By L. Rochelle
(c) 1999 L. Rochelle
lrochelle@zdnetonebox.com
This is my first attempt at writing of any kind, let alone a story. Please keep in mind that this is a work in progress and may be changed to reflect and enhance events that may occur as the story unfolds. I have decided to go ahead and post this story in an uncompleted form to Fiction Mania's Mailing list in the hopes of receiving some input and criticism. Also, I would like to point out that this story thus far contains no sex, but has a TG theme. So, if you are offended by such a story or are underage (-18), please deposit in the circular file.
At this point, I would like to thank several people for their patience and understanding. To ChilliTNG, thank you for editing this hack job and providing the instruction that I sorely needed to be able to write at all. To Janice Dreamer, for your kind words of praise for my developing writing abilities as well as a second editor. Thank you for taking the time to post this story to the list for me. And last of all I give special thanks to Wendy J for your encouragement and input. Your friendship and love has been an inspiration to me. I also thank you for believing in me and my abilities even when I wouldn't believe in myself. To all three of my dear friends I love you all and count myself lucky to consider you as the best of friends.
Sapphire has exclusive rights to archive this story at Sapphire's Place. All rights to "Making Lemonade" is mine alone.
Chapter Three
In the five or so minutes it took Mrs. Fisher to repair Mark's makeup and for everyone to pile into the minivan, Mark began to have second and third and fourth thoughts about what he was doing. His fear rose to new heights. How could he let Donna talk him into this? What were all the other kids going to think? Mark no longer had any illusions about his anonymity. Everyone would know by lunch period; he was sure of it.
Mrs. Fisher glanced over at Mark sitting in the passenger seat of the van. His hands were balled into fists so tight that his knuckles were turning white. His face portrayed a sheer terror that threatened to send him into an uncontrollable panic. "Mark? Are you okay, hon?" she asked.
Mark didn't utter a sound. He couldn't. The fear he was feeling was so overwhelming that no part of his body seemed to function. All he could do was sit there, stiff as a board.
Mrs. Fisher was becoming concerned. Mark's face was completely devoid of color and tiny beads of perspiration were forming on his forehead. She decided to pull over to the side of the road. "Girls, I think we've got a problem. Mark doesn't look too good."
When the van came to a stop, Donna, Nancy, Karen, and Diane quickly jumped out and opened the passenger side door. Sylvia and Kathy crowded in between the two front seats. During this time, Mark never took his eyes off the windshield in front of him. Donna grabbed Mark's hand and tried to unroll his fist. "Mark? Mark? Please say something? Oh, God. Please, Mark. Please, snap out of it?" she pleaded.
He still didn't move and all the girls were getting very worried. Mrs. Fisher was debating the necessity of a good hard slap across the cheek when Mark spoke. "I think I'm gonna be sick." Then he quickly moved out of his seat and promptly hurled into a nearby bush. "Oh, God. I'm not gonna make it."
After several minutes, Mark accepted the tissue that Donna handed him. "Are you feeling any better?" she asked. Her genuine concern for his well-being gave him strength. She held out a tin of Altoid's peppermints. "Here, chew a few of these. They'll help settle your stomach and do wonders for your breath."
"Thanks," was Mark's only response as he fished out a dozen or so mints.
"Do you think you'll be okay?" she asked. "I'll tell you what -- Mom will drop the rest of us off at school and you can go back with her and change. You'll be late, but that'll be better than going through this all day. Okay?"
"No. No. I'll make it," he responded. "Besides, if I'm late again, Mom will ground me, like, forever. We'd better get going, though." Mark really didn't think he'd make it, but it was true about his mother grounding him. The truth was, he didn't want his mother finding out about the costume he was wearing. She'd never understand and would probably forbid him to have anything to do with the girls again.
They all piled back into the van. Mark called upon everything he'd ever read about dealing with relaxation. By the time the van pulled up to the school's main entrance, he had attained a mental state that enabled him to tune out his emotions. He felt confident that he could maintain that state as long as nothing happened that would cause him to feel too deeply. He could probably handle some bouts of teasing, stares, and snickers behind his back, but there was one thing he knew would invade his concentration. Before they reached the gate, Mark gently grabbed Donna's arm and pulled her to the side. "Donna, I need your help. I think I've got myself under control, but I need you to promise me something."
"Sure, sweetie. Anything."
