A snow globe, of sorts, of an insulated world where dreams can come true over several holidays.

Academic, by Karin Bishop

Part 2

Chapter 4: Turning Twelve

Shelly’s mom left her with us at Thanksgiving again and we had another Morton “Forgotten Ones” dinner. There were some Upper boys that almost got into a fight about Packers or Steelers and the odd thing to me was that neither boy was from anywhere near Wisconsin or Pennsylvania. It was yet another example of how I just didn’t get boys.

I did get girls, though, and after nearly three full months of Shelly’s pills I was feeling some effects. I was mellower, as a whole, but was subject to higher highs and lower lows. Shelly had warned me that’s what they’d do so I handled it better than if I’d been blindsided. She said in another month or two I’d be able to plot the curve, so to speak, and know that I was coming into a monthly cycle just as if I was menstruating. That information alone gave me chills of excitement and happiness.

The pills themselves we nicknamed ‘Girl Pills’ and then shortened them to ‘GPs’ and then ‘jeeps’. It was a funny thing for us, a secret thing. Shelly would say, ‘Take your jeeps?’ and I’d nod, or I’d be bitchy and she’d tease me with ‘Jeep much?’ But the pills were working and that was the important thing–I knew I was on my way to becoming a girl.

As to getting girls, I was developing new friends–we both were. I had a regular group of girls that I hung with, sat with for meals, and Shelly sat with us but was also getting some other girlfriends as well. Our friendship was so strong we didn’t need to constantly cling to each other, and I was glad that she had more friends now, after having no one but me for years. Her new girlfriends were getting interested in boys, too, while the girls that I hung with–Amy Holden, Connie Montalba, and Chen Lu–were right on the cusp of boys. Well, Connie and Lu were interested–Lu was very shy and quiet but her eyes sparkled when boys were near–but Amy was still in the ‘Boys? Yuck!’ stage. I bridged the gap as a ‘safe’ boy in every sense.

And that was part of the weirdness. I walked and talked and giggled and was just like them, and on days when they wore the uniform slacks, we looked just alike. I was aware that their bodies were changing; Connie already wore a bra although the others just wore camisoles. But they could do cute things with their hair, and nail polish was acceptable for Middle girls–with restrictions–although only Connie wore any. And they all wore lipgloss while I took to chap stick. But in so many ways, we were just four girls.

Shelly scared them a little, I thought, and that was fine with her. They all got along but she would be the driving force if any of us were together, and the others didn’t seem to mind. I spent as much time with Shelly as I could, and her with me. There were two girls she was spending time with, due to classes, Monica Shelton and Brianna Jansen. They were nice girls in the sense that they weren’t bitches like Heather Maxwell or Jessica Randolph. But Monica was super-rich, as much or more than Shelly, so they could relate. And Brianna was some politician’s daughter and was boy-crazy. Shelly wasn’t quite there yet, but the incredible transformation she’d undergone during the summer had opened a new world to her. And, bless her, she was sticking to her customized meal plan and exercising–I joined her for running–and she was looking great.

Boys were noticing her and they were noticing me, too, for entirely different reasons. They were noticing Shelly because she was shapely now, with her face that had always been pretty, and she was smart and she was rich. Boys were noticing me because I looked like a girl, or at least a very young Lower boy. My hair was still long–I kept it in a ponytail and behind my shirt collar and nobody really knew how long it was getting–and had clear, creamy skin, big eyes, and by winter I was getting …soft. In every way. My voice was still high and light and I was fine with that. I was still pretty much the smartest kid in class so I was ostracized anyway. And the whispers of fag, or fairy, or queer, pretty much accompanied me daily. I didn’t mind because I knew they were so wrong, but I was oddly glad that my father wasn’t around to hear the taunts. I wouldn’t have wanted him to be embarrassed by his son, but I did hope that he would be proud of his daughter someday.

Somehow I’d still managed to not wear any girls’ clothing. The uniforms took care of that at school, of course. I didn’t wear the girls’ blouses but the boys’ shirts were the same light blue or white, and the polo shirts that I usually wore were identical to the girls’, as well as the slacks. I would have loved to wear the skirts, of course, but other than that one time with Shelly’s, I had not worn one. I had decided I would wait until the changes in me were inevitable.

The weekend before Thanksgiving was interesting for two reasons. On Sunday, Amy’s mother took her–she was a Day and so was already home for the weekend–and Con and Lu and I and took us to the mall. When our little group was first forming, Amy’s mom had been concerned when she’d heard about a boy joining her daughter, but on meeting me, I saw her eyes do that thing. I was already familiar with it; it was the mind registering me as a gay boy. I was okay with that because it was a temporary category and was truer than not. I rarely saw her, but she seemed to accept me as a ‘safe’ boy for her daughter–as long as Con and Lu were with us, I guessed.

