In Concert, by Karin Bishop

Part 7

Chapter 21: Teachers

I was enjoying being accepted by the girls, eating my lunch and chatting and even getting a bit giggly.

Then I saw Mr. Hammond approaching the table.

I got quiet, and the girls noticed and heads turned; we were silent when he stopped a few feet away. Mr. Hammond was a notoriously cranky history teacher, very strict and very ‘old school’. He terrified his students.

He looked at me and said, “Martin? A word.”

I got up in the silence and followed him into the nearly empty hall. As I walked, I realized that I had dropped my androgynous act while talking with the girls; my voice and gestures had reverted to Lauren’s, and Hammond had surely seen it. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he called down fire and brimstone on the sinning homosexual.

He turned and said, “Martin, I don’t want my class disturbed by discussion of your situation. We have a very important test to prepare for, and it’s not fair to the other students.”

“Yes, sir. I understand, and I want to do well on the test, too, sir.”

He looked at me to see if I was brown-nosing. I wasn’t; I actually enjoyed his class because he tied all the names and dates and reasons together and we made the connections and really did learn. Apparently I satisfied him that I was serious.

“Martin ...” He stopped to look at me, thought for a moment, and continued. “I’ve spoken at length with Principal Masterson. She agrees with me that, most likely, all of your classmates–at least those who come into direct contact with you–know about your situation already, so there’s no need of yet another announcement about your situation. I will announce that to the class.”

And de-nounce me? I wondered.

He studied me. “I would like to ask you one question, to satisfy my own curiosity, and I would like the honest truth. Understood? One question, one answer?”

“Certainly, sir.” I was quaking; I was sure he was going to blast me.

“What was the result of your chromosomal screening?”

That one came out of left field! I didn’t have time to think; I just stammered, “Uh, XXY, sir.”

He nodded, as if it confirmed something. “XXY.” Then he really shocked me; there was the ghost of a smile!

“Sir, may I ask a question?”

“Certainly; I’m a teacher.”

“Um ... why did you ask that question, and nod when I told you the answer?”

“Technically that’s two questions, but we’ll call them parts A and B. I love history and am glad to be a history teacher, but I also have long been fascinated with genetics, ever since I was ten and learned about the monk Gregor Mendel. I read a great deal and try to keep up on the latest scientific journals, and so when Principal Masterson told the teachers about your situation, it really came down to two possibilities. One, it was false; or two, it was genuine. There could be a myriad of reasons for possibility number one; you could be a gay male, or a straight male with an overdeveloped desire to see the girls’ locker room.”

I had to smile at that one, even as I was shaking my head.

He nodded, once. “But Edith Masterson is an astute woman, and I found the second possibility to be more likely; that you are a transsexual. Transgendered, actually. But psychologically or physiologically? By asking you about your screening, it proved that you were serious and it also proved the nature of your condition.”

He’d clearly finished; he’d answered my question but there was so much left unsaid. I looked at him, trying to think of something to say, when he actually smiled.

“Are we clear on the reasoning? And that there will be no announcement in my class?”

“Yes, sir. It’s fine with me.”

He tilted his head back and looked at me. “Yes, I dare say it’s been a trauma relived four times over. You’re probably glad for the respite. Well, I understand your situation, so we have no more need to discuss it. I will expect you to keep any chatter about yourself to a minimum; please don’t disturb my class.”

“I’ll try not to, sir.”

“Good. Very interesting situation you have here. Well, I’ll see you in class ... Lauren.”

He turned and walked away and I just stared after him. Unbelievable! Hammond accepted me! I heard a noise behind me and saw Mandy peeking around the door.

“You’re still in one piece! What’s up, Lauren?”

“Mandy, he knows about me, he understands, and he’s cool about it. I can’t believe it!”

She came and hugged me. “Now, if you can just get past Westervelt, you’re home free.”

The other girls came past us and left for class; Jessica stayed behind. “Are you okay, Lauren?”

Hammond was mean to some of the students, or at least it seemed that way. He loved history so much that he had low tolerance for anybody that disrespected it. At the start of the year, he picked on Jessica because he thought she was smart but chose not to answer out of spite or something; the truth was she was terribly shy. He realized it after the first month and backed off. She’d stayed quiet in class and some kids hated him for it, but I figured it showed he was nicer than he let on. After my talk with him, I was convinced of it.

“I’m fine, Jessica–Jess,” I said hurriedly, as I remembered her invitation. “Um, Mandy, I’ll see you later.”

Mandy and I only had Home Room together. After lunch we didn’t usually see each other until the walk home.

Mandy said, “Today is so cool, Lauren! All your dreams are coming true, and it’s so cool to watch! Good luck with Hammond and especially with Westervelt. See ya, Jess.” She hitched up her pack and headed down the hall.

I turned to Jessica. “Well, no sense putting it off. Let’s go to Hammondville.”

She chuckled shyly. “You’re taking this all so well. If it happened to me ... well, there’s no way I can even comprehend it. I just think you’re very brave.”

“And very messed up, actually, but thanks for the compliment.”

As we walked to class, I did a quick reassessment of my day; it had been great so far. An extra bonus was this new-found friendship with Jessica. I was sure the good luck was going to end when we got to class; Hammond was bawling out one of the football players.

Class settled in, and Mr. Hammond made a short announcement.

“By now, everyone’s aware of the situation with Chris Martin. If you’re not aware, you were either absent this morning or simply not paying attention. I suspect the latter,” and he glared at the football star. “Suffice it to say, there’s no need to rehash what has occurred, so we will concentrate on our class and not on Lauren Martin.”

