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 Six
Janine found her husband in the den. His hair was still wet from the shower he had taken. "How was your run?" she asked.
"Great," he replied. "Janine, what the hell is going on around here? First, you, Donna, and Mark are balling your heads off last night. And, not five minutes ago, I find you doing it again. Donna isn't doing anything to that poor boy, is she? I know how she is sometimes."
"God, Frank. Donna would never do anything to hurt Mark. She only does things to people she doesn't like. Have a seat. I'll get you a drink. Gin and Tonic? Or would you rather have a beer?"
"Come on, Jani. You're just stalling."
"I am not. Well, maybe a little. But, trust me. You're gonna need that drink."
"Oh, all right. I'll take a beer."
Janine pulled a beer from the fridge behind the bar and handed it to him. She settled down next to him on the couch and took a deep breath, letting it out with a sigh. Beginning with the night before, she related all the events up to the present. As the story unfolded, Janine could see that her intuition about Frank needing a drink was right on the mark. When she got to the part that happened in the Bridal Shop's office, he was having difficulty containing his anger. She could almost see smoke slowly trickling out his ears.
Frank waited for Janine to finish the unbelievable tale. Even after she was finished, he sat there for several minutes, afraid to say or do anything in anger. By the time he felt calmed down enough, his beer was gone and Janine was handing him another.
"They can't get away with it." Frank picked up the phone and started dialing. "I'm calling George. He'll know what to do."
"Frank, a lawyer isn't going to help. That Mr. Carlton is right. It'll be our word against theirs. Of course, George might come in handy if Mark goes through with it."
Frank realized that his wife was right and slammed the phone on the table. "Damn! Wait, what the hell do you mean 'if' he goes through with it? Janine, he can't. We can't let him. That boy has enough trouble. Donna and Kelly will just have to get over it."
"Frank, he has to make his own decision. We can't make it for him. Besides -- and this doesn't go beyond this room -- I think it might be good for him." All her training was telling her that Mark needed to come to realize where he fit into this world. If he could accept his outward appearance and use it to it's fullest.... She would just have to wait and see.
"What? Are you out of your mind? How can it be good for him? You're a psychologist for God's sake."
"And all my instincts and education tell me that he needs to see the potential he has instead of trying to be something he'll never be. Look, Frank. You know as well as I do that he will never grow up to even remotely resemble a man. I don't know if you've noticed, but he gets more and more feminine every day. I just think that he might be better off if he came to terms with the realities of his situation. I've seen too many teenagers commit suicide because they can't face what they perceive to be their place in the world. They see the realities of what's ahead for them and it conflicts with the things they've been taught. I can't... won't let that happen."
"I don't know, Janine. Maybe, if he cuts his hair...."
"Frank, that won't make a bit of difference. Marianne, his mother, was showing me some pictures of him when he had short hair a couple of years ago. If anything, he was even cuter - kind of like a pixie. And, my God, Halloween..."
"Yeah, I remember paying for the costumes. He was the prince, wasn't he?"
"Not exactly. Donna and the girls thought it would be fun if... well... here, I took some pictures."
Janine went to the bookcase and remove one of the dozen or so photo albums that were there. She went back to the sofa and opened the album on her lap. The first picture that Frank saw was of Snow White standing in the front of the school whispering into Donna's ear.
"Who's that? I don't think I've seen her around here before."
"That, Frank dear, is Mark."
Were it not firmly attached, Frank's jaw would have hit the floor. Janine smiled, reached over, and pushed his mouth closed. "Hard to believe, isn't it?"
"But... but... no way. Who is she, really?"
"Really. That's Mark. You see, the girls thought it would be fun to pretend that the costume shop mixed up the sizes. And... well..."
"How... why... he just went along with this?"
"No... well, yes.... He didn't want to, but you know how persuasive Donna can be."
"And you just let her do this."
"I didn't see any harm at first. I thought he'd look cute. But, he took it so badly that I was sure I'd made a terrible mistake. I was worried all day, but, when I went to pick them up after school... he seemed right at home dressed like that. I don't think he even realized it. It was just another example of why I think he might be better off."
"God, Jani. Unbelievable. I'm still having trouble believing that... that beautiful girl is Mark. I mean, now that I know, I can see the resemblance..."