The students at Morton usually avoided anything to do with the uniform when they weren’t in school. And, as I’ve noted, they were well-to-do all the way to super-rich. There were a few scholarship students that were middle class or even poor–Amy’s family had quite a bit of money, which was how they could afford the tuition for a Day student–but I was the only student whose life pretty much revolved around Morton Academy. So I had no problem with the uniform–in the sense that kids couldn’t wait to get out of it–and I usually wore bits and pieces of it because I wasn’t outgrowing it. And with Shelly’s blessed pills I wouldn’t, I thought with determination.

The four of us hit the mall, therefore, looking like four regular kids. Amy wore baggy khaki cargo pants, a green tank and a gray hoodie; Connie wore another gray hoodie over a blue plaid sundress over black leggings, and Lu wore tight jeans, a black tank and a black leather jacket. All three girls wore black flats. On the other hand, I wore trainers, dark blue slacks, a white polo and the school’s gray sweatshirt–meaning that I was fully dressed as if for school. The others were used to it and made no comment.

We drifted through the mall, window shopping mostly. We hit American Eagle and Abercrombie and the girls tried some things on; I always found something to occupy myself in the stores. I was always caught up in the fun but in Claire’s, as my eyes drank in all the wonderful earrings and jewelry, I had to play the part of a boy and appear bored even though I dearly wanted to get my ears pierced. I hated having to act that part; it was the only time when I was ‘a boy’. Fortunately the girls didn’t bother with Victoria’s Secret; I didn’t know if I could contain myself there! From Claire’s we moved on and hit Jamba Juice for smoothies and kept walking. One store had ball gowns in the windows and the girls stopped and sighed. We stood and sipped.

Connie said, “Definitely the red.”

“With your coloring? Absolutely,” I said.

“Her coloring?” Amy asked. She wasn’t really into fashion yet.

Lu explained, “Her skin tone, hair, eyes …her coloring.”

“Oh,” Amy nodded, clearly not getting it. “Which one do you like, Lu?”

“The icy blue, I think,” Lu answered, tilting her head to look at the gown dreamily. “I think the green would be perfect for you, Ames.”

“Or the red,” Amy said.

“Sorry. Dibs!” Connie laughed.

“Hey, it’s just what if,” Lu teased.

“Okay. She could try the red, too,” Connie allowed.

“Which one for you, Ben?” Amy asked.

It was perfectly innocent, coming from Amy, but I could feel the other two stiffen slightly but I ignored it. “Well, if you and Connie could share the red, then Lu and I could share the icy blue,” I grinned.

Lu looked at me with big eyes but Connie said, “What, not the black?”

“Too formal,” I said, keeping my eyes on Lu’s. We seemed to be on a wavelength.

“It’s supposed to be formal,” Amy protested. “That’s why they’re called formals! Geez!” She rolled her eyes.

Lu kept looking at me and said, “No, Ben’s right. It’s more like for cocktails than a school dance.”

We sensed something and turned and saw Heather Maxwell and two other girls standing and laughing at us.

“Isn’t that just the cutest thing?” Heather said to one of the others. “The little girls are having big girl dreams!”

“And then it’s back to their Barbies,” one of her cronies snickered.

Amy said hotly, “Hey, we’re not little girls!”

Heather said, “And you’re not even all girls!”

“Yes, we are!” Amy shot back, without thinking.

Heather smirked. “You ought to check with Benjamin first before speaking.”

Amy spun to me, her eyes wide with shock at realizing what she’d said. For my part, I’d never heard my name said with such disgust. It was just a knack of Heather’s.

Quietly and calmly, Lu said, “Heather, there is a beautiful dress in there that I thought would look really good on you …oh, sorry. It’s probably out of your price range.”

That did it. “What are you talking about?” Heather sniffed. “I can buy this store with lunch money! Which dress?”

“It’s a green …no, it’s pretty steep,” Lu shrugged.

“Ha!” Heather scoffed. “Come on,” she said to her friends as she headed into the store. “I’ll show you!” she called over her shoulder.

Amy said, “What dress? Can you see it?” She stood on tiptoes to look in the store.

“Ames, we were never in the store,” Connie said, laughing. “Lu just got rid of her.”

“Beautifully done, Lu,” I grinned.

“God, she’s so easy,” Lu said, rolling her eyes.