He picked up his book and directed us to a chapter and paragraph before anyone seemed to realize that he’d used my new–and to me, correct–name. A few heads swiveled my way, but were pulled back to their books by fear of Hammond. And that was all that happened! I spent a moment marveling at my luck, and then snapped my attention back to the book because he was calling on students to explain what we’d covered. I did a quick skim, got caught up, and could enjoy Jack Hopper squirming his way through a wrong answer.

Mr. Hammond stared at Jack for a moment, and shook his head. “Anyone care to assist Mr. Hopper with the Taft-Hartley Act? Mr. Sanders? No? Miss Martin?” He was looking right at me!

I will always be grateful to Mr. Hammond; he was the first to call me ‘Miss’ like it was the most ordinary thing, and it put a further stamp of approval on me, one that nobody in the room could miss. I stood up and explained closed shops and got back on track. It was the correct answer, and when I sat I caught a smile and raised eyebrow from Jessica.

She came up to me as we stood to leave at the bell, and said, “You’re amazing, how you got Hammond eating out of your hand. I could never–”

Just then Mr. Hammond called out, “Miss Martin? Could you come here for a moment?”

I whispered to Jessica, “Here’s where he bites the hand off! See ya, Jess!” I gathered myself together and went up to his desk; we were alone.

In a quiet, non-classroom voice, he said, “I just wanted to thank you for abiding by my request to keep things normal. I think everybody needed a breather from the excitement.”

“Thank you, sir. I just ... I want everything normal, too, Mr. Hammond.”

He smiled–a rare thing–and said, “I believe you do, Lauren. I think you’ve been very brave today, and I hope everything works out for you. I’m glad that your ... um, transition didn’t affect your ability to answer correctly.”

I smiled back at him. “No, sir. It’s still me, but in a different, uh, package.”

He raised a finger. “In the correct package, I believe. Well, don’t keep Mr. Westervelt waiting.”

I thanked him again and hurried to Westervelt’s class, getting into my desk just as the bell sounded. Neither Mandy nor Jessica was in that class; Brittany was, though, and gave me a quick wave and smile. Steve Falconer was in the class, too. He turned and looked at me, his brow furrowed, and then faced forward. Everybody else had been in my other classes at some point in the day, so everybody knew. Westervelt didn’t even bother with an announcement; we just jumped into the equations and stayed busy all period. It was actually a nice way to end the academic day, because it was just like any other day, and hopefully, just like any day to come. Everybody groaned as Westervelt wrote the homework assignment on the board, and then we trudged off to the last class, which was Study Hall for me.

Steve caught up with me. “So, how’s it going?”

Keeping ‘our’ story alive, I said, “Pretty good, but I’ll be glad when this is over. I have to admit, Steve, you were right about me. About really being a girl, I mean. The doctors just confirmed what you were talking about.”

He actually beamed with pride. “Aw, it wasn’t that hard to see; I think maybe it’s why I always gave you a hard time. I knew something was off, you know? But once again, Springer comes through.”

The idea that he’d diagnosed my condition by watching Jerry Springer was ludicrous, but he took my laugh to mean I agreed with him. He said, “Look, Chris–I mean, Lauren; that’s going to be weird–anyway, you’re not doing Girls’ PE, are you?”

“No, the principal thought that would be too freaky. I have Study Hall for the rest of the year.”

He was silent for a moment, obviously unconcerned about being late for class. I was still walking toward Study Hall. He finally said, “So, are ya ... are ya gonna start dressing like a chick?”

It struck me as odd that nobody had commented on the fact that I’d been wearing a sports bra all day. Was I really that flat-chested? I knew I wasn’t, but maybe the kids were accepting it. And I was clearly wearing girls’ slacks, boots, top and vest ... and yet nobody seemed to notice.

Then I got another crazy idea about Steve; I’d had such good luck before by talking with him, that I thought I’d play that card again. I stopped at the door and looked at him. My books were cradled against my chest, as girls did. Some instinct told me to soften my voice, put the ‘girl’ melody in my question.

“I don’t know; do you think I should, Steve? I mean, is it going to be too much, too soon?”

His brow furrowed, his usual ‘thinking’ indicator. He said, “Well, you are a chick, right? I mean, that’s what this is all about. So, if you’re a chick, I guess you should, you know, dress like a chick.”

“Steve, do you think I should? Tomorrow?” I heard my own submissive voice with the rising inflection girls use. I felt like I was flirting.

He shrugged. “Well, yeah, I guess.”

“So you’re not going to get all weird if I show up in a dress and makeup?” God, I felt like Blanche Dubois.

The idea was a little weird, asking Steve Falconer for fashion advice, but I knew if I had his approval it should be clear sailing with him and the rest of the bullies. Steve looked a little green.

“I guess ... like I said, you’re a chick, man, so go for it.”

The bell started and I put on a pretty smile and said, “Thanks, Steve!” and ran for the nearest table. My books were still cradled to my chest and I had a girl’s run and my butt was wiggling and I knew that he was watching me.

There was no regular teacher for Study Hall; usually a teacher chose to monitor it so they could grade papers. Every so often they’d tell someone to be quiet, but it was a great time to get all of your homework finished. I felt sorry for the kids that had Study Hall in First Period. I was checking my answers to Westervelt’s assignment when the bell sounded, ending school.

And that was it–the day of my Announcement had concluded! I gathered up my stuff and turned to see Gina.

“Lauren, we’re not ... I mean, we haven’t really been friends ... I mean, you were Chris, weren’t you? But, anyway ... if it’s cool with you I’d like to get together some time to ask you some questions. Scientific questions,” she explained hurriedly. “There are psychological and sociological forces at work, besides the biological ones ...”

She caught herself, and her hand went up to her mouth. “Listen to me, Miss Know-It-All! Well, if it’s okay with you, you know, because it’s hard with some of the other girls around ...”