"Now, do you see what I meant earlier? If he can get over the idea that he needs to be what society defines as a man and if he can accept himself as he is, he might realizes that he is someone very special. I think he can have a very happy life. And becoming a model just might help him see that he is worth something. Right now, he feel like he doesn't have anything to live for."
"I just don't know, Jani. I like the kid and I can see your point, but I'm just not sure if.... Look, Jani, if he decides to go through with it, I'll support him, give him some encouragement. I'm not saying that I understand any of this, but you can count on me."
"Thank you. No matter what he decides, he's going to need all of us for support. I can tell you, he won't get it at home. Talking to Marianne, I thought it best not to tell her about my doctorate. If I've read her correctly, she wouldn't want me to influence her son."
Meanwhile, Charlie was hearing little bits here and there and when he walked past the closed door to the den, he heard his mother and father talking about Mark. He knew he shouldn't eavesdrop on his parent's conversations, but his curiosity got the better of him. When he heard about the Bridal Shop wanting Mark to model dresses, he had to leave. He just couldn't hold his laughter any longer.
Mrs. Fisher went into the kitchen to fix dinner and Charlie couldn't contain himself. He went into the den and when he saw his father sitting on the sofa nursing a beer, he began to laugh and said, "Jeez, dad. That Mark is such a sissy. Imagine, modeling dresses. The next thing you know he'll have boyfriends."
Mr. Fisher looked up and glared at his son. At the moment his son disgusted him. "Charlie, if I EVER hear you say that in front of Mark, I'll beat you within an inch of your life!" Of course, even Charlie knew that that was an idle threat. Mr. Fisher had never laid a hand on his children and never would. Besides, Charlie was about four inches taller and outweighed him by forty pounds. "Look, Charlie. I'm sorry. I promised myself long ago that I would never lash out at my children in anger. But right at this moment, I'm ashamed of you. I thought we did a better job of raising you. It hurts to see I was wrong."
Charlie's head dropped in shame. "Dad, I'm sorry. I'd never hurt him. Sure, he's a sissy, but he's a good kid. At least, Donna's safe around him."
"Charlie! He's not a sissy. He's one of the bravest kids I have ever seen. You could take lessons from him. How would you like to go through life looking like him? It's not his fault. He didn't write his genetic code. You know, you have two sisters up there. You could have just as easily come out looking as beautiful as either one of them."
Charlie shuddered. The thought of looking like his sisters sent chills down his spine. "Oh, man. I never thought of that. I don't know if I could handle it. It must be really rough for him."
"You better believe it. Do you know, he doesn't think he should live? He thinks he never should've been born. Given the things that I've heard that he's had to go through, I'm not sure I would've made it. Have you taken a good look at him?"
"Well, no, not really."
"Next time, take a good look. You think he'll ever be able to bulk up like you have? You think he'll ever be as popular with the girls as you are?"
"Oh, come on, Dad. Donna and her friends share him. Hell, they even kiss him all the time."
"I know. I've heard about that. You think they think he's a 'hunk' or are they welcoming him as one of them?"
"Dad, you've got it all wrong. I happen to know for a fact that they do think he's 'all that'."
"So, they think he's alllll that. Just what's 'all that'?"
"I don't know, uh... uh..."
"Buff. Bulked up. A 'hunk'."
"No! It's just... hell, I could never figure out girls anyway."
"Maybe it's 'cause he's 'cute'... 'smart'... 'pretty'... how about 'safe'? Or maybe they see a little bit of themselves in him?"
"Yeah, you could be right."
"Look, Charlie. Today, they're going to go for him 'cause he's more like they are. Five years from now, they're gonna go for someone like you and he will have become one of them. He won't have dates. He won't have sex. He'll just have long, involved, intimate conversations about how to deal with someone like you. To be honest with you, he'd probably be happier if he had one of those sex changes. But I'm not a psychiatrist. All I do know is that he deserves a lot more than the world has given him so far. And, I want you to treat him with respect and understanding."
"Jeez, Dad. I've never looked at it that way."
"Just remember, if I ever hear that you have teased him, harassed him, or hurt him, you'll have to deal with me. Do you understand."
"I got ya, Dad. Hell, I like the kid, too. It's hard not to."
Mark didn't feel like eating dinner and Mrs. Fisher didn't press the issue. She did, however, make up a tray and left it in his room, just in case he got hungry. He needed time to be alone. After all, he had quite a bit to think about. Mark spent the rest of the evening in the trance-like state and finally fell asleep after midnight.