"First, I need one of you guys to keep anybody from harassing me, and second, I don't think I can maintain control if you guys kiss me. You know how that can affect me. Okay?"
"Well, we'd planned on protecting you anyway, so that won't be a problem," responded Donna. She then continued, not looking very pleased. "But, I think not kissing you will be a little hard. Are you sure? It might make you feel better."
"Oh, I'm sure it will, but I don't need any distractions right now."
"Okay, if that's what you want. I'll let the rest know," said Donna unhappily.
Donna gathered the girls together and explained Mark's request. They were obviously not happy. When they look over at Mark, he put his hands together as if he was begging. They reluctantly agreed and then went over to him. There seemed to be a plan as to how they would make their entrance. Diane as the Prince offered her arm to Mark. He wasn't sure what to do exactly until Diane reached down and placed his arm properly. The dwarves gathered around and the wicked queen fell in behind. Mrs. Fisher was near the gate with her camera and snapped a dozen or so shots as they proceeded up the steps. Mark was oblivious to the events around him and, therefore, wasn't aware of the scene that they were making.
The show was continued as Mark was escorted to his homeroom. The dwarves entered the room first, followed by Snow White on the arm of the Prince. The Evil Queen followed, holding out an apple. Mark was shown to his seat while the dwarves danced around the room. "Milady," said Diane, bowing deeply as Mark sat down.
"Okay, children. Enough foolery. Off to class," Ms. Fairchild demanded.
"Milady, one or more of us shall be here to escort you to your next destination. Please wait for your own safety," proclaimed Diane as the prince. Mark nodded but couldn't say anything. The rest of the troupe left for their own classes and it became obvious to Mark that Ms. Fairchild was waiting for the group to leave.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't 'Miss' O'Connell. My, don't you look lovely," taunted Ms. Fairchild with an evil smile. It was probably the only time anyone had ever seen her smile, and now, Mark wished he wasn't the one to invoke it. He said nothing and bowed his head in shame.
She felt satisfied that she gained the desired reaction from Mark. In all of her eighteen years of teaching, Ms. Fairchild had never enjoyed torturing a student as much as she had Mark. There was something about him that seemed to crawl under her skin. She didn't know what it was, and maybe she didn't really want to know. All she knew was that seeing him plunged into shame made her day.
The rest of homeroom proceeded as normal. Announcements were made, role was taken, and Ms. Fairchild made the usual speech about the virtues of a hard working student. The other students kept looking at Mark and silently laughing. The bell ending the class rang and the students began to file out of the room. "Oh, 'Miss' O'Connell. I wish to speak with you before you go to your next class," said Ms. Fairchild.
After everyone left, Ms. Fairchild sat back down behind here desk. "Well, 'Miss' O'Connell. I suppose you think you have a chance to win the Costume Contest. Are you aware that I am on the judging committee? I can tell you that if I have anything to say about it, and I do, you will not win. Do you understand me?"
Mark understood, all right, and actually he was kind of relieved. He wanted to keep as low of a profile as possible. He knew that the girls wanted to win, but he couldn't feel the same enthusiasm.
While Ms. Fairchild was attempting to ruin Mark's day, Donna, Nancy and Diane were standing outside the door. They couldn't believe what Ms. Fairchild was saying. How could she be so cruel and heartless? Everyone knew that she was evil and hated children and most wondered why she was a teacher at all. It was probably because she loved to torture her students. The girls were seething. Something had to be done about Ms. Fairchild. She couldn't be allowed to continue to teach, let alone taunt Mark any longer.
As Mark left the room, Diane offered her arm and feigned a smile. "Milady," acknowledged Diane as Mark placed his hand on her arm. They made their way down the hall and Donna and Nancy played their parts as happy-go-lucky dwarves. The effect created by Donna and Nancy served to clear a path for the royal couple. When they exited the building and proceeded across campus to Mark's next class, Diane asked, "What was all that about with Ms. Fairchild?"
Mark lowered his head. "No big deal. She was just playing her usual games."
"What? You mean, she treats you like that all the time?"
"Well, yeah. I guess she does," replied Mark. "She's hated me for some reason, ever since the seventh grade. I don't know why. I think I've just gotten used to it. Like I said, no big deal."
"That's not right. You're so sweet. Nobody should treat you like that."
