Arthur/Penny/Millie: ... No More Teacher's Dirty Looks!

Look, it was either that or "school's... out... forever!"

I started typing this in my home office at a reasonable 10:30AM and left the window open while I do other things all day.  It's just me in the apartment, because Ray is in the office and Harmon is at the school, grading the last finals and essays and attending some year-end meetings that have to be done in person.  Then, just like for the past week, he'll be driving up to the Trading Post Inn, except that he won't be driving back tomorrow morning, but just hanging around until he's no longer Penelope Lincoln Lee and I've got the chance to be myself again. 

There was a time I would have envied the year he's got in front of him; the luggage and letter that was there when he arrived is a stud who looks like he's spent a good chunk of his 18 years in the gym, accepted to a good college, nobody in particular to fool.  Probably got a huge dick, because some folks just have good luck fall into their laps. 

Which admittedly includes me; the last few years have been a bit tougher than expected, with Ray starting his own firm and having to get a full-time job because "midlist author" isn't quite the stable income it used to be, especially when you've got a kid with often-expensive hobbies.  Those are the most first-world of first-world problems, really (note to self: have not heard kids say "first-world problems" in the time I've been embedded among them).  I've been Penny long enough to have developed a certain world-view that it's maybe useful to have upended.

Not that I'm ever going to admit that the months of worry are a fair tradeoff for understanding Millie better.  Yes, one of the lasting lessons I've learned as a parent is that worry is what you spend to have a child you can be proud of; I've worried every time Millie hurt herself playing sports or spent the night at a friend's place or went to camp, and, boy, that time I watched her ride a bike out of my sight gave her her first T pass at 11 were crazy, but I do think she'll be a braver, more independent woman for it, and she got through an Inn experience that I suspect might have broken me had I visited the Inn at 13 and wound up a grown woman apart from my parents, mixed bag as they were - I might have been so lost that I might not have been able to conceive going back and being myself again, but Millie is still herself underneath the silly facial hair, and I'm grateful.

And, for all that this started with me expressing private frustration with relating to her because her genes weren't the ones that made me who I was, regardless of what I became later, I know for a fact that she is my daughter in all the ways that matter.  My instincts steered me well as her, and nobody ever told me I was acting weird.  Plus, she apparently took all the writing classes she could fit into Griff's schedule at school, not quite enough that he's going to come back to find he's minoring in journalism, but it shows that a lot of what drives both me and Ray is in there - just like the way she ran off to find the Inn, she wants to know things and communicate it and make them right, which is a big part of what drove me into writing and him into law.

Maybe this time will fade for her, or maybe she'll have a leg up on dealing with men and other adults as she grows older.  I kind of hope it's the first, but no kid comes out of something life-changing, literally or figuratively, unchanged.  She looks like she's doing well, but she deserves to be a kid and a teenager.

Speaking of which, today happens to be her/mine/our 14th birthday.  We're going to eat some garbage and watch the new Supergirl movie tonight, and then spend the weekend with her humiliating me at tennis and whatever other sports we can get to while she's got a 21-year-old male physique.  With any luck, we'll get a message from Harmon tomorrow about the Inn doing its thing, and we can look forward to changing back and being able to talk about everything.

-Arthur/Penny/Millie

Arthur/Penny/Millie: A Christmas Card!

The big news first - we got a Christmas card from Millie!  Ray and I were kind of paranoid about whether it was the real deal at first, because one of his current cases is an identity theft thing and we would be very easily catfished in this situation.  Fortunately, we've got some of Millie's handwriting to compare, and it looks the same, albeit bigger.

It doesn't really say anything that helps us find her, except that she's "visiting family" for Christmas and the downtime is really making her miss home.  It also means we can't tell much from the postmark, since she's not where she usually is. 

It was kind of a relief, though, because Christmas has been a lot of going through the motions, as Ray, Harmon, and I didn't really feel like shopping, but Ray and I have friends who like hitting the holiday fairs with us, and Millie is still a kid, albeit a teenager (or "tween", I guess), which means her friends are very excited but there's a lot of eye rolling at what they get, so we kind of did it anyway.  I wound up doing a lot of shopping for Millie saying I was shopping for friends, and kind of hoping she won't mind if it's lightly used when she got back, and also for Ray and Harmon. 

Christmas morning was kind of strange, obviously, because none of us wanted to act things out for the others, but Ray did get me a couple things, and then there was Harmon.  It would seem rude not to get her anything, but the things she's been dropping hints for are outfits and accessories, because apparently her time as Alicia has her thinking I haven't really been making the most of what I have.  We try to make it clear that this is kind of inappropriate, as she may not be able to take it with him, but she shrugs out off, saying you've got to live for today.  I've mostly gotten her books and such anyway. 

