuesday morning. I'm taking a red-eye flight, so I'll be there before breakfast. Your aunt has all the details. If it's any consolation, you'll get to skip school so you can come and get me."
"Great!"
After I hung up, I became aware that I had a stomach ache. I know it sounds weird to say it that way, but I suddenly realized that my stomach had been hurting for a while, and I wasn't sure when it started. Could there have been something wrong with the ice cream I ate?
"What's the matter?" Aunt Jane asked me. "What's that face about?"
"My stomach hurts," I told her.
"Probably just nerves," she smiled. "You're worried that your mother is going to cramp your wild Marcie style." She laughed.
I tried to smile, but my stomach hurt too much.
Aunt Jane took me back to the mall to shop for bras. We bought three, and Jane did pretty much all the work. She even helped me try them on.
"What's with you?" she asked. "Does your stomach really hurt that much?"
"Yes," I said. "Maybe I have the flu or something."
"Maybe you just need to go to the bathroom," Jane replied. "Have you gone yet today? But it's probably just nerves, like I said before. You'd be surprised how many people come to the emergency room for that."
"Do they really?" I asked.
"No," she admitted. "It sounded good though, didn't it? Seriously, nerves can tie your stomach in a painful knot. Still, if you think you're going to throw up, tell me so I can pull over, okay?"
"I won't," I said, and bent over, with both hands on my belly.
"Hey, I wanted to ask you guys," I said. "Do either of you read any girls' magazines? You know, like Cosmo Girl or Elle Girl or—"
"Or Barf Girl," Carla interrupted. "Pull-eeze! Are you serious?"
I told her about my stomach.
"Maybe it's your appendix," Carla said. "That's what it felt like when I had mine taken out."
"No," I said, "it's my stomach."
Carla shrugged and pushed some more food into her mouth.
"Hey, I wanted to ask you guys," I said. "Do either of you read any girls' magazines? You know, like Cosmo Girl or Elle Girl or—"
"Or Barf Girl," Carla interrupted. "Pull-eeze! Are you serious?"
Eden smiled. "I don't get any of them. Right now I'm reading Healing A Princess. It's a good story." She sipped her drink. "Why are you interested in those magazines?"
"Oh, I don't know." I said. "I feel like I ought to be reading one, but I don't know which one to choose."
"Why don't you ask Cassie?" Eden said.
"She'd just laugh at me," I said. "But I guess I could try. She'll tease me anyway."
"She's like your big sister," Carla said. "Big sisters are a big pain. But seriously, don't read those magazines. They soften your brain."
I shrugged.
"Oh, look," Eden said, gesturing behind me. "Jerry's arguing with the cafeteria monitor."
I turned, and saw him. He had a newspaper in his hand that he was trying to show her. Finally he got her to look at it. She laughed and waved him through. He walked up to my table.
"Gah!" he spat. "I have to get special permission to talk to you!" Then he smiled, and I could see he wanted to kiss me.
"The monitor's watching," Carla cautioned.
"Look," Jerry said. "I had to show you this." He spread the paper on the table. It was the sports section from the Globe, and on the front page was a big color picture of the two of us at the mall — me in my Dodgers shirt and Jerry in his Giants shirt.
"Oh, how sweet!" Carla said. "Look at the caption: Love Conquers All. Ha!" She laughed, and Eden went on to read the rest. The caption gave our names, our school, and said that our "affection for each other doesn't interfere with allegiance to our teams."
"What a hoot!" Carla crowed. "How lovey-dovey!"
"Anyway, it's a nice picture," Jerry said to me. "They are good colors on you, even if it's the wrong team."
"Aww," Eden cooed.
"That's enough," the monitor called, and Jerry went back to his table.
"Who are you calling?" Carla asked me, as I dialed my cell phone.
"My aunt," I said. "I want to see if she can pick up some copies of the paper."
My aunt and I took off after dinner. I was still pretty uncomfortable, but trying not to show it. Jane still put it down to nerves.
"Why do we have to leave now?" I asked.
"I've told you twice already," my aunt replied, a little impatiently. "It's a two-hour drive, and the plane gets in at six. So we either leave tomorrow at four AM or leave tonight and get a hotel near the airport.
"Your mother's landing in a little regional airport so she could get a low fare. That's also why she's on a red-eye. The overnight flights cost less. Your parents can't afford to be flying back and forth every time you get into something."
"Ha, ha," I said mirthlessly.
"Come on," she said, smiling, and we got in the car.
After a long, uneventful drive, we checked into a hotel.
I couldn't sleep much, and after several hours of tossing and turning, we dressed, checked out of the hotel and were on our way to the airport. I looked like hell, and my stomach hurt more than ever.
"Now I'm starting to worry," my aunt said. "Once we pick up your mother, we're going to take you to see someone."
"Yeah," I agreed. "The sooner the better."
We had to wait near baggage claim. I sat down with my hands on my stomach while my aunt scanned the crowd. By the time my mother appeared, tears of pain were streaming down my face.
"Oh, honey, what's wrong?" my mother asked.
"You have to take me to the doctor," I said. "Now."
Aunt Jane ran for the car. My mother anxiously watched for her bags, and I stayed put, crying and clutching my stomach.
A woman from airport security sat down next to me and started asking me questions. Wordlessly I looked at my mother, who ran over to explain. The woman stood up, turned her back to us, and talked into a walkie-talkie. "Copy that," she said at the end, and turned back to face us.
"An ambulance is on the way. There's a hospital close by."
Aunt Jane pulled up outside at that point. She got out of her car, and immediately another security officer confronted her, telling her to move the car. I gestured with my head, and Mom told the woman, "That's my sister-in-law."
To make a long story short, Mom and I took off in the ambulance. Aunt Jane waited to pick up my mother's luggage, and one of the guys from the ambulance stayed to show Jane the way.
"It was nice of that man to stay with my sister-in-law," my mother commented. She had to talk loudly to be heard over the siren.
"Yeah," the medic replied. "I think he has a thing for her."
"Oh," my mother said, in an almost inaudible voice.
It turned out that Carla was right: I had appendicitis, and they operated right away.
I don't remember much of what happened once we got to the hospital. Maybe it was the anesthesia, maybe I just passed out. I remember someone saying, "Look, she's exhausted," and pushing my hair off my forehead. I remember my mother signing forms... I remember Aunt Jane and some guy... I remember looking up at faces in surgical masks... Someone asked me to count backward from 100. I got as far as 99.
The next thing I knew, I was in a gauzy, dimly-lit, but very white room. It was the most quiet place I had ever been in my life. A nurse came by and offered me some water. After I sipped a little through a straw, I asked, "Am I asleep? Is this a dream?"
"No, hon," the nurse said in a quiet, kind voice. "You're still feeling the anesthesia a little. Everything went fine. Soon we'll take you to your room and you can see your family."
The rest of the hospital stay was a blur. It seemed like we rushed out of the place. As soon as I got to my room, I saw that my mother had been crying, and Aunt Jane was angry.
A nurse and some other people in white protested, but Jane put me a wheelchair and pushed me to her car. There were lots of voices. It seemed as if everyone wanted to argue but were trying to be quiet at the same time.
I didn't understand... everything was still dream-like.
Mom and Aunt Jane filled the back seat of the car with blankets and pillows, like a bed. Someone with strong arms lifted me in, and I fell instantly asleep. I remember the car making some bumps and turns, and next thing I knew, I was waking up in my own bed at Jane's house, feeling very thirsty.
"It isn't that I want you to be upset at what happened, but it doesn't seem that you understand the gravity of what's going on with you. You just skip happily from one bizarre cataclysm to the next, while all around you, parents, relatives, and friends clutch their hearts in terror."
Mr. Marks cleared his throat. "The lesson for me is that we can't afford to miss any sessions. You've missed two in a row — with good reasons, obviously," (he meant the funeral and the operation), "but next time we have to reschedule. I mean, if your mother and your aunt hadn't called to tell me what happened, we would have spent this entire session trying to separate fantasy from reality."
He twisted his mouth, then cleared his throat. "Still, even knowing what happened, I have a very hard time believing that it's so. I'll be glad to hear Dr. Monroe's take on these new developments."
It's been a week since my operation. I mean operations, plural. It turns out that the hospital made a mistake and took out too much.
What happened is that before Aunt Jane arrived to help look things over, my mother had signed a batch of forms: insurance forms, hospital admission forms, consent forms.
Among the forms was a consent for an orchidectomy. It was there by mistake, but my mother signed it anyway, without knowing what she signed. The form said that she'd been informed of the nature of the procedure, etc., etc., but no one explained anything until after the fact.
What happened was that another patient in the ER needed the procedure for medical reasons, and a well-meaning clerk got the idea that *I* was that patient.
While they scheduled me for the appendectomy—which means removing my appendix — they also scheduled me for the orchidectomy—which means removing my testicles. You can probably guess what a big surprise it was to everyone, and — like my appendix, once they were gone, there was no putting them back.
My mother was mortified, and my father went through the roof. My aunt told me that Dad was suing the hospital, and my mother apologized over and over, in tears.
Honestly, though, I didn't mind.
"I don't understand why you're so upset," I said to Mr. Marks. "It's like you want to... to scold me or something. It's not like this was my fault."
Mr. Marks frowned. "What I don't understand is why it doesn't upset you," he countered. Then he paused and said, "No, that's not exactly what I meant to say. Look, the thing is, you act as if nothing particularly important happened. Like, you went to school, you had a snack, you played jump rope, you had a surgical procedure, you went to the mall... You don't seem to grasp the finality of what happened to you."
"What do you mean?"
Instead of answering me directly, Mr. Marks said, "Let me ask you this: you told me that you saw your mother crying. Why do you think she was crying?"
"Um, because of the mistake the hospital made."
"What does that mean to her?"
I shrugged. "I'm her child and she cares about me. She feels bad about signing the form. Also, this brings me one step closer to being a girl, and that's hard for her, too."
Mr. Marks scratched his head. I could see he was getting a little frustrated and impatient, which was unusual for him. "Okay. How about this: what event do parents want to see in their children's lives?"
"The day they move out?"
He groaned in frustration. "And then?"
"They get married?"
"And then?"
"They have kids?"
"Bingo! And what do they call those kids?"
"Grandchildren?"
"Exactly! Do you get it now?"
I licked my lips and looked around the room. I don't think I'm dumb, but I didn't see what he was driving at. I looked down at my Dodgers t-shirt. No answers there.
"Grandchildren!" he exclaimed. He had a hard time staying in his chair, he was so worked up. "Your mother wants grandchildren! Where are they going to come from?"
"From me?"
"Not any more!"
"Why not?"
Mr. Marks swore, and I was shocked. He'd always been kind, patient, and even funny. I realized later (when he apologized) that he was frustrated by my not understanding.
"Marcie, do you understand anything about human biology? Do you know about the birds and the bees? Where babies come from?" I nodded. He said, "It sure doesn't sound like it. You need to get a book for teens that explains all of that stuff. Before next week. And you have to read it. I'm going to quiz you on it, and I'm also going to call your mother to make sure you study it. Right now what's important is for you to realize that — regardless of appearance, in spite of breasts and surgical procedures — internally you are still a boy. You can't get pregnant, ever, not even if you have sexual reassignment surgery. There is no way, now or ever, that you can have a baby. Okay?"
I nodded.
"Until a week ago, you could have had a child of your own. You could have been a father. That would make your parents..."
"Grandparents."
"Very good. But now that you lost your testicles, you can never be a father. Your body doesn't produce sperm any more. Do you get it?"
"Yes."
He sighed. "I'm sorry I lost my temper with you. It isn't, as you said before, that I want you to be upset at what happened, but it doesn't seem that you understand the gravity of what's going on with you. You just skip happily from one bizarre cataclysm to the next, while all around you, parents, relatives, and friends clutch their hearts in terror."
"Really?"
"Really. This week, try to see how things affect your mother and your aunt. I don't necessarily mean asking them, but you could if you like. What I do mean is, look at their faces and try to imagine... if you were in their place, seeing you do the things you do. How would it feel to be your mother or your father or your aunt right now?"
"I'll try," I said. "Should I do that with you, too?"
He laughed. "It couldn't hurt."
"Marcie, what's with you?" Carla asked me. "You're so calm. It's kinda spooky. Are you on something?"
Cory walked by our lunch table. He gave me a funny look, then he smiled at Eden. She smiled back at him.
"Pretty soon the monitor's going to make him sit at Jerry and Pat's table," Carla commented. Eden reddened.
"Are you and Cory an item?" I asked.
"We talk," Eden said, with a little smile. "I don't have a lot of time right now, though, what with the Bye Bye Birdie rehearsals. But we talk."
"What was the weird look he gave me?" I asked her.
"He wants to ask you something," she said, and gave me a mysterious look. "But don't ask me what it is, because I won't tell you."
Somehow I didn't feel like wheedling the answer out of her. I wasn't tired. It's just that... not knowing didn't bother me. I felt... serene, I guess. Eden would tell me in good time, or Cory would.
"Marcie, what's with you?" Carla asked me. "You're so calm. It's kinda spooky. Are you on something?"
"No," I said, shrugging.
"I hope it wears off soon," she continued. "I'm waiting for your next escapade."
"Escapade?" Eden laughed. "Her next adventure. Oh!" she said, suddenly realizing. "We're like the girls in Nancy Drew! Marcie is Nancy, you're George, and I'm Bess — except that I'm not fat like Bess. And Jerry is whats-his-name, uh, Nancy's boyfriend..."
"Ned Nickerson," I supplied.
"Yes! And your Aunt Jane is Hannah whatever–"
"Hannah Gruen," I said. "But Aunt Jane is a nurse, not a housekeeper–"
"Whoa, whoa! Slow down there, girly girls!" Carla said.
"Sorry," I told her. "I just read a couple Nancy Drew books, so it's all fresh in my mind."