I smiled to put her at ease. “Gina, relax, okay? Sure we can get together. I don’t know what my week is like; well, Wednesday’s a half-day, so maybe we can hit the Food Court at the Mall.”

She was relieved. “Really? Oh, that’s great–oh, darn! Got a dentist appointment.”

“Hope it’s just routine,” I smiled and shrugged. “We can get together sometime.”

Her face lit up. “Cool! I’ve got so many things to ask you! Um ... see you tomorrow!” She darned near scampered away, her long black hair flying.

Mandy walked up to me, watching Gina flee. “What’s up with Brainiac?”

“I arouse her curiosity, I guess,” I said.

“Well, how did it go?”

I filled her in while we walked home. At times she whooped with joy, at other times with laughter, but the bottom line was, the day had been a smashing success.

“See, Lauren, what did I tell ya?”

“What did you tell me?”

“That it would be a piece of cake! Remember, I said you only had two percent to go? You were so close to being a girl, anyway, that it only took a little nudge to get you there.”

“When did you say that?”

“Right after I told you blue eye shadow was out!”

And we carried on like that, all the way home.

Chapter 22: New Hair and All

It was a real joy getting home with no homework. I went to my room and gladly stripped off my Chris-clothes and took a quick shower. I reinserted my earrings and tried a different cologne sample. Wrapping myself in my chenille robe, my hair fluffed out around me, I went to the kitchen for a Diet Coke. Carrying the drink to the living room, I sorted through the mail; junk. On the dining room table I saw a note from Mom that I’d missed on the way in: ‘Lauren, I thought you might enjoy these, even if they’re sort-of-homework! See you at six, Love, Mom.’ She had bought me some magazines: Seventeen, Teen Vogue, and Cosmo Girl. I sat on the couch, tucking my legs under me, and flipped through the pages as I drank.

Part of my mind stepped outside of itself and examined my situation. On one hand, I was deliriously happy. I had been accepted at school today–although the final test would be tomorrow when I wore more obvious girls’ clothes. And now I was sitting here like any other girl. On the other hand, this had all been so very sudden; I mean, surely this wasn’t all just because of The Preston Brothers concert? Yes, it altered my world and I knew in my heart of hearts that was the important thing. As for the concert, it didn’t matter if I went or not; maybe it had been the match that ignited things, but … I was finally living the life I should have, and that was worth any amount of concerts. Although, now that I thought about it, it had been a long time since Mandy had even mentioned the concert.

And, as I read the magazines, I was faced with a harsh reality: Being a girl was every bit as hard–and in some ways, harder–than being a boy. Besides all of the usual school learning, there were fashion and makeup decisions, coping with second class treatment, avoiding rape–plus the whole ‘sex object’ thing. But with all the negatives, I didn’t care, because I was a girl. Even if I wanted to change things, there was the undeniable reality of my biological sex. Not to mention my mental and emotional sex. And, if anything, I should relax and enjoy it; in fact, I was almost feeling guilty because today had been so great.

I was dressed in capris and a long-sleeved top when Mom got home. I thanked her for the magazines, and she wanted to know all about the day. Before I could plunge in, she declared it a night for sushi. I grabbed a sweater and we headed out to our favorite Japanese restaurant. I filled her in, step by step, and had worked my way up to Mr. Hammond’s comments after class by the time we finished. We had another pot of tea while I finished the story, and she shook her head in amazement.

“I would have agreed with you about Hammond; who knew he had a heart?”

“It’s not just a heart, it’s an interest in genetics that really hooked him, too, I think.”

“Well, you just keep doing what you were doing, and ... oh, I just realized; it’s a whole new day tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Uh, Mom, hello? It usually is.”

She waved her hand. “I didn’t mean it like that, Miss Smarty-Patns. I mean, you’re going as Lauren, head-to-toe, right?”

“Seems like it. I mean, I was Lauren today, to all my teachers and classmates–God, it was so great when Hammond called me ‘Miss Martin’! But, yeah, head-to-toe tomorrow. I already know what I want to wear–that light blue top with the scalloped edges and three-quarter sleeves? And that cream skirt with the blue plaid on the bias. And sandals.”

“I think you’ve made a good choice; from what I can remember during your ‘fashion show’, that outfit really suited you. But if I may make a suggestion ...”

She broke off when the waitress brought back her receipt. We gathered our things and headed out; I could tell that Mom wasn’t going to continue with her suggestion until she was good and ready. She started her car, looked at her watch, and began talking as she backed out.

“I think we can hit Fashion Square, if I hurry. I want to see if they can squeeze you in.”

Fashion Square was an upscale mall on the other side of town, even farther than the mall we’d been to. Squeeze me in? It wouldn’t be that crowded at 7:30 on a Monday night.

Duh.

Of course, she meant at one of the salons. She used her cell phone to call ‘Jeanine’ and we were set, as soon as we got there. I always thought I’d finally get around to a beauty salon on a bright weekend day, with Mandy for support.

“You’re lucky that Jeanine can fit you in, Lauren. There will be time later for ‘the works’, but I thought she could do a quick trim, maybe a little shaping here and there–oh, and your nails. And any last minute things we can think of.”

We chatted on as she drove, and parked right in front of the salon, which had an outside entrance for non-mall hours. Mom obviously knew Jeanine–I didn’t know how–and they hugged and Jeanine complimented both of us about how pretty I was. Jeanine handed me a book of teen styles and asked if I liked anything. I showed her three or four possibilities, and Mom and Jeanine looked at me impersonally, like I was a vase or something, making little suggestions back and forth. Occasionally Jeanine would reach out and lift some of my hair, letting it drop, tilting her head this way and that.