We've also spent the last week splitting the work of grading midterms, which had been interesting.  I'm a lot more sympathetic to some of what the students do that would probably have rubbed me wrong a year ago, and we both have different skills when it comes to spotting when students use AI.  It's kind of an uneasy truce situation right now, because she's discovering that junior high will wear you down, no matter how energetic, and also groaning about communicating with my editor and setting up signings for the new book.  I think she thought that school vacation was going to be vacation for her as well, but, ha!

Still, heard from my daughter, so I can't get too upset.

-Arthur/Penny/Millie

Cary: The Home Stretch

Even though the birthday on Krystle's driver's license isn't for another couple of months, we had the usual party celebrating her real birthday last week, and I'm not going to lie, this period tends to mess us up a bit.  It's been especially confusing for her this year, because Jonah has been hitting milestones - her sister's wedding, getting engaged herself, buying a house - while Krys is still grinding her way through high school a second time, and the fact that it's not familiar is both exciting and confusing.

And part of the "confusing" part is on me.

When Elaine showed up as Mackenzie eight years ago, it felt temporary, even as I took her in and arranged for custody.  It took two years for her to get her own life back and for Krystle to become the new Mackenzie, looking 11 but actually 25, having grown up one way and then spent some time another.  Even though she had arranged to become Mackenzie deliberately, we don't live far away from the Inn and Krys can be impulsive.  I'm kind of shocked that she never decided to take a short-cut back to adulthood, especially back when she was a lot younger.  Given her previous history and the idea that she might not stick it out, we really didn't plan for college.

And here we are, visiting schools, trying to figure out which ones with dance majors will take a girl who was pretty good as a cheerleader and has some impressive TikToks but nothing really formal, so it's also hard to find scholarships.  It's also not likely that what she did before arriving at the Inn would impress admissions boards too much.  She tells me it's not my responsibility, and she'll just take out loans, but, well, it sounds like something she's really worked hard to make not sound like a guilt trip.  Or maybe I'm hoping it is.

Maybe it's not.  Maybe she'll get accepted into college, find an apartment, and never come back here.  We're heading into what seems like a year of lasts right now.  Last birthday together.  Last Halloween, and all the holidays coming up.

The thing that brings this up was that I couldn't get to sleep the other night - Krys laughs at my caffeine-free Diet Coke ("what even is the point of that?") but when I have a can of the regular stuff with supper I am off for the next day and a half - which meant I was still up and watching TV when her date dropped her off at 12:30am Saturday night.  As she was taking off her shoes in the mud room, she looked into the den at me.  "Are you waiting up for your daughter like a real dad?"

I snorted, and she walked in, not terribly shy about putting one foot up on the coffee table so she could give her foot a massage after an evening in three-inch heels despite her wearing a skirt.  "Why, should I?"

She shrugged.  "Hell if I know.  My dad was in jail when I was born and who knows where he wound up after that?  Probably no need with Clay, though.  He's a horny little nerd but nothing I can't handle."  She leaned back and laughed.

I tilted my head at her.  "You been drinking?"

She shook her head.  "Nah, just got into his Dad's edibles."  That made her giggle more.  "God, what a thing to say!"

"I suppose it is.  Good thing Elaine didn't want me going out with anyone even if I did stay as her long enough for it to seem appealing.  Can you imagine that?"

"You bet your ass I can!  You would have been nervous and sweet and made great conversation and then screeeeeeamed when he found your g-spot!"  She sighed.  "I kinda wish I could have had that.  Like, the first time I f---ed a girl as Jonah, I knew I was a guy at his sexual peak who knew what women liked and I was going to be the best lover this b---- who wasn't as hot as the real me had ever had.  Then, y'know, I held off for a while because I was surrounded by babies, but I figured that maybe Jimmy would be exciting, because he was my first as Mac and he was a big ol' football player, but nah.  It was just like riding a bike."

"You sound disappointed."

"I'm not.  Jimmy was fun and Clay's a nice kid and, like, I don't feel like I've been some kind of pedo with either of them, really, because I did kind of grow up with them, but I spent a lot of the last few years thinking I was getting a fresh start and maybe I've just taken the long way 'round to where I've been."  Satisfied that she'd done all she could with her feet, she turned ninety degrees and rested her head on my leg, her feet up on the sofa's arm.  "What do you think?"

I laid a hand on her belly.  "I think you apparently don't give yourself nearly as much credit when you're high as when you're not.  You get pretty good grades, you've got a bunch of friends - you never tell me about any old friends you miss - and you're making plans for the future.  Sounds like a new start to me."

