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"You want me to do what," Nancy said. Despite all and sundry, it had been fun going with her family to LA. It was the first time she'd been to the city, one of America's most enduring symbols and arguably a monument of human civilization as well, and she'd had fun watching out the windows of the rental car in the hopes that some movie star should walk by. She'd seen a man who was either Brad Pitt or Eddie Murphy, and a woman who was either Joan Collins or Eddie Murphy, and they'd passed by Grauman's Chinese Theatre and seen the foot- and handprints in the cement, most notably the new ones from the stars of the Harry Potter movies. And then there'd been the theme parks—Disneyland, for the first time since she was six, and Universal Studios for the first time ever. The fact that the paint was flaking off in Disneyland didn't ruin her enjoyment for a moment. And then there had been the confusion of realizing that Connor was sneaking out of the hotel room at night—what was he doing at dark'o'clock in Los Angeles?—but finally they got him to admit that he was sneaking down to the pay phones to call his girlfriend, whom they didn't know he had: he'd been trying to keep it a secret. Madison teased him about it, but only half as much as her dad, who teased him about it only half as much as their mom. For the first time in too long, Madison had felt like a normal seventeen-year-old girl. And now Nancy was perched on her bed, staring at her in unabashed confusion. "You want me to do what?" "I want you to help me look like a guy," Madison said, as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world. "I just wanna try it for a while. I mean, I've got these testicles in me somewhere." According to Dr. Winters, via Mom, they would need an ultrasound to figure out where precisely in her torso they were located. Connor had joked that they should kick Madison until she could pinpoint the place it really hurt. Madison had turned it back on him by teasing him about his girlfriend, a freshman named Robin, of all things (Mom had cooed adoringly over that one). The end result was that Madison had no idea where they were. But supposedly they were in there. Somewhere. "You may have the cojones," Nancy said, "but they don't show. And those will be harder to hide." She pointed at Madison's chest. "I'm just 32-B," Madison protested. "You're bigger. You're a C." "Yeah, because I'm a foot shorter than you but the same weight," Nancy said. "Besides, you know how the sizes work. A 34-A has the same cups as a 32-B. You're 32-B, yes, but by that model you're also 30-C." "Or 28-D," said Madison. "They don't make 28-Ds," Nancy said. "Good thing, too," Madison said. "Wouldn't that look absurd? Imagine Connor with D-cup boobs." Connor, though tall, was rangy as only a fourteen-year-old can be. Nancy scrunched her face closed. "I'm trying not to. So why do you want to look like a guy, anyway?" "Just... To see if it's easier, that's all," Madison said. She had been thinking about this—in between going on rides, getting her picture taken with an Little-Mermaid impersonator, needling Connor about his secret girlfriend and ogling Joan Collins/Eddie Murphy—and that was the best explanation she could find. Or put into words. "I mean, there's no way I can make it as a girl. Socially, at least. No matter what happens, if I make any close friends I'll have to tell them eventually." She made a disgruntled noise. "At current ratios, I'll have to make four friends for every one I keep." "It's not gonna be easy with those," said Nancy, pointing again. "What is with you and these," Madison said, looking down at her breasts. They didn't seem special to her. "Isn't it the guys who are supposed to be ogling my chest? Should I be staring at yours?" Nancy's boobs were something she couldn't hide, though she tried to by slouching. They were full and ripe and defied all efforts to mollify their impact. Nancy, she thought again, could be a very attractive woman if she wanted to. "I merely point out the very real anatomical problems you'll have to face," Nancy said. "I mean, we are talking actual cross-dressing, right?, and not just wearing guys' clothes with your bra and panties on underneath." Madison nodded. "Well, then, you've got the problems. Madison, we've been to sleepovers. I've seen you wearing a shirt without a bra underneath. You're not so under-endowed that your boobs won't show up. Heck, on a cold day your nipples will show up if you don't have a bra." "I'll wear a sports bra," Madison said. "They keep me battened down. I can run laps in those." Craig had often intimated that she should cease her labors and let her dimensions increase, particularly in the chestal area, but Madison enjoyed the freedom of exercise too much. "Show me," Nancy said. Before she did, she yelled at the door of her room, which was open only a crack: "Connor, stop peeking into my room!" To her knowledge, Connor was not engaging in voyeurism at the moment; so far as she knew, he was either downstairs watching TV, calling Robin, or both—in fact, to her knowledge he had never been guilty of that sort of illicit spying to begin with. But there was no harm in being cautious. "See, I don't know if I buy it," Nancy said. She stood up and came over to her. "Turn sideways in the mirror. I mean, yeah, a guy who's been working out has bulges there too, but they're shaped differently. They're flatter, for one thing, and they don't teardrop." She put her hands on Madison's breasts and pressed upwards and inwards, studying the effect in the mirror. "Maybe if you—" "You called for me?" said Connor, his voice preceding him through the closed door by half an instant. He stepped into the room. Then he stared at Nancy, who had her hands on Madison's breasts and was standing far too close to her, and at Madison, who was wearing a bra but not a shirt. Nancy and Madison froze. "Umm... Th-this isn't my sort of thing, you know," said Connor. "Uh-oh-okay," said Madison. "Did you call for me?" Connor said. "No, actually I was making sure you would stay away," Madison said. "Well, all I heard was my name, so... That didn't work," Connor said. "Just so you know." "Yes, I can... See that," said Madison. "I'll, um. I'll see you later." "Yeah," said Connor, taking the hint. He closed the door. "Umm..." said Madison. "That was. Interesting." "Maybe he's going to go whack off right now," said Nancy in a dry voice. "God forbid," Madison said. "He's my brother." "So?" said Nancy, finally taking her hands off of Madison's chest. "You're his brother. And you're planning