And the mood was light as we continued walking.

The other interesting thing happened towards the end of the day. We tried an odd little boutique that was decorated with all sorts of 1940s styles. There was an old-style brown leather bomber jacket.

Connie said, “Nice leather,” as she felt it, and then said, “I’d look silly in it, though.”

“What size? Oh,” Amy said, disappointed when she saw the tag.

Lu said, “Just the thing to look macho.” She was giving me an odd look.

“Yeah, Ben, try it on!” Amy said with enthusiasm.

I shrugged and took it off the hanger and put it on but it was too bulky with my school sweatshirt. Lu reached out to hold the jacket for me, her intentions for me clear. I shrugged again and stripped the sweatshirt over my head. Two things happened.

Amy reacted to my first with a gasp. “God, Ben! Your hair is way longer than I thought!”

Connie nodded, her eyebrows raised.

My hair was still back in a ponytail but I’d had it between my shirt and sweatshirt rather than just under the shirt collar; it was more comfortable that way. But now they could see that my hair reached the middle of my back. I knew this because I could reach behind and touch the bottom of my hair if I tilted my head back.

But the other thing was that Lu was staring at me, wide-eyed. I quickly grabbed the jacket from her and put it on.

“Naw,” Connie said. “Kind of clashes, somehow.”

“Yeah,” Lu said, matter-of-factly. “Looked better on the hanger. Oh, hey, look at the cute shoes!” She had looked past me to the far wall.

“Wow! I didn’t see those!” Amy grinned. “Come on, Con!”

The two of them walked away as I removed the jacket. Lu took it from me and I picked up my sweatshirt to put it on but Lu put her hand on my forearm.

Lu quietly asked, “Ben, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” I said with innocence, about to pull my sweatshirt over my head.

“This,” Lu said softly, pulling the front hem of my polo down and then pointing to my chest.

My nipples had budded a few weeks before, and were now hard little knots. With my polo pulled taut, it looked like I had grapes on my otherwise flat chest.

“Can I tell you later?” I said with some desperation; the other two were coming back.

“Sure. But, Ben …it’s okay, you know?” Lu tilted her head. “I mean, with me.”

“Nothing fits in this store!” Amy said with some petulance.

“Nice retro stuff, though,” Connie said.

“No,” Lu said, her eyes on mine. “But some things fit better than others.”

Chapter 5: Talking Turkey

As it was, I didn’t get a chance to talk to Lu at length; it was back in the van and back to school and she got a call from home and that took care of the rest of the evening. Then it was school until Wednesday; I had two classes with Lu but also with Shelly. We were all swept along by the other students and didn’t talk.

I told Shelly what had happened, of course, and she just nodded.

“I like Chen Lu. She’s a good counterbalance to Amy.”

Shelly considered Amy little more than a child, and it was sort of true. Without talking behind Amy’s back or being cruel, Middle School everywhere is a cauldron of kids at both end of the growth spectrum. Boys range from Dragonball Z and fart jokes to shaving, dating girls, and …fart jokes, I guess. Girls range from Barbies and Rainbow Brite to bras and dating boys. You just lump them all in and hope for the best. Amy was a good person and Shelly liked her, but had difficulty grasping the concept of actually shopping with her. But Shelly really liked Lu and that made me glad.

Shelly said, “You know, that was only the first. Or the first and second, whatever.”

“What do you mean?”

“First and second times that people are going to be not just taking you for a girl, but you’re going to actually show them. You can’t hide those much longer,” she said, pointing to my nipples.

“Yeah, I know,” I said, looking down at my nubbins. With pride!

We were in her room, flopped on the bed as usual. I reached over and took a pillow and put it on my chest and crossed my arms.

“I’ve been getting away with not taking showers because it’s sixth,” I said, meaning that I had Boys’ PE at the end of the school day and implied that I showered back in my room. I was pretty sure most of sixth PE didn’t shower in their rooms, though.

“And it’s getting colder and you’re wearing your sweats,” Shelly nodded. “But real soon, girlfriend, those ladies are gonna show, even through a sweatshirt.”

We were silent, in agreement.

Then she said, “You’ve got to talk with your mom.”

“We can do it this weekend,” I said.

“Yeah, if my mom doesn’t call,” Shelly grinned, referring to the Christmas call that ended our first attempts to talk with my mother about my impending girlhood.