She grunted.  "I dunno.  Maybe; I mean, you are the man I've had the longest relationship with in my life."  Then she started laughing.  "Oh my god, Cory, can you imagine my little girlfriends talking about this stuff with their dads and stepdads?  They'd die, just be like 'I'm dead'."

I helped her to her feet.  "You know what, let's get you to bed."

She laughed again.  "That is probably a really good idea!"

She skipped brushing her teeth or even wiping off her makeup and crawled into bed, sticking her hands out from under the covers to drop her top and skirt to the floor, then was asleep almost before she asked me if I could close the door.  I did, trying not to linger too long on the sight of her.

I've been thinking of that sight for the past few days.  She's really almost an adult on the outside again now, and from what I hear from the Dads and Moms I meet around town, girls the age she looks do their damnedest to not let people see them as vulnerable.  It may be the last time I see her like that.

I imagine it doesn't mean as much to me as it does to a real father, but I'll miss it.

-Cary

L.J. Porter/Leda Holbrook: Parents

So, I guess you've met Mom & Dad, or Juliana & Cora as I guess I've got to call them.  Things are going about as well as can be expected, I suppose, although that's not exactly great.

Don't take that the wrong way - for as much as this has got to be as weird for them as it is for me, they've put me first at every chance over the past couple of weeks, from making sure I knew what to do with a bra to where to wipe, and doing their level best to get me up to speed after skipping a grade.  "Juliana", especially, is always ready to jump in when I look like I may flounder talking to Leda's friends at the lunch table or something.  I appreciate it.

But, well, like Dad mentioned, things weren't great before all this, to the extent that maybe I should have known it was falling apart.  Sometimes, when I get back to our suite or they think they're alone in the bathroom or something, I'll hear them snapping at each other more, like Dad thinks Mom is trying to make him look foolish or only helping him half as much as me, and apparently the trip to Old Orchard or getting rooms at the Trading Post was the other person's idea.

And on top of that, Lena's got her own parents, and they apparently were worried sick about her being stuck in Maine, supposedly sick with Covid, and only texting rather than answering the phone.  The first time I picked up, they scolded me and asked a million questions, and it was really weird talking to these two people I really didn't know for like forty-five minutes, trying to remember what details would throw them off.  They've actually called every night this past week, and while I kind of appreciate that, too, it's also sort of intense?  Like, they're trying to be nice, and I'm scared that I'll say something that makes them even more worried.  Which maybe they should be, but according to everyone who's ever been at the Inn, they'll never believe why.  For instance, when Krystal/Mackenzie told me about how her own mother didn't believe her, even though it would explain a lot...?

Fortunately, the real Leda seems pretty cool; we text a lot, although she doesn't always respond right away and is kind of quiet about what sort of situation she's landed in.  She's doing her best to at least help be with running, to the extent that she can via text from wherever.  I need it - for all that cross-country looks like it's just running, and making sure you stretch beforehand, you've kind of got to know the road and have a plan for when you're going to give yourself a little more time for deep breaths and the like.  I did badly enough on my first practice day that the coach took me aside to tell me to let her know if there was any long-covid related shortness of breath or stuff like that, but also warning me that I could lose "my" scholarship if I can't run, so, no pressure.

The guy living my life seems okay.  He mentioned that he was going to have to break up with my girlfriend, which is a bummer, but he's like 40 and apparently not a creep, so what can you say?  We weren't actually doing anything, really, but it would still be gross.

Well, just thought I'd check in the way Mom & Dad have.  Now I've got homework - is it still homework at a boarding school? - and kind of glad to have stuff to fill me time.

-L.J./Leda

Lucas Porter/Cora Devers: Schoolgirl Stuff

So I see Marilyn is returning to her maiden name well before we can use our first names.  That's obviously the smallest change our family is undergoing, but it might be telling somehow.

I shouldn't be bitter, I suppose, but I can't help but notice the irony that we'd made the decision to separate just as I was going to need her help more than ever, because, as Marilyn mentioned, the whole family has become teenage girls, and though it's not a competition, I've maybe got the worst of it.  What Marilyn sort of skipped over is that she and I have clearly become the popular girls.  I had to turn Instagram notifications off because Cora's phone hasn't stopped buzzing since I started charging it a couple weeks ago, and she's asked me to try to keep it up because she envisions riding social media popularity to stardom or something like that once this is her life again.  Her account is actually milder than I feared - it's not bikinis and underwear or anything, but a lot of short-shorts and crop tops to emphasize that I've got a heck of a figure for someone turning seventeen just before Christmas.  And she clearly knew it; when I tried on one of her uniforms, I thought she must have had a growth spurt over the summer, but Marilyn says it doesn't really work that way for girls and showed me how much it had been hemmed up.  Cora, apparently, is that sort of girl.