The next morning, Mark was up early. The house was still quiet and he wandered out to the pool. Making himself comfortable in one of the lounge chairs, he began to pray silently. "Oh, God. Why have you let this happen to me? You know what I have to do. Please, give me the strength and courage to do what I must. I can't let my friend down and I need your help. If this is what you have planned for my life, please give me what I need to do it. Oh, God. Why didn't you just make me a girl? I wish I could understand what is happening. I beg of you, please make everything turn out okay."
Mrs. Fisher got up about an hour later and the first thing she did was look in on Mark. He wasn't there. She searched the house and was nearly through the whole thing when she glanced out into the back yard and saw Mark sitting by the pool. Feeling relieved, she began to make breakfast. A few minutes later, Mr. Fisher wandered into the kitchen.
"Mornin'" he said as he kissed her.
"Good morning, hon."
"So, is anybody else up yet?"
"Mark. He's out by the pool. Hon, be a dear, and take this glass of grapefruit juice out to him," she asked, handing him the glass.
"Sure. It'll give me a chance to talk to him." Mr. Fisher opened the sliding glass door and went to the pool, leaving the door open.
"Men. I swear they were born in a barn," she mumbled as she closed the door.
Mark heard the door to the kitchen open and looked over his shoulder to see Mr. Fisher walking out to the pool. As he drew near, Mark said in his most unconcerned voice, "Morning, Mr. Fisher."
"Mornin', Mark. Mrs. Fisher said to give you this," he said and handed the glass to Mark. "You mind if I sit down?"
"Of course not. After all, this is your house." Mark took a sip of the juice. "Mmmmm. Thank you, Mr. Fisher."
"You're welcome. Can't stand the stuff myself. Well, Mark, I wanted to talk to you for a minute."
"Oh. I take it, you heard about yesterday. Look, Mr. Fisher... I'm gonna do it. I mean, I just can't be the reason Donna and Kelly miss this chance."
Mr. Fisher was more surprised that he wasn't surprised by Mark's decision then the decision itself. "Mark, listen to me. If you think you have to do this, then you can count on me for moral support. I can tell you one thing -- I'm very impressed with your integrity and guts."
"Thanks. I don't mind telling you, I'm scared to death. If everything goes like Mr. Carlton says it will, I won't be able to show my face in public."
"It won't be so bad," he lied. "You could get lucky and he decides you're not right for the job. At least, anyone with any kind of common sense would."
"That's the problem. None of this makes any sense."
"This is true. Come on. Mrs. Fisher should have breakfast ready."
Mr. Fisher stood up and offered Mark his hand. Mark took it, expecting to shake it, but Mr. Fisher pulled to help him up. "Oh, God. It's started already," he thought.
Mr. Fisher and Mark went into the house and Mark closed the door behind him. Mrs. Fisher looked over at the door and smiled. "He's definitely not like other boys," she thought.
"Is breakfast ready, hon?" asked Mr. Fisher.
"Not quite. Why don't you two have a seat? Mark, sleep well?"
"Yeah. Okay, I guess. Anything I can do to help?"
"Sure, sweetie. Why don't you butter the toast?"
Mark buttered the toast and then placed the plate load of toast on the table. Charlie walked into the room and looked at Mark. He seemed to be staring intently. Mark returned to the counter and retrieved a platter of scrambled eggs and a plate piled high with sausage and bacon. He set them on the table and took a seat. Charlie had taken a seat, but he was still staring at him. Donna and Kelly showed up a few minutes later. They both greeted him with a hug and a "good morning." As they took their seats, they looked at Mark, trying to read his mood.
Mark was getting just a little tired of everybody's intense gazes and decided to try and put an end to it. "Look, everyone. I've decided to go through with it. Well, at least today. I figure if I do it today, maybe I'll get enough time to think of some way to get them to forget about me but still keep Donna and Kelly. So, there it is. Now, can we eat?"
The meal proceeded like usual. Kelly was happy as a clam, talking incessantly about the photo shoot. Donna was able to occasionally put in a word, but for the most part, her attention was on Mark. She just wasn't sure Mark was doing the right thing. Mr. Fisher and Charlie were discussing football. Mrs. Fisher sat in silence, observing Mark discreetly. She knew he'd make the choice that he did, but she wanted to make sure he was okay with his decision.