So our Morton Thanksgiving dinner proceeded, with kids mostly unknown to us–although Shelly pronounced one Upper boy as ‘hot!’ and couldn’t take her eyes off him. She helped clear dishes near him and went to watch him watch TV for a little bit. I talked with two Lower girls that were feeling left out, ending with a group hug when they cheered up. Then we gathered Shelly’s things and Mom drove us home.

We were full of turkey and kind of lazy; Mom had a pumpkin pie and ice cream for us for later so we got all settled in and then were all three curled up on the couch, watching an NBC special, some variety thing, and chatting about this and that.

I felt Shelly nudge me and I looked at her and shook my head. She widened her eyes hugely and nodded once, decisively. I shook my head again. She narrowed her eyes at me, almost like a gunslinger, and when I didn't respond, she took the plunge.

“Miz Houseman?” Shelly said to Mom but looking at me. “Jenny has something she’d like to tell you.”

I stared at her.

Mom said calmly, “We’re back to that, are we?” She turned to look at the two of us and then at me. “Alright. What would you like to tell me, dear?”

I glared at Shelly and then sighed. “Well, we started talking about this almost a year ago, at Christmas …”

“Then my mom called and ruined it,” Shelly said.

“Now, Shelly, that wasn’t why she called,” Mom said gently. “Honey?” She wanted me to continue.

So, sitting there sandwiched between the two females I loved the most, I told my mother that I was a girl. I told her that I’d always felt that way and gave examples. I told her about my research on the internet and everything I’d learned. I told her that, quite simply, I wanted to live as her daughter. I wanted to do anything and everything, no matter how painful, so that I could live as the girl that I knew I was.

Shelly remained silent throughout; I thought she was deserting me but when I faltered and had come to repeating myself, she picked up my dropped flag and explained once again from her view, how I had always been a girl, from the first day we met.

Mom remained with a neutral face, nodding a little here and there. Then, completely oblique to our discussion, she said, “Pie, anyone?” And to our amazement, got up and went to the kitchen.

“She’s like totally denying!” I said forlornly.

“No. She’s processing,” Shelly said. “Let her be. It’s pretty heavy; she needs time.”

So we didn’t press or act as if anything out of the ordinary had been said. Mom came out with three plates with pie a la mode, and we sat and watched the variety acts on TV and ate and Mom was licking her spoon.

“I wish your father were here,” she said.

“God; me, too,” I said.

“Oh, I always wish your father were here,” Mom said with a sad smile. “But especially now, after what you’ve told me.”

I hung my head, all of my hopes circling the drain. “So he’d …straighten me out? Talk sense into me?”

To my utter shock, Mom laughed. “No, of course not! Because he was right!”

The word hung in the air, pregnant with meaning and unknowable. I looked at Shelly; her brow was furrowed and she shook her head–she had no idea, other.

Mom sat back and looked at me, the traces of the smile still there. “Your father said …oh, you must have been three or four. He said that you might be transgender. Actually, he said, ‘probably’. Possibly gay, but he thought transgender was the most likely.”

I was still staring. “My father …knew?”

“How?” Shelly said almost at the same time.

Mom looked at the ceiling. “Little things you said or did. The way you reacted to things. He’d …well, you know he’d had a twin brother and sister.”

I nodded. They’d been much younger than him and his brother had died in Iraq and his sister had been killed by a drunk driver; sad endings to bright beginnings. I’d never met them.

“He said it was a rare opportunity to see almost exactly the same person as a male and as a female, as close as possible. Fraternal twins, raised in the identical environment, and yet developing two distinct personalities. And most importantly for you, they developed as a normal boy and a normal girl although they certainly had every chance to be some sort of hybrid of both. And then your father spent time overseas, working disaster relief for three years, and saw groups of children.”

I’d only vaguely known something about that; it was before I’d been born. Earthquakes and a tsunami, that sort of thing; but I didn’t know in what capacity he’d gone. A prep school History teacher doing disaster relief? I realized that he was even more wonderful than I’d thought and was humbled.

Mom said, “So his point was that when he looked at you, going about your three-year-old, four-year-old way …you were so cute!” She drifted off in happy visions of the past. “Anyway, he said when he looked at you he saw a girl. Not an effeminate boy–a girl. And explained why he knew the difference. So I was just saying that I wish he was here to hear you tell me that you’re a girl. He’d just say, ‘Yep. Already knew it,’ with that nod of his.”

Shelly and I both stared at her. I swallowed and couldn’t speak. I knew that nod. My eyes were fighting tears.

Shelly cleared her throat and said, “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Hmm?” Mom said, as if in a daze. “Oh, I suppose …there’ll be a round of testing. Doctors and the like. Won’t be easy. Expensive. But regardless of how …sure you both are, procedures must be followed. And so they’ll require an evaluation before proceeding.” She sighed. “I’ll start researching; can’t really make calls until Monday.”