And, yes, it's not just lots of social media photographs and short skirts - her phone is full of texts, that she's been busily fielding until I let her know that we were around, and it's a lot.  She keeps track of dozens of friends, is apparently a central part of the cheerleader group chat (eek!), and there are a lot from boys.  Some of them are safely in Malibu or that general area, but a disturbing number are in Burlington or that general area - some in high school, but more than a few at the University, and while real-Cora says I don't have to do anything I don't want and that honestly, me getting touchy with anyone sounded kind of gross to her, I'm not that big.

(Oh, and Marilyn didn't mention it, but Juliana is apparently also that sort of girl, and Marilyn has spent some time trying on her outfits and such, and apparently Cora and Juliana share clothes all the time because her new boobs are just as big and perky as mine, although she's got a bit more of a butt than I do.)

So, that's a lot, and obviously L.J. is going through it too.  He's not dealing with quite the exploding phone we are - Leda, apparently, is at this place on scholarship, which is going to be a lot of work for him - he's a year behind the girls and wasn't taking a lot of the top-level courses Leda was, and that's before you get to the cross-country team.  I suppose that there are worse sports for him to have to try and fake - imagine how exposed he'd be trying to play field hockey - but we're mostly concerned with trying to work our way through the summer reading list in a just a couple of days right now.

-Lucas/Cora

Marilyn Vance/Juliana Nakamura: Family?

Where to begin?  I suppose with the obvious - a week and a half ago, I was your average white suburban mom, complete with all the tension behind the placid exterior; now I'm a teenager again, and from what I'm told and can see with my own eyes, a Japanese-American father and a Latina mother, crossing my fingers that my high school Spanish from almost twenty years ago will be enough for me to fake it.  My husband and son are in a similar boat, although I'm sure that they feel having a different gender is a bigger deal than a different ethnicity.

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know the gist of it, although I suppose it's worth going back a bit to understand what I'm dealing with here, although I'll try to get right to the point:  My marriage to Lucas was basically over before all this, and it was kind of a relief.  The end was better than the long decay leading up to it; instead of worrying about not being enough or resenting how success for one of us always seemed to lead to sacrifice for the other, and then worrying about how all of this was affecting L.J., deciding to divorce let us be practical and start to plot a way forward.  We've even been closer to friendly since we started hashing things out.

There was a kid in the middle of this, one who is probably reading this as I've encouraged him to read the blog and maybe contact some of the other authors who have been through what he's dealing with now, and while we obviously couldn't have expected this, we knew that the split was going to throw his life for a loop.  So, maybe underestimating him a bit - L.J. is 15 and feels everything so strongly! - we planned one last family trip.  We used to visit the coast of Maine every summer along with cousins, but that changed when Lucas's job took us from Prince Edward Island to Vancouver six years ago, and we were looking to recapture that before telling him everything just before we flew home.  But the place we booked was the Trading Post Inn, there was leftover luggage in our closets, and...

Well, you probably know the drill.  I'd been doing a morning run for the previous week, so I had my phone's alarm set, and when it went off I sat up quickly, feeling surprisingly refreshed and alert.  At first, I presumed I was just having a good morning, and didn't notice anything particularly amiss as a silenced my alarm, looked over to verify that Lucas was still a stationary blob under his covers in the other bed, and walked to the bathroom.  My skin was a little darker, but I'd picked up some color over the past week, and I didn't notice that I had much longer hair, jet-black at that, until I pulled off the headband I sleep in.  By then, I had turned the light on and was taken aback by what I saw in the mirror.

I didn't scream - at first, I thought that this was a dream where I had to live out some sort of weird fantasy of Lucas's, but when I stomped over to his bed and ripped the covers off to show dream-Lucas that I wasn't putting up with this...  Well, I'll let him describe himself and how he reacted; same with L.J.  Our son figured out about the luggage in his closet first, and that's how I've learned about Juliana Nakamura.

She, Cora, and Leda are classmates at the Burlington Academy for Girls in Vermont, and had come to Old Orchard without their parents to attend a music festival before returning to school.  I won't "doxx" Juliana and her friends, but suffice it to say that they have seemed to handle their change as well as can be expected, faking a story about testing positive for Covid before flying home, editing the photos they hadn't uploaded to social media because they were just boring pictures of them in their hotel rooms and sharing them in support of this story, and somehow rigging things up so that they could text home from their computers until we arrived.  Their parents have obligingly changed their flights so that we would go straight from Portland to Burlington where they are apparently best friends and suite-mates, rather than returning "home".  We didn't do anything so advanced for the people taking over our lives, although we did send emails to our employers and school district about our own positive Covid tests.