"Those are for little girls," she said.
"I know," I said, blushing. "But I never read them before."
"You've gotta get off that junk," Carla told me. "It's bad for your brain!"
Eden giggled.
... or did she? I looked at Eden's face and heard her giggle a second time, but she wasn't laughing. "What the –?" I asked.
Eden gestured behind her to Cory, who was answering his cell phone.
"That's Cory's ring tone," she said.
"Your giggle is Cory's ring tone?" I asked, eyebrows high.
Mrs. Auburn had asked me to pick up Nina after school. "Jerry and Cassie are busy," she said, "and I'll pay you, but don't let Nina know you're babysitting, okay?"
Tierson Elementary was a fifteen-minute walk, so I couldn't get there just when school ended, but Nina was going to wait for me. Eden came along so she could talk about Cory. We walked as quickly as we could. "I don't want her just hanging out in front of the school," I explained.
When we arrived, Nina was looking suspiciously at a car parked nearby, and was obviously relieved to see me.
"Hi," she said. "There's a weird guy hanging around. He came over to talk to me, so I backed up toward the school door, until he gave up. I just wish that he'd go away."
There was only one other little girl waiting. I asked, "Nina, do you know her?" Nina shook her head. "Let's wait until someone comes to pick her up."
Nina was clutching a notebook and a pen with a big pom-pom on the end. I said, "Nina, will you write down the number of his license plate? Just in case?" She scribbled it down. I took out my cell phone and set my purse on the ground.
Eden looked worried. "The guy is talking to that little girl," she observed.
I turned to look. The man had opened the back door of the car, and gestured to the girl. She shook her head no. Swiftly, he scooped her up and jumped into the car. The car took off.
It was as if an electric shock ran through my entire body. I grabbed Nina by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. "Stay with Eden," I told her. I thrust my cell phone into Eden's hands and said, "Call 911. Take Nina to your house. I'll meet you there." Then I turned and ran.
The car took a left at the corner. I cut across the park, aiming to meet the car before it hit the next intersection. I was running faster than I ever ran in my life. The distance wasn't far, and I caught up with the car as it paused at the stop sign. I wanted to shout, "Stop!" or something, but didn't have the breath. I put my left hand on the frame of the driver's window and looked the driver in the face.
"Get the hell out of here!" the man in the back seat yelled. I don't know if that was directed at me or the driver, but the driver hit the gas. The girl in the back seat yelled, "Help me! PLEASE!"
I don't know how or when or why I did it, but with my right hand I grabbed the roof rack, and kicked my right foot up. My heel got stuck in the rack, so I couldn't have let go if I wanted to. I hooked my left leg on the side of the car as well as I could, and hung on for dear life.
I was on there pretty well, but if my hands slipped or lost their grip, I'd hang by my heel and my head would hit the road, so believe me, I didn't let go.
The driver panicked and started speeding up and braking hard to try to shake me off. He took some fast right turns, but I clung like a barnacle. The man in the back seat kept shouting, but I couldn't make out what he was saying.
The wind stung my eyes, and my hands started to hurt. I felt like an animal, fighting for survival. I couldn't think or do anything but hang on tight and not let go.
At the same time, I saw the faces of the two men and the little girl, like close-ups. I could see every emotion, every feeling and thought that went through them. The car was going fast, but time was moving slowly — incredibly slowly. I wondered whether I was going to die or be badly hurt. I knew I couldn't let go... not just for myself, but for the little girl.
I don't know how long it went on or how far we drove, but it seemed like an eternity. The girl kept crying, and the man kept shouting. I could see the driver's face, desperate with fear. Finally, I heard the whoop, whoop of a police siren, and the car stopped.
The policeman had to lift me up so I could unhook my heel from the roof rack. The entire time the man in the back seat was accusing me of everything he could think of, from vandalism to attempted carjacking. He said I had a weapon, a gun or a knife, that I must have dropped on the road.
The policeman didn't say anything. He calmly held me and helped me until I had both feet on the ground. He asked if I was okay, and when I nodded, he gave me a wink. I leaned against the back of the car as my chest heaved. I needed to catch my breath.
The policeman, with the same calm manner, asked the driver for his license and registration. The driver fumbled for it. I was about to turn to look at the girl, when–
Suddenly, and frighteningly, a second police car pulled up and stationed itself in front of the car. The policeman near me unsnapped his holster and put his hand on his gun. "Keep your hands where I can see them," he said to the men in the car.
To me, he said, "Go to the police car," and gestured with his head.
"I can't walk," I replied. My legs were wobbling so hard, I thought I was going to fall down.
The policeman pulled out his gun and said to the men, "Turn off the engine and step out of the car." Two more policemen came up to the bad guys' car. One pulled out the man from the back seat and bent him over the trunk of the car. The other moved me aside and helped the little girl from the car. I slid down to the ground and started crying.
Mr. Marks had told me, All around you parents, relatives, and friends clutch their hearts in terror. The terror was right there on the faces of Nina and Eden. Nina buried her face in my shirt and I could feel her trembling. Eden couldn't even talk.
In the end, the two kidnappers were handcuffed and taken away. I was still shaky... I still had trouble standing. My arms had big, wicked bruises on them but somehow they didn't hurt. One of the policemen gave me ice packs, but they were hard to use. They were so cold, it hurt to hold them, so I had to keep switching hands, and they kept slipping out of place. The little girl and I were put in a police car and driven back to the elementary school, where Eden, Nina, and the girl's mother were waiting. Eden and Nina were scared to death, and the little girl and her mother were crying.
In that moment I saw what Mr. Marks was talking about when he said, All around you parents, relatives, and friends clutch their hearts in terror. The terror was right there on the faces of Nina and Eden. Nina buried her face in my shirt and I could feel her trembling. Eden couldn't even talk.
The police drove the three of us to Eden's house. It all made Mrs. Hensel very nervous. She gave us something to eat, and kept dropping things while I told her the story.
At first Nina was tucked in a ball on my lap. I hugged her and hugged her and rocked her in my arms, but after she'd eaten a little bit, she told the story all over again from her point of view.
Mrs. Hensel said, "Oh, my!" a dozen times, and her face kept going white. She quit holding things in her hands — it was the only way to keep from dropping them. Honestly, I was afraid she was going to faint.
Much to my relief, after an hour or so Eden and Nina seemed better.
Later, when I walked Nina home, she kept glancing over her shoulder, as if someone was following us. Of course, there was no one there.
Seeing her do that just broke my heart. I wanted to tell her not to worry, but how could I?
When we got to the Auburn's house, I had to tell the story to Mrs. Auburn. Cassie and Jerry weren't there. I felt awful for Nina and her mother.
Mrs. Auburn told me I was very brave, but all I could say to her was, "I'm sorry."
"Why are you sorry, Marcie?"
"I'm sorry Nina had to be there."
"That wasn't your fault."
"I could have left school early."
"If you had, who knows where that other little girl would be now?" The two of us were already crying. Nina, who was standing on a chair, looked from her mother to me and back again. Then she put her hand on her mother's shoulder and said, "Don't worry, Mom. It's alright."
Mrs. Auburn took us both in her arms and gave us a long, long hug. I didn't want to let go.
She invited me to dinner, but I had to get home to Mom. That meant telling the whole story again, and once more I saw in her face the fear and pain that Mr. Marks had told me about.
"Mom, I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to do it. I didn't want to do it. I didn't think. I just saw him grab that little girl, and I started running..." tears were pouring down my face. "I don't mean to make your life so hard. I really don't. It's just..."
"Oh, honey," she said, and put her arms around me. "You're a very brave girl. It scares me sometimes — sometimes it scares me to death! — but I am so, so proud of you. I really am!" She hugged me until I stopped sobbing, and then she said, "Let me call your aunt and find out what to do about those bruises."
We ate together, and then she drew a hot bath for me with baking soda in it. It was very soothing, and I fell asleep in the tub for a while. When I woke up the water was getting cold, so I rinsed off and washed my hair. I took a good look at myself all over, and found some bruises on my legs, but they were nothing compared to the ones on my arms.
"Good thing the weather's cool," Mom observed. "You can wear long sleeves until the bruises fade."
Somehow it felt much less dramatic the next day. Still scary, still horrible, but I went to school without worrying about crying every five minutes.
Mom told me I could stay home if I wanted, but I didn't. I needed to be busy, not to be alone with myself. She helped me pick out a long-sleeved reddish-brown dress. It was cotton, so it didn't feel rough against the bruises. I couldn't carry anything in my arms, so I took my little backpack.
At lunchtime, Cory sat at our table. "Hi," I said. "Eden said you wanted to ask me something."
"Yeah," he said. "Are you okay?"
I smiled. "Is that what you've been waiting to ask me?"
"No, but Eden told me what happened yesterday." Eden looked down. "It sounds pretty scary."
Yeah, it was," I admitted, "but I'm okay. Are *you* alright, Eden?"
"No," she said. "I'm still pretty, uh..." she broke off and silent tears rolled down her face. "Oh, my God, I thought you were going to die, Marcie!" she whispered. "And I didn't know what to say to Nina..."
Cory put his hand on her back and said something soft and soothing. She turned to him and put her head on his shoulder, crying quietly. Carla suddenly stood, looking over my head at someone. It was the cafeteria monitor. Carla very quickly intercepted the woman and talked to her, seriously and intensely. The monitor put up her hand several times to quiet Carla, but Carla pushed on, insisting and explaining.
They talked for a few moments, and then the monitor and Carla came over.
"Eden, honey," the woman said. "Are you okay? Would you like to go to the nurse's office?"
Eden replied with a sad, muffled "No."
"Okay," she said. "But if you're too upset, one of your friends can take you there. Right, girls?" We nodded. She scratched her cheek, and said to Cory, "For today it's fine, but tomorrow, you have to sit with the other boyfriends." Cory gaped, and Eden gave a little giggle.
"Is that Cory's cell phone, or is that you, Eden?" I joked. She sniffed, sat up, and started wiping her tears.
"I'm okay," she said. "Thanks, Cory."
"Yeah," he said, turning red as a beet.
The cafeteria monitor indicated by gestures that she had her eyes on Cory, then smiled and left.
Carla said, "Wow. I didn't think she'd listen to reason."
"That was very cool, what you did, Carla," I commented.
She shrugged. "Hey, by the way," she told me, "I'm never gonna wish any more adventures on you, Marcie. I'm sorry I ever did! I hope you can really keep a low profile from here on."
"Thanks," I told her, smiling. "We'll see what the future brings."
"This is your life we're talking about. Try to show a little interest! I'm not asking you what you want for lunch. I'm asking you how you want to appear on legal records. I hope that you at least understand that you can't switch back and forth between girl and boy every semester."
"We have to face facts," Mom told me. "It's going to be pretty hard for you to go back to being Mark."
"I guess," I said. My mother and I have been having this exact, same, identical conversation a lot lately. It finally occurred to me that maybe she was trying to get used to the idea.
"So...," she began, a little nervously.
I looked at her expectantly. Were we going to go over the same ground yet again, or was she going to talk about something new?
"So..., your father and I want to know something: how would you feel about legally changing your name to Marcie?"
I shrugged. "Okay."
She bristled a bit. "Don't be so nonchalant!" she scolded. "This is your life we're talking about. Try to show a little interest! I'm not asking you what you want for lunch. I'm asking you how you want to appear on legal records. I hope that you at least understand that you can't switch back and forth between girl and boy every semester. Do you have any idea how much work it would take for you to go back to being a boy?"
I felt a little uncomfortable. "I haven't really thought about it."
"Well, think about it!" she said. "What would you have to do?"
"Okay," I said, "Um, I'd have to get a haircut. And no more earrings or nail polish? And, uh, I'd probably need all new clothes." My mother crossed her arms and tapped her foot. I know she was biting her tongue, so I tried to speed things up a bit. "I guess I would have to have an operation to... uh, to..." I gestured at my chest.
She nodded. "You'd have to have those removed."
"Yeah," I said sadly.
"Anything else?" she asked.
I looked at myself. "I'd have to let my body hair grow."
"Even before that, there's something."
"I'd have to take toss– tosstes– tosstester– testosterone." I looked at the floor.
"Right," she said, but not unkindly.
"I think that's everything," I said.
"Mmm," Mom said. "And that's more than enough." She took a breath, then said, "So, back to my question: do you want to legally change your name to Marcie?"
"Okay," I repeated.
"No." Mom replied testily. "Not okay. On Monday, you have a day off from school. It's a Teachers' Day. We can go and get your name changed, and that's what we're going to do, unless you tell me, right here and now, that you want to go back to being Mark next semester."
"Okay," I said.
"No!" she said angrily. I could tell she was at the limit of her patience, but I didn't know what she wanted. So she finally spelled it out. "I don't want you to agree with me. I want you to tell me what you want to do. I want to hear you say I want to be Mark or I want to be Marcie. And so help me God, if you say 'Okay' one more time, I'm going to slap you!"
I almost said it, just as a reflex, but stopped myself in time. "I want to be Marcie," I told her.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
She put her hands on her forehead and walked away.
I waited a little bit, then followed her into the kitchen.
"Mom," I said, "honestly, I'm not trying to make this hard for you. I know I act like it's all just happening to me, but I really like it. I love being Marcie, and I don't ever want to be Mark again."
"Okay," she said in a tired voice.
I wasn't sure whether it was the right thing to do, but — what the heck, I gave it a shot. I walked over to my mother and gave her a hug. She put her head on my shoulder, and put her arms around me, too. Then she hung on. I rubbed her back a little. She kept holding on. I scratched my eyebrow and gave her another squeeze. "Mom?" I said. She didn't reply. "Oh, Mom," I called. "Can you let me go now?"
She sighed and let go. "I have to admit," she said, "You're better at being a girl than you were at being a boy."
"How come you want me to change my name?"