Diane said no more. Mark was too nice of a guy and he'd never agree to retaliation. As far as she was concerned, Ms. Fairchild has seen her last year as a teacher in THIS school. It was time for the girls to live up to their reputation.
Mark was able to maintain his emotional detachment throughout most of the day. There were only two occasions where his mental stability was threatened, allowing his fear and embarrassment to gain control. The first was at lunch time and the second was during the assembly.
After Mark finished his lunch, he got up and started to walk to the cafeteria. Donna noticed him leaving and asked, "Hey, sweetie. Where are you off to? If you need something, we'd be more than happy to get it for you."
Mark stopped in his tracks, turned around, and dropped his head. "I need to use the restroom," he mumbled.
"Oh, okay." She looked at the others and turned back to Mark. "Nancy, Karen, and I will go with you. We did promise to keep you out of trouble."
"Sure. I really don't want to be alone."
The three girls got up from the table and accompanied Mark to the cafeteria. The restrooms were located near the entrance. As Mark started to push open the door to the boys restroom, Nancy grabbed his arm. "Hey, where do you think you're going? I think you should use the girls."
"What? I can't go in there," Mark exclaimed.
"Sure you can. If you go in there," noted Donna, pointing at the boys room. "You might cause problems."
"And I won't in there?" he asked incredulously, nodding towards the girls room.
"Sure, nobody will know and you do look like a girl. In fact, you look more like a girl than a boy right at this moment. If you go into the boys room, you might just start a riot."
"Thanks a lot! Just what I needed to hear right now," Mark said, looking dejected. "Well, I'm not..."
He never got a chance to finish. The girls grabbed his hands and quickly dragged him into the girls restroom. Mark was shaking so badly, he thought he was going to pee his panties. The girls pushed him into a stall. "Don't forget to sit. You don't want to attract attention," said Donna.
Mark lifted his skirts, lowered his panties and sat down. As he relieved himself, he looked at his hands. They were shaking so much, he had trouble holding on to his skirt. He released the skirt and placed his hands on his lap. Closing his eyes, he began his deep breathing exercises and tried to regain his composure. It took several minutes and the girls started to get worried.
"Hey, sweetie. Everything okay?" Donna asked through the door to the stall.
Mark almost didn't hear her. "Huh. Oh, yeah. I'm just about finished."
"Well, hurry up. We still need to fix your makeup."
"Okay, okay. I'll be right out."
Mark pulled up his panties and dropped his skirts. He opened the door to the stall and saw the girls waiting for him. As he walked out, several girls came into the restroom and he began to feel the panic rise.
Karen was the first to notice that Mark was about to freak out and she went to him and put her arm around his waist. "Come on, hon. Keep it together. Unless you act scared, they won't even notice, okay," she encouraged.
Mark allowed himself to be led to the mirrors. He closed his eyes again and took a few more deep breaths. "Okay, hold still. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get out of here," said Donna.
The other girls who came in didn't pay any attention to the ones that were already there, even though Donna was applying lipstick on Mark instead of him doing it himself. When she finished, they left quickly.
"Oh my God. I don't think I've ever been more scared in my whole life," Mark sighed with relief. "I'm not gonna go to the bathroom again. Well, at least not today."
It took every ounce of Mark's concentration to get through the rest of the day. The restroom incident was never far from his thoughts. Why did he agree to be Snow White? When he'd seen himself in the mirror that morning, it had been the first time he'd seen his image in the past year. The last time he saw himself, he was disgusted with his image and avoided mirrors. Now, a year later, he couldn't believe what he looked like. The girl he saw in the mirror couldn't have been him, could it? He certainly had changed, but it was definitely not how he had hoped. For one, his features were slightly rounder instead of angular and for two, he had breasts. He knew what Donna had told him about it being extra fat that had been pushed up from the corset made sense, but he couldn't help wondering about it. He never did have much fat, especially on his torso. Hell, the last time he looked he could see his ribs.
The assembly was the culmination of his nightmare. He could tune out the stares of the other students in his classes. No one came right out and said anything to him -- they wouldn't dare. To harass Mark was to bring down the wraith of the girls. Unfortunately for Mark, Ms. Fairchild's threat turned out to be nothing but so much hot air. She was one voice against versus five others who admired the creativity in portraying the roles of the costumes. It was also decided that Mark made a very convincing Snow White, which he found extremely embarrassing. The girls had to drag a very reluctant Snow White up onto the stage. First prize went to the whole entourage.