We arrived yesterday, and we're still trying to sort out living arrangements - Cora apparently had the single room while Juliana and Leda shared the other, but we're kind of not sure whether I should let Lucas and L.J. bunk together, or if he'd be more comfortable in his own room rather than sharing with his parents, or if he'd rather have me with him in case he needs to handle female problems on short notice.  We haven't mixed a whole lot with the other students who have already arrived yet - I get the impression that this group can be a little clique-y - but I'm already worried about L.J. a bit.  The last week or so has been a lot for him to take in, from proper hygiene to just rolling up stockings like you've been doing it for years.  He doesn't want to put makeup on, but his bare face does not look like what Leda puts up on Instagram, and his idea that he wouldn't need it in an all-girls' school showed that he hadn't really absorbed how that sort of thing can be more important among girls than in terms of attracting guys.

The thing that is really making me question myself, though, is that while I know it's only been a week, it sort of feels like "Leda" takes advice from "Juliana" better than "L.J." does from "Mom".  I don't know if I can explain it, other than him addressing me by that name even when no-one else is around, to try and make it a habit, or asking "how would you try to blend in?" when I try to tell him what he should do.

That's my question to the other former Inn guests:  How do you stay someone's mother when you've got to be something else practically 24/7?

Andi/Andy: Done with that!

Of course, by "that" I only mean high school - Andy's life is still mine for another month or so, barring anything else going wrong.

Everyone else I know talked about how senior year, especially the second semester, is a chance to coast and skip and all that, but it's been pretty nerve-wracking for Andy and me.  Andy never really pulled out of his funk, and we both kind of stumbled doing each other's Zoom interviews as part of our college applications, so by the time acceptance letters (and the opposite) started coming, we were pretty nervous, and some of them were provisional on our final-semester grades.

And the results were pretty disappointing for me - I got Andy into Northeastern University in Boston, as much as I'm surprised he wanted any part of New England after the last couple years.  I guess he really liked the real-world-experience program.  Meanwhile, I'm looking at a state university this fall, which isn't bad, I guess, but feels really frustrating because I've been doing pretty well in school and he's going to get the benefit of it.

It hasn't been a good look for me, especially since only my brother and my parents know why I'm frustrated, and everyone else is more worried about "Andi" clearly struggling with things this year.  It's been genuinely scary at times, because even last summer, I don't recall ever feeling this angry, and I sometimes wonder if all this testosterone just super-charges it or something.  Like, Mom and Dad have been very good at making sure Andy and I both understand that "men can't help themselves" is bullshit, even before our first trip to the Inn, and maybe if situations were different, things could still piss me off like this did, but the fact that it may be all the male hormones just makes me even angrier...

Now, don't misunderstand, I haven't been walking around in a constant rage for the past three months, but it's really unnerving.  You read a lot of stuff on this blog about guys grappling with their self-image because they're starting to find other guys attractive or enjoy wearing a nice dress, and get fewer posts about girls who become guys and start being attracted to girls, but getting mad like this doesn't come up.  Dad's been great about it - he's always been good about spotting when stuff has been bothering me and saying the right thing, and while he hasn't done anything goofy like hanging a punching bag in the basement or anything, he has helped me just get it out physically, even if it's just not questioning when I go on an hour-long run or something.  Andy has been a little freaked, but I've at least got some sort of circuit-breaker in my head that stops me from really lighting into my own face or getting anywhere near violence.  He mostly just doesn't want to believe that's potentially in him.

Weirdly, Cindi was kind of on-point without even knowing the half of what was going on.  The way she figures it, the fact that "Andi" and I were looking at being separated must be what's messing us up.  She doesn't have siblings, much less a twin, but she sees how inseparable we are, how I initially resisted her advances because she'd been mean to "my sister" (which is to say, me) back in middle school, and figures I must be mad at "her" for not keeping up and myself for being selfish enough to go to the good school.  She's an annoyingly great girlfriend.

Which brings us to prom.

Shockingly, Andy was more into it this year, probably in part because he didn't have a date, but was mostly just going with Shawna and some other girls, hanging out, dancing with guys, but no kissing or hands on butts or making any sort of statement.  I mean, he spent the whole afternoon at the hair salon with them, and was even wearing two-inch heels and showing some cleavage in his dress as Mom took pictures, when he's really not into girl stuff that much.  He shrugged and said he might as well have some fun with it in our last few months as each other, and this was all going to be part of my Instagram page come next month, and he wouldn't want me to look bad.