on looking more like his brother too, aren't you?" "Yeah, well," said Madison. "That just makes it weirder, doesn't it? I mean, I'm his brother. I shouldn't be inspiring him to whack off." "Girl, if I had a brother as hot as you..." Nancy said. She wiggled the first two fingers on her hand. Madison, taking the reference, giggled a little. "You know who we should really be asking for help, right?" Nancy said. "No," said Madison, "who?" "Devin," said Nancy. "Oh God," said Madison. "What, should we be standing in the same position when he walks in? This is like a bad porn movie." "What do you know about porn," Nancy said. "Well..." said Madison. "Consider what they found out about me. I'm sure porn now comes with the territory." "Have you ever watched a porno movie?" "...No," said Madison. This was not strictly true: she'd seen bits and pieces on the Internet when she was younger. She'd been dating her first boyfriend, Sean, and before things got too serious she wanted to see what might be going on. Actually, it had been Sean's idea, but the Madison of Before was curious enough (and innocent enough) to go along with it. About five minutes' worth of assorted snatches had been enough to get the general idea. And convince her to dump Sean. No way was she letting him drip 'jism' all over her face! If that was what sex involved, she wasn't going to bother. (Of course Sean tried to protest that no, this was not how it was always done, but she didn't believe him; it wasn't until she worked up the courage to ask Nancy, a year later, that she found out he hadn't been lying at all.) "I've never seen one." And she hadn't—seven or eight bits and pieces surely didn't count as watching an entire porno movie. (Did it?) "Well, for someone who's never seen one, you sure know a lot about them," Nancy grumped. "To answer your question: no, we aren't going to be holding each other's boobs when he walks in. We'll meet him at the door and then tell him the situation. I'm pretty sure he's open-minded enough to understand. And hey: he's about your size and height. Maybe you can raid his wardrobe." Nancy looked over at the shirt Madison had been wearing, now lying on the bed: a button-down collared shirt, one of the very few bits of androgynous clothing she owned, and still somewhat lacking in masculinity due to being a wonderful shade of cotton-candy pink. She looked back at Madison and raised her eyebrows. Madison made a noise of assent. But that didn't change the fact that she wasn't sure how Devin would react. Nancy made the phone call; Madison didn't think she actually could. "Yeah, Devin, hi. It's Nancy. Yeah, Madison and I actually wanted to ask if you could hang out today... Yeah, we're working on a, um. On a project, and we though you'd— No, we're not taking summer school. We'll tell you when you get here. Yeah, we're at Madison's house..." She gave directions and looked at Madison. "He says he'll be here in about fifteen minutes." And just like that, the question of whether he would want to be Madison's friend over the summer was answered. "God, I hope he doesn't think we're freaks," Madison said. "He's not gonna think that," Nancy said. "At the least, you just don't want a wardrobe so utterly dominated by prostitute colors." "What?!" Madison yelped. "Pink and purple, girl. Pink and purple. What else do you think they use to sell sex?" "I have some peach in there too," Madison protested. "And blue jeans!" Nancy just rolled her eyes. Devin was as good as his word. Madison showed him around the house, which (by his reactions and comments) was in a rather nicer part of town than he lived in. Then she and Nancy shuttled him upstairs to her room and told him the plan. As with the phone call, Nancy handled it. After five seconds, though, Madison wished she had done it instead: Nancy was telling it with great mocking and sarcasm, as was her wont, and besides it might've steadied Madison's stomach to have to talk. As it was, all she could do was sit on the bed and fidget, watching Devin's face for that telltale sign of dismay, of revulsion. Of turning-away. "You're kidding, you want to go out in drag? Oh my gosh, that is so awesome!" Devin gushed. Nancy shot Madison a smirk. "And..." Devin's face went confused. "You asked me to come all the way here just so you could tell me that?" "Hell no," Nancy said. "We want you to help." "Really?" Devin said. Nancy gestured to Madison. "Do we look like we have a lot of experience with being guys? I mean, none of us exactly have the right equipment." Devin gave Madison an anxious look. "No, she's right," said Madison. "I don't have the right equipment either. Maybe I was supposed to, but I don't." "Funny how just having a few dangly bits down there changes the whole course of your life, huh," Nancy said, smirking. "No, it's not just that," Madison said. "What if I'd had those, but then grew these?" She indicated her breasts with one hand. "Then, as far as I can tell from the Internet, you might have a lucrative career in pornography," Nancy said, straight-faced. "Evidently there's a fetish subculture revolving around shemales." After a moment, Madison remembered to close her mouth. A fetish for what?!?! My God, who invented the Internet? Bob Dole. Bob Dole said he invented the Internet. When he did it, did he realize just what an enormous amplifier-of-stupidity he was unleashing on the human race?? She had to close her mouth again. "Well, you don't have those," said Devin fairly. He colored. "Well. You don't have those. Err. Well. You don't have the thoses I have. And I don't have the thoses you have. You know. The ones in the front." "Too bad, too, or you could—" "Nancy, shut up," said Madison, and Nancy shut up, not affronted. "So. Anyway," said Devin. "Am I to understand that you want my help in Madison cross-dressing convincingly?" "That's about it," Madison said. "Well... Far be it from me to discourage somebody's self-expression," said Devin. "But, um... If I can ask... Why?" Madison shrugged. "It's just... Maybe it'll be easier that way. I mean... Well, I made one good friend Before—" They all heard the capital letter. "—and I made one good friend After, so I guess my platonic track record is okay. But... If I want to find a boyfriend eventually, well... I mean, eventually I have to tell him. And odds are nine-to-one that he'll freak out and dump me." "Yes, but the same thing holds true if you're a guy," Devin said. "Let's say we figure out how to make you the most convincing guy the world has ever seen. You spit, you play football, you gargle beer, you turn into a slob, you don't shave your body