“Mrs. Houseman?” Shelly said. “You said, ‘expensive’. I want you to know that I will pay for it.”

“Oh, that’s sweet of you,” Mom smiled, “But no, there’s no reason why you should but thank you for offering. And it’s …going to be pricey.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Shelly shook her head. “And there is a reason why I should and that’s because Jenny is my best friend. She always will be, too. And, yeah, I know that we’re just Middle school girls and we’ll have a lot of friends and we already do, but we’re joined at the hip in some dimension or other, and we’re together for life.”

“Aw, sweetie,” I said, squeezing her hand.

Shelly held up our joined hands and said to Mom, “There, you see? Typical feminine response, if you needed any further evidence!”

Mom chuckled. “I don’t need evidence. I think it’s already …evident. But thank you for pointing that out.”

Shelly said, “And as for the expense, I mean …what are you talking?”

I knew, somehow, that Shelly already knew–she was always on top of things like this–but was sounding out Mom, so I kept quiet.

Mom waggled her head back and forth. “Oh, I have no idea how much the evaluations and initial exams are, but I read that treatment can run as high as ten thousand dollars. Not counting …surgery. If there is any.”

Shelly glanced at me. Yeah, she knew, but asked Mom innocently, “How much is the surgery?”

“Upwards of twenty, twenty-five thousand dollars, probably; maybe more,” Mom said sadly. “Just …much too much.”

“So you’re saying, what, about thirty-five grand, start to finish?” Shelly asked.

Mom nodded solemnly.

Shelly barked a laugh. “Heck! I’ll have that much by the end of seventh grade!”

Mom stared at her and I realized that Mom wasn’t aware of quite how rich Shelly was.

Shelly said, “I get five thousand allowance per month. Not counting what I’ll get for Christmas, that’s thirty thousand by June.” Mom stared and Shelly shrugged. “My last damn fat camp cost forty grand!”

Mom was rocked. “I had no …idea …but, no, you can’t …”

Shelly looked sad. “Please? Mrs. Houseman, I don’t …I don’t have anybody in the world I love as much as Jenny. And you.”

“And your mother,” Mom said.

Shelly shook her head. “I did love her, the version of her a few years ago. The original Mom. I don’t even know this lady anymore, and …I don’t think she does, either,” she finished up sadly.

“Dear Michelle,” Mom said with such sadness, as she put a hand on Shelly’s.

I put my arm around Shelly and leaned against her. “Love you, Shell,” I said.

“Love you, Jen,” she said back.

There was a stillness to the tableau. Then Mom broke it by saying, “That reminds me. Your name.”

“My name?” I asked, dumbly.

“Oh? Don’t I get any say in things?” Mom’s eyebrow was raised, comically.

I looked at Shelly and then at Mom. “Well, I’ve been …Jenny for so long …”

“Only to me,” Shelly pointed out.

“And to me,” I protested.

“Between us, I mean,” Shelly said. “She really should have a say in this.”

“Whose side are you on?” I teased.

“Yours, babe; but your mother should …” She trailed off, then said, “Your mother and father should name you. Did you?” she asked Mom. “Did he? Omigod! He did, didn’t he?”

Mom had a Mona Lisa smile as she looked at Shelly. “Oh, you are sharp!”

“Mom!” I complained.

“Want to guess?” Mom said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Are you saying to guess what girl’s name you had for me when I was born?”

“You bet,” Mom said, clearly enjoying this. “Now, here’s a clue. Think about your father. Oh, and I heartily approved of the name, by the way. But he named you. So …guess.”

“Martha!” Shelly shouted.

“Martha?” I turned to her with some disgust.

“Washington, dummy! You’re the history nerd.”

“Jefferson, too,” I pointed out. “Well, if my father named me, there’s only one name I can come up with,” I said. To Mom, I said, “Was she the wife of a president?”

Mom nodded.

“And the mother of a president?”

Mom beamed.

Shelly was bouncing. “Tell me! Tell me!”

“Abigail Adams,” I said.

Mom smiled and nodded, “Abigail Elizabeth. Elizabeth was Abigail’s mother’s name. Also the wife of Samuel Adams.”

I was stunned.

My mother then gave me a look of deep sadness and also deep happiness. “You would have been Abigail Elizabeth Houseman.”

Shelly said, “She is Abigail Elizabeth Houseman. Only we call her Abby.”