And, yeah, I was kind of disappointed that I didn't get to wear the pretty dress, although I got to have Cindi wear one on my arm, which is a dumb guy thing to be proud of - she did all the work! - but it's kind of real, at least for a few more weeks at least.  And I don't really look bad in a suit like this, myself.

We didn't cross paths that often at the dance, but we didn't avoid each other.  There was a point when Cindi was in the restroom and I was at the refreshment stand grabbing a Coke Zero when he came up and got a Diet Coke, and we kind of laughed at there be boy and girl soda, and were we going to have to switch back lest folks call us weird.  I commented that he was having fun, and he said he was, but might have to get off his feet soon because he'd been dancing all night and that was way more than he'd ever done in heels.  "Can't wait for those to be your problem!"

He actually did wind up heading out fairly early with someone who had to get up early the next morning, while Cindi and I stayed more or less to the end.  We got in my car, and she put her hand on mine.  "Hey.  There's nobody at my family's lake house."

I don't know whether it was the touch or the suggestion, but the thing in between my legs just reacted instantly.  "Uh, I don't know, I told my folks I'd be home by--"

"Don't worry, I told your sister and she was sure your parents would be cool with it, and they'll at least know.  I want to do this, and you've been waiting long enough."

I didn't say anything out loud, but all the way there, "she thinks she's been the one who's been keeping me waiting" bounced around my head.  We kind of didn't talk on the way, just nervous "remember when this classmate did that" from earlier in the night, before we got there and made our way to her bedroom.

We stood there for a second, nervous, and then she took a deep breath.  "Andy, I've got to warn you - I'm not a virgin."

How do you respond to that without suggesting a girl is a prude or a slut?  I tried to think of what I would want to hear, but it suddenly seemed like an eternity since I'd been a girl.  "Okay, I mean, I didn't think, you know, that you had, uh, denied yourself anything.  Or anything."

She smiled a little at me being flustered, but got serious again.  "It's not like that.  When I was thirteen, and puberty decided to be really generous, my uncle..."

She trailed off and I gasped.  Like, I could fill in the blanks, and while I'm lucky enough that nobody ever did more than "accidentally" brush me at that age, I sure remembered a lot of guys giving me more attention than a random kid should get.  I wanted to say I understood, but I knew right away that she'd know "Andy" didn't, couldn't, really, so I just said I was so sorry that happened and had no idea.

"Well, I made sure nobody had no idea.  I didn't even tell my folks until a few weeks ago, when we saw that uncle again and he made some sort of remark about what you and I must be doing."  She took another breath.  "But this isn't about that, this is about you being great and me wanting you especially since you've been so patient with me and not acted like there was anything wrong with me."

She looked scared, and not having any idea what to say, I kissed her, she kissed back, and then we were getting clothes off and...

Well, neither of us really had any idea what we were doing.  We'd seen movies and I kind of remembered exploring a bit a couple years ago, but you know what?  It was good.  It was really good, and as much as I've spent so much of what had been leading up to it upset about being a guy, it was kind of nice being the big spoon as we fell asleep, her hair against my face and my hand on her belly, though it moved as we slept.

We were still in that position when I woke up, and she soon did the same, feeling that I was aroused, and we tried it again.  We were a little better.  We had a little swim and then headed into town to get some breakfast since there was no food in the house, and giggled until I finally dropped her off.

Andy was waiting for me in the garage with a smirk.  "I am so jealous!"

"Well you don't necessarily have to be fore--"  I stopped.  "You know what, you do.  I don't know how we'll handle things when we switch, but--"

"Dude!  What kind of creep do you think I am?"

"I know, it's just...  It was kind of a big thing."

"Yeah.  I know."

"You do?  Who?"

"None of your damn business!"  I must have given him a look and he shrugged.  "Just a random guy at the regional one-act play thing."  He smiled and then asked if I wanted something to eat, knowing that you can always get a teenage boy to answer yes and change the subject.

Mom and Dad said absolutely nothing when they got back from Sunday brunch with their friends.

After that...  Well, graduation, which is a long, hot day in robes that just suck up heat but having your parents and grandparents and all your friends there smiling like idiots makes you smile like an idiot too.  Andy and I walked to get our diplomas from the principal together, and not just because of alphabetical order.  As we went back to our positions, we whispered "we did it" to each other, and that was maybe the most satisfying part of the day.

Andi/Andy: Made it past prom to summer!

Okay, actual summer is a week away or something, but "my" last final is on Thursday and then it's off to Maine and less than a month before I'm myself again, and then we start to put stuff back in order.