hair. You get a glue-on beard. And you meet a girl, and she really likes you and you really like her... And then, when you guys are about to, ahem, get funky together—" "Get what?" said Nancy, incredulous." "When you guys are about to get funky together," Devin repeated, grinning, "then you have to take your pants off and you reveal that you're, umm, kind of missing all that equipment." "The familiar male block-and-tackle," Madison said, quoting the gynecologist. "Yeah, that stuff," said Devin. "Or imagine the reverse happens: you go out into the world as a gay guy, and you meet a guy, and you really like him and he really likes you... And you're about to get funky with him, and he finds out that you're missing the block-and-tackle, and that turns him off. Because he doesn't want... Umm. We need another nautical simile for what you do have." "Isn't block and tackle for fishing?" Madison said. "Tuna," said Nancy. "She has tuna." "Tuna?" Madison exclaimed. "I'm not a fish down there!" "Umm. Clamshell, maybe?" said Devin, his face bright red. "I'm not a fish down there!" Madison exclaimed. She turned to Nancy. "Are you a fish down there?" "Clams aren't fish," Nancy said. "They're in the ocean, it's close enough," Madison retorted. "And they're not my haha." "Your 'haha'??" Devin exclaimed. "Umm," said Madison, feeling her face heat. "Lisa Myers said her friends used to call it that." "...'Haha'?" said Devin, looking dazed. "That's not nautical," Nancy said. "It doesn't have to be nautical," Madison said. "It does to go together with the familiar block-and-tackle," said Nancy. "And since your block-and-tackle—or lack thereof—is the big deal in this whole scenario, whatever you do have has to be receptive of it in an oceangoing fashion. Trust me, it makes sense. There are laws about this in the English language." "I failed English," Madison said. "Well, if you can't even master the art of the feminine nautical simile, I can see why," said Nancy, deadpan. "I've got nothing," Devin said. "At least, nothing worth saying out loud." "Maybe the familiar female boat dock?" Nancy said. They stared at her. "...What, they can't all be genius," Nancy grumped. "We were talking about my lack of block-and-tackle," Madison said. "We were trying to name what you do have," Nancy said. Blithely, Madison countered, "Call it Jeff. Anyway. So I don't think—" " 'Jeff'??" said Nancy. "Well," said Madison, her face heating. "I like the name." "You're going to name your pussy... Jeff," said Nancy. "I think I need to go home before I'm traumatized some more," said Devin in a small voice. "Shut up," said Madison, "sit down. God, what were we even talking about." "What, before Jeff entered the picture?" Nancy snickered. She's going to make me regret saying that for the rest of my life, isn't she. "We were hoping Devin would help me be able to dress—convincingly, mind you—as a guy." "Yes," said Devin, helping her snatch the conversation away from Nancy, "and I was asking you why you wanted to do it." "And I was saying it might make life easier to be perceived as a guy," Madison said. "Not necessarily from a romantic standpoint, though," said Devin. "I mean, just... Almost whatever combination you have, there's gonna be... I mean, whatever gender you decide to play. Whether you're going to be a straight guy, a gay guy, a straight girl or a lesbian." "Actually, being a lesbian is her safest option," Nancy said. "At that point nobody's gonna care that she was supposed to have block-and-tackle. Hell, they'll consider it a bonus that she doesn't." "So, to answer your question," Devin said. "Madison: yes, I can help you cross-dress. And maybe even convincingly too. But if all you want is to alter public perception of you, you don't have to, you know, switch all the way to the other side. You can just... Change your lifestyle a little. Start adopting more, you know, stereotypically-male behaviors. You don't have to change your clothes, just your attitude." "Yeah, but..." Madison felt her face color. "What if I kinda want to?" This would, of course, be the perfect time for Nancy to leap in with something snide... But wonder of wonders, she didn't. And Devin, bless his heart, simply smiled and said, "Well, by all means. I mean, it should be fun, right?" And so they got to work. The first place they stopped was a drugstore, to try and find something to hold down Madison's breasts a little—in a comfortable way, of course. According to the Internet, a back brace worn backwards might help, as would Ace bandages if applied carefully. Evidently some women in drag had used Saran Wrap, but Madison decided not to do that, because the Internet said they had subsequently passed out from lack of circulation and heat build-up. It was, as Nancy pointed out, also a place to look for cheap clothes; years of frugal living with her single mother had made Nancy a champion bargain-seeker. The clothes at the drugstore were simple but effective, the kind of nondescript wear you saw all over the place. That, of course, was Madison's first protest. "Don't they have anything... Well. You know. Fancier?" Devin, who was holding up a white collared shirt with blue stripes which they had all just finished exclaiming over, said, "Why, what's wrong with this?" Nancy, who knew what Madison hadn't said, snickered. "She means 'brand name'." "Wouldn't this be easier at a mall?" Madison said. Nancy just rolled her eyes. But Devin responded. "Well, maybe it would be, Madison. There'd certainly be a much larger selection. But in some ways, these lesser-known places might be a better shot. Fashion stores at malls are businesses, and they have very specific demographics that they target. And, Madison, somehow I don't think any of the stores we'd go into would include you in that demographic." The mens'-clothing stores, he meant. There weren't too many people in this drug store, but Madison was glad Devin could be discreet. "Yeah, but, I've seen men's clothing," Madison said. "It doesn't... The fit isn't as exacting." "It isn't body-hugging, you mean," Nancy said. "Doesn't have to show off your curves." Devin giggled. "What curves?" "Yeah, so... I mean, it's a lot more one-size-fits-all, isn't it?" Madison said. "Don't let her win," Nancy said to Devin. "She does this all the time. Don't let her get away with it. She just wants something with Gucci or Prada on the label." "I don't think they make men's clothes," Madison said. "So you can see why we shouldn't let her look," Nancy said, satisfied. "This stuff is a lot cheaper, too," Devin said. "I know where I'd look if I needed new clothes." "Shit, girl, I've