The next thing I knew, I was in a whirlwind of activity. My hair was quickly washed by an Asian girl who commended me on how well I conditioned it; then Jeanine attacked me. I watched her and still don’t know everything she did. She startled me when she shouted, ‘Sin!’; I thought she was some religious fanatic, but she was shouting for ‘Cyn’, the nail girl, who rolled up a tower of trays and went to work on my nails–all twenty of them. I felt like one of those pictures of movies stars at the spa. What next, cucumber slices?

Well, no, because yet another woman appeared, there were murmurs between Jeanine and Cyn and her, and then she spread some warm goo on my eyebrows. Oh, God, I thought, starting to worry what they were going to do to my eyebrows–and then Jeanine and Cyn kind of froze and the woman ripped and I jerked. She was already putting something cooling and soothing on my eyebrows as I was relaxing back into the chair and as Jeanine and Cyn went back to work. A few plucks here and there and the woman left, anonymous.

Jeanine was working away with her dryer and Cyn was doing her best to keep hair off the new polish, which was a gentle, iridescent peach. She had extended my nails and shaped them; they were beautiful and I was torn between watching Jeanine and staring at my nails. Cyn rolled her cart away; I saw Mom go over to her and tip her. It must have been a great tip, because Cyn was so excited.

Jeanine finished fluffing my hair, with a concentration that showed she really cared how it turned out. And it turned out incredible! Somehow, she’d done something to make my hair really shine; it almost shimmered. It parted in the middle and framed my face, curling gently inward below my shoulders. There was a hint of Jennifer Aniston’s famous ‘Rachel’ to it, but it wasn’t that stock style. As Jeanine turned my chair in the mirror, she told me how to use different clips and barrettes; and how to maintain the hair and regain the style, knowing that I was going to go home and go to bed, mussing up her creation.

I was in awe of how quickly it had happened. Now, even if I got cold feet tomorrow and tried to go as Chris, there was no way I’d pass as a boy–and I didn’t want to! In for a penny, in for a pound–hell, in for a ton, now! Mom had been watching the whole procedure, her face showing a strange mixture of pride and sadness. For some reason, I felt a little happy and sad, too.

Jeanine said, “Tristesse.”

Mom and I looked at her and she smiled.

“‘Tristesse’ is a French word–although they have a similar word in Brazil–that means a sweet sadness. Gentler than what we call ‘bittersweet’, because it’s not bitter, it’s often more of a farewell.” She looked at the two of us. “I see it on mothers from time to time, when they bring their daughters in for a more grown-up style. The mothers are realizing their little girls have left the innocence of girlhood. And they’re entering the more exciting world of womanhood. It’s a scary, sad, sweet moment. Tristesse.”

It certainly seemed to fit. The mall was closing, so I headed back to the car since I could tell that Mom wanted to linger a bit with Jeanine. I caught a glimpse of a cute girl in the mall windows, and of course I realized it was me, but it took a split second. The girl I’d seen was undeniably cute. Tomorrow was going to be very interesting...

Mom came out and I saw the salon darken behind her. We got in the car for home, and after a few moments, Mom chuckled.

“That was interesting.”

“What?”

“Oh ... just everything.” She chuckled again.

I had something on my mind. “Mom, she knows, doesn’t she? I mean, she knew, right?”

“That you had been Chris?”

I nodded, and to my consternation, she burst out laughing.

“That’s what was so interesting! I’ve known Jeanine for a long time, I but don’t go to her regularly because the mall’s so far away. Actually, she was out of town for a long time, but came back last year. But, yes, she already knew that I had a son named Chris, my only child.”

“I couldn’t quite tell, but I figured it was something like that, since you two were so chummy.”

“That was nothing; you should have seen us in college! Yes, we were in college together; like I said, we’ve known each other ...”

Her voice drifted off, then she said, “Tristesse. A good word.”

I let her be quiet for a while; the way Mom had wound down from her laugh seemed odd. I was getting very sleepy after the day’s events, and I was almost dozing when she started talking again.

“I said goodbye to my son Christopher, tonight. That’s the sweet sadness. The happiness is welcoming my beautiful daughter Lauren. And I was laughing because ... because my long-time friend Jeanine–who knows I gave birth to a son–didn’t believe me.”

“Didn’t believe you? About what?”

She turned to look at me for a moment, then back to the road, and laughed again. “She didn’t believe that you were ever a boy! She allowed, ‘maybe she was a tomboy, maybe’ but changed her mind later because she’s worked with tomboys and didn’t see a trace of it in you. She thought I was running some weird scam; that’s what we were talking about while you got your hair washed.”

I was pleased, but confused. “So what did you talk about there, at the end?”

“She said ...” Mom was fighting her laughter. “She said ... that she wondered if you’d be interested in modeling for her salon!”

That did it; she burst out with a guffaw. No other word for it; I had read the word ‘guffaw’ in books but had never heard one in person, and now I did. From my own mother. And about me! I was indignant–and thrilled!

When Mom calmed down, she told me, “Jeanine works with a modeling agency that also does training, and she said you’d be a natural. I had to really, really convince her that you had been Chris, and I explained a little of the medical stuff. I hope you forgive me, but I used our ‘misdiagnosis at birth’ story–but, honey, the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced it’s the truth and not just a cover story.”

“Being XXY, it’s kind of the truth. And, Mom, it was fine telling Jeanine that.”

“I thought so, too, or I wouldn’t have even gone to her. Anyway, Jeanine said that that was the special something she’d noticed; not that you were a boy but that you were a girl with just a tiny bit of male. She said there’s an element of androgyny in many great models, not just the Kate Moss-starving-junkie-waif thing from a few years back. And she said you had a natural poise and femininity–really! She said that!–and thinks you’d be a great candidate–and that nobody would have to know about Chris. So I said that you and I would talk about it, but right now we’ve got to get you through this school week.”