Mark's composure was tenuous at best. Here he was, up on stage, in the spot light, in front of the whole school. Here he was, dressed in a manner that confirmed how everyone thought of him... or so he thought. He hung his head in shame. The only thing that gave him any comfort was that his nightmare was almost over and he clung to this like a life preserver.
Joe, Jay and Chuck were waiting near the exit after the assembly. Jay grabbed Mark's arm and pulled him to the side. "Hey, man. What gives?" asked Jay. "Jesus, look at you!" He poked Mark in the chest. "And where did you get these."
"Ow! That hurts!" exclaimed Mark.
Mark dropped his head in shame. Donna noticed his discomfort and jumped in. "Look, guys. It's not his fault. We kinda conned him into it."
"Yeah. I kinda guessed that," replied Jay. Turning to Mark, he continued, "What I don't get is, why did you go through with it?"
"I... I... I don't know. I've been asking myself that all day," muttered Mark, finally finding his voice.
Joe was rather angry. "I guess he was right about you guys. You were setting him up. If you ever come near him again, I'll..."
"It wasn't like that. We really like him. It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. The last thing we'd want is to hurt Mark," Donna responded. "Mark, you do believe me, don't you?"
"Yeah, I guess. I'm just a little confused right now," answered Mark. "Look, can we go? The sooner I get out of this costume, the better."
"What? You're going with them?" Joe asked, astounded.
"Well, yeah. I have to. My clothes are at Donna's and I have to get out of this," said Mark, waving his hands over the costume.
"I sure hope you know what you're doin'. If it was me, I wouldn't go with them, but, then again, I wouldn't be where you are, either," advised Joe.
"Yeah, maybe," said Mark. He leaned towards Jay and whispered, "But, then again, I don't see Joe with nine girlfriends."
Mark walked off with the girls, leaving the guys staring and shaking their heads. Donna's mother was waiting with the van.
The girls tried to insist that Mark keep the trophy, but he would have none of it. The last thing he wanted was to remember this day. Donna's mother wanted to give him a copy of the pictures she took that morning, but again he refused. All he knew was that he was never more relieved about anything than he was about getting out of that costume. Truthfully, Mark was more afraid that everybody would know that deep down, he did like the way he looked.
Donna's mother drove Mark home and they rode in silence most of the way. Mrs. Fisher was the first to speak. "Mark, you know, you looked very beautiful today. If I hadn't seen it myself, I would never have believed it."
"Thank you, Mrs. Fisher. But that's not exactly how I wanted to see myself, if you know what I mean," Mark said meekly.
"Well, I can understand that. I just think that you have a rare beauty found in very few people. You're sweet, kind, gentle and very intelligent. It shows in your eyes."
"I wish that mattered, but it doesn't. Everybody sees me as some sort of freak."
"Not everyone," she disagreed. "I can name nine girls who see those very same qualities and consider them very important. And I'll wager their parents do, too."
Mark had to agree. Despite the day's festivities, he had to acknowledge the girls' friendship. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But when you look strange, people don't see the other things."
"Mark, you do not look strange," she disagreed again. "Granted, you don't look much like a boy, but, make no mistake about it, you are as beautiful on the outside as you are on the inside."
Mrs. Fisher pulled the van up in front of Mark's house. Turning to Mark she continued, "Look, Mark. It does no good to be unhappy with the way one looks. It's better to make the best of what one has. When life gives you lemons...make lemonade. You're young, and when you grow up, you'll find what's important is what's inside. And, sweetie, what you have inside is pretty terrific."
"Thanks, Mrs. Fisher. I'll try to remember that."
Mrs. Fisher let Mark out with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. As she drove home, she reflected on the short time she had known Mark. His intellect gave him insight that was unusual in one so young, but he lacked the wisdom to put his observations into perspective. She did feel pity for Mark, because it was obvious that he would never be very manly, but her pity was limited in the sense that he did have a beauty that would be the envy of most females of the world. She didn't think that Mark should try to become a woman, but it was a shame that society wouldn't accept him as he was. She noticed that his feminine appearance was increasing almost daily and was relatively sure that it was natural; at least, it was nothing that Mark was doing to himself knowingly. His reaction to how he looked in the Snow White costume showed that he genuinely was not aware of the changes to his body.