been shopping at Goodwill my whole life," Nancy said. "...Come to think of it, that might be a good idea. I mean, it's cheap and it's got everything." "Oooh," said Devin. "Girl, you are having all the good ideas today!" "It's 'cause I'm the brains of this group," said Nancy. "And Madison's the beauty," Devin chorused, "and I'm the brawn!" He looked down at his skinny self. "...Well." "Maybe we should reverse that," Madison said. "She is freakishly strong," Nancy said. "And she's the only one of us who keeps in shape." "Oooh," said Devin again, a wide smile on his face. "I've always wanted to be the beauty of the bunch!" He pirouetted down the aisle, the various tails and sleeves of the white-and-blue shirt flapping. Madison and Nancy exchanged looks, but Madison could see that Nancy was smiling. So, for that matter, was Madison. So they found some wrap-on bandaging, of the flesh-colored gauzy type she remembered from when she'd sprained her ankle playing soccer at the age of eleven, and a back brace which they hoped would suffice. Madison cringed at the price: nearly $40. I'd better do this more than once! She wished the drugstore would have a changing room where they could try these things on, but of course they didn't. That was another benefit to going shopping in a mall. But then, she didn't think they'd sell back braces there. Nor, for that matter, did she think they'd let her try one on. The clothing, on the other hand, was so cheap that Madison didn't mind tossing any money around; after all—and this was a very good point of Nancy's—she could get five or six articles here for the price of a single T-shirt at The Gap. She got (of course) the blue-striped white shirt, and a similar one in straight black, and some boys' pants and a baseball cap to wear on her head and hide her hair in, and then one of those sweaters she'd always wanted—the one with two layers that made it look like she was wearing a T-shirt over a long-sleeved one, but had always been afraid to wear because she thought it'd make her look too boyish. Or, at least, the Madison of Before had had that to worry about; today, she seemed so much more free. Now she could wear whatever she darn well pleased. She mentioned this to Nancy, along with an invitation: "Wouldn't you like to try it? Dressing as a boy, I mean?" Nancy shrugged. "Not really. I never had a problem with it like you do. Half my clothes com from men's departments anyway." She looked down at her breasts and laughed. "Besides, no way I could disguise these things." (Looking back from a vantage point of years, Madison would wonder why she hadn't turned to Devin and then asked him the obvious question. But this was with the clarity of hindsight. At the time, she felt like she just didn't know him very well. At the time, she had no idea how much more of him there was to know.) And once they got home, there was a whole new world of clothes to try on. Madison's first attempt to tie down her breasts was a failure, with the loops of bandage coming loose beneath her shirt and drizzling down her waist. She wasn't even sure how she'd managed this. Nancy came into the bathroom with her and helped with the strapping. The double-layered shirt wasn't nearly as cool as she'd thought it was, but the $15 jeans she kept on: they were so much less confining than the hip-hugger, painted-on pants that the mall seemed to have decided, somewhere in its grubbing, secret heart, that all women must wear. And the pockets! Why, there was room in one of them for not only her cellphone, but her wallet and keys as well—and then two pockets on the back which she hadn't even found a use for yet! She had always wondered how men got around without handbags. Now, she knew. "I don't see what the big deal is," Devin said as she danced around, rejoicing in the feel of her essentials swinging around in her pockets. "So she's got pockets. Don't your girl pants have pockets?" "Dresses don't," Nancy said. "Skirts don't. And then the traditional pants most women get at the mall..." She bore one out of Madison's closet and let Devin dip his hand into the pocket. "Whoa," said Devin. "What's this supposed to hold, change? A tube of lip gloss? I can't even fit my fingers in it." "Ninety-nine percent of women's pants have pockets like that," Nancy told him. "Wow," said Devin. "I always wondered why women used handbags instead of pockets. Now I know." "Why, what's this?" said a new voice. "A male voice from within Madison's room? What scandal is unfolding now?" Madison stopped capering and looked over to see her mother standing in the doorway, an enormous smile on her face. Mom said, "I know we're a liberal family, Madison, but I think it'd be at least polite to introduce your friends to your parents when you invite them over to your house." "Oh, um," said Madison, turning red. Again. "Well. Mom, this is my friend Devin Albright. Devin, this is my mom, Cassandra Bechtel." "Pleased to meet you," Devin said. "I want to thank you again for stepping in to look after Madison," Mom said. "I don't know what we would've done if not for you." "Oh, it was nothing," Devin said with a self-deprecating smile. "Anybody else would've done the same." Madison saw Nancy roll her eyes. "Ooh, a chivalrous one," said Mom, grinning. "I like him already." Devin turned red. So did Madison. "Mo-oooom..." Nancy snickered. "Well, feel free to make yourself at home. There's snacks in the kitchen if you're hungry. The same goes for you, Nancy. Always a pleasure to see you again." "Thanks, Mrs. Bechtel," said Nancy. "Nice threads, Maddie," said Mom with a wicked grin, and left. Madison put a hand to her forehead. My god. Did my mom just say 'nice threads'? She wished she had a vocabulary word to suit this state of appalling. "Wow," said Devin. "You have a cool mom." Oh GOD, thought Madison. "She is pretty cool," Nancy agreed. "So, Madison. You still haven't told me what was really going on when, ahem. Devin found you in the bathroom." The mocking look on her face said just how much she believed the story. Madison turned away. This wasn't something she wanted to face again. "What if I told you I wasn't going to tell you?" "Then I'll tell Devin all your embarrassing secrets until you relent," Nancy said. "No," said Madison, horrified. "Sure will," said Nancy. "You better not," Madison said. Nancy turned to Devin. "Back in third grade, Waldo Schlesinger tried to kiss her behind the portables at Richards Grade School, but she didn't want to let him, so she punched him." "Nancy!" Madison said, feeling her face drain. "She had a kitten once, but she accidentally killed it by