She considered a moment before telling me. "The lawyer that your father talked to said we could be liable — that means someone could potentially sue us — if they found out you were a boy going to school as a girl. He said that we have to establish the pretext of your being transsexual, and then we might have a viable defense."
"What's that mean?" I asked.
"If we can show that you are seriously trying to change gender, we could say that we hid the fact so you'd avoid prejudice."
"I think I get it," I said.
"To tell the truth, we didn't want to go with it, because he said we could lose anyway. But with all the things that have happened lately... it would be hard for anyone to doubt that you want to be a girl."
She swallowed hard and looked at the floor. I kept my mouth shut and didn't move. After a few moments my mother smiled and looked at me.
"So..." she said, "I guess you like the name 'Marcie' and want to stick with it."
"Yeah," I smiled.
"Marcella," she said.
"Yes." I was still watching myself, guarding myself, trying to not say okay.
"Good. Don't make any plans for Monday. We're going to do this in Sacramento, so nobody around here accidentally hears about it."
It was a long drive to Sacramento. We did a lot of talking.
"What was that phone call with Eden about last night?" she asked. "Can I ask?"
"Yeah," I sighed. "She was upset because I got dropped from the dancing chorus."
"Why were you dropped? I thought you danced just fine."
"I missed too many practices. Plus the woman in charge is like a drill sergeant. I don't think she likes me."
"Does it bother you, being dropped?"
"No," I admitted. "I didn't really want to do it. I just went along because of Eden. But she's not in the dancing chorus anyway."
"So... no Bye Bye Birdie for you?"
"No, I can still be in it, kinda. Jerry said I can be on stage crew."
"Oh, that might be fun," she said in a weird tone. I remembered that she wasn't very happy about my having a boyfriend.
"Don't worry, ma," I said.
She laughed. "Oh, hon, I have to worry about you a lot more now than I ever did before."
I sighed and looked out the window at the unglamorous scenery. "Why in the world did people ever come to Sacramento?"
"It was the gold rush that brought people here," Mom replied. "Then there was the transcontinental railroad."
Once we got into the city itself, Mom somehow managed to negotiate all the wacky one-way streets and find a parking garage.
"Will I get a new birth certificate?" I asked.
"No, not yet," Mom replied. "There isn't really much point until you can change the gender on it, right?"
"I guess so," I replied.
Before we went up to the court, Mom and I had a little snack in a coffee shop.
She finished eating first, and after clearing her place, she pulled out some papers and went through them.
"Are those for my name change?" I asked. She nodded. While she went through them, I saw the name MARCELLA ANTOINETTE DONNER.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I called. "Is that supposed to be me? Is that supposed to be my name? Antoinette?"
"Yes," Mom replied with a satisfied smile. "You're going to be Marcella Antoinette Donner. Antoinette was my mother's name."
"I thought her name was Toni."
"That was her nickname."
"No offense, but I think it's a weird name. I don't want it. It would make my initials MAD, like mad."
"Your friends could call you Maddie, then. You'll have another nickname handy if you need or want it."
"Mom! No! This isn't fair!"
"Oh, no?" she asked, her voice rising a bit. "Not fair? It's not fair? Is that what you think? Well, think about this:
"Parents usually name their children, but you went and took the name 'Marcie' all on your own. If you were born a girl, I was going to name you Antoinette. And for a boy's name, I wanted Antoine."
"Whoo-yuck!" I commented, and actually shuddered.
She looked at me in silence a moment. "I liked it. I still like it. But your father hated it."
"Yay, Dad!" I cheered.
"I don't think so," she cautioned. "He wanted to name you Rusty."
"Rusty!? Like a dog?"
"That's what I said. We couldn't agree, so the name 'Mark' was a compromise. And — no offense — but I always thought it was a very plain name."
"Yeah, I guess," I conceded.
"So, now that I have another chance, and since neither you nor your father thought about your middle name, I am finally going to get my wish!"
"Oh, Mom!"
It was too late to redo the documents, and I could see that it made her happy...
Maybe it was her way to find something nice for herself in all the changes that were happening in me.
So I waited a bit, and pretended I was thinking. Then I told her that I liked the name, and that I was happy she named me after Grandma Toni. She smiled and then she teared up.
It was so corny, I could feel my eyeballs start to roll, so I grabbed her in a hug. That way, she wouldn't see the expression on my face.
She squeezed me tight and said, "Oh, Marcie! I'm so glad!"
The legal part of it was no big deal. We waited in a tiny courtroom (I didn't know that courtrooms could be that small!) for about forty minutes, until a judge called my name. After my mother and I were sworn in, the judge asked us a couple of questions. We just kept saying "yes" until he declared that my name was now Marcella Antoinette Donner.
The judge, a bald man with a nice voice, took off his glasses and studied me for one long moment. Then he said, "Best of luck, Miss Donner," and gave me a friendly smile. "I don't usually have two such lovely ladies in my courtroom, or such easy cases to decide. You've really made my day!"
"Oh, thanks," I said, a little embarrassed. I saw that Mom got a little red as well, and I had to try to not giggle. We awkwardly made our way out of the little wooden gate that closed off the witness box.
"Oh, uh, your honor!" I added in too loud a voice, as a very late afterthought.
He laughed and waved his hand, as if shooing us out. "Go have fun, ladies. Enjoy the nice weather!"
"That's your new high school: Blessed Yvette High School for Girls. I've told you the name before."
"I don't think so," I said. "I'd remember a whacked-out name like that."
She gave me a funny look.
As soon as we were out of Sacramento and back on the highway, Mom said she had something to tell me. "I don't want to spoil your day," she said, "and I'm sure you're going to take this as bad news, but — after all — there is no good time to tell you."
"What?"
In a quiet voice, she dropped the bomb: "You're going to have to come to New Jersey soon."
I tensed up. "How soon?"
"You get out early on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. We'll leave right after. That way, we can have Thanksgiving as a family, and you start your new school on the Monday. This way you'll meet some of the other girls and hopefully make some friends before Christmas vacation."
"Thanksgiving? Oh, wait a minute — the other girls?"
"Yes, we want to send you to Blessed Yvette."
Huh? "Mom, who is 'Blessed Yvette'?"
"That's your new high school: Blessed Yvette High School for Girls. Yvette was a saint, or almost a saint. I don't know how they work it out. Don't act so surprised. I've told you the name before."
"I don't think so," I said. "I'd remember a whacked-out name like that."
She gave me a funny look.
I went on. "And don't *I* get any say in all of this? What if I want to stay until the end of the semester? What if I want to go to the public high school? Is there something wrong with the public school there? I mean, I never wanted to move anyway. Especially to New Jersey!"
Mom let out a big sigh. I looked out my window, and saw her face reflected in the glass. She glanced at me, again with that look I couldn't read. I remembered what Mr. Marks said about putting myself in her place. I tried to imagine what she was feeling, but drew a blank. So I asked her.
"Mom, what are you feeling right now?"
She laughed. "Who are you, Dr. Phil?"
"What I mean is, I know what it's like to be me, but I don't know what it's like to be you. Is it hard, being my mother?"
"Oh, honey," she said. "I wouldn't want to be anyone else's mother. You're my baby!"
I rolled my eyes and said, "Yeah, but that's not what I mean. Is it such a big deal to let me stay to the end of the semester? And why do you want me to go to a girls school?"
"Fair enough," she said. "Let me take one question at a time. Let's see: what is it like to be your mother? Oh, it's a little stressful, being the mother of a quote-unquote action hero. It scares me. When that little girl got kidnapped, well..." she choked up for a moment.
"I'm proud and amazed at what you did, but I can't help but think that you easily could have died, or at least been badly hurt. You could have ended up being kidnapped yourself! I know you didn't, but you could have. The eternal question with you is what's going to happen next?"
"I know," I said.
"At the same time, I think... I know... you're trying to keep a low profile." She laughed in spite of herself and was silent for a while. Then she continued.
"You asked about staying until the end of the semester. Your poor father is all alone in New Jersey. And I just feel like a visitor here. Your aunt has been very generous in sharing her home, but we're driving her up the wall. Maybe you don't notice, but she wants to get her house back to herself. Plus, there is so much happening with our new house... the inspection, the mortgage... it's hard to manage it, long distance.
"I want us all to be together. For many reasons. We're a family — that's the big one — but I'd like my husband to hold me when you have your next adventure."
"Oh, mom," I sighed. "I don't think I'm having any more adventures. That last one did it for me."
"Like I said before," she continued, returning to my questions (which I'd forgotten!), "it's better for you to switch mid-semester. That way you get to make some friends. If you change schools during vacation, it's harder to meet people. Although meeting people and making friends doesn't seem to be a problem for you any more."
"Did it used to be?" I asked.
"It sure looked that way," she replied. "Now, what else did you ask me? Oh, the public high school... right. Where we are now, there is a public school, but it's not very good. You'd be better off staying in bed than going to that school there. Our *new* house is in a district with a very good public school, so once we move, you can go there, unless you like going to Blessed Yvette's."
"Blessed Yvette," I repeated scornfully.
"Maybe you should look her up on the internet and found out who she was," Mom gently suggested. "The school has a website, too, I think. Anyway, Blessed Yvette's was very accomodating about everything."
I frowned. "Does that mean they know I'm not, uh —" I had a hard time saying it, "not really a boy? I mean, not really a girl?"
"No," she replied, "and that has to be our little secret." She bit her lip. "You asked me what it's like to be your mother. Well. It's hard when I talk to my friends, and they ask me about Mark and how he's doing. I have to be careful what I say. You've been in the newspapers a couple of times already, and I don't want to connect what you did with Mark. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"We haven't talked to any of our relatives for a while," she said. "I don't know what we're going to put on our Christmas card this year. And we're running out of time on that one." She shook her head.
I had to puzzle over that for a while before I knew what she was talking about.
"And your father..." she drew a breath. "It's lucky that we're moving to a new town, where nobody knows us. But your father, when he started his job, of course one of the first things he did was hang up a photo of the three of us in his office. Everybody knows he has a son Mark. They ask about you."
"But they don't know me."
"It's called being polite, Marcie. People ask about family, to show interest. So, where did this Marcie come from? Who is she? And what happened to Mark? Eventually someone will put it together, but what is your father supposed to do? When they say, Hey, Art? How's your son Mark doing? what does he say? Oh, it's the darndest thing. He's a girl now. How about that."
"Oh," I said in a small voice. I hadn't thought about that.
"Yeah, 'oh'. And the potential legal problems, if someone realizes you're a boy... So, when you ask me whether you have any say in what's happening... I think you've already had your say in a big way. Your father and I are doing our best to cope with the repercussions of your little experiment in dress-up."
She concentrated on the road for a while. Then she said, "Let's see. I think there was one more question. Oh, right: girls school. You know I'm uncomfortable with you dating boys."
"You don't want me to date girls, do you?"
She shot me a look that just about scorched me.
"Sorry, Mom!"
"Don't interrupt me," she said. "I know it's going to happen, but I'd like to slow it down as much as possible. That's part of it. Also, like I said, you can't go to the good public school until we move. Plus, you need to be around girls so you know how to be a girl. You're okay at it now, but there are some rough edges that need to come off, and being with other girls will help with that. AND, you might find that you like it."
"But we're not even Catholic, Mom!"
"That's okay. It turns out that a lot of the girls who go there aren't. They just want a good, affordable private education."
"And since you mention dating girls–"
"I was only kidding!" I cried, surprised to find myself blushing.
"I don't want you getting involved with girls, either. Your life is complicated enough already."
I could feel my entire face glowing red. Seemed like a good time to change the subject. "Oh!" I said, remembering, "What did you mean when you said the school was accommodating? What was there to be accommodating about?"
"Popping you in near the end of the semester, for one. They're also going to let you take gym class at the end of the day so you can shower at home."
"How did you swing that?" I asked.
"We told them you have an embarrassing skin condition," she grinned. I was shocked. "We offered to bring a doctor's note, but they didn't care. We were just bluffing, though. I don't know what we would have done if they needed one. You have to to take gym with the seniors instead of your own class."
"How am I going to explain that?" I asked.
"You don't have to explain it," she said. "Say that you didn't make your schedule, and you don't know why it's that way."
"Wow, Mom," I said, "I didn't know you were so clever."
"You had to get it from somewhere, didn't you?" she quipped.
"You sound a little sad," Cassie said brightly. "What's wrong?"
"If I tell you, you'll just tease me," I replied, "Besides, I want to tell Jerry first."
"Oh my god," she said breathlessly. "You're not pregnant, are you?"
"Now I have a question for you," Mom said. "How come you haven't asked anything about the new house and the new town?"
"Um," was all I could say for a moment. It was a good question. I didn't even know where it was on the map.
"I guess I was used to it being up in the air. Aunt Jane said we had to wait for the closing, whatever that is. Is it sure for certain that we're going to get that house? And why does it take so long?"
"Buying a house isn't like buying a pair of shoes, or even like buying a car. There's a lot involved."
"So, could it still fall through?"
"I suppose it could, but it would have to be something catastrophic. Theoretically, either party could pull out, or the title search could get complicated, but at this point..." she trailed off.
"How long after the closing until we move in?"
"We can move in right after the closing. In fact, once we have a closing date, I'm going to schedule the movers to bring all our stuff out of storage into the new house, and we'll go over and start cleaning and painting..."
My face fell. "Cleaning? Isn't the house clean when you buy it?"
"Oh, my goodness," she said. "Face it, young lady. Cleaning is a part of life."
She told me about the town. It's called Flickerbridge, which is about as weird a name as "Blessed Yvette." While she talked, I started daydreaming. I thought about the school's name. The initials would be BYHS. That didn't sound so bad. I could tell people I was going to BYHS. That would be my school, at least for a month. I tried to picture myself in the uniform, and wondered how short the skirt could be.