The only thing she could do, and would do, was, support him in whatever he decided to do. She knew that it wasn't her place or her responsibility to be there for him, but at the same time, she couldn't turn him away. She had come to love him as one of her own. How could someone whom she had known for little over a month entrench himself into her heart so thoroughly?
As Mrs. Fisher pulled into her garage, something occurred to her that seemed so obvious that she had to mentally kick herself for being a complete idiot. She would have to have a talk with Donna.
Donna was sitting at the breakfast bar, eating a peach, when her mother walked through the door from the garage. "Hey, Mom," she greeted. "Mark okay?"
"As well as can be expected. He feels pretty low right now," responded Mrs. Fisher. "I need to kick off these shoes. I'll be back in a minute, dear. We need to talk."
"'Bout what?"
"Just a minute," she said as she walked into the living room. She dropped her purse on the little table near the doorway and went down the hall to her bedroom. After kicking her shoes off and changing into a floral print romper, she returned to the kitchen and poured a glass of iced tea.
"Wasup," prompted Donna as her mother sat next to her at the bar.
Mrs. Fisher took a long drink of her tea, contemplating how to word the question without upsetting her daughter. "Sweetie, how well do you know Mark?"
"Pretty well. You know, he's kind of an open book," answered Donna. "What's this about? Please don't tell me not to see him anymore!"
"Oh, no. Nothing like that. I was just wondering... well, it's just... are you sure Mark is... umm... are you sure he's a boy?" she stammered.
"Yes! I'm sure," Donna insisted. "Well, he does get kinda excited when we kiss him. It's kinda obvious, even through the baggy clothes."
"You're not... you and he aren't... you know..." Mrs. Fisher couldn't bring herself to finish the question. She was always able to discuss anything with her daughter, but, truthfully, she wasn't sure she really wanted to know. At thirteen, she would like to believe that her daughter was still a virgin, but she had to be realistic. In today's world, a girl her age had a fifty-fifty chance of remaining chaste.
"Yes, mother. I'm still a virgin," replied Donna, letting her mother off the hook. "I'll make you a promise. If I ever think about having sex, I promise to discuss it with you first. Okay?"
Mrs. Fisher's relief flooded her face. Her daughter was, for the most part, sensible, but one look into Mark's eyes could destroy anybody's composure. "I'm glad, sweetie. You know, there's no hurry."
"But, if I were to do it, I can't think of anyone I would rather be with than Mark," noted Donna. "I love him."
"So do I, sweetie, so do I," replied Donna's mother. "There's just something about him, isn't there?"
"Yes, there is. I don't know, he's so cute and he's so sweet. I don't think he has a mean bone in his body. Oh, and those eyes! I can almost get lost in them," Donna reflected. "But, there's something else. I can't put my finger on it."
"That's just it. Everything about him, the way he behaves, the way he reacts to others, the way he looks, they're just not what you would expect from a boy. If you weren't so sure he is a boy, I'd swear that the person that you've known as Mark was a girl. I may regret this, but I trust him. I wouldn't trust any other boy with you girls, but I do him."
"I do, too. You know, he's never tried to kiss any of us, let alone pawed any of us."
"Well, that's good. You're a little young yet to be necking in dark corners or parked cars. It's easy to lose control at your age," advised Mrs. Fisher.
"Oh, Mom. I don't think I'm too young for a little kissing. I mean... well... we've all kissed him several times. And as far as losing control, we don't... but he does. It's like... I don't know... like he's not with us anymore. He gets kinda light headed. I think it's sweet. Makes me feel like I'm doing it right."
"Really? He swoons?" asked Donna's mother unbelievingly. "Just another example of what I was talking about. He doesn't react like a boy at all."
"Well, he definitely isn't like the other boys, but that's why I love him," noted Donna. "It is kinda fun dressing him up, though. I wonder...."
"Don't even think it!" warned her mother. "I am not going through that again. You've got to promise me that you are not going to make him feel that bad again. Promise me."
"I promise," replied Donna. "I don't want to hurt him either. I was so scared this morning. I thought I ruined everything. I would never have forgiven myself."
"If you really love him, don't try anything like that again. Okay?" cautioned Mrs. Fisher. "Now, let's get dinner started. Your father will be home in an hour."