sitting on it," Nancy said. "Nancy, shut up," Madison said. Devin was beginning to look nervous, harangued as he was from both sides. "I helped her buy her first vibrator last year," Nancy said. "She calls it Pinky." "I was on the roof of the Homer Building and I was thinking about jumping off, and if I'd known my fucking best friend was going to treat me this way, I would've fucking done it!" Madison shouted, and burst into tears. She couldn't see. Around her was dead silence. "Is... Is that true?" said Nancy finally. She sounded uncertain. "That's where I found her," Devin said. "Umm. For obvious reasons I thought maybe we should keep it quiet." "Oh my God, Madison," Nancy whispered. "I'm so sorry—" Madison felt arms stealing about her. Nancy's. She shoved them away with a cry of rage. "M-Madison—?" "Get the fuck away from me!" she spat. "Madison, why—" Nancy actually sounded repentant, but Madison didn't care. She twisted the knife. "Maybe if you weren't fucking joking all the time about my vibrator, you wouldn't be such a bad friend! I have feelings too, Nancy! I'm not your fucking plaything!" They were different arms this time—from a different angle, with a different feel to them. Madison turned to them, smelling Devin through the acrid scent of her tears, and cried into his shoulder. She hated herself then, for being so weak. A moment later she felt Nancy press up against her, her arms going around her, felt Nancy laying her cheek against Madison's back. Madison let her. Eventually, Madison found herself sitting on her bed, her friends on either side of her. Nancy was saying, "Do I do that to everyone?" "Just about," Devin said. "Now, most of the time, people don't think twice about it—sure, you insult them, but you insult yourself too. They realize that it's just how you are, and either learn to live with it, or, don't. And it works most of the time. But sometimes... Sometimes, people just want a little seriousness, or a little dignity. As mad has just proved." "Huh?" said Madison. "Who's mad?" "You are," Devin said. "Madison. Mad for short." Madison covered her face with her hands. "Uhh, God, I hate that name." Waldo Schlesinger had spread it around after she punched him, and the next thing she knew everyone was calling her 'Mad Maddy Madison.' Even Nancy, though at the time they hadn't been friends like they were now. "I don't have to call you that if you don't want me to," Devin said. Madison sighed. "It's fine. It's a name like any other. And at least you asked." Her hands smelled different—more like the soap Devin used. She wondered how big the wet spot on his shirt was. "So, what you're saying is, sometimes..." Nancy said. "It works a lot of the time. But not always. Sometimes people want to have their feelings heard. Sometimes people just want you to listen." Nancy sighed. "That's sooo not what I learned at home. My mom was always, I'm tired, I just got home from work, I don't wanna hear it, solve it yourself. She never cared about how I felt, whether I wanted to do something or not. But then I saw what she did—always going to work, always driving herself, always putting other people second—me, most of the time—and I realized that that was part of what I wanted to be. Somebody who... Who could, you know. Take the licking and then keep on ticking." "You don't have to do what your mother taught you to," Devin said, his voice gentle and amused. "Do you?" Nancy asked. "...Well," said Devin. "Our parents just decide everything for us," Madison burst out, thinking of her genes, of the anomalies in her own body, of the fact that she would never bear children. "We're born, and the next thing you know, bam, they've got us programmed. How can we ever say that we're our own persons? How can we ever say that we have our own values or personalities?" "Because we do," Devin said. "Madison, look at you. You're wearing boys' clothing and your boobs are strapped down and you're making a decision about who you want to be. Yes, our parents program us... But that's the wonderful thing about being human: we're the only computers in existence that can reprogram themselves. And here you are. You have genes that say you're a boy, and a body that says you're a girl, and you chose to be a girl. Now you're choosing to be a boy. Don't you see? What you choose for yourself is so much more important than your blood." "Thank you, Albus Dumbledore," said Nancy, back to her old mocking self. "Just because he's dead doesn't mean he isn't right," Devin said. Devin, checking the clock, said that he would have to go soon, so they made a last-minute check of Madison's boyness. With her breasts wrapped up in the bandaging, and her hair up and under the cap, she looked convincing enough that a casual glance might not notice what was going on. Or maybe it would: as Nancy pointed out, there was still the matter of shoulder-broadness, or lack thereof, as well as that of general facial features: "You need more eyebrow," she said, "and larger hands if you can, and maybe some other sort of padding under your shirt to help with the figure. And it might not hurt to wear the baseball cap backwards" Nonetheless, it was a lot more than Madison had expected to accomplish in three hours on a summer afternoon. And then he left, and Nancy left too, which Madison hoped wasn't going to be a sign of things to come, and Madison was alone again with her boobs taped up and her boy-clothes on. And she shrugged and went downstairs, to where her father was watching some sport on TV, and sat down with him and said, "So what's going on?" What was going on was baseball, which Madison had some rudimentary understanding of but not much of one—something about bases, and balls, and bats and trying to strike people out, which you did with the ball instead of the bat, despite the use of the verb 'strike.' She wasn't sure which teams were playing. She wasn't sure which team Joe Montana played for. Wasn't it the Warriors? And Madison's father gave her a look and said, "What's going on with you?" "Well..." said Madison. "I thought I'd get in touch with my masculine side." And that was how the next week or so went. As it turned out, Joe Montana was not a player for the Golden State Warriors. Nor was he on the roster for her next guess, the New York Mets. In fact, as it turned out, he wasn't playing baseball at all. Madison was very disappointed to hear that. Still, there was always Tiger Woods to look for. She rooted for him during every game she watched. Evidently her father wasn't a fan of Tiger Woods, because he always gave her weird looks whenever she did this. Eventually she