There was no more dozing after that! A model? Me? Never in a million years ... wait until Mandy heard ... and other thoughts. Once I’d started on the road to becoming Lauren, I couldn’t wait for things to hurry. I wanted to just jump in and be a girl. Well, I was going to get that wish the very next day, and for the first time I began wondering if maybe I wasn’t rushing things. Maybe it would be better to be gradual. Maybe it would be better to lie low.

Mom did her psychic routine again and said, “Getting scared?”

It was no use pretending. “Uh-huh, and I don’t know why.”

As she drove, she said thoughtfully, “I think part of it has to do with closing a door. You’ve–we’ve–closed the door on Chris, now. I think we can agree that from this moment on, Chris is a memory.”

“Yeah.” I felt a pull of sadness. “But why do I feel so ... funky about it?”

“Because, unhappy as you were, being Chris was what you knew. You’re leaving the safety and comfort of the known for the unknown. It’s a whole new world for you.”

I thought for a bit. “You know, Mom, I remember seeing an old Western, and when the settlers left on the wagon train, they were sad, and I remember thinking, ‘Why are they sad? They get to go on this great adventure’. But now I understand that sadness. And the fear.”

She nodded. “It’s a bit like that. But without the Indians!”

We laughed together, and I felt better. Once we got home and I got ready for bed, I couldn’t stop looking at every reflective object in the house, seeing this pretty blonde girl. Jeanine had done some magic that made it seem like I was looking out through the eyes on another body. Also, I saw for the first time what people had been telling me–I was really pretty. It wasn’t vanity, it was a simple fact. I just couldn’t let it go to my head.

In the bathroom, after washing, I stripped naked and examined myself as critically and as objectively as I could. From the shoulders up there was no doubt; I was a pretty girl. I had always had small shoulders for a boy that were just right for a girl, and my arms had never developed muscles, so that all looked normal for a girl. My breasts were almost little mounds right now, but there was no doubt they were developing. Looking at my profile, I was gratified that the slight swell of my soon-to-be mounds was visible. What I’d never noticed before was that my tummy was flat and then lower was a little mound, like a mini-belly, before it sloped in towards my groin, and that my butt was high and round. Perky would be the word for it, I guessed. I saw the graceful curve from my shoulders down my back to my butt and remembered how nice the maillot had looked on me. I also wondered if I’d always looked like this, curved like this, and stood like this, because even to me it was unmistakably female.

I turned and faced the mirror. Looking head-on it looked like there wasn’t any development at all. Looking straight down my chest, though, I could see the rising of two little nipples, which were themselves widening and just crossing over from looking male to looking definitely female. As I examined them, they firmed and poked out, making me happy that they responded, but realizing that noticeable nipples were something new I was going to have to contend with.

My waist dipped in a little bit so at least I didn’t go straight up and down, and my hips seemed wider than I remembered. Was that the hormones or just the way I was built, and only really noticing it now? But there was a definite girlish curve to my middle, which pleased me. I realized that that little mound I’d noticed above my groin was typical of girls; Mandy had the same thing. My legs were hairless and unmuscled. They were slender and, I thought, pretty shapely. They’d been my biggest embarrassment as a boy; once I wore shorts, everyone noticed that I had a girl’s legs. When I was little, the boys in class called them ‘birdie legs’. Well, wrong species–they were girl legs and now that would come in handy. I’d have to check out the teen magazines for exercises to firm them up without getting muscle-y.

Ah, but that thing between my legs, that was the problem, wasn’t it? It had always been small, and now was positively miniscule. My sparse pubic hair was blonde so it didn’t hide much, but even so my penis was barely two inches long, if that, and nestled in tightly to my body. My testicles, of course, hadn’t descended and I suddenly wondered, ‘do we even know if I have them?’ Maybe it was more than not descending; maybe they didn’t exist. That might explain why my body had always been feminine and now, with Dr. Gladstone’s hormones, my body was galloping into girlhood. I’d have to ask him next time ... which reminded me that he’d ordered an MRI. I think he questioned the existence of my testicles, too. I tucked myself between my legs and arranged my ‘lips’; my penis went willingly, because I’d been keeping it tucked ever since that first time and I had gotten used to it.

Looking at my entire body now, there was absolutely no way I could call it male; I actually felt relief from a tension I didn’t know I’d had. ‘I’m going to be so nervous tomorrow’, I thought, ‘but at least I won’t be nervous that I look like a boy in a dress, because I don’t look like a boy out of a dress!’ I giggled at that, and then put up my hair the way Jeanine had recommended, and pulled on my nightie. I went into Mom’s room, knocking first, to find her in bed reading. She closed the book as I sat on the edge of her bed.

“You look lovely, Lauren.”

I blushed; I know it. “Thanks, Mom. I was ... um ...”

“Checking yourself out?”

I made a face. “Mom, you’ve really got to teach me that psychic thing of yours! I was searching for a more modest way of phrasing it, but, yes, I was ‘checking myself out’.”

“And you saw a pretty girl who is going to be a beautiful woman.”

“Um ... yeah. I hope.”

She smiled warmly. “You will be very beautiful; you will. It’s what you were meant to be all along; I guess God decided to make it more difficult to get there, just to test you. So be worthy of it, alright?”

I nodded.

“No more worries tonight. Set your alarm a half-hour earlier than usual, and sleep a deep sleep.”

I kissed her, went to my room and actually set the alarm 45 minutes earlier. And, somehow, my sleep was deep and surprisingly dreamless.

Chapter 23: The First Day

The morning came too soon, of course, but I felt good when I got up. Determined. Today was going to be as normal as I could keep it. I had breakfast and went to wash up, and then began dressing. I thought of a movie I’d seen where a matador is dressing before a bullfight; half the clothing was practical, half was traditional, and the whole thing was ritual.