"Mom, does BYHS have a dress code?"
"What? Oh, I'm sure it does. Why?"
I was still a little lost in thought. "When we get there, can you take a picture of me in the school uniform?"
She didn't answer me. Instead she narrowed her eyes and looked at me as closely as she could.
"Eyes on the road, Mom! Eyes on the road!" I cautioned.
"Who is this picture for?" she asked.
Then she got it. "Oh, no," she said. "No, no, no. You are not sending pictures of yourself to boys."
"Not boys," I protested. "Boy. Just Jerry. He asked for one."
"He asked for a picture of you in the school uniform?" I nodded. "Absolutely not. And that is final. When we leave in a few weeks, you will say your goodbye to Jerry."
"Why don't you like him?" I asked. "What do you have against him?"
"Nothing," she sighed. "He seems perfectly nice. In fact, I have to admit that I like him. He's a good catch; he seems like a keeper. If you were really and truly a girl, I'd be happy. His family is very nice... I like his mother."
"So what's the problem?"
"I'm so afraid of what could happen. Please promise me that you'll be careful — very, very careful, Marcie. Don't lead him on, and don't get carried away. Don't let him get carried away. Especially now that you're leaving."
The first thing I did when we got home was look at the calendar. I only had 18 days of school left, and only 29 days left in Tierson. Not even. What did I have left? Pat's Halloween party, the Veterans Day weekend, and Bye Bye Birdie. Maybe I could do something special with that long Veterans Day weekend. I'd have to think. I wanted to call Carla and Eden, but neither of them were home.
I called Jerry's house. Cassie answered and told me that Jerry was out somewhere with Pat. "They're out doing some dumb boy-thing," she said. "They're probably burping, rolling in mud, and punching each other on the arm. You know, the usual."
"I guess," I said.
"You sound a little sad," she said brightly. "What's wrong?"
"I'm down," I replied, "but if I tell you, you'll just tease me. Besides, I want to tell Jerry first."
"Oh my god," she said breathlessly. "You're not pregnant, are you?"
"No," I said scornfully.
"You sound like you're on your period," she said.
I sighed, and figured I might as well go with it. "Yes I am," I said. "So could you not tease me today?"
"Okay," she agreed (which surprised me!).
"I did want to talk to you about something," I said, then hesitated. "If I ask you a question, will you give me a straight answer?"
"Sure, but only today."
"Okay. I want to read, um, a fashion magazine, you know, um, a girls magazine, but I don't know which one to choose."
"Oh, yes," she replied. "Your tomboy past strikes again."
"I guess."
"Right now I read Cosmo. And Allure sometimes — they have good recommendations for makeup and moisturizers and stuff like that. You have to pick that up, at least every now and then, once you start wearing makeup.
"When I was your age, it was Seventeen. It's pretty subjective. One of my friends reads Redbook. She likes the short stories.
"You know what you should do? Try different ones until you find the one you like. You can't really tell from the covers or the contents. You have to live with it a little bit. One of them will click, like it's made for you. Anyway, it's not life-or-death and it's not like you can make a wrong choice. Just grab one and see if you like it.
"Nobody's going to laugh unless you're carrying Cosmo when you're dressed frumpy. But you don't dress frumpy."
"Oh, thanks." Cassie actually gave me a compliment!
"Hey, by the way," she said, "that was pretty cool, what you did — saving that little girl. I don't think I would have had the guts."
"Thanks, Cassie."
"No problem," she said. "Today, no teasing. In a day or two, merciless teasing, okay?"
"Okay," I said, smiling.
Cassie was so nice to me that I almost told her the news. But I held out until Tuesday lunch, when I could tell Carla and Eden at the same time.
"Whatcha got there?" Eden asked, turning her head sideways. "Redbook? My mom reads that."
"Yeah," I admitted. "I borrowed this one from my mother. I think it's too mature for me."
Carla scoffed. "Maybe you're too mature for it."
"I don't think so," I replied. "I just wanted to give it a try. I have to find the magazine that fits me."
"No you don't," Carla countered. "You don't need that stuff."
I shrugged, and then I dropped the bomb.
"Moving?" Eden cried. "Oh, it's not fair!"
"Wow, that's just around the corner," Carla observed. "You're gonna be gone in a flash."
Eden was crestfallen. I wondered whether she and Carla would continue to be friends after I was gone. They didn't really have anything in common except me. Come to think of it, though, I don't really have anything in common with either of them. We're just friends.
"So, are you gonna go to that girls school?" Carla asked.
"Oh, yeah. Listen to what it's called: Blessed Yvette High School for Girls."
"Blessed Yvette?" Eden repeated. "What kind of name is that?"
Carla laughed so hard she nearly choked on her food. "Oh, that is just too precious!" she howled as soon as she was able.
"Jerry wants a picture of me in the school uniform," I told them.
Eden's mouth dropped open in shock.
Carla shook her head. "Boys are pigs," she said. "Are you going to send it to him?"
I nodded, smiling. Eden laughed.
I added, "My mom told me I couldn't, though."
Carla shrugged. "Maybe she's right. Boys think those outfits are sexy. He might do nasty things with that photo."
"I dunno," I said, and took a sip of my water.
Eden asked, "Will you be here for Bye Bye Birdie?"
I nodded.
"At least you won't miss Pat's party this weekend," Carla noted. "So what did Jerry say when you told him?"
"I haven't told him yet," I replied. "I'm telling him after school. Can you guys keep it to yourselves until tomorrow?"
"I never realized that when I show up as Marcie, you'll have to explain..."
"Well..." Dad said, in a noncommittal way.
"What are you going to say?"
After telling Jerry about the move, I went home and called my dad.
My hands were shaking a little bit, but I had to do it before I lost my nerve.
"How did the name change go?" Dad asked.
"Fine. It was pretty easy." I gave him a quick version of the day. "So, now I'm Marcella Antoinette Donner," I concluded.
"Oh," he laughed. "Your mother finally got that name in there! Did she tell you the story? That before you were born she wanted to call you Antoine? — or Antoinette?"
"Yeah, she did," I said. "And you wanted to call me Rusty?"
"Yes," he said. "It's a good, strong name. I thought it was a great name for a boy. I still think so."
"Oh, Dad! It's a good name for a dog!"
"That's what your mother said," he replied. "But a friend of mine, in the Navy, one of the best friends I ever had, his name was Rusty."
"And this guy... he had red hair, right?"
"He did, yes, he did have red hair."
"Oh, Dad! It was just a nickname! His real name was probably Clarence or something," I laughed.
"I liked it," he said simply. "I knew it was a nickname. Anyway, at this point it's all moot anyway."
"I guess," I agreed.
"So what's on your mind?" he asked after a little pause.
"How do you know something's on my mind?"
"This is the first time you've ever called me," he said. "Usually it's me or your mother who calls you. Did your mother give you any news?"
"You mean about the move? Yes, she told me. We'll all be in New Jersey soon. Yay!" I said, ending with a bit of fake enthusiasm.
"Right," he said. "I'm looking forward to it. But listen, you have to prepare... mentally. This is a very small apartment. We'll be a little tight here, but at least we'll all be together. We've never lived under such cramped conditions, so there will be some adjustments. There's only one bathroom."
"Uh-huh. I can deal with it."
"You say so now," he joked. "We'll see!"
I paused, feeling very awkward. My father yawned, then apologized.
"Dad?" I leaped right into it. "The real reason I'm calling is that I wanted to say thanks."
"Oh, you're welcome," he said. "What are you thanking me for?"
"For everything."
"It's okay," he said. "Don't worry about it. I'm not really sure what you're thanking me for, but it's okay."
I felt so totally inadequate. It was frightening. I could handle something being weird or hard for me, but thinking that I'd made things difficult for my father... at his job... that was too much to handle.
That picture in his office, I knew just which one it was... he always said it was his favorite. Someone had snapped a picture of the three of us at my cousin's wedding. We were outside, and the three of us were smiling at each other, unaware of the photographer. It was a perfect picture, a good likeness of each of us... everybody happy...
"Um, Mom told me that you have a family picture in your office and that the people you work with ask about me — about Mark, I mean."
He was silent for a moment. Then he said, "People ask about each other's families all the time."
"Yeah, but I never realized that when I show up as Marcie, you'll have to explain..."
"Well..." he said, in a noncommittal way.
"What are you going to say?"
"What do you think I should say?" he gently countered.
"Maybe I could be a child of a former marriage?"
He scoffed. "Your mother and I have never been married before, and anyway the numbers don't work. We'd have to be married after you were born, right? Besides, then people would ask about our exes."
I couldn't quite work all that out, so I took a different tack.
"Could I be adopted, or the child of a cousin or something?"
He drew a breath. "I don't think I could pretend that you're not my child. I'm sure your mother couldn't. And even if we did say that, what happened to Mark?"
"He stayed in California."
"You mean we abandoned him?"
"No — He just liked California and stayed."
"That's not a very good story, Marcie." His tone was very quiet and gentle.
"Sorry. I'm just trying to help."
"I know you are. And I appreciate it, but if we're going to make up a story, it has to make sense and hold together. We can talk about it once you and your mother get here. Honestly though, I don't see a way around telling the truth."
I didn't know what to say.
"Try not to worry. I can take a little flack. And we'll talk about it." He sounded a little tired. I remembered the time change; that it was later for him than it was for me.
Then I started thinking: if the people he worked with knew about Mark, it might eventually get to someone in school. I mean, people know people, and this is exactly the kind of story that people would want to tell. I felt the panic creeping up my spine.
"Dad," I said. "If one person knows, then everybody could know. My school could find out."
"I know," he said. "We've thought about that. If I tell at work, we have to tell your school too. Maybe we'd have to tell them first."
A chill ran through me.
"We'll talk about it when you get here," he repeated. "And I want the school to meet you first, before we potentially tell them."
"Potentially?" I repeated. "Does that mean we might not tell?"
He hesitated. "We'll talk about it when you get here, okay?"
It looked like I'd have to be Marcie-who-used-to-be-Mark, which did not look like a good option, especially as a way to get to know people. "Hi, I'm Marcie. I used to be Mark, but you know... I liked dresses better."
After talking to my dad, I felt pretty nervous. I'd been thinking of the move as a new start, where I'd be Marcie as if I'd always been Marcie. Now, it looked like I'd have to be Marcie-who-used-to-be-Mark, which did not look like a good option, especially as a way to get to know people. "Hi, I'm Marcie. I used to be Mark, but you know... I liked dresses better."
I was determined to work out a good story: one that left me as Marcie from the very beginning, one in which Mark either never existed or was somebody else (not me!). I took out a piece of paper and began a list of all the questions that needed to be answered:
Then I stopped. Was that all? What else was there? There had to be something else. I thought about the picture in my father's office. That was really the only problem. Could he say that he put up the wrong picture? That it wasn't his family? That the kid, Mark, was a cousin of mine, or something?
I sighed. If he only hadn't put up the picture, there wouldn't be anything to explain.
No, that wasn't true. His co-workers probably asked about his family. They didn't just go by the picture! Wife? Kids? Those are normal questions.
Plus, there are my relatives. Most of them are on the West coast: California, Washington, and an uncle in Texas. They'd be far away from New Jersey, but they would have to be told. Sooner or later. How could they not know? What could we say? (Oh, yes! We thought Mark was a boy, but turns out he was a girl all along! Never thought to look! Neither did the doctors! It's the damndest thing!)
I wished there was someone who could help me. There were so many people I *couldn't* ask: Eden, Carla, Jerry, Cassie, Mr. Bryant.
My aunt isn't home right now, but she'd probably have some ideas. At least she'd have the adult perspective. Was there anyone else? Maybe Alice or Denise?
Then it hit me: Mrs. Earshon, the psychic! She might be able to tell me how things were going to work out, even if she didn't have the answers.
I dug out her number and gave her a call.
She said hello, and yes, she remembered me...
She seemed a little cool and distant, almost formal, as if she didn't want to talk to me.
Still, she didn't hang up.
I told her when I was moving, and asked if I could come for another reading, but she replied that it was too soon.
I asked what she meant, and she said, "It's just too soon," and left it there.
Before the call, I planned on explaining to her the whole Mark and Marcie business, but now, with her acting so weird, I was sure I didn't want to.
It was puzzling and frustrating, and I was getting a little angry. She was the one who wanted to meet me, in the first place. I didn't go seeking her out. She was the one who was curious about my life and wanted to see what her cards said about me. Now that the shoe was on the other foot, she didn't want to know me? What was that about?
Still, I had to be careful with what I said, because there was something else I needed from her: more tea. I wanted to know where to get it.
She told me I could buy it through the internet. She gave me the name of the tea and the website. I had to ask her twice, so she ended up telling me the same thing three times total. She didn't sound impatient or angry or anything. She was just flat. It was disappointing. I had to do all the work in the conversation. All she did was respond to what I said with the shortest answers possible.
At the end, when I'd given up, when I was going to say goodbye, she said, "You know, that tea... you're supposed to stop drinking it when it starts to work."
"Oh, I know," I said. "I did stop. This is for a friend."
She sounded impatient when she said, "Marcie, don't forget that I'm psychic. It's not a joke. I know when people are lying, and I can tell that you're lying now. I just don't understand why."
"Why would I lie to you?" I asked her in a defensive tone. What did she want from me? She didn't want to talk to me, and now she was getting mean. I didn't have to take that from her. She wasn't my mother, after all. She had no right.
"You'd like to hide something," she said simply.
"I have nothing to hide," I told her.
"It almost sounds like you believe that," she countered.
I felt my anger grow like a flame. Now that I knew where to get the tea, I didn't need to be careful. So I told her, "I don't want to be rude, but why are you accusing me? What did I ever do to you? Are you mad at me because your reading didn't work? Because you couldn't figure me out?"