stopped. As it turned out, there were a lot more sports on television than just baseball. Her father explained that the NHL playoffs had come and gone, and that the basketball season had wrapped up, but NASCAR had just opened its year, and of course there was always golf. Dad always tried to get her to watch golf whenever it was on, but Madison only watched about five minutes before realizing how boring it was. She never understood why he was so insistent she try it again. Devin, of course, was no help in any of this. His understanding of sports, as he put it, rivaled his understanding of theoretical physics. ("You know theoretical physics?" Madison asked him. "Not at all," Devin said. "...Oh," said Madison, getting it.) Nancy was not much help either; her knowledge of sports was relegated to soccer, which she had played as a youngster before an ill-thought-out attempt to hit the ball with her head left her with broken glasses. The best she could offer was generally, "Are they using their hands?" The answer to this was almost always Yes, and her answer to that was almost always, "Then I can't help you." "What, you think somebody's gonna drive their car without using anything but their hands?" said Madison, thinking of NASCAR. She felt rather than heard the shrug, separated by the phone as they were. "Stranger things have happened." Cars were the other great passion of boys—sports and cars, cars and sports, two things she had never bothered to understand until now. Madison drove a Saturn her parents had bought her for her sixteenth birthday; it went forward when she hit the gas and turned when she used the steering wheel, and that seemed to be all she could ask for in terms of a car. Sometimes the brakes even worked, too. But Connor, not yet fifteen, already had his sights set on some miraculous vehicle called a Mini Cooper S—not just a Mini Cooper, as Connor pointed out, but a convertible as well—and which according to him would solve all his problems including acne and help combat global warming. "I mean, sure, it's kinda froofy, but, man, that car goes! It's compact, it doesn't guzzle gas, and it's a really good car. Plus, I might actually have a chance at buying it some time in the next ten years. As opposed to, like, a Lamborghini." He infused this word with the worldly scorn only a teenage boy could muster. "Does it have airbags?" Madison asked. "What?" said Connor. "Does it have airbags for the suspension," Madison said. "...You have no idea what an airbag is, do you," Connor said. "Well... I never see them," Madison said. "But that's because nobody ever loses all four of their tires, right? I mean, if all your tires pop, the airbag inflates underneath like a hovercraft, right?" Connor stared at her. "You're joking." Madison blinked. "Am I?" This was when Connor dragged her out into the garage, popped the hood of her Saturn, and pointed into the great dark tangle of tubing and piping and steel and gasoline. "Tell me where the engine is." Madison gestured vaguely in the direction of the front of the car. "You can't tell me which part is the engine," Connor said. "Well, I assume it's in there somewhere..." said Madison. "Lord have mercy," said Connor. "You really are blonde." "Hey, shut up," Madison protested. "So are you." "Not that blonde," said Connor. They spent three hours puttering around inside the car, Connor with tools in his hand, latching and unlatching, tubing and untubing, showing her what all the parts were and how they were connected. And to Madison's complete surprise, she was interested in it. Not just in finding out what a carburetor was—and that, contrary to what TV would have her believe, her Saturn didn't have one!—not just finding out what the difference between a supercharge and a turbocharge was (not that her Saturn had those either), not just finding out the difference between a six-cylinder and a V8 (one was an engine, one was vegetable juice): by the time they were done, she had the wrench and screwdriver and pliers in her hands (not all at once) and was beginning to tinker around with the inside of her car. With Connor watching over her she didn't feel like she was going to mess up—she knew that he would save her from any egregious error, like accidentally sticking the coolant hose onto the wrong nozzle (this was not something she was making up)—and it was kind of fun, working with her hands this way, looking at all the different bits and pieces of car and finding out which of them could go wrong and how to fix them if they did. By the end of the three hours she was covered in sweat and grease and her new clothes were in dreadful need of a wash, but she thought she'd learned more than she ever had in her life. "It's good to know more than how to fix a flat tire," Madison said. "Like you know how to fix a flat tire," Connor scoffed. "...Shut up," said Madison. She started looking online at some of the available classes at White Plains Community College. To her surprise, there were courses in auto science. She debated over signing up for them for almost a day, before finally realizing that, well, wasn't this the point of it all?—to pick the things she liked, and not give a hoot if anyone laughed at her about it. And, after a pull-no-punches discussion with her parents, they agreed that Madison should not pursue therapy. Madison, despite her parents' reassurances, could not get over the idea that only screwed-up people went to see shrinks. Besides, it would save money. But Mom and Dad made her promise to talk to them if she started to feel unstable or upset about things: "You're handling things well right now, honey, but it's summer. Who knows what'll happen when school comes back in." "You are handling things well," Dad said. "Most kids I could think of would be... Well. But you seem well on top of things." Madison was glad they didn't know about her little expedition on the roof of the Homer Building. "Well. I've got really good friends." "They must be," Dad agreed. She asked Nancy and Devin for more suggestions on male-ish things to try, and came up with a disturbing handful. Nancy suggested that she learn to spit—particularly to hock loogies. Madison decided to ignore this one. Devin pointed her at some video games, which he assured her she would enjoy; the only one on the list she'd ever played was Tetris, and all the others required her to buy video game machines which were really expensive. When she asked Devin about this, he explained that the new ones were expensive because they were new, and the old ones were expensive because they were antiques and not being sold in stores anymore. Madison