It could have gone a lot worse.  For the most part, my circle of friends and Andy's kind of merged, so it wasn't really weird for me to be around my actual friends, or for Andy to be around his, and it's kind of a weird thrill to not have them know who we are for real.  Not in a mean way, but whenever Shawna says "hey, tell Andi such and such", I kind of tingle a bit.  Same as when we switch phones in the evening and text for each other.  And Mom & Dad have never made a mistake or shown any signs that they don't trust us, even though we've got a lot more chances to mess things up now that we're driving ourselves.  They don't try to push Andy to act more girly or me to be more of a guy and redirect any comments someone else makes in their hearing off in another direction.

Still, some parts have been really frustrating.  I kept waiting for the thing with Andy and Len to fall apart and occasionally freaking out when they were out, because what if tonight's the night where they fuck, and Andy likes it?  Or he doesn't, and it's a huge rift and somehow all my fault?  Or Len decides that "Andi" is some sort of cock-tease and I've got to live with that reputation next year?  Nothing seems to have happened yet - I mean, I'm not checking to make sure my brother's still a virgin or anything, but I don't think he'd lie to me about this, and Len hasn't told "his friend Andy" anything about feeling like he's not getting anything he should.  I almost wonder if he's gay and is somehow sensing that it's really Andy in there, but I don't know.

It was still kind of a kick in the guy to see them go to prom, though.  As much as Andy had more or less avoided wearing any sort of really girly clothes for the whole school year, he didn't want to let Len down, so he sucked it up, had Mom and me teach him how to walk and dance in heel, spent time with Shawna shopping for a prom dress, and asked me to do his makeup.  He looked kind of great, and I did feel kind of weirdly proud.  We were both past freaking when Len kissed him by that point - Andy had kind of justified it as being like a high-five with the lips - although he did give me a signal to keep Len busy while he ran to the bathroom to regroup for a few minutes after Len gave him a deeper kiss on the dance floor.  Which annoyed my date, but big deal.

My date, unfortunately, wasn't Shawna - I awkwardly tried to ask her out sometime in January, but even if it wouldn't have been weird before, dating her best friend's brother while her best friend was dating her best friend's brother's best friend would have been more than she was in for.  She had a new boyfriend by prom, so I would have been out anyway.

Meanwhile, I somehow attracted Cindi Adams's attention.  I don't know why - both Andy and I are pretty average, and she's, like, blonde and gorgeous, with perfect skin and a pretty face and somehow at the top of the track team despite having the sort of boobs that should be messing with her aerodynamics.  We got stuck doing a project together in chemistry, though, and she decided that I was really funny, or maybe she'd just never not had a male classmate who didn't try to cop a feel and didn't make a big deal out of something like the time a tampon fell out of her bag and I got it back to her without trying to embarrass her.  Heck, that was pretty automatic; it happened as we were leaving class on a Friday I didn't even remember doing it when she thanked me on Monday.  She apparently decided I was going to be her new boyfriend a couple weeks later.

The thing is, she was a real bitch to me in junior high.  Made all sorts of jokes about me being the flattest girl in the locker room when we changed for gym class, joined drama the semester there was a part I really wanted to play and just walked off with it, always shoved me aside into the lockers when she was in a hurry.  I couldn't think of anything I'd done to her, and while it didn't really pick up after we got to high school, we mostly just didn't have our paths cross until she started finding reasons to be where I was as Andy.  I was civil - no need for Andy to wind up with her and her friends as enemies next year - but soon a bunch of Andy's friends were saying that their girlfriends had mentioned that Cindi liked me and wanted me to ask her out.  I figured we'd go out a couple times, I'd be a gentleman, it'd be a feather in Andy's cap next year, all that.  Prom just happened to be our third date.

And, okay, it did feel kind of good when I stopped by her place to pick her up and she was wearing a dress to die for with a great wave in her hair.  I admit, I kind of felt weird about the whole thing - was I thinking with Andy's dick or did I just appreciate the effort?  And she wasn't really awful; she didn't remember being mean to me specifically, acknowledged that she was probably kind of a general nightmare a couple years ago, but didn't really feel the need to single anybody (like me) out for an apology.  And she's not a bad date - she's secretly excited to try new foods, afraid that her friends will think she's some sort of nerd for it, for instance.  She can dance.  She likes karaoke as much as I do.  And, like as much as I have spent the past year not feeling like myself at all, she's both confident about everything related to her body and able to make jokes about it.  It's weirdly relaxing to be with her when we're just going to see a movie or something.