After breakfast, Mr. Fisher and Charlie went out to the driveway to shoot a few hoops, leaving Mark with the girls. Kelly got up and ran to Mark. She hugged him tight, saying, "Oh, Mark. Thank you. I can't believe I'm going to be a model."
"All right. That's enough," said Mrs. Fisher. "Kelly, go and sit down. I think we should discuss this before you start making plans. Mark, are you sure about this. You know, if you go through with this, your life is going to be pretty rough?"
"Yeah, I know. But, I have to do this. I just couldn't bear it if Donna and Kelly lost an opportunity like this because of me."
"I can't let you do it," said Donna. "Mark, I don't want to go. I don't want to be a model."
"Donna, I know you want to be a model."
"No, I don't, and I'm not going."
"Yes, you are. Look, Donna, I'm going to do this. If you don't show up then I did this for nothing."
"Okay, Donna. Enough," Mrs. Fisher cut in before Donna had a chance to argue further. The fact that Donna had lied didn't escape her notice, but given Donna's love for Mark, she let it pass. "Look, sweetie. Mark has made his choice. You need to respect that."
"But, Mommmm."
"Donna. What did I just say?"
"Yes, Mother. I heard you. But I still think this whole thing stinks."
"I agree. It does stink. But, right now, Mark is going to need our support. Are you going to help?"
"Yeah. Mark, I'm sorry. It's just...."
"Okay," Mrs. Fisher said, cutting off Donna's continuing protests. "Mark," she asked, "have you thought about how to handle this?"
"Huh? What... I don't think I understand."
"Well, sweetie. Have you thought about how it might look if somebody sees you walk in as a boy and then sees you in a dress?"
"Oh."
"I think it might be a good idea if you went as a girl. Don't you?"
"Yeah. I suppose," he said with a shrug.
"Okay. Mark, why don't you go to your room and take a bath? Use the bath beads under the sink."
Mark got up from the table and went to his room. "When did it become my room?" he thought. "Well, so much for putting it off as long as possible."
As soon as he left, Mrs. Fisher continued, "Donna, get one of your old bras from last year and one of your nice sweaters. No, get several different sizes. Let's see... your jeans are too small... but he might be able to wear one of mine. He'll probably need a pair of my shoes. We'll keep it simple... oh yeah, Donna, don't forget panties. What else...."
"Mommmm. You know, I think you're enjoying this," said Donna.
"Oooh, this is gonna be fun," added Kelly.
"Now, Donna. Don't you think we should be a little enthusiastic? For Mark's sake? After all, we need to keep him in a good mood."
"Okay. I'll try. I think I know just the right sweater."
"Now, let's get moving. Remember, you two need to get ready, too."
Mark was nearly asleep when there was a knock at his bathroom door. He couldn't remember the last time he had taken a bath -- it must have been when he was six or seven. The warmth of the water and the rosy scent of the bath beads made him almost catatonic. Mrs. Fisher didn't wait for an answer and opened the door. "Mark, sweetie?"
"Huh? Oh, Mrs. Fisher."
"Sweetie, don't fall asleep in the tub. You could drown. Here, I've brought you a change of underwear. I'll set them on top of the clothes hamper. Don't take too long, dear."
"Okay, Mrs. Fisher. I'll be right out. It's been a long time since I took a bath, but I don't remember it being this comfortable."
"It is nice, isn't it? Welcome to one of the joys of being a woman," said Mrs. Fisher as she left the room.
Mark was bothered by that last statement. "Was it wrong to enjoy a bath?" he thought. "Were men not supposed to like such things? Deciding to do this must have finally made me crazy."
He got out of the tub and dried himself off. He hadn't washed his hair, but it was soaked from the neck down and he spent the next several minutes trying to get it dry. It just never occurred to him to keep it out of the water. When he looked down at the underwear that Mrs. Fisher brought him, he shuddered slightly. There on the hamper were a pair of white cotton panties and a short satin robe. "Deja vu. Now, where have I seen this before?" he thought sarcastically.
Mark pulled on the panties and donned the robe. When he finally came out of the bathroom, Mrs. Fisher was standing beside the bed, taking inventory of the clothing that was laid out on it. There were a pair of jeans, socks and tennis shoes, plus several bras. But what bothered him the most was the sweater. It was a pink - well, several different shades of pink, arranged in kind of a floral pattern -- angora sweater. It looked utterly feminine, as well as uncomfortable. He just knew it'd make him itch like crazy.