thought that this was an extremely stupid way to do business. Nancy said to drive a really noisy, really big car, to help give the impression that she was compensating for something; Devin said to get used to walking around wearing no shirt. Nancy said to learn to jack off—or maybe "jill off" would be the appropriate term, considering her genitalia—and Devin, protesting all the while that this should not be taken to imply or admit anything about him at all, suggested she might look into watching pornography. Madison set all of these aside too. Maybe if I'm bored. Like, desperately bored. Almost-going-mad-or-dying bored. The one thing Devin and Nancy both agreed on was that it was much more okay for a guy to be rude and uncouth than it was for women. For a woman to walk down the street burping, or passing gas, or smelling like a sweat sock, or wolf-whistling at promising-looking passersby, was totally unheard of—and would probably get you arrested if you tried it. "What do you think the response would be, Madison, if you walked into a restaurant with your shorts and shoes on," Devin wondered, "but nothing else? Well, besides wolf-whistles, that is." Wolf-whistles? Me? "Do you really think so?" Madison said. Devin laughed, the sound tinny over the phone. "Didn't you get them before all this happened? Hon, no matter what is going on with you at the genetic level, you're still a very attractive woman." Madison wondered if he was gay. From what she'd heard, straight women and gay men got along famously well—rather the same way she and Devin did. And then there was his slight physique, and then the high, somewhat lisping tone of his voice... "Why is that, do you think?" she asked him. "That you're attractive?" "No, that there's... There's such double standards for behavior between men and women. I mean, aren't we supposed to be entering the age of, you know, women's lib and gender equality and all that? And yet it's— Well. I mean, they aren't gonna, you know, throw me in the stocks or something if I go around pinching people's butts or whatever, but there'd still be... I mean, people would still give me dirty looks." "Well, to tell you the truth, hon, people give guys dirty looks when they do that too." "Yeah, but... People are, like, willing to put up with it. I mean, they don't like it, but they just roll their eyes and say, 'Boys will be boys' or whatever. They wouldn't do that to a woman if she did it. They'd file a sexual harassment suit or something." "Well, it depends. Are you going around pinching girls' butts, or guys'?" "...Does that make a difference?" Devin laughed. "Madison, a lot of times we prescribe our own medicine. Guys who do that to girls, do it because that's how they want girls to treat them. Whereas a girl, on the other hand, doesn't want to be just a booty. I mean, you know 'Treat people how you want to be treated'? A lot of times we try to use that to sort of, I dunno, back-engineer other people's responses to us. We treat them a certain way because we want them to treat us that way." She felt her eyebrows climbing into her hair. "So you're saying if... If a guy pinches my butt, and I pinch his back, he'll actually like it?" "Well, I can't be sure. I don't pinch butts. But I know that everyone does this—prescribes their own medicine, I mean." "Really?" "I see it a lot. I mean, why do you think Nancy acts the way she does?" This was a very good point—Nancy, with her abrasion, her cynicism, her utter disregard of sensitivity. And yet... "Yeah, but, I don't think Nancy, like, wants us to treat her that way. I mean, maybe she doesn't mind it—she said her mom was always... But I don't think she, like, wants it." "That could be true," Devin agreed. "I can't think of anyone who would want to be treated like that. But then, neither of us are Nancy." And that much was true as well, as far as it went. Ultimately, it was only Nancy herself who could answer; but in the days following Madison's first steps down this road, Nancy had been hard to reach: not picking up her phone, sending text messages instead of calling back, seeming utterly subdued during the few times Madison did catch her live. Finally Madison called her four times in a row—it took that many tries before Nancy actually picked up—and said, "We haven't hung out in a week. Come over. Besides, Mom suggested you might want to take some of these classes with me at White Plains. You can take a look from over here." And so Nancy came. She was quiet the entire visit—so quiet that Madison started wondering if something was going on. She'd never seen Nancy this shocked; everything else they'd faced together, Nancy had bounced back, generally within a matter of minutes. Now, though, the spectre of their last visit seemed to cover them like a shroud; Nancy would pull up short every time she tried to make a joke, every time the conversation drifted in the direction of anything that might be offensive—Madison's condition, her time atop the Homer Building, even the clothes she was wearing. It occurred to Madison that Nancy might not know how else to relate to people—that offensive, careless jokes might be her only M.O.—but only in the back of her mind, because shortly she had other things to worry about. "Nancy," said Madison. "Look at me." Nancy was sitting on Madison's bed, her face cast down, avoiding her gaze and her conversation. Madison knelt in front of her, looking up into her face, just as Devin had done a couple weeks ago. "Look at me. It's okay. I forgive you." "You shouldn't," Nancy mumbled. "Yes, I should," Madison said. "I only made things worse," Nancy said. "I was trying to help, but I only made things worse. How can you forgive that?" Because I've gotten a lot of practice at it. Madison bit back the comment: it was the sort of flippancy Nancy herself would use. Normally, at least. And the fact that it was true didn't mean either of them should say it out loud. "Because I don't like seeing you like this," Madison said. "The last time something got to you like this was after Don Calhoun. And even then you were starting to bounce back by now." "My best friend wasn't threatening to kill herself back then," Nancy mumbled. "And she isn't threatening it now either," Madison retorted. "So you made a mistake. What are you gonna do, beat yourself up with it, or learn from it?" Nancy said nothing. "What if I had done it," Madison said. "What if I had thrown myself off a building. What would I—" "Don't!" Nancy gasped, turning her face away, and Madison felt a thrill of fear through her body: Nancy was crying. For all the tears she'd shed in front of