Knowing what I was going to wear relieved me of that last-minute nightmare. I wore a shimmery light blue bra–slightly padded, but enough–and panty set. Although a lot of girls went with bare legs this time of year, I knew I was making a statement today, so I pulled on some nude pantyhose. It struck me again how un-feminine it was to do the bent-knee squat thing women do to pull on pantyhose. Maybe I’d get a garter belt and real stockings someday...

I slipped on the blue top and stepped into the skirt. It was lined so I didn’t need a half-slip; Mom had already told me that but it was just one of the millions of things I was learning. I loved the scalloping on the edges of the top, and I put on the thin gold necklace that Cheryl had given me.

Mom had given me a thin kimono top and a great tip; I now pulled the kimono around me so I could do my makeup without worrying about spilling on my clothes. As I applied my makeup, I kept up my mantra, ‘less is more; less is more’, but I still applied mascara, shadow, liner, and blush over an invisible matte foundation. When I started applying lipstick my hand shook with excitement; I had to wipe off the smudge, clean the brush, and get calm for a few minutes. I put my hands on the edge of the sink, lowered my head, and took some breaths.

‘I need a vanity,’ I thought, and for some reason that made me laugh, then get serious. Mom had already spent some major money on me; I couldn’t keep needing stuff–‘but Mother, I need it’. ‘I should get a job,’ I thought, and then remembered Jeanine’s talk of modeling. Ordinarily I’d be too embarrassed to consider it; I mean, doesn’t every girl think she could be a model? And it seemed vain to even think about modeling. But if I thought of it as a job, a way to help pay Mom back for all she’d spent–and to have spending money of my own–then maybe I should pursue it.

The thought of modeling brought my spirits up. I finished the lipstick and looked at my reflection and wondered if I’d overdone things. I thought I looked really, really great, and I hadn’t even pulled down my hair.

‘Hmm, gotta watch that ego thing’, I thought.

I let my hair down and brushed it, and darned if it didn’t fall right back into place, into Jeanine’s style. I decided to put in one of the hair clips we’d bought at Claire’s, and Jeanine was right once again–it suited the hairstyle. I put on some rings and a bracelet, and didn’t care if it was too soon–I removed my studs and put in the smallest of hoops, spritzed myself with cologne, and went back to put on my sandals. I really liked seeing the subtle glimmer of my toenail polish through the stockings.

I walked into the kitchen as Mom was rinsing her coffee cup. She turned and stared at me, and I couldn’t read her expression.

“What do you think? Too much?” I asked nervously, looking down at myself, my hands held out to the side.

Her face suddenly crumpled in tears. “Oh, God, no! Lauren, you’re lovely! You’re ... oh, my; I can see what Jeanine meant.”

“You mean I still look androgynous?” I was worried.

“No, no, no!” she exclaimed. “That was only a tiny element of it. She said you were genuinely, naturally beautiful, and that with professional hair and makeup, you could compete with any cover girl out there ... but I never expected it.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom,” I said dryly.

“No, no,” she said again. “You did a great job on your makeup by yourself; did you learn all that from Mandy?”

I nodded. “And from you, and from Cheryl, and from every girl I’ve ever looked at.”

Mom chuckled. “So you have been preparing for this your whole life! Ah-ha!”

I pretended to twirl an imaginary mustache. “You haff seen through my clever plan. Now I must keel you!”

We were laughing like loons when the doorbell rang. We looked at each other, and then she went to answer. I finished putting the breakfast things away, when Mandy walked in behind Mom.

“ ... and so I thought I’d help her get ready on her first day, Mrs. Martin, and–”

Mandy stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth hanging open, and stared. She looked like a cartoon. I turned around and spoke with an English accent like somebody from Downton Abbey. “Ah, there you are, Amanda. I’m afraid that you’re a trifle late for waffles.”

Her eyes bulged at that, and for a split-second I wondered if she was going to explode. Instead, she blurted out, “Fuck me!” Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oops! I’m sorry, Mrs. Martin!”

Mom was laughing, and said, “That’s alright, Mandy, I had much the same reaction myself. But I’m sure you’ll never say those words again, will you?” She was nodding her head as she made her point.

“Uh ... sure. I mean, no, I won’t. I mean ... Lauren, you look incredible! Oh, man, this isn’t fair!”

“What isn’t?” I’d dropped my accent.

“How good you look! And ... oh, man, you’re not even dressed up! What did you do to your hair?”

“Last night Mom took me to a friend of hers with a salon. She figured that I might as well look as best I can today.”

“No kidding,” Mandy said. “Oh, this is going to be weird. And great! Great and weird.”

“Why, Mandy?” Mom asked.

We had a little spare time before school because we’d gotten up so early, so we sat at the kitchen table while Mandy collected her thoughts and then talked to both of us.

“I’ve got a confession to make. I only started this whole thing because I knew how unhappy Chris was. I mean, yeah, I also started it so she–I mean, he, back then–could go to the concert with me. Selfish, I guess, but I wanted to go to the concert with my best friend, you know?”

We nodded; I smiled warmly at Mandy and was so glad she was my best friend.

“Okay, it started out as a quickie masquerade, but once we ... um ... discovered Lauren, it’s like we’ve unleashed some Frankenstein thing.”

Mom said, “Well, Frankenstein was–”

Mandy waved her hand, “I know, I know; Frankenstein was the creator, not the monster. But that’s what I mean. I didn’t mean that Lauren is a monster, although ...” She looked at me with narrow eyes.

“You goof!” I playfully slapped her wrist.

She laughed. “Seriously, I meant that at first I felt like I was Frankenstein, the mad scientist, you know? Or maybe that other guy, what was his name ... Svengali? And I felt responsible for Lauren, and a little guilty.”

“Guilty? Why?” Mom asked.