Without thinking, I said, “What happened to Jenny? And who is ‘we’?”

“Jenny?” Shelly waved a hand. “Feh! A mispronunciation of Benny. A childish game. But you, young lady, are Abby. From now on.” She grinned. “Although I might slip now and then and call you Jenny. But everybody is going to call you Abby!”

“Um …Mom,” I started to say.

“Yes, Abby?” Mom grinned.

“See?” Shelly cried triumphantly.

Chapter 6: Baby Steps

It was the start of a new life for me. That Thanksgiving night, we were pretty tired and slept. But the next morning Shelly had a wicked grin when she woke me; she’d put some things in the bathroom and told me to take a shower and shave my legs and under my arms. I didn’t hesitate.

I came out smelling sweet and feeling slick and Shelly had clothes laid out for me; very simple–black flats, a denim skirt, and a peach top with creamy lace at the bodice. And there was a white bra and panty set.

I looked at her. “You planned this.”

“Of course,” she grinned. “I hoped that this time we’d get to finish the conversation with your mom. But now I realize that we’re really just beginning the conversation, so to speak.”

“The conversation, so to speak?” I rolled my eyes. “You mean like the vision that I see?”

“God, you can be annoying, Missy Perfect English Girl,” Shelly laughed. “How’d you like me to strip off that towel and push you out the door?”

The towel was up around my chest; I didn’t care if Mom saw me but figured she was still sleeping. Shelly had gotten us up early for my transformation.

And transform I did, putting on my first girls’ clothing, from the skin out. And they felt …right. There weren’t any trumpets blaring or mighty orchestral crescendos; I just felt like a girl getting dressed. As I was brushing my hair I realized that the feeling was good; I wasn’t dressing just for the clothes. They would allow me to be myself, and someday the world would see me as the girl that I’d always known I was.

Shelly got dressed similarly and we went to make a breakfast. Mom padded into the kitchen in her bathrobe, yawning, and looked at us for a shocked moment–we froze, waiting–and then grinned.

“Morning, girls,” she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And in some ways, it was. I hugged her when I set her melon before her, and she said, “Thank you, Abby” and Shelly was looking like the cat that ate the canary.

Mom surprised us by announcing that today, the day after Thanksgiving, was the traditional start of the Christmas shopping season. Well, that we knew already, but she suggested we head up to Springfield, Mass, to the Eastfield Mall. It was only forty minutes away, but was in another state and the chances were we wouldn’t run into anybody that might know Benjamin Houseman.

“You mean …” I stared at my mother.

“Yes. I’m taking Shelly and Abby shopping!” Mom grinned.

“And I’m buying!” Shelly said and then quickly held a hand up to my mother. “No, I’m insisting. I’m the guest, right? And the guest gets her way?”

On the drive we talked about what I would need. Mom said I’d get ‘a few things to try’ but Shelly maintained that I needed a complete wardrobe. She allowed that it wouldn’t be possible to get it all today.

“But we can start,” Shelly nodded. “Lingerie, basics. Start on her shoe collection.”

Mom said, “But she’ll only be wearing these things at home.”

“Well, duh!” Shelly laughed. “We wear the uniforms at school. Oh, you mean after-hours. Well, yeah, but …” She looked at me. “You’ve got to decide, babe. How much of Abby are you going to reveal at school?”

It was a deceptively simple question, because we both knew that my body was changing but my mother had no idea yet.

I cleared my throat. “Mom, you’ve probably already figured this out, but I think you’re going to have to talk with Mrs. Carey about me.”

“Not until we get you to a doctor,” she said, glancing at me and back on the road. “It will have much more force if you’re already under medical supervision. If we can get a diagnosis of gender dysphoria, then we should have no problem.”

“Wow,” I said. “You’re up on your gender stuff.”

“Well, I told you that your father and I were already discussing it. And last night, after you went to bed, I jumped on the internet and learned a lot more. That’s why I was kind of groggy this morning; I was up late.”

“So you think I have gender dysphoria?”

Mom pursed her lips. “I think that’s the general term they’d classify you under, except that I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t find some physical …abnormalities, too. Abnormal in that you never developed as a male.”

Shelly whispered, “Abby-normal!”, causing me to snort and fake a cough. God, already she was teasing me about my name–and using Young Frankenstein to do it! Aloud Shelly covered my noises by saying innocently, “Never developed as a male, huh?” Meanwhile, she elbowed me, teasing me about now developing as a female.

“Right,” Mom said, either ignoring our giggles or not hearing them as she negotiated a roundabout. “The medical evidence will carry greater weight with the school.”