Mrs. Fisher looked up at him. "Oh good. You're out." She reached down and picked up the jeans. "Here, try these on. They should fit you well enough."
Mark took the proffered jeans and sat down on the bed. He thanked God - at least he'd get to wear jeans. He picked both feet off the floor and slid the jeans up his legs, just another indication that he didn't do anything like most boys. He rolled back onto his shoulders and pulled the jeans past his hips, then he stood up and buttoned them. After zipping them, he stood there in amazement. This was the first pair of jeans he'd ever worn that actually fit. They were a little tight and followed the curve of his hips and butt. But the thing that astonished him the most was that they were comfortable.
Mrs. Fisher was a little surprised as well and slightly jealous. Hell, the jeans fit him better than they did her. Shaking off her minor irritation, she said, "Okay, let's see which of these bras'll work. Here, try this one." She handed him a plain cotton bra with full padded cups.
Mark hesitantly took the bra and stared at it from several different angles. Remembering how Donna had put it on him for Halloween, he put his arms through the straps and struggled with the clasp behind his back. Mrs. Fisher couldn't contain her amusement and began to laugh. Mark immediately stopped wrestling with the bra and dropped his head, looking crestfallen.
Mrs. Fisher regretted her outburst. "I've got to remember to tread lightly," she thought. "Oh, God, Mark, I'm really sorry," she said, the laughter vanishing immediately. "Here, take it off, sweetie, and let me show an easy way to do that."
Mark removed the bra and Mrs. Fisher noticed the small swells on his chest. She hadn't been paying attention when he first put it on. The sight of the beginnings of adolescent breasts peaked her curiosity. Having a doctorate in Child Psychology, she was aware of certain medical conditions that could account for the development of breasts in boys. She toyed with the idea of discussing the possibilities but decided against it; obviously, Mark was unaware of his budding femininity, judging by his lack of concern about being seen by others. But, she felt that he would need to know his options, eventually, and thought it might be a good idea to talk to some of the former colleagues she still kept in touch with since she had decided to devote her time to raising her children.
Mrs. Fisher scrutinized the bra he was holding and then inspected the others laying on the bed. She chose one and held it out to him. "Here, sweetie, try this one instead."
Taking the bra she offered, Mark threw the other one on the bed. "This doesn't look much different. I'm not going to be able to put this on either."
"Try this. First, wrap it around your waist with the clasp in the front. Okay, now hook it together. Remember there are two hooks and use the last set. Good. Now, spin it around so the clasp is in the back and slide it up to your chest. Now put your arms through the straps. There, easy."
Mark looked down at the garment on his chest. "I think I could have gone my whole life not knowing how to wear this thing," he thought.
"It's perfect!" chimed Mrs. Fisher. "It's not too tight, is it?"
"No, not too tight. But, it's far from perfect."
"Come on, Mark. This was your choice. I'm just trying to make it easier for you."
"Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry."
She picked up the sweater and handed it to Mark. He pulled over his head and down his torso. It was just a touch too small and barely reached his waist. The tight fit emphasized his narrow waist and padded chest. Even though she had seen him in the Snow White costume, she couldn't help but admire the feminine curves of his body. And pink was his color.
Mark was amazed with the softness of the sweater -- he had expected it to be scratchy. He tried to quell the thought of how good girls clothes felt compared to boys, but was only able to suppress it slightly. He began to worry that he was losing his ability to detach emotionally.
"Okay sweetie, put on the shoes and socks, then we'll do your hair." She looked at his hair and finally noticed the now damp ends. "Honey, when you take a bath, you should put your hair up to keep it from getting wet. Especially if you're a little rushed. I'm sure you've noticed how long it takes to dry."
"Well, I really didn't think about it. It's never made much difference before."
"It's okay. But you're going to have to start thinking about things like this. Being a woman isn't hard, it's just a little more involved."
"Mrs. Fisher, I really appreciate every thing you're doing to help, but I have no intention of becoming a woman. I'm doing this today, but I'm sure I can figure a way out of doing it again."
"I hope you're right, but you really should plan for the worst."
"Okay, I'll try."