“Because, well, maybe Chris didn’t want to be Lauren, but was just going along with me. But then you got involved, Mrs. Martin, and it became a whole new ball game. Then, totally unexpected, the doctor said all that stuff about Lauren being medically correct–as a girl, I mean–and it felt like things were getting out of hand. I mean, I wondered, ‘did I do all that just by dressing Chris up one day?’ And of course, no, I didn’t.”

Mom looked at me with pride. “No, you didn’t create Lauren, but we’re both forever indebted to you for discovering her.”

“Releasing me,” I looked back at her with love, and then turned back to Mandy. “Thank you, Mandy, and don’t worry about it. Everything’s cool. Everything’s working out.”

Mandy still seemed troubled, and then said, “And that’s the other part of the confession. Now you are your own true self, and you are an unbelievably hot babe. I wasn’t prepared for that. I think part of me hoped I’d always be your big sister, sort of ...”

“My Girl Guide!” I remembered. “And you are and always will be!”

“Are you kidding? Looking like you do? I can learn things from you now.”

There was an awkward moment, which Mom broke by saying, “Why don’t you both conquer the world together? Best girlfriends, together?”

Mandy and I looked at each other and both exploded at the same time. “Yeah, right!” “As if!”

The air was cleared between us, and I hugged Mandy as we stood up.

“You really do look fabulous, Lauren,” she whispered.

“Thank you for everything, Mandy. I just hope everything goes smoothly today and I don’t screw it up somehow.”

I gave her a squeeze and then we grabbed our things to head for school. I took one last look in the mirror; there was a pretty girl, and she was me, and I was going to be dressed like that all day–at school! For the first time, I was going to be carrying my purse all day, too. I sighed with nervous pleasure.

As we walked, I felt this incredible heightening of my senses, starting with my clothes. I could feel my skirt swishing around my legs; the pantyhose tightening and loosening around my legs as I walked. Even wearing a three-quarter sleeve length was different, and of course, my hair was bouncing. I felt wonderful!

I told Mandy about meeting with Jessica on Wednesday, and Mandy took it pretty cool.

“I like Jessica; always have,” she said. “I think there’s a lot to her, but she’s so darned shy. Geez! I’d kill myself if I was that shy.”

“I don’t think it’s that bad; I mean, she did come up to me on her own.”

“Yeah, maybe something about you ... look, Lauren, ordinarily I should be jealous if you wanted to spend time with another girl, but I think you should meet with Jessica. Just the two of you.”

“Come on, Mandy, you’re my BFF!”

“And I’ll always be your Best Friend, but who knows? Maybe Jessica could be a really good friend to both of us. Besides, if the two of us keep hanging out together, people are going to think we’re dykes. Then I’ll never get a date!”

I knew that she’d always be able to get dates, once she put her mind to being date-able, but I understood what she was saying about Jessica. We talked about other things, too, and got to school without anybody noticing anything.

And that was the weird part: After yesterday, today was anticlimactic. Walking down the halls, nobody did anything special. Guys checked us out, but I already knew that kind of look, so different from the ‘are you a freak?’ look. Then I realized it was okay; better than okay. I just looked like a girl!

Home Room set the tone for all my classes. The teacher stared at me for a moment (and I got a variety of smiles, from barely to big) and got on with things. No announcements or anything. However, in each class, guys kept turning around to check me out. I thought, ‘of course they are; I’m a pretty girl–in fact, I’m The New Girl in School’. I just loved sitting there, my knees together under my skirt and ankles crossed, and while I was paying attention, there was also this voice in my head saying, ‘you’ve done it–you’re a girl in school!’

After Home Room, Mandy and I headed out in the hall when we heard, “Mandy! Wait up! Have you seen ... oh, my God!”

It was Sandy getting her first look at me.

“Hi, Sandy,” I said.

“I don’t believe it! You look incredible! Has anybody else seen you?”

She meant the girls, not anybody on planet Earth. Mandy answered, “Just the kids in Home Room.”

“Wow! Wait until I tell Brittany! Um ... see you!”

We watched her dash down the hall.

Mandy said, “A bear of very little Brain,” quoting from Winnie-the-Pooh.

“Yeah, but she’s okay.”

It was lunch when things got a little wacky. There was a small mob of girls by the time Mandy and I got to ‘our’ table. Jessica and Gina were there, and all the others, and I was bombarded by questions, which ranged from ‘Are those real?’ to ‘Where did you find those shoes?’ In a very short time, it was just girl talk–not Lauren talk. I got an approving nod from Gina (and what did she mean by that?) and a friendly, shy nod from Jessica. I nodded back to her, and she smiled big.

After lunch, I suddenly realized that I had to pee. I whispered that to Mandy, who nodded.

“Not here; it’ll just be wet and you’ll be miserable.”

I was so nervous it took me a second to realize she was kidding. We threw our lunch things away, and then walked to the closest restroom. I knew that I was supposed to use the handicapped restroom, and had the key, but it was so distant and I really had to go. And I had Mandy to run interference.

Mandy turned and quietly said, “Now do as I do. But find your own stall. And for God’s sake, sit!”

She dodged into the restroom before I could slug her. I followed, and almost freaked. I was in the girls’ restroom! It was full of girls! Actually, we were just beating the lunch rush, because girls were coming out of the stalls while the others were standing around talking, or doing their makeup. I went into a stall and did my business, wiping with toilet paper, front to back; it was now a habit and I knew I’d be doing it for the rest of my life. I stood and adjusted myself, and heard Mandy’s door open. I followed out and she went an open spot at the mirror and washed, then put her purse on the shelf, opened it, and took out her brush and worked on her hair. She wasn’t one for a lot of makeup. Tossing it back in the purse, she edged out and I took her place, repeating the procedure with my hair brush but touching up my mascara and lipstick.