In a surprisingly calm voice, she said, "Can I ask you one thing? If I'm wrong, I'm very sorry, but I have a question for you: Are you really a boy? Or did you used to be a boy?"
I was stunned, and for a few moments I couldn't speak. Inside I was asking, How could she hit me there?
"Marcie? Marcie? Are you there?"
At last I said "yes" in a low croak.
"Yes what?"
"I was born a boy, but I'm changing into a girl."
"Ahh!" she said in a relieved tone. It almost sounded like a long, slow fart, or the air coming out of a balloon. "Thank goodness! Now I get it!"
"Please don't tell anyone."
"I won't, hon." Now her voice was warm and confidential. "They wouldn't believe me anyway. So, did the tea do anything for you? I guess it must have, or you wouldn't want more."
I told her what happened. As I talked, she gasped and chuckled.
"My doctor doesn't believe it. He says it couldn't be the tea."
She laughed happily. "Well of course he wouldn't believe it."
Now she was relaxed and ready to talk. It was like a dam had broken; now the water could flow. This was the Brenda Earshon that I'd been hoping to talk to!
"Tell me," she asked. "Are you nervous about the move? I get the feeling that you're afraid of being exposed."
I told her about my father, about the photo in his office, and about my new school.
"Oh, don't you worry about any of that!" she said. "It isn't going to come to anything. Your parents are watching out for you. You have to be ready for a few unpleasant experiences, but nothing bad. Just normal life. The only thing — the only person — you have to worry about is a girl near you —"
"In New Jersey?"
"Yes, in your class, a girl your age, a girl in your class, in your school in New Jersey. Anyway, I didn't mean worry. You shouldn't worry, because your only defense is to be *open*. You have to try to be the best friend you can be. That's what you need to remember, okay?"
"I guess. Brenda, when I'm there, can I call you?"
"Uh," she hesitated. "You know... you have to understand... that this is my livelihood. This is what I do for a living. Do you know what I'm talking about?"
She paused for a moment, then said, "Why don't you give me a call after you're settled. I mean really settled.
"This is what I want you to do: When you're in your new house, after everything is unpacked and put away, after all the dust has settled, and you're all moved in, you're going to have a special moment. The first time you look around your room and feel that everything's in place, then you can call me. Not a moment sooner. And we can talk about how it could work."
"How what could work?"
"Your calling me. Like I said, I do this for a living. Even my friends have to pay."
I smiled. "Are you saying I'm one of your friends?"
"Oh, aren't you the clever one," she laughed. I heard a doorbell in the background behind her. She said, "Listen, I have to go. Remember what I said: don't worry, be OPEN, be the best friend you can be. Call me when you're really, truly settled, and we'll make arrangements. Now I have to go."
Her doorbell rang again, and she hung up.
I chewed on my finger for a little bit. "My mother would kill me," I said, "and my father would flip out."
I have a tip for adults: if you don't want a child to worry, don't say "don't worry" unless they are already worrying. If they're *not* worrying, they'll start to think, "Don't worry?" Why would I worry? They wouldn't say "don't worry" unless there was something to worry about. What do they know that I don't? and you'll get that worry train chugging right along.
So, after talking to Mrs. Earshon, I was worried.
I went crazy waiting for my aunt to get home. When she finally did get home, she went to her room, then to the bathroom, and I couldn't say two words to her until we — she and Mom and me — were sitting around the dinner table.
Jane looked a little worn out, and I wondered whether she'd have the energy to help me.
I told her my dilemma: about my father's office workers and the family picture. About who was Marcie and what happened to Mark, and what to say.
"That's no big deal," she scoffed, without looking up. "You already solved that problem."
"I did?"
"Yeah, with the tomboy business. You told everybody you used to be a tomboy. Now you take it one step further, and say you used to want to be a boy."
That was just about the stupidest thing I'd ever heard. Maybe my aunt was overtired or something.
"No," I said. "That doesn't make sense."
As if I hadn't spoken, my aunt continued, "You wore boys clothes and insisted on being called Mark. Now that you've grown up" (she gestured at my breasts) "you've changed your mind; you like being a girl. It happens in real life — sometimes — so that's what happened to you."
I frowned. It still didn't make sense. It was all wacky and backwards. But Mom's face just lit up. "That's it!" she cried. "That will work! Oh, I can't wait to call Artie! Excuse me." She daubed her lip with her napkin, and ran out of the room.
With disbelief, I watched her go and heard the boops as she dialed the phone. I let out a big, frustrated huff and shook my head.
Aunt Jane looked at me with a laughing smile. "You're not convinced?" she asked.
"It doesn't work!" I protested. "It doesn't go! There's no way that it makes any kind of sense. And nobody's going to believe it!"
"They have to believe it! What's the alternative? That you were a boy?" She laughed. "Even if they look at pictures of you when you were little, they'll still believe it.
"The only masculine thing about you is your jaw, and even that not so much. And a few boy-mannerisms you have. Like the way you shovel food into your mouth.
"Your mother is right. When you go to the girls school, you'll act more like a girl. Here you spend too much time with boys and boyish girls like Carla. If you spent most of your day with girls like Eden, you'd behave more like her and nobody would ever think you were a boy."
"I guess," I allowed. Boy-mannerisms, I muttered to myself. As if!
My aunt chuckled. "Don't worry. Everybody will buy the I-wanted-to-be-a-boy story."
"But I didn't want to be a boy!" I said.
"You didn't?" she asked, a little surprised.
"No — that's not what I mean. I mean, I'm supposed to tell people that I was a girl who wanted to be a boy?"
"What's the problem?" she asked. "It's not a girly enough answer? It's a lie. But it's a good lie. It fits into the facts in a very neat way."
"Hmph," I said. I didn't know what I didn't like about it. Mom, to hear her in the next room, seemed to think it was a wonderful solution. "I guess I just wanted Mark to be someone else entirely," I told her.
"Mmm," Jane nodded. "Like your twin brother who was lost at sea."
"Yeah," I said. "That's the kind of story I was hoping for."
Now that the REALLY big question was (apparently) answered, I had to talk to Carla and Eden about ANOTHER big question: what costumes would the three of us wear for Halloween?
I kind of assumed that we'd have some sort of group costume. Eden did, too, but Carla didn't like the idea at all. She was going to be a hula girl, period. AND, she wanted to be the only hula girl.
"I don't want you girly girls showing me up," she explained.
Carla's remark gave Eden the perfect idea for our costumes: we wouldn't be girly at all! We could be football players! Her mother helped us put the costumes together. We got black spandex pants and jerseys that were just long enough to cover our butts. Then we found some cheap helmets and shoulder pads that were made for small boys.
The funny thing was that the mannish outfits only played up our femininity: dressing like boys made us look pretty girly — in spite of the padding, and even with the helmets on. We got some of the black stuff to smear under our eyes, and that was the whole costume!
Pat's Halloween party was fun. Some of the boys took our costumes as an excuse to give me and Eden fanny pats, which got old very quickly. Aside from that, the party was great. Nothing happened that you need to know about, though.
Jerry and I clung to each other pretty closely. He seemed to be the only one who really knew that I was going. You know what I mean. Everybody knew, but it didn't change the way they behaved.
Jerry told me, "I have to get as much of you as I can before you go!"
When he hugged me, I had to fight to not cry. I didn't want to waste the time crying on him... I just wanted him to squeeze me, and hold me, and touch my hand and kiss me.
Oh, and don't tell Mom, but I had a burning wish and desire to be one hundred percent girl in every part of me before I had to leave Tierson.
Tuesday evening, which was Halloween itself, I stayed home and handed out candy to the trick-or-treaters, who were mostly very small kids.
I wore my costume again, just for the heck of it. I was very pleased to see that everybody, even the smallest kids, knew I was a girl in spite of how I was dressed. It wasn't like I had any doubts... it's just nice to get a little validation! Although I did hear one boy say to his friend, "Of course she's a girl! Didn't you see those breasts?" The friend turned around, gaping. When I waved to him, he gawked and stumbled. The first time I made a boy nervous!
The next day at school, Cory asked me and Eden to meet him at the school newspaper office. "I got permission to use this room," he explained, as he led us into a small meeting room and shut the door.
We sat around a small metal table, and I waited while Cory composed himself.
Then he started wringing his hands nervously, and said in a shaky voice, "Uh, Marcie, I've been wanting to ask you something for a long time, and I can't wait any more. I know you're moving, and ah," he gasped for a moment, and I was afraid he'd have another asthma attack.
I waited anxiously for fifteen seconds, but then he drew a normal breath. I relaxed.
He continued, "So, ah, I feel like I'm, ah, running out of time to ask... to ask you... well, the thing I want to ask you." He looked me in the face, and I nodded.
As you can probably imagine, I was getting pretty uneasy. If Eden hadn't been sitting there smiling, I'm not sure what I would have done. I didn't want to be rude to anyone. Plus, he's Eden's boyfriend... which was a good thing, considering the way he was carrying on. He couldn't be wanting to ask me out, could he? That was just too, too impossible.
Cory stammered for a little while, talking about how much time he'd put into something or other, and not wanting to throw it away, but he would if he had to, even though he didn't want to, but if he had to throw his work away he wanted to do it now rather than later...
I gave Eden a desperate look, silently asking what is he talking about?. She smiled, almost laughing, and she interrupted Cory.
"Cory, you're taking forever! You're killing Marcie with the suspense! Can I ask her?" Before he replied, she turned to me and said, "Look, Marcie, Cory wants to do a webcomic about you. Well, us. I'm in there, too."
"A webcomic?" I asked. "What are you talking about? About me?"
Now, I was really starting to worry. I opened my mouth, but words failed me.
I remembered Cory's cartoons about the Little Train and my climbing the building. Mainly I remembered the short skirts and the hair in the wind. Big round breasts and lots of leg. I shook my head.
Cory nervously began pulling papers out of a portfolio. He was perspiring like a horse. Wet blotches appeared on his shirt.
The sheets of paper were very big, like two feet wide, and they all had cartoons on them. "I was thinking of you, like, as an action hero, you know?" He was talking very quickly, and his hands fumbled while he arranged the papers in front of me.
"And then I thought, like, superhero? And then it hit me, and I started drawing like crazy. I stayed up all night, three nights in a row! It was like, uh, inspiration, and I couldn't stop because it all worked so well..."
He set some more sheets on top of the ones I'd seen. It was a lot of work. He must have been making these for ... well, I don't know. A long time.
"I have more at home," he told me, as if apologizing.
"You do?" I asked. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be scared or flattered or what.
Some of the drawings were sketchy, but they all were good. Very good. Even better than the cartoons in the paper.
There wasn't a whole lot of dialog ... There was a lot of me, always in a short skirt, hair in the wind, showing lots of leg. The breasts were bigger, more than a little bigger than real life, but that I didn't mind. I mean, I didn't mind *that* much. It gave me something to aspire to.
And there were plenty of drawings of Eden in there, too. In most of them she was giggling.
"I'm the Giggler," she explained. "Your sidekick."
"Sidekick? And you don't mind that?" I pushed the pages around a little, and asked, "Is Carla in here, too?"
Cory blushed deeply. "I want to put her in, but ..."
"He's afraid to ask her," Eden finished for him. "He's afraid of her and of Pat."
"I've always wanted to do a webcomic," Cory explained, "but I never had any idea what it could be about. But, you, you know, with you as the central character — well, not really you, but inspired by you..."
Now, his nervous perspiration was pouring freely. It was a little gross, but not too... Eden grabbed some paper towels and mopped his brow. Then she gave up and handed him the whole roll.
He didn't seem to notice. His eyes were glued to my face, anxiously trying to read my face, to gauge my reaction.
I came to a page that showed only me and Eden. Lots of leg and hair. I shook my head.
"Cory," I said, "I don't look that good. I mean, I'm not *that* pretty or hot, or whatever. Eden is — you made her look the way she really looks, but you make me look perfect. I'm not."
Cory shrugged, and said, "Artistic license."
Eden said, "Oh, Cory! You're supposed to deny it and say she is perfect!" Then she giggled.
I smiled.
Eden went on, "It does look like you, but more heroic than you are in real life. Bigger." Her eyes twinkled mischievously.
"Whatever," I said, blushing a bit.
There were a few notes written on the drawing.
As I bent to read them, Cory quickly explained. "I figured you — your character — and the comic would be called Heroette."
"Is my name in it?" I asked.
"No," he said. "I call you Darcy Monet. Is that okay?"
"I guess," I said. "What's Eden called?"
"Dee Dee van Gogh." Eden giggled at that, and I had to laugh.
"Can I see the drawings before they go on the web?" I asked. "I'd like to have some veto power."
Cory squirmed a bit. "I can send you sketches, but by the time it's inked, it's too late to change."
"Hmm," I said, "but if there's something I really object to, I hope you won't put it on the web, or at least you'll take it down if I ask."
He was silent for a bit, considering it.
Eden said, "Cory, you know, she wants to make sure there isn't anything that makes us look stupid or ... well, slutty."
"I hadn't even thought of that," I said. "I was just worried about my life being on the web for all the world to see."
"Oh!" Cory said, in a relieved tone. "Is that all? It wouldn't be your life. It's all imaginary. You're just, like, the model, the inspiration, you know?
"See, this is the thing: in real life you do stuff that people only do in movies. So I thought, what if there was a girl who did that kind of thing all the time and had superpowers and a costume —"
"Yeah, that's another thing," I put in. "I don't like the skirt."
"No?" he asked, "I could change the style. I could put pleats in, or give it a ragged edge, or make it tighter, or add lace... if you show me a skirt you do like..."
"No, no, it isn't that," I said, "it's the length. It's almighty short."
"Well, yeah," he said, as if to say well, what did you expect?
I chewed on my finger for a little bit.
"My mother would kill me," I said, "and my father would flip out."