Nancy, Madison had never seen her cry—not once. But she was seeing it now. Nancy's face was screwed up and her cheeks shone wet in the afternoon light. "I keep seeing— I keep seeing you, down on the ground. Your teeth scattered on the ground and blood in a puddle around you and all your brains leaking out your—" "Shh, shh..." She didn't know what else to do: she took Nancy to her, wrapping her arms around her, as much to give comfort as to stem the flow of words. There was a mental image she hadn't considered. Teeth knocked out? Well, I guess, if those were the first to hit— Okay, moving on now. "It's okay. It didn't happen. It never will. I've got Devin now. And I've got you. I've always had you, I just— I just didn't realize that—" "You didn't have me." Nancy's tears were starting to soak through the shoulder of Madison's shirt. "All that time I was pushing you away because I couldn't, I couldn't be—" "But now you know better. Now we know, and we won't do things like that again. We won't have to—" "I'm so sorry!" "Shh... Shh, it's okay, I know, I know. I forgive you. You don't have to—" And that was when Nancy kissed her. Madison had never been kissed by a girl before. On the whole, it wasn't too different from being kissed by a guy. She felt Nancy's arms around her, her breasts brushing against her own, smelled the scent that was all Nancy—the soap, the shampoo, the lotion, everything. It wasn't all that different. Except that Nancy was warm and yielding, not strong and rigid like a guy. The moment broke like a soap bubble, and Madison realized she was staring at Nancy's eyes. They were a warm hazel, green and brown like a pistachio, shot with flecks of gold. She remembered arguing with Nancy over whether there was any gray in her eyes. Nancy had stolidly maintained that there was not—and they were her eyes, weren't they, so who else would know better, huh? It seemed a long time ago. It was a memory from Before. "Nancy... Umm..." "Shh," said Nancy, and she felt a hand comb through her hair, stroking, caressing. It was something no man had ever done to her before. The hand on her back firmed. "Please, Madison... Please... Let me..." Well, what was a girl supposed to say to that? When they were done, Madison said, "I hope you're not offended if I tell you you're quite good at that." She lay on her back, wearing not a stitch; Nancy sprawled out beside her, her head on Madison's shoulder. Who would've thought that the first time I'd be naked with somebody, it'd be with Nancy. She was devoutly glad they'd closed the door. "Where did you learn?" "Where else," Nancy said. "The Internet. I figured, any guy I could get to do that to me, I'd have to teach him. So... It's good to know what I have to teach. You know?" Madison shrugged. She felt very relaxed, very warm, very safe at the moment; it seemed like nothing could touch her. "Craig said that, once I let him touch me, he'd show me a good time. I bet you're better, though." Nancy snorted. "Thanks. Like it'd be hard to be better than Craig." Madison felt a smile inside her. Now that is the sort of comment she should've been making all along. "Well... I was assured, by a very wise committee, consisting of Wanda Hemholt, Jessica McLaughlin and Haley Lombardi, that he was quite well-endowed, and that this would make him astonishingly good in bed. But then, I'm not entirely sure any of them have ever done it before." A snort: "Heck, I'm not sure any of them are even brave enough." "Haley did," Nancy said suddenly. "Not long after they all went over to Vanessa Seelix. She did it with Brent Warburton." "Oh?" said Madison. "How'd you hear that?" Haley had been dating Brent since the beginning of the school year. If she had to do it with anybody, Madison was glad it wasn't with some stranger. "Through the grapevine," said Nancy. "If by 'grapevine' we mean 'Facebook.com'." "What, did Haley announce it?" Madison said. Haley Lombardi had been the lowest hen in the flock while that group still pecked around Madison, and Madison wasn't betting that she'd been promoted since they'd 'gone over' to Vanessa Seelix, but that was a far cry from revealing to the Internet that you were sexually active. "No, she didn't," Nancy said. "But you can tell by all the comments people have left on her page." "Any from boys?" Madison said. Such a thing would suggest that Brent Warburton had blabbed, which was distinctly un-cool and would probably harm his chances of a repeat performance. "Why do you care?" Nancy said. "They abandoned you." And Madison didn't have an answer to that. She wasn't sure how to express that it was the right thing to do. Madison wondered whether she ought to offer to reciprocate what Nancy had done to her. Obviously, it would be the polite thing to do—'you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours' and all that—but for one, Madison didn't think she'd be able to do a very good job, since she hadn't done any research; and for two... Well, to be perfectly honest, she didn't want to. She just wasn't attracted to Nancy that way, and the thought of fiddling around in her private parts simply didn't appeal to her. Nancy solved the problem by sighing and saying, "I had better go soon. I told Mom I'd be back for dinner." Down at the front door, clothes safely on, Madison took her by the shoulders. "Are you gonna be okay with this? We just got you over the other thing, but, that doesn't do us any good if you just trade it for this thing." Two things now she couldn't mention out loud where her parents could hear. I'm starting to have to keep secrets. I wonder what that says about how much I've grown up. Nancy gave her a twisted sort of smile. "If it does bother me, I won't let it bother you." "No, let it, let it bother me," Madison said. "That's just it. Nancy, it's okay for you to say, 'Madison, that bothered me,' or, 'I'm having second thoughts about what we did,' or even, 'That was fun, but never tell Devin' or whatever. It's the silence that's not okay. Whatever it is that happens— Whatever it is that happens, I don't want it to hurt our friendship. And the only way we do that is to not keep secrets." Nancy gave her another wry smile. "Who made you the wise guru of the universe?" "Shut up, or I'll ignore you for a week," Madison said. Nancy stuck out her tongue at her. "Hey," Madison said. "Don't point that thing at me unless you intend to use it." "Didn't I?" Nancy said, her roguish grin suddenly back in full effect. Then she turned and sauntered down the walk, leaving Madison to put out the fire on her face in peace.
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