I noticed that the chatter in the room subsided for a moment, as I was leaning toward the mirror with my lipstick. I looked past me in the mirror and saw several girls looking at me.

Suddenly Mandy cried out, “Oh, my God! She’s got Peach Passion!” and theatrically put her arm to her forehead.

Some of the girls laughed out loud–everybody was familiar with Mandy’s antics–and others just smiled, but the chatter resumed and, once again, Mandy had come to my rescue. I closed my purse and followed her out, thanking her and discovering that I was shaking slightly from nervousness.

My last two real classes, Hammond’s and Westervelt’s, also went without a hitch. Steve Falconer nearly tripped over his lower jaw when he first saw me, then looked away and looked back again. Then he looked away for a long time.

After class, he came up beside me and said, “Yeah, I thought so. Now you look like you should.”

I said, “Thank you, Steve.”

Just then Ryan Maravich, one of the really good looking guys in school–soccer team, swim team, debating team, that kind of guy–appeared and said, “Are you hassling her, Falconer?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed and I knew enough about guys from my life as Chris to see in an instant what was happening. I jumped in by saying, “Oh, hi, Ryan. Steve’s not bothering me. He just told me I look good.”

It wasn’t strictly what he said, but I looked meaningfully at him, and he picked up on it.

“Yeah,” he said. “She looks good. Doesn’t she, Maravich?”

Now Ryan was in a weird position. Once again I jumped in quickly, “You’re not in Study Hall are you, Ryan?”

He had been glaring at Steve but pulled his eyes to me. “Uh, yeah. I pulled something yesterday and have to lay out the rest of the week.”

“Probably pulled his brain muscle,” Steve said.

Another confrontation was firing up, and I said, “Well, thanks, Steve. You really helped me, and I won’t forget it.”

By now we were at Study Hall, and Steve walked away, satisfied with the compliment. I could tell Ryan was curious.

“What could he help you with?”

I knew that Ryan knew about my becoming Lauren–everybody did by now–but I was still reluctant to talk about it. I wanted to think about the future, not the past, but I knew Ryan had a legitimate question.

“Steve wanted ...” I sighed. “Basically he wanted to stomp me. You know, because he thought I was a gay boy. When he found out I was really–medically, biologically, whatever–a girl, he came up and said he wouldn’t beat me up and would spread the word to the other ... uh ... thugs.”

Ryan said, “Really? I’m impressed. I don’t know how you handled it so well. Well ... maybe I do.”

I wanted to know what he meant by that, but we got shushed by the monitor, so we sat. The routine was that everybody sat at least a table length apart and didn’t talk, but that didn’t mean that Ryan and I couldn’t look at each other. And we did. What was going on? A voice in my head said, ‘He likes you, dummy’ and another voice said, ‘Yeah, in your dreams’. Was there something there or was it just curiosity on his part? It would take some time before everybody fully accepted me, so there would be some uncertainties until I knew we’d reached that point. But why was Ryan really looking at me?

The end of school bell rang, we all gathered our stuff, and Ryan walked with me to the door but couldn’t really say or do anything because of the crush of kids wanting out. Mandy was already there. There was this awkward round of ‘Hey, Mandy’, ‘Hey, Ryan’, ‘Hey, Mandy’, and then he smiled and walked away.

Mandy and I watched him walk away and she turned and looked at me. “No shit? Ryan Maravich? Damn!”

“What?”

“Oh, don’t give me that ‘what?’ all innocent and all. I saw the way he looked at you. He’s hooked, and you know it!”

We started walking, and I said, “Look, Mandy, really and truly, this is all too weird and moving way too fast for me. I didn’t do anything to Ryan; I was talking to Steve Falconer and Ryan walked up.”

“Geez, what did Falconer have to say? Are you soon to be dead?”

“No, uh ... he said I looked like I should.”

I filled her in on our confrontation in the restroom; I thought I’d told her but not in enough detail, I guess. She nodded her head and said, “You handled him exactly right. You’ve got a knack for it. And then today, Ryan was the White Knight riding to your distress to save you from the Falconer Dragon. Well, get used to it.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just a fact of life now. You’re hot, Lauren. The guys can’t help it; they see a hot babe and forget anything else. You could have been a 300-pound tattooed lumberjack yesterday, but looking like you do now, they’re just gonna be all over you. Well, maybe I can have your cast-offs.”

“Mandy! Stop saying stuff like that! You’re a babe, too, and you know it!”

“Okay, I’m a babe, but you’re babe-alicious!”

“You’re not just a babe, you’re a bodacious babe!” I grinned.

And we kept zinging back and forth, goofing off, all the way home.

When I undressed, I was glad to get the pantyhose off, and saw the reddish welts on my tummy from the seams and knew why so many women were opting for bare legs! But they had felt great on, and made a definite statement of my new public Girl status. That statement having been made, I wouldn’t have to wear them again until a more formal occasion. I pulled on shorts and a cropped tee and did some laundry for Mom, without being asked. It was nice having my homework done in Study Hall … and it was interesting to have Ryan Maravich in Study Hall with me …

Later that night, I told Mom every little detail of my first day as Lauren, and she smiled and said, “Mandy’s right.”

“About what?”

“She’s right about you being ‘a babe’, and about the boys flocking around. It’s something you’re going to have to deal with. Girls have ten or twelve years to learn how to deal with boys before it turns sexual. Poor you; you’re jumping in the deep end. Mandy’s also right about the lumberjack thing; I think you’ll find that, as each day passes and you get farther and farther away from your time as Chris, they’ll forget that you were ever a boy. To be honest, honey, looking at you right now, it’s hard to believe it, myself.”

I hugged her and felt wonderful and confused. Later that night, I lay awake thinking about boys. This was going to be very, very strange ...

End of Part 7