I thought a little more. "If somebody, anybody, like some clown in Arkansas or New Jersey or Tokyo reads it, they're not going to know that there's a real girl named Marcie Donner, are they?"
"No, no!" he said. "As far as anyone will know, it's all just stuff that I dreamed up in my head."
"Okay," I said. "As long as you agree to these conditions: (1) There can't be any way for people to know my real name, or who I am, or where I live. (2) You can't make me look stupid or slutty or too sexy. (3) I get to see the sketches first, and if I don't like the final drawing, you have to take it down. (4) You don't use anything from my real life without checking with me first. Okay?"
Cory smiled. He looked tremendously relieved.
"I can live with that," he said.
Eden clapped her hands and *almost* gave him a celebratory hug.
"I'll wait until you dry off," she told him with a cute smile.
"Why is this here?" I asked.
"Who the hell knows?" Ryan replied. "Do you know what a chimney climb is?"
I can't say that the time flew. The days ran like regular days. Saturday I went to a movie with Jerry. We spent a lot of the time kissing and whispering. The week that led up to Veteran's Day was a week like any other week.
It was odd for me, everything going along as it always went, and at the same time knowing that my time was short. Even though everyone knew I was leaving, nobody seemed to feel it but me. I mean, at lunch, I'd look at Carla and Eden and think, "I might never see them again," while they would be talking and acting like I'd be there forever.
Well, Jerry knew that our time was slipping away. He was the only one who felt the same ache that I did... that it was all finishing... that I might never come back again.
On Veteran's Day, Friday, I went on a picnic with the Auburns.
I bought a pair of jeans for the occasion. I also got them because Jerry said I'd need a pair for stage crew. "You have to climb ladders and stuff," he said. "Unless you want to put on a show for everybody, you'll wear jeans."
It was kind of a special event or a milestone or something, buying my first pair of jeans as a girl. Eden came with me to help pick them out. I'm really going to miss her. Carla, too, but not in the same way. Carla was my first friend at Tierson High, but Eden was my best and closest girl friend.
The picnic with the Auburns was so nice. I like them so much, I almost wanted to cry! Is it crazy for someone as young as me to wish that someday I could marry Jerry, and have his family as my in-laws?
Nina sat near me, and I could tell she was sorry I was going. I put my arm around her and she leaned into me. It was so special! I never felt that much trust and acceptance... from anyone, really.
Nobody mentioned the move directly, but it was always right there, behind everything we did and said. The Auburns must have agreed not to bring it up.
Cassie didn't tease me much, and Mr. Auburn only asked me *one* embarrassing question. Both of those things were so unusual that it just underlined the strangeness and finality of the day.
Saturday and Sunday of that weekend were taken up by day-long rehearsals of Bye Bye Birdie. There was a lot of work to do, mostly crowd control.
You probably don't know how high-school musicals work. A big part of it is fund raising, which means selling as many tickets as possible.
The way you get parents and relatives to buy tickets and come to the show is to put their children in it. So there was a huge chorus. There was the dancing chorus and the singing chorus, and the "extras" chorus for people who can't sing or dance. All these people needed to be stored somewhere when they weren't on stage, and they had to be quickly moved on and off as needed.
Professionals brought our sets to the theater and hung them. On Saturday, they taught us how to work everything. On Sunday, they watched us do it.
The show was held in the Academy of Music, which is a very grand name for a small-town theater. Still, the place was impressive. The stage was incredibly deep, and the area above the stage, where the unused backdrops were hanging, was so high you couldn't see the top.
Sunday, I had a wardrobe problem. "Mom!" I called, "Do you know where my jeans are?"
"In the laundry. They were filthy! You should have put them to wash after that picnic. It looked like you played football in those pants and rolled all over the ground! Grass stains, dirt, mud... Then you got dust and grime all over them in that theater yesterday. Don't they ever clean that place? Now they won't need to, since you cleaned it for them with your jeans!
"You've got to take care of your pants the way you take care of your skirts. Wearing pants is no excuse for being messy..."
"Okay, Mom! I get it!" I sang out.
She still had one more phrase aching to get out: "I had to wash those pants before they got up and walked away by themselves!"
"Oh, Mom!"
There was nothing to be done. There was no way on earth that they'd be clean and dry in time, and no way could I wear them wet. It was too cold out, for one thing, and my mother wouldn't have let me out of the house.
I picked out a gray wrap-around skirt. It was my least favorite and most functional skirt, and I figured it could afford to get dirty. Besides, in spite of Jerry's warning, so far I hadn't done any ladder-climbing or anything that made a skirt impractical. Pants would have been more comfortable, but I didn't have that option.
When I arrived and met up with the the rest of the stage crew, it was easy to see that something was afoot. The boys were huddled in a group, looking at me.
"What's up?" I asked, feeling a little uncomfortable.
"Nothing bad," Jerry whispered. "Listen, we want to get under the stage. It is the coolest place! It has trapdoors and special effects and stuff. There's a door by the light board, but it's locked."
"And?" I prompted.
"There *is* a way in, but you have to go through some funny hallways and passages. Ryan can go some of the way, but there's a place where the hallway gets really narrow. You're the only one small enough to fit through. Once you're inside, you can open the door for the rest of us."
Ryan was the smallest guy, just a little bigger than me. He explained, "I can almost make it through, but my head is too big. Last year I could do it."
"Almost doesn't count," someone said.
I nodded, and Jerry, Ryan and I went off stage left, down the hall, past the dressing rooms, into the properties room. This was a huge, messy place full of interesting stuff. We weren't supposed to be in there, so we moved quickly.
Following Ryan, we went to the far corner where there was a small door, about three feet high. Instead of a knob, it was held shut by two turnscrews. Ryan opened them with his Swiss army knife. This led to a narrow, dead-end hallway lit by skylights. The ceiling was very high above us.
"Why is this here?" I asked.
"Who the hell knows?" Ryan replied. "Do you know what a chimney climb is?"
I did. It's when you plant your back against one wall and put your feet on the opposite wall, and walk yourself up.
"No peeking," I cautioned Jerry, before I agreed to the climb.
"Don't worry," Ryan said. "He needs to keep a lookout, so we don't get caught."
Jerry rolled his eyes.
"I'm not kidding, man," Ryan insisted. "If we get caught now, we'll be closed out—"
"Okay, okay," Jerry acquiesced in a huff, and exited to the properties room.
It was easy until we got about twenty feet up. "Here's the shelf," Ryan grunted.
Above and behind us was an opening. He went first, resting his elbows on the ledge, then his hands, and finally, in a quick (but scary) movement, his butt.
"If you don't think you can do it, better go back down," he said, but I quickly copied his movements.
"Excellent!" he complemented, nodding sagely. "I figured that if you could scale the building, you wouldn't have a problem with this."
My heart was pounding a bit, but I just nodded.
From there, a ladder took us down to a dimly lit hallway. Ryan made me climb down first. "You won't be able to get in front of me down below, unless you want to climb over me."
I passed on that offer, and carefully descended the ladder. Once on the ground, I slowly felt my way down the hallway, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Soon the passage ended at a narrow gap.
"I can't get through there," he said from behind me, "So you'll have to go it alone. Once you're through at the other end, you'll be on a landing, and you'll find a light switch on your right. Go down the stairs. You'll see a door with a sign that says Don't shut this door so damn tight that you can't open it. Open that door, switch on the light inside, and turn off the light on the stairs. Now you'll be under the stage. Go left. Just follow the wall. It turns a corner, and a little ways after that you'll find some stairs going up. That leads to the door by the light board. If you hear someone tapping on it, tap back, and open it quietly. Okay?"
I made him repeat the whole thing three times, until I was sure I got it.
"How did you guys find these passages?" I asked.
Ryan shrugged and smiled. "Just poking around. You ready?"
"Yeah, I'm ready," I said. I gulped and began pushing through the gap.
It was pretty tight, especially around my hips and breasts. I was sure I could get through, so I kept going.
My skirt was getting pulled by the rough wall. It rode its way up my thighs. If Ryan had been in front of me instead of in back, he would have gotten an eyefull. Since he wasn't, and no one could see, I didn't worry about it. At least my skirt wasn't falling off.
I hope this place isn't *too* dirty, I thought. I really have to get more pants. This is probably going to ruin my skirt. Oh well, it is my least-favorite.
Then, as the skirt pulled even more, I thought, This better not get my underwear dirty! How would I explain *that* to Mom!
While I talked to myself I kept pushing on. I came to a lump of rough concrete in the wall behind me, just at the level of my butt. It was probably a patch.
I took a breath and tried to squeeze my hips smaller. Of course it didn't work. Some points in the concrete scratched my butt through my clothes. The skirt was going to be filthy for sure.
I wiggled and shifted to get my hips around the pointy parts, and for a moment I was afraid I was going to get stuck inside here and not be able to get out. Then what would happen? Would they call the fire department? If they did, what could they do? Would they have to break the wall to get me out? Would it hurt?
"Ryan? Are you still there?"
"Yes," he replied. "Everything alright?"
"Oh, yeah," I said. "I think so. There's just something poking me in the butt."
I heard him sigh in a way that meant, Oh, brother! Girls can be so dumb!
At least that's how it sounded to me. I got a little irritated, and *then* he said, "Can you speed things up? Or are you afraid to go on?"
"I'm not afraid!" I told him, and felt the rough concrete rub against me.
Whatever damage my skirt was going to suffer was already done, I figured. I could always throw it away, and Mom would never see it. I had to get out of this stupid passage!
So I gave a quick tug with my hips, to get past the rough patch. I heard a pop! and a tick-tick as something small hit the ground and bounced once.
Immediately I knew what it was: the button that held my wraparound skirt had come off and skipped away. I was sure from the sound that it hand landed ahead of me, in the direction I was heading.
I moved forward quickly now, and as I did, my skirt worked its way completely off me. I had to grab it to keep it from falling to the floor. And then I was through.
I could hear Ryan's feet shifting anxiously in the darkness. "Everything okay?" he asked. "Can't you find the light?"
I saw the switch quite plainly, but I wasn't ready to turn on the light. "Hang on," I told Ryan. I gave my skirt a good shake and wrapped it around me, holding it with one hand. Then I switched on the light. "Looks good," I said.
"All right," he said. "I'll wait here until I see the light go off."
"Good." I repeated. Then I started looking around for the button.
Ryan asked, "What's wrong? Why aren't you moving?"
"I lost a button."
"Oh," he said, in a dismissive tone. "They must have plenty of buttons upstairs. I mean, it wasn't made of gold or something, was it?"
"I've got to find it," I said. "It's the button that holds my skirt closed."
"Oh," he said. His little face lit up with interest.
Ignoring him, I looked carefully. There wasn't much area to search, but the button was nowhere to be found. I looked at the floor in the narrow gap, but the button wasn't there, either. I made my way slowly down the concrete stairs, looking everywhere, but still didn't find it.
Since there wasn't any place else left to look, I had to give up. There wasn't any point. The button was lost. Ryan was right: there were probably plenty of buttons upstairs in the costume area.
I opened the door, turned on the understage light, and turned off the light on the stairs.
After shutting the door — being careful to not shut it "so damn tight" — I took my skirt off again and gave it a good look. There was some dust on it: concrete and ordinary dust. I shook it out hard, and brushed it with my hand. It didn't look too bad. I picked off the threads where the button used to hang, and wrapped the skirt around me again.
I could hear people walking overhead. It was quite clear that I was under the stage. It was a huge space, and seemed bigger than the stage itself. It was a spooky place. Strange machines lurked in the middle of the room, and I couldn't make out what they were. The bare beams that held up the wooden stage were supported by endless rows of columns.
I wasn't really afraid, but I wanted to get out of there. I walked quickly along the wall until I found the stairs up. I turned on the stairs light and turned off the lights in the big room. Then I tore up the stairs.
There was a soft tapping on the door, so I gently opened it. The guys all ran inside, hardly letting me by.
Jerry was the only one who waited. "Hey, babe. How'd it go? I can see by your face that something's wrong."
"This stupid skirt," I said. "It's a wraparound, and I lost the button."
"Ah," he said, getting it in one. "So if you let go, it'll wrap around your ankles?"
"Mmm," I replied. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
He grinned. "How did you guess?"
He looked around, then spotted a script sitting on top of a trunk. The script was held together by a big metal clip. He took the clip, put an empty coffee mug on the papers (to weigh them down), and helped me get the clip in the right place to hold my dress shut.
It took a little doing, but once in place, it worked great. It felt a little funny, but it did the job.
"Thanks," I said, and gave him a peck on the cheek. He ran downstairs and I went to look for someone with a needle, thread, and an extra button.
I hadn't gone two steps, when the director called everyone to attention. I was in the wings, so I couldn't see him.
As I moved forward to get a better view, someone ran into me, someone with a coffee mug in hand. He look at me, and he didn't even apologize!
A little miffed, I moved to the right so I could see better. I rested my hand on a huge fan whose support was six feet high.
The director was still calling people to attention, and as he called, "People! People! Can I have some silence, please?" my head started to itch. It felt like some dust or a bug or something was caught in my hair. I wasn't sure whether it was moving, or just making my skin crawl. Either way, I tried to not freak out. I just wanted to get it off me.
It was no surprise that something got into my hair. That funky, dusty basement-like area I'd just gone throught... it would be odd if there wasn't some dirt, or worse, on me someplace. I'd have to get someone to look me over before I went home, so Mom wouldn't ask where I'd been.
As I reached with my left hand to brush the possible spider or dust or dust-spider-yuckiness-thing from my hair, (Ew! Ew!) I unconsciously moved my right hand as well. That unaware hand hit the big fan in the worst possible place: the ON switch.
As the fan revved up, the breeze ruffled the pages of the script. Inevitably, the coffee cup that weighed them down was gone, carried off by the rude person who'd bumped me.