"Now, get those shoes on. I'll be right back." Mrs. Fisher left the room, but returned less than a minute later with Donna in tow. Mark hadn't even finished putting the shoes on.
Donna was dressed similar to Mark, only her sweater was yellow. Donna brushed out his hair. The ecstatic sensation of having his hair brushed helped drain away his anxiety. When his hair was finished, it flowed down his back and around his shoulders. The soft waves shined with a hint of polished copper.
All through the ordeal, Mark hadn't seen himself. After Donna applied a touch of pink lip gloss, she led him to the mirror. The tension that was expelled when his hair was being brushed rushed back with a vengeance. He still couldn't get over his image. "Oh, boy. This might be harder than I thought. My looks won't get me out of this," he noted silently. His shoulders fell along with his spirit. "God, help me."
"Oh, Mark. I just can't get over it. You're so beautiful," Donna complimented.
"It's eleven-fifteen," noted Mrs. Fisher. "We need to get going, gi.... Ummm... Donna, is Kelly ready yet?"
"Don't know, Mom. I'll go see."
"We'll be in the kitchen," Mrs. Fisher called out to Donna as she went down the hall. "Oh, and grab a purse for Mark."
Mark was still staring into the mirror, unable to move. "Come on, sweetie. We need to get going," said Mrs. Fisher.
"I... I... can't."
She wrapped him into her arms. "Ohhhh." A short while later, she released him and held him at arms length. She placed her finger under his chin and raised his lowered head. "Look, hon. I know that seeing yourself like this is still quite a shock, but you're going to have to get used to it. You may think you'll be able to get out of it, but, after a few minutes with that... that man, I really have my doubts. You shouldn't count on your mother for help, either. Mr. Carlton strikes me as a man who is used to getting what he wants, and he wants you. Do you honestly believe that he'll change his mind? After he gets a look at you as you are now, he's going to want you even more."
"But, what if I was difficult to work with? You know, rant and rave, throw tantrums, just plain be difficult. He's bound to get tired of me sooner or later."
"Sweetie, do you really think you can do that? You'll have to treat everyone like dirt."
"Noooo... I guess not."
"I didn't think so. Besides, how do you think supermodels act?"
"Kinda spoiled, huh?"
"That's one way to look at it. Now, put a smile on that gorgeous face and go to the kitchen. I need to get my shoes on and I'll be right in."
Mark smiled awkwardly and moped out of the room. Mrs. Fisher, observing his slumped over posture, placed her knuckle in the middle of his back and applied gentle pressure. His head and shoulders popped up as he arched his back in response. "Head up high. Shoulders back. Be proud; after all, you are the star."
Mrs. Fisher watched Mark from behind as he made his way down the hall to the kitchen. His hips swayed from side to side in a natural, almost seductive rhythm with each gliding step. "My God. He's a natural," she thought. "Yep, he'll never get out of this one."
When Mark went into the kitchen, Mr. Fisher and Charlie were sitting at the breakfast bar slamming down some Gatorade after a good game of hoops. Mr. Fisher saw him first and froze while raising the bottle to his lips. Charlie noticed his father's stare and turned to look in the same direction. He dropped his bottle. It bounced off the counter and hit the floor, Gatorade flowing out. Mark stopped in his tracks. He stared at Mr. Fisher and Charlie for what seemed like an eternity. The looks they gave him seemed to freeze his blood in his veins. Reality came rushing back in and Mark turned on his heels, nearly leaving skid marks as he started back down the hall. Unfortunately, Mrs. Fisher was right behind him, carrying her shoes; she performed a perfect pivoting one armed grab, spinning him around to face the kitchen again.
"Now where do you think you're going, young lady? You have an appointment to keep, remember?"
"Yeahbu..."
"We just had this discussion, didn't we?" she interrupted.
"Uh huh."
"Here, help me put on my shoes." Mrs. Fisher leaned on him as she slid her shoes on. She led Mark back into the kitchen. Mr. Fisher and Charlie, still not having moved a muscle, continued to stare in dumbfounded amazement. She looked down at Charlie's feet and saw the Gatorade slowly making its way across the floor. "Charlie! Clean up that mess!" She then noticed the expression on Mr. Fisher's face. "Frank, are we trying to catch flies?" His mouth snapped shut with an audible click.