Shelly said, “Mrs. Houseman, I thought you could just …tell Mrs. Carey what to do? I mean, she’s headmistress but you’re a Russell, right? And don’t you kind of own the school?”

“Well, those are a yes and a no. Yes, I’m a Russell, and I do own a piece of the school, in the sense that a shareholder does. But I can’t tell the headmistress what to do. I can advise, I can strongly lobby, I can voice my approval or disapproval, but decisions are ultimately hers. And Mrs. Carey isn’t an outsider; she’s a descendant of the founding Mortons.”

“Still …can’t you walk in there and say, ‘Oops, sorry; little mistake. Slight change needed; Houseman, Benjamin T., male, is now Houseman, Abigail E., female. Love the blouse, by the way. Tah!’”

Mom and I cracked up at Shelly’s silly line.

Ah, but then the heart of the matter. Shelly said, “So why does she need to see a doctor, anyway?”

I realized that she was afraid that my dosing myself with hormones would be exposed. I gave her an understanding look but said, “No, Shell; I want to be under a doctor’s care. Like Mom says, it legitimizes me, and who knows what they might find out?”

She gave me a worried look.

At the mall we did exactly as Shelly described, getting lingerie and clothing basics. It took several trips to the car, and I was carried along with the thrill of being out in the open and being seen as just another girl. Before we’d left, Shelly had brushed my hair differently, across my forehead and clipped with a barrette. She’d done my makeup, Mom watching and critiquing. The only thing missing were earrings; Mom wouldn’t allow me to have my ears pierced but Shelly found some ‘heavy-earth’ magnetic earrings that pinched but looked like pierced earrings and were stylish as well. I loved seeing the reflection through my hair, although my hair was a sore spot. Shelly wanted me to get into a salon and Mom said no.

“Benjamin will have to be in stealth mode at school,” she said. “Or maybe it’s …Abby will have to be in stealth mode as Benjamin.”

So pierced ears were out, as were nail extensions. We messed up, though. We were looking at makeup in Macy’s and the next thing I knew I was in a chair getting a makeover. I don’t know if the lady knew I was a boy or not or didn’t care; she treated me like a pretty girl and I loved it and relaxed.

She was an old pro and as she bustled around my face, she had tweezers out and was ‘neatening my brows’ before Mom or I could react. There was this moment of ‘Oh-oh!’ tension with Mom and Shelly and I, but we relaxed. What was done was done, and maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. But the mirror showed delicately arched eyebrows that opened up my eyes. A girl’s eyes …

Great. Maybe Benjamin can start wearing sunglasses at school …

The remainder of the weekend we spent at home, except that it was full of a fashion show, so to speak, and putting things away, and a lot of talk. Late Sunday night, I had to strip off all of my pretties and become Benjamin again. Mom drove us to Morton.

I was flopped on Shelly’s bed as she unpacked when there was a knock at the door. It was Chen Lu.

“Somebody said that they thought Benjamin was here?” she asked.

Shelly looked at me and I nodded. “Come on in, Lu,” Shelly said.

“Hey, Lu; what’s up?” I asked as I sat up on the bed.

She looked very nervous. “Um …I don’t mean to interrupt. I just …um …wanted to talk with you about something. It can wait.” She turned to go.

Shelly gave me a look that I read and I nodded and said, “Lu? Whatever you want to talk about with me, you can talk about with Shelly.”

“Um …I don’t think so. I mean, don’t worry about it.” She started for the door again.

I said, “Lu? You want to talk about what happened at the mall last Sunday.”

“Um …yeah.” She was clearly embarrassed. For me or for her? Or just due to the situation?

“Please, Lu, you can say whatever you want to say. Ask whatever you want to ask. With Shelly here, I mean. I guarantee you, it’s not a problem.”

Lu glanced at Shelly and a little smile flitted across her face. Shelly leaned down and patted the edge of the bed and Lu sat. Shelly said, “I’m just putting things away. I spent the weekend with …Benjamin and his mom.”

That seemed to startle Lu, and then didn’t anymore, because she nodded. “Yeah, you guys are close. Okay,” she sighed. “I just didn’t want to embarrass anybody.”

“I know, Lu; it’s cool,” Shelly said. Then she turned to me. “All yours, sweetie.”

I said, “Lu, you want to ask about my choosing the blue gown. You want to ask about how I handled myself at the mall. You want to ask about my chest.”

Wide-eyed, Lu nodded slowly.

“So …ask,” I smiled.

“Um …are you a boy or a girl?”