I stood there, mouth open, one hand reaching for the cobweb in my hair, the very picture of a ditzy teenage girl.
The top sheet fluttered, lifted slightly, and suddenly shot onto the stage. It didn't go far. The next sheet followed more quickly, and sailed halfway across the stage. The third and fourth followed even more quickly and flew even farther, and soon pages by the dozen were flitting across the stage, landing everywhere.
It looked like paper being shot from a firehose, and the pages covered the stage like snow. Stupidly, I ran directly into it, arms in the air, trying to stem the flood by standing in the way.
I got plastered with paper and my hair blew into my face, until at last I had the sense to step out of the way. The last few dozen sheets blew out behind me as I stood there with my arms open like a perfect idiot.
All the sheets had gone. The fan was tearing into my hair and skirt, pressing my clothes against me, and softly shifting some of the pages on the ground.
"Shut the fan off!" the director shouted. "Shut the fan off! WILL SOMEBODY SHUT THE GODDAMN FAN OFF!"
Someone offstage did so. Silence descended.
The director said, "Young lady, what is your name?" Red faced, I told him.
"Well, then, Miss Donner," he said in a syrupy, sarcastically polite voice, "Would you please be so kind as to pick up my script from the floor? Could you do me that great favor? And once you've done that, would you be a dear and put the pages back in order? If it's not too much to ask?"
He added in an abrupt shout, "And can you do it QUICKLY?" I jumped, and a few people laughed.
Then, in a normal, irritated tone, he asked, "Now, you wouldn't happen to know what happened to the clip that was holding the script together, would you?"
"I lost the button on my skirt," I said quietly, "and–"
"What are you saying?" he shouted. "Do you see, students? You must PROJECT your voice to be heard. PROJECT your voice.
"Now tell me, Miss Donner, where is the metal clip? PROJECT your voice as you speak."
I sighed, and pointed to my hip.
"And why, pray tell, is the clip on your hip?"
I explained, that it was a wraparound skirt and I'd lost the button.
My explanation provoked howls of laughter, hooting, and whistling.
The director called for silence, then said, "Will someone who can help Miss Donner repair her skirt please do so?"
Needless to say, there were several offers that left me quite red in the face.
I crouched down with my back to the crowd and began collecting papers. A few other people, including Eden, helped me gather them.
Then, while I sat at a desk in one of the dressing rooms, with a shawl wrapped around my waist, I put the pages back in order, as somebody's mother sewed the button back on my skirt.
She paused every so often to guffaw or to wipe her eyes, but in spite of that, she was done before I was.
As I looked around at their sullen faces, I suddenly felt like Wendy from Peter Pan in the midst of the Lost Boys. "I could tell you a story," I wanted to say, but of course I didn't.
"I told you to wear pants," Jerry said later. Then he burst out laughing. "I'm sorry..." he said, "I just keep getting the picture of you and those papers everywhere. I wish I'd seen it. It's like... hey! Did you ever watch I Love Lucy?" He laughed even harder.
I gaped in astonishment and hit him on the arm.
"Oh! Take it back!" I said.
He kept laughing. "Take it back!"
After he'd regained his composure and apologized enough to mollify me, he told me the boys' plan for the nights of the performance. Each night, as soon as we got there, I'd go open the door. The boys would take turns standing inside the door so they could open it for each other. They had worked out some signals... It all sounded terribly uninteresting.
Jerry was incredulous. "Don't you want to go back down there? That place is so cool!"
I scratched my eyebrow and said, "Not really. I thought it was kind of creepy and dirty." The memory of the cobwebby-spidery thing on my hair was still very fresh. I shuddered.
"No, listen," he said. "Tuesday night, before the dress rehearsal starts, I will give you the grand understage tour: the trapdoors, the special effects, the lights. You'll love it."
I shrugged. "Okay, if you say so."
"I do say so," he replied.
Unfortunately, Tuesday night was so busy, and there were so many adults everywhere, that it was impossible for me to get past the dressing rooms. Boys were changing clothes at the far end of the hall, so the monitor wouldn't let me through.
The rest of the stage crew was very put out. We were all in a group backstage. I was the only one standing. The boys were sitting or half-lying on the ground, or on boxes and props. As I looked around at their sullen faces, I suddenly felt like Wendy from Peter Pan, in the midst of the Lost Boys. "I could tell you a story," I wanted to say, but of course I didn't.
"How is she going to get in tomorrow, and the night after, and the night after that?" one of the boys asked.
"We're never getting down there again," another lamented.
"It's the only reason I was on stage crew," sighed a third.
"I have an idea," I said, with a big smile. "There is a way."
"What?" Ryan asked, his face full of doubt.
"I could disguise myself as a boy."
"No way!" Jerry scoffed.
"I think I could make it work," I told them. To Jerry I said, "I need your Giants t-shirt and baseball cap."
He grinned. One of the other boys groaned, "Oh, give me a break!"
I borrowed an ace bandage from my aunt, and used it to tape down my breasts. I put my hair up under the hat, and didn't use any makeup. Wearing Jerry's t-shirt, I walked right past the monitor with Ryan and another of the Lost Boys. Jerry didn't come — I figured that if he was along, it might make someone recognize me.
Once past the monitor, the rest was easy. I did the chimney climb and down the ladder by myself. Then the narrow hallway, down the stairs, through the understage area, and finally up the stairs, where Jerry was tapping. I quietly opened the door, and one of the Lost Boys went inside.
That done, I skipped off to the bathroom, removed my disguise, and put on a little makeup.
"Ta da!" I said, posing this way and that in front of Jerry.
"You're amazing!" he said. "What a transformation!"
"If you only knew!" I quipped. He shook his head, smiling.
"So will you let me give you the downstairs tour later?"
"Sure."
To tell the truth, we didn't have a lot to do. The crew was at least twice as big as it needed to be, so there was no problem with people hiding under the stage. I guess that was the idea from the start.
After the second act was well underway, Jerry asked if I wanted the tour he'd promised. On stage, the students playing Kim's mother and father were about to sing "Kids!" which is kind of a boring song, so I said yes.
The two of us slipped through the door and down the stairs. He picked up a flashlight and the two of us walked around, hand in hand. He showed me the different machines and explained what each one did. A lot of kissing was involved, but the machines were interesting, too. There were some that blew stuff up on the stage, like fake snow or fake fire or confetti or whatever.
"I don't think any of them blow papers all over the stage, though," Jerry noted.
I gave him a sock on the arm and he pretended it hurt.
You'd never guess from above, but there were little elevators and trapdoors of various sizes all over the stage. Some could make people disappear (there were piles of mattress-like foam to catch the falling actor), but most were just plain doors, so if you had a street scene, for instance, you could have someone climb down a manhole, or walk into the subway.
The trapdoor that interested me most had a strange device like a cage under it, and two huge springs.
"Jerry, what does this one do?"
"This one is the coolest of all! See, the actor gets in here..." He led me inside the cage-like part as he talked. "Last year we took turns going through this..."
"I feel like I'm locked up," I complained. "I want to get out."
"Don't worry," he said. "Nothing will happen. You cross your arms over your chest so you don't whack them." He crossed my arms for me. "See the door above your head? It makes you pop up in the middle of the stage near the front. It looks like you appear out of nowhere. The trapdoor over your head opens the moment the platform under your feet starts moving. See the wood you're standing on? It matches the stage, so you can't tell from above whether the platform is up or down. It's a perfect fit."
He went on describing how it worked. I was a more than a little uncomfortable and wanted to get out, but I didn't want to interrupt him.
While he was talking, one of the other boys came sauntering over. Jerry didn't see him, but when the guy got closer, I suddenly realized what he meant to do: he was going to send me up on stage.
I couldn't get out of the cage without help, so I cried out, "Jerry!" and pointed at the other boy with my chin.
"No, you idiot! Don't!" Jerry shouted at him, but the other boy was faster. He slammed the button with his fist, and with a click and a whoosh! I was standing on stage, facing the audience.
The auditorium was full. I knew that my mother and Aunt Jane were out there somewhere. Instinctively I reached up to push my hair back from my face, and then I froze. I gaped at the crowd before me, and couldn't move. It seemed like a slow eternity as I gazed into that dark sea of faces. It was probably only a few seconds that passed, but it seemed like an hour, and what finally broke my spell was quick thinking by one of the actors.
The kid playing Kim's father grabbed my arm and spun me to face him. "Kids!" he sang. "You can talk and talk till your face turns blue!" Then he spun me away from him and gave me a shove. I stumbled forward, and the force of the shove kept me stumbling until I was safely offstage.
One of the Lost Boys looked at me with dismay. "Oh, Marcie! What did you do? No more going understage! We're all going to be in trouble now!"
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
"If I was your father, and I knew that a group of boys got you to go to a place like this with them, well —" he sighed. "Let's just say I would be less than happy."
Of course the Lost Boy was right. We were in trouble.
The director asked everyone on stage crew to come in early on Thursday. He read us the riot act. You can probably imagine what he said. We were irresponsible, it was dangerous, it was not a safe space. Of course one of us could get hurt, but since no one knew we were down there, one of us could get trapped, unable to call for help, until someone happened to have a reason to go below stage. Even then, we'd be lucky if they found us.
He tried his best to paint a picture of one of us injured, starving, alone, and cold in the dark under the stage for days, weeks, months, or even years. It was exaggerated and melodramatic, very overdone.
As if that wasn't enough, he pointed out that we could be killed or maimed by the machines themselves, and he dwelt for a long while on my appearance from the trap door. He asked me three times, "Do you realize that you could have lost your hands or arms, or even literally lost your head doing what you did?"
Sometimes it was hard for us not to laugh, but when he started scolding the boys for taking advantage of me, I started getting pretty mad. He said I was gullible, impressionable, and naive, and that I had to be more careful what sort of boys I associated with.
"You have to think about your reputation," he told me, "You don't want people thinking you're some kind of floozy who'll do anything for a thrill." I was about to tell him that I'd heard enough, but luckily he dropped the subject before I opened my mouth.
He had a list of our names, and wanted to make sure it was correct before he called our parents.
"Oh, man!" one of the boys complained. "Do you have to call them? You already chewed us out."
"Yes, I do need to call them," the director replied, "I have a responsibility to call them, and I can't punish you as effectively as I hope your parents will."
A few of the boys groaned.
The director went on, "But I am, unfortunately, going to have to wait until Saturday to call them, because if you're going to be grounded I don't want you grounded until the show is over."
Next, the building manager from the theater talked to us. He repeated a lot of the same things, but he added that the lock had been changed on the door near the lights. "So, wherever you got the key from, it's no good any more," he concluded.
One not-too-bright boy named Paul said, "We never had the key."
"You never had the key?" the man asked in surprise. "Then how did you get in?"
We all looked at each other. I hoped no one would rat me out, but Paul spoke right up and laid it all out. I couldn't believe it.
The man looked at me for a while and said, "You should have thought that if the boys wanted you to be the only girl on stage crew, they must have had something bad in mind."
I didn't answer. I was angry and embarrassed and it seemed like the textbook definition of unfair. Somehow *I* was getting the major flak, and being blamed in a way that the boys weren't. Which was doubly unfair, or super-unfair, when you consider that I didn't even WANT to go under the stage in the first place.
I was in trouble because I did the boys a favor.
The building manager made me show him the way in. I pointed to the shelf high in the wall, then we went back down the stairs near the light board and I showed him where the narrow hallway met the landing.
He whistled. "I've been working in this building for fourteen years, and I didn't even know these hallways were back here!" He let out a breath and said, "Kids! They just get into everything!"
We walked back down the stairs, and as he shut the door he told me, "I'm going to change this lock right now, and this door will stay locked from here on in."
I almost pointed out that (according to the sign) he might end up closing the door so damn tight that no one would be able to open it, but I bit my tongue instead.
When we reached the stairs that led to the light board, he stopped and turned to me. Then he said, "I know this is a little out of line, but I'm going to give you a piece of advice. I have a daughter... she's a good bit older than you, but you know, fathers always worry about their little girls. If I was your father, and I knew that a group of boys got you to go to a place like this with them, well —" he sighed. "Let's just say I would be less than happy."
He put a foot on the first step, then stopped again and said, "In fact, if I was your father and I knew you were the only girl on stage crew, I wouldn't let you do it at all."
I hung my head, wondering exactly how much trouble I'd get into. Mom and Aunt Jane had missed my magical appearance. Aunt Jane had fallen asleep (she worked a night shift two nights before and was still recovering), and Mom happened to be looking away. I found these things out later. Since neither of them had mentioned it, I didn't bring it up.
Unfortunately, I was pretty sure that Mom was going to be home on Saturday when the director would call. She had already warned me that we had a major cleaning operation this weekend. She wanted to leave the house nice for Aunt Jane, and I had my last appointment with Mr. Marks. Mr. Marks was doing me a special favor by letting me come on Saturday.
I imagined Mom getting the call while I was with Mr. Marks. She'd call Dad, and by the time I got home they'd be ready to flay me or fry me or whatever they were going to do to me. I probably didn't have to worry about school since I was leaving in less than a week...
Of course, there was the inevitable question of whether it would do any good to tell Mom first, before she heard from the director. As much as I hated the idea, I could see the advantages. So, Friday after school, I'd tell her.
On previous nights there had been parents serving as monitors by the dressing rooms and in the areas where the big crowds of students were on hold. Now there was one near the light board, keeping an eye on the stage crew — on ME in particular. The monitor, who was somebody's father, told me so. "It's for your own protection," he said.
Every time I'd go out of his sight, he'd come hurrying after me. So I started telling him, "I'm just going to walk over there and come right back." He'd follow me anyway.
Finally I said, "You know, if you're going to spend all your time watching me, the boys will be free to get into all kinds of mischief."
I really just wanted to get him off my back. It looked like he took the hint, because after that he stayed near the light board.