Charlie scrambled around the counter and awkwardly grabbed at the paper towels, pulling the entire roll from the dispenser. It hit the counter, bounced, and landed on the floor right in the growing puddle of Gatorade.
Mark began to giggle, but covered his mouth with both hands, trying to muffle the sound. It didn't work. Charlie's face turned beet red. In an attempt to hide it, he lunged at the half soaked roll of paper towels. In his awkward dive at the roll, he placed his foot in the puddle of Gatorade. His forward momentum on the slick floor caused his foot to slide out from under him. He landed with a satisfying wet plop squarely in the middle of the puddle. The sight made Mark and Mrs. Fisher laugh hysterically. Charlie just groaned and hid his face in his hands.
When Mrs. Fisher's laughter wound down to an amused chuckle, she looked at Mr. Fisher. "Frank, why don't you and 'Grace' here follow us in the 'Hummer'." She turned to Mark. "Come on. We'll wait in the garage." As they opened to door to the garage, she shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Men!"
A moment later, Donna and Kelly came into the kitchen. Kelly laughed at the sight of Charlie sitting in the puddle of Gatorade. Donna started to giggle and asked, "Where...", but when Mr. Fisher and Charlie pointed to the garage in unison, she didn't see any sense in continuing.
"Come on, Kel."
They walked past the guys and Donna rolled her eyes. "Men!"
"Donna, what's wrong with Daddy and Charlie?"
"Never mind. You'll find out in a couple of years."
When the girls entered the garage, Kelly saw Mark standing next to the van. "Oh, Mark. You look so pretty." Her eyes became as big as saucers. "Ohhhhh." She looked at Donna and rolled her eyes. "Men!"
The four of them piled into the minivan. Mark sat in back and Donna relinquished the front seat to sit with Mark and to provide moral support. After Mrs. Fisher pressed the button on the remote for the garage door opener, she turned in her seat, enabling her to see everybody, then held up a small trash bag. "Donna?"
Donna fished in the purse she brought for Mark and produced a tin of Altoid's Peppermints and a small package of Kleenex. She replaced the items and handed the purse to Mark.
"Okay. I guess we're ready." Mrs. Fisher turned back and started the engine.
The blush that rose up Mark's neck and covered his face gave his cheeks a somewhat sexy glow. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help it."
"It's okay, sweetie," comforted Donna. "We just wanted to be prepared."
Mrs. Fisher looked in the rearview mirror at Mark. Satisfied with his state of mind, she backed out into the driveway. Suddenly, Donna remembered something she had forgotten to mention to her mother. "Oh, Mom. We need to run by Karen's. She and Sylvia are coming with us."
The blush that covered Mark's face immediately drained, leaving him pale as a ghost. "Nooooo. Donna, they can't see me like this."
"It's okay, hon. They know what's going on."
"What? You told them? I thought you were my friend."
"I am your friend, and they are, too. You know we don't keep secrets from each other. Karen and Sylvia wanted to be there for you. They care about you, too, you know?"
"Yeah. But...."
"But what? You don't think I'd do anything to hurt you, do you? I'm hurt." Donna lowered her head and struggled to hold back the tears.
"Oh God, Donna. I'm sorry. It's just... this whole thing is hard for me. I know you wouldn't do anything intentionally to hurt me."
"That's okay. Look, sweetie, none of us'll say anything. We'll be the only ones who'll know. Hopefully, Charlie'll keep his mouth shut and Kelly will, too." She glared at Kelly, making her message perfectly clear.
"I promise. I won't tell anybody."
"See that you don't. Remember, if people find out about Mark, we won't be models anymore."
"I won't. I won't. I promise."
They pulled up to the curb at Karen's house and Karen and Sylvia ran out and climbed into the van. They looked at Mark in stunned amazement. It had been less than a month since Halloween, but the sight of Mark as a girl was still rather unbelievable.
"Wow!" they said in unison.
"God, Mark. You're beautiful," said Karen.
"Thanks. I think." One thing bothered him about Karen's admiration -- as much as he liked all the girls, especially Donna, he had a major crush on Karen, and having her think he was beautiful as a girl was not what he had hoped for.
The drive to the mall was filled with incessant chatter. The girls made sure Mark was involved in the conversations, trying to keep his mind off the events to come. For the most part, it worked. He cheerfully chatted with the girls and almost forgot where he was going and what he was wearing. Almost.