I was smiling but Shelly snorted. “Sorry! Let me answer that one. The answers are, yes and no–and no and yes.”

Lu stood up. “I’m sorry; this was wrong …”

“Sit down, Lu, please,” Shelly said, softening. “I’m sorry. I’m truly not making fun of you.”

I said, “I think Shelly told the absolute truth, too, with the ‘yes and no’ thing. Lu, you asked if I was a boy or a girl. My birth certificate reads Benjamin Thomas Houseman, male. I’ve lived as a boy, gone to school as a boy. So Shelly’s first answer to you was correct–yes, I’m a boy and no, I’m not a girl. But ever since I can remember, I’ve felt like a girl. I mean, like I figure a girl feels like. I do know that I’ve never felt like a boy. I don’t think like them, act like them …and usually don’t even understand them. According to my mother, I was supposed to be a girl at birth.”

“She’s Abigail Elizabeth Houseman, female,” Shelly said with pride. “Or at least, that’s what her birth certificate should have said. But she’s Abby at home, now.”

Neither of us let on that it had only occurred three nights before.

Lu was staring.

I said, “So Shelly’s second answer was right, too. Do I feel like a boy? No. Like a girl? Yes.”

“You’re transgender,” Lu said, nodding. “I was trying to remember the word.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m entering a doctor’s care this week. Finally! And we’ll see where it goes.”

Mom had said she’d try to make it happen this week so I was taking her at her word.

Shelly said, “There’s more to it than that.” She sat next to Lu, so she could look at me. “I knew Benjamin was really a girl the first time I met her. Him. Whatever.”

“Four years ago,” I said.

Shelly said, “And it was so obvious.”

Lu said, “You two have always been on some weird psychic connection thing.”

Shelly shrugged. “What can I say? We’re both mutants.” Then she looked at me. “And we’re both girls.”

“So what are you going to do? Besides the doctor, I mean,” Lu asked.

It was my turn to shrug. “What I’ve been doing. Being Benjamin Monday through Friday and being Abby on weekends. Until the doctor clears me and Mrs. Carey approves the next step, where I can be Abby all the time.”

“Are you going to get that surgery? You know …”

“Yeah, I know. And, yes I am. I have to wait to be eighteen, though.”

“Not necessarily,” Shelly said. Lu frowned and Shelly said, “I just said, ‘There’s more to it than that’?” Lu nodded. Shelly looked at me. “Her body’s changing. She’s heading into puberty–a girl’s puberty. This isn’t like on TV where some burly truck driver says he’s a woman trapped in a man’s body.” She pointed at me. “That’s a girl. But unfortunately there’s an ‘M’ on a piece of paper that screwed up her life.”

I said, “And a little piece of flesh between my legs that did that, too.” I shrugged. “But I’m really glad that my body seems to be getting it right. I’d rather it did it when I was in the womb instead of waiting twelve years to decide I’m a girl.”

Lu gasped. “You’re budding!” She’d obviously wondered but hadn’t fully grasped what she’d seen when I’d removed my sweatshirt, because her mind was still classifying me as a boy.

“Yep!” I said proudly.

“And, oh, boy, is that gonna screw things up!” Shelly chuckled.

Lu said, “Have you told anyone?”

“No. You found out because you’re smart,” I smiled at her. “And you’re a good friend.”

“And Shelly’s your BFF,” Lu smiled. “I get that, and I’m cool with it.”

Shelly said, “Good. I like you and you guys can go have fun together, but remember that Abby is my very best friend in the whole world and I will damage anybody that hurts her!” She was pretty fierce.

I said, “What she’s saying is, please don’t tell anybody what you know about me. Forget everything.”

“I will,” Lu said, solemnly.

“No, you won’t,” Shelly said. “Look, guys …she’s not gonna do a memory wipe. It can help things if she knows but doesn’t tell. But she could help run defense if you screw up and start flashing your boobs again,” she grinned at me.

I rewarded her with a thrown pillow. She let it hit her full in the face and stared at me, open-mouthed. “With my own pillow you give me such a smack?”

I stuck my tongue out at her and Lu giggled. “God, you two are such girlfriends. How can you keep this secret?”

I got serious. “We just have. You’ll see. I’m myself now but I’ll be Benjamin tomorrow. But Shelly’s right; I might screw up again. I got too comfortable with you all at the mall on Sunday.”

Lu nodded. “You really were just another girl with us. Okay. Shelly’s right, and I can help run defense for you, even if it’s only to tell you to butch things up.”

Shelly snorted. “Abby couldn’t be butch if her life depended on it!”

End of Part 2