I saw Eden standing offstage on the other side, and I waved to her. She didn't see me, so I walked across the stage toward her. For some reason, I was sure that the curtains were closed. I thought I'd seen one of the other stage crew pushing some props onstage, but I guess I was mistaken.
So, there I was, walking in a leisurely way across the stage, when Eden finally saw me. Her face registered shock, which puzzled me. Then I realized that the curtain was not only open, but that two actors were talking. The two of them had their backs to me. It was the buildup to "Put On A Happy Face." For a moment, I looked into that dark sea of faces that was the audience, then I ran the rest of the way across.
"Marcie, what in the world were you doing?" Eden asked in a whisper.
"Who knows?" I sighed. Luckily, the director must have missed that appearance of mine, because I never heard anything about it.
Eden gave me a hug. "Oh, Marcie, I'm going to miss you! I'm going to miss all the crazy, scary things you do, but mostly I'm going to miss you!"
"I'm going to miss you, too, Eden. You're my first best friend, do you know that? My first best friend ever."
Tears came to her eyes, and then I realized that I was crying too.
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
"Oh, Marcie, Marcie, Marcie! What I am going to do without you? I'm going to have to go back to my boring old life! So many times I thought you were going to give me a heart attack, but I wouldn't have missed any of it."
Fast forward to Friday night. I told my mother about popping through the trap door. All she did was shake her head. I had the feeling she couldn't make any sense out of what I said.
I told her that the director was going to call her, and she said, "Fine." I think she was distracted by our trip to New Jersey and the new house. She couldn't handle any more details.
I told Aunt Jane about it, and she laughed. Then she hugged me really hard and mussed up my hair. "Oh, Marcie, Marcie, Marcie! What I am going to do without you? I'm going to have to go back to my boring old life! Oh, girl, I'm so glad you came to stay with me. So many times I thought you were going to give me a heart attack, but I wouldn't have missed any of it. You're my favorite niece, do you hear? Don't forget your old auntie. Make sure you call me now and then. Keep me up to date on all your pranks and adventures."
I smiled, "I will. Thanks for letting me stay here, and thanks for letting me do all this."
"Oh, hon, it's been mind-blowing. I can't believe it's only been two and a half months. If you ever want to come stay, you know you're always welcome! Just one thing — if you do come visit, don't turn back into a boy. You're right, the way you are. You make a great girl." She smiled a warm smile, so I hugged her and found myself crying into her shoulder.
"I'm going to miss you so much, Aunt Jane!"
"Okay, okay," she said, after a while. "Just do me a favor and call me 'Jane' from now on. That 'Aunt Jane' stuff makes me feel too old. You're a big girl now."
All right. So I'd managed to get on stage each night — inadvertantly. Of course, I couldn't let the last night, closing night, go by without doing something spectacularly stupid.
It was the second act, during a big dance number called "Shriner's Ballet." The girl who plays Rosie goes into a Shiner's meeting, and dances for them, trying to make her boyfriend jealous.
I was standing near the lightboard when that dope Paul looked up. "Oh, crud!" he said. "I left my script with the lighting changes way up there!"
I tilted my head back. Way far back. I could see the script, plain as day. There was a catwalk about eighteen feet up: a narrow walkway made of a metal grate. Through the grate you could see the script, a small white rectangle not far from the top of the ladder.
"So go up and get it," I told him. I was still pretty irritated with him for ratting me out.
"I c-ca-ca-can't," he whispered. "I'm afraid of heights."
"Then why did you go up there in the first place?"
"Ryan tricked me," Paul said. "I got so scared I almost fell." He looked at me with pleading eyes. "Marcie, I know you're not afraid to climb."
"All right," I growled. Up the ladder I went. At least this time I was wearing pants, and there were no cartoonists nearby.
It was pretty high, and frankly I could see why Paul got scared. It had to be higher than eighteen feet, so I tried to stop thinking about exactly how high it could be.
As it happened, I had to climb onto the catwalk to retrieve the script. It wasn't as close to the ladder as it seemed from the ground. I gave an impatient huff, and wondered how in the world Ryan could possibly have tricked that idiot Paul to climb up here.
I crawled on my hands and knees to reach it, then pushed the script over the edge. Paul caught it and gave me the thumbs up. I swore at him in an undertone.
Then I froze. Paul was right. It was scary. When you stand on a grate, there's mostly empty space beneath your feet. You look down at what ought to be some sort of floor holding you up, but you see right through it... all the way down to the hard wooden stage.
I was afraid to move. The walkway was only a foot wide, and there was a gap in the railing on my left. I was afraid to back up, since I was crawling, but I couldn't turn around unless I stood up. So I grabbed the railings, and pulled myself to my feet. That was better. At least I wasn't looking down.
On the other hand, I felt a little lightheaded. I hadn't eat any dinner — or lunch, for that matter. I was too nervous and excited. I hung on to the rails and waited for the dizziness to pass.
I waited, but nothing changed. The lightheadedness didn't get any better, so I started moving. I turned around slowly, being careful in my movements. I turned to the left, so I could keep my eye on that gap in the railing. Why was it there? It had to be incredibly unsafe. Next to the opening hung a huge rope that rested in a hook. What was that for? My eye traveled up the rope to see where it was attached. Bad idea! Looking up was worse than looking down. Looking down made me lightheaded. Looking up made my head swim. The ceiling tilted sideways.
Startled, I let go with one hand. I didn't mean to let go! The moment I did, I panicked a little and went to grab the rail again. Instead, I ended up grabbing the rope. It came free from the hook, but at least it felt solid in my grip. The rope was thick and heavy. Whatever it was attached to, it wasn't coming loose.
Instinctively, I grabbed the rope tight with both hands, and then I fell.
I mean, I expected to fall. What really happened is that I swung forward on the rope, like Tarzan. My head suddenly cleared, and I knew that the best thing — the only thing — to do was to hang on tight. I shot down in an arc, right across the front of the stage, in front of all the dancers. Above the music I heard a few gasps and some startled laughter.
My momentum nearly brought me offstage, but I was high up off the floor again. Below me, I saw the director in a red-faced rage.
"Marcie Donner, come down from there!" he hissed angrily, but then I was flying away from him, back across the stage, this time butt-first. The audience howled. Some of the dancers, distracted, collided with each other. The girl who played Rosie shook an angry fist at me.
When I swung back to where I started, I figured I'd grab the catwalk and climb back up, but I didn't swing high enough, so back I went across the stage.
This time, when I reached the low point of the arc, right in the middle of the stage, strong arms scooped me up, and a familiar voice said, "Let go, Marcie, I got you." I let go and fell into his arms. It was a nice feeling.
But who was it? I turned to look at my rescuer, and it was none other than John Martin, the boy from my Home Ec. class. He was grinning like mad. "I love you, Marcie!" he laughed, and gave me a great big kiss on the mouth. Then he carried me offstage, as if I were a prize he'd won.
Jerry was waiting. He looked daggers at John Martin. John just shrugged, set me down, and ran back on stage to finish the dance.
My legs gave out. I collapsed into Jerry's arms.
Jerry had the weirdest look on his face, so I said, "Kiss me, you fool!"
He looked at me, uncomprehending, so I said, "Seriously, kiss me! A lot! And hold me — I can't stand up!"
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way
Before lunch was over, the PA cracked on. "Students, I want to wish you all a safe and happy vacation. We look forward to seeing you back on Monday. Unfortunately, one of our students will *not* be returning, and I think you all know who I mean."
It was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. My last day of school in Tierson. Maybe the last day I'd see Carla, Eden, and Jerry. Ever.
I went in early to say goodbye to Mr. Bryant and Denise. Denise gave me a hug. Mr. Bryant said how much he'd miss "all the excitement" and he wished me well.
Then, when I was about to leave, he caught my arm and said, "Marcie," in a soft voice. When I turned back to face him, he hesitated, then said, "I've spoken on the phone with your new principal. She seems quite professional, and I have no doubt that she's good at what she does..."
Uh-oh, I thought. This doesn't sound good.
"The thing is, sometimes school can really take the life out of a child, do you know what I mean?"
"I guess so," I said uncertainly.
"What I'm trying to tell you is... what I'm trying to say... is that you have to trust your own heart above all else, regardless of what people in authority tell you."
My jaw dropped in astonishment. "Mr. Bryant–" I began, but he interrupted.
"I hope you know me well enough to realize that I'm not advising anarchy or a life of crime and rebellion."
I nodded.
"And I wouldn't give this advice to everyone..."
I nodded again.
"What I'm trying to say is that, sometimes when adults are too strict, the wisest thing a student can do is find a way to bend without breaking. I hope you know what I'm getting at."
"I think so," I said. "You're telling me that my next principal is a real–
"Ah-ah-aah!" he cautioned with a raised forefinger.
"Okay," I said. "I get it. Thanks."
From there I visited Ms. Price and Ms. Tandy, since I wouldn't have class with them.
Ms. Price was nice; she hugged me and told me to try for the field hockey team at my new school. "Do something athletic," she said, "You're a natural."
Ms. Tandy didn't hug me, but she did give me her phone number and email address. "Keep in touch," she said. "I'll always be wondering what you're up to. And if you ever need somebody to talk to, I'm here." I was surprised and touched.
Then, with a twinkle in her eye, she asked whether I wanted the doll that fell off the train. "I still have it," she said. "It works, but I can't really use it."
I declined, horrified.
When she saw the look on my face, she laughed so hard she had to clutch her stomach. "I was only kidding, you silly! I'm going to keep that thing for myself! It's priceless!"
At lunch, the girls gave me going-away gifts. Carla gave me an address book, with the name, address, phone number, and email address of every freshman in school. Some of them wrote notes. I cried when I opened it, and had to shut it so I didn't blot any of the writing.
Eden gave me a framed photo of the three of us. I'd never seen the picture before. In it, Carla was obviously saying something funny. She was smiling, Eden was giggling, and I was laughing.
"Oh," Carla said, "I love that picture!"
"It's a good one of all three of us," Eden commented.
"Who took it?" I asked.
"Cory's friend, whats-his-name?"
"The chicken guy?" I offered. Eden nodded. She pulled out another, bigger package that was obviously another framed picture.
"This one's from Cory," she said. "It's really special to him. It's an original."
It turned out to be a cartoon based on the one that was banned, when I climbed the outside of the school building. It showed Cory wheezing and me coming to the rescue: climbing the building (in a ridiculously short skirt!) and climbing back down with the backpack in one hand.
The last panel showed everyone from school looking out the windows and doors, saying, "WE'LL MISS YOU!"
Again, I had tears in my eyes, but through them I could see the little drawn figures of Jerry, Mr. Bryant, Ms. Price, Denise, Mahon The Man and Cassie, Pat and Carla — even Mrs. Zeff!
Eden and Ms. Tandy stood on either side of Cory.
"He was particularly proud of this guy," Eden said. "He knew you were close to him." She pointed out a figure peeking out the door to the basketball court.
"Oh, my God!" I gasped, and started crying out loud. It was Mr. Bruce!
When I was able to compose myself, I turned to look at the boyfriend table and mouthed a Thank you! to Cory.
Before lunch was over, the PA cracked on. Mr. Bryant spoke.
"Students, I want to wish you all a safe and happy vacation. We look forward to seeing you back on Monday. Unfortunately, one of our students will *not* be returning, and I think you all know who I mean."
"Oh, no!" I whispered. Carla and Eden smiled conspiratorially.
"It's unusual for a freshman to make such a mark on the school. It's unusual for any student to display courage in the face of danger, to think quickly and do the right thing in a moment of crisis, but it's very rare when someone does those things over and over again. I know that I speak for all of the teachers and most, if not all, of the students when I say that we'll miss wondering what new adventure each week will bring.
"Please join me in a round of applause and thanks to Marcie Donner for her selfless acts of courage, for her quick thinking, and for keeping us all on the edge of our seats. Goodbye, Miss Donner. We will miss you!"
Everyone in the cafeteria began to applaud. People started standing up. I cried and cried.
Jerry came up next to me and said, "Do you want to say anything?" He waved everyone into silence, and helped me to stand on my chair.
"I just want to say thanks to all of you, and I will miss you, too!"
Jerry helped me down, and led me down the hall toward the front door. I handed him an evelope addressed to Nina. "It's the lifetime pass to the Little Train," I told him.
He handed me a brown manila envelope. "This is from Cassie," he said. "It's Cosmo." I smiled.
Jerry had already given me his present: a gold bracelet, which I was wearing proudly.
Everyone followed us, and someone started singing, to the tune of the Bye Bye Birdie theme, "We love you Marcie, oh yes we do..." It was sappy and silly, but it was breaking my heart.
We went out the front door, and Jerry turned me to face the building. A big, homemade banner hung from the second-floor windows. It read "WE WILL MISS YOU!"
It was like Cory's drawing come to life! Except that one person was missing... I looked over to the gym door, knowing that Mr. Bruce wouldn't be there. At that moment I knew that Cory's picture that would be my last image of Mr. Bruce, replacing the last time I saw him in real life...
Thanks, Cory! Thanks, Mr. Bruce!
I kissed Jerry like I would never kiss anyone ever again. I hugged Carla, hugged Eden, then got into the car with my mother. We drove away, and I cried as if I could never stop.
Tierson High rolled away behind us, and then Tierson itself.
Soon we were on the long, featureless highway to Sacramento Airport.
"Are you okay, hon?" Mom asked, reaching over to pat my leg.
"Yeah," I sighed, wiping away the last tears.
"I think you'll find good friends in New Jersey, the same way you found them here," she said.
"I hope so," I said. "But one thing's for sure: I'm not going to do anything crazy or dangerous any more. No more adventures."
Mom smiled. "That will be a relief."
"I want to be an ordinary girl with an ordinary life," I said. "Period. The End."
"Okay," Mom agreed. "One ordinary life, coming up!"
© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way