Which means that prom kind of had to be a disaster by design, because both Andy and I didn't want to get into a situation where circumstances just led to our first times because we got caught up in the moment.  So while in the bathroom after that kiss, he swallowed some laxative and something else that would make throw up.  I figured that insisting I bring him home rather than let Len do it would push Cindi away, because it would be clear "sis" was more important.

We got home without getting laid, and as we played Wii that night, we wondered if we were the first people to ever engineer that sort of escape from prom.  And Cindi was, admittedly, kind of cold to me for the next week, but she forgave me, although she didn't exactly push for us to sleep together since (not that she had, or seemed upset that I wasn't trying to get her into bed; maybe I'm a good boyfriend for not putting pressure on her, which is funny).

At any rate, we got through our classes with okay grades and he enjoyed helping build sets for drama while I didn't hate being on the tennis team in the spring (I might actually be better than he was).  Still, I am awful glad that we're heading up to Maine just as soon as Andy and I finish each other's last finals so that we can get this all sorted out.

Tyler/Lauren: Arm's length

One of the first things I did when I arrived in Lauren's life was to end her relationship with her boyfriend of several months, Seann. It was a cold, logical decision that Lauren was really not thrilled I had to make, but she conceded that the idea of a grown man playing girlfriend to a teenage boy has way too many unseemly elements. When I called her to discuss it, there were tears on her end, and I think that was a moment that summed up, for her, how truly fucked up this situation is. Whereas she and the real Tasha have been playing house out in Texas for the past summer, I've been here keeping things moving in her life as best I can, in a way that is comfortable for me to deal with. I told her this may mean her social life takes a nosedive, and that whatever her plans for after high school were might have to get pushed back, because I'm not learning for her. But I'm trying to be a good person while wearing her face.

When I actually went through with the breakup, it was with a ruthless detachment that got a lot of names thrown my way, and some rumors that for all I know are completely accurate. But Lauren can rest assured that she has a few friends that seem really true to her, and who have been fairly kind to me.

One of those friends is Karlee. She's a sweet, bubbly girl, short and curvy, with a breathy voice and a bit of an... immature, shall we say, energy. She's actually quite sweet, as far as I've seen, but I would think she's just not emotionally ready for a boyfriend, which is why she hasn't had one. She's just too much of a kid.

Until the party I accidentally threw a month ago, where she and Seann went off on their own for a while, and... dot dot dot.

She came back, giddy as a squirrel with an acorn, and good for her I guess, but I'm worried she's developed a bit of an infatuation with this boy. He doesn't seem to have paid much attention to her for the rest of the summer, he just wanted a bit of a fling. And from my perspective, that's just boys being boys, but I never saw the way a girl might get attached afterward, making something serious out of nothing.

Days after that happened, Karlee and I had a talk where she confessed all, frantically apologizing to me for crossing the line with "my ex." I told her to go for it if it makes her happy, because "Seann and I" were far, far in the past, to put it mildly. Then she plied me for ways to win Seann over, and I had to fake my way through a sort of girly pep talk about "just be yourself, and if he likes you, he'll show it." In reality I think she should find someone who is interested in her, because I'm sure he's out there in the sea of hormones that is high school. Probably too shy to say anything.

Nothing appears to have developed yet, in that direction, and Karlee seems to be respecting my space and leaving me out of it, but I get regular updates from "our" friend Ginnifer. Karlee is privately obsessed with Seann, but way too shy to say or do anything about it. Meanwhile, Seann seems like he could hardly notice Karlee's existence.

Reading back those last three paragraphs, I feel like I've really gone deep cover on this one. Sorry, I don't know why I thought that all was important to say, but I guess it's all to say that thanks to that fairly public (even though I tried to be discreet) breakup, it's public knowledge since we got back to school that Lauren Sherman is "on the market," especially after a summer largely spent in seclusion.

I'm not, of course - I'm not sure how to get the word out about that, but it's become clear that male attention is not conditional on wearing makeup or having my roots properly dyed. I look roughly as ragged as Lauren has in her entire life, with a smattering in acne around my cheeks and forehead and unkempt hair, but boys still think it's a good idea to try.

So I was in the cafeteria yesterday, eating a chicken sandwich, minding my own business, when this guy I recognize but don't really know came and sat next to me, backwards on the bench so he could lean back on the table, propped back on his elbows. He made his leg touch mine.

"Hey Laur," he said, "You got any plans for the weekend?"

All the color drains right out of my face. I look up at this guy. He's leaning into me somewhat. He's got this cocky face on, staring directly down at my chest, discerning the curve of my breasts through my t-shirt.

I feel my face burning. My blood starts racing with this fight-or-flight reflex, like I'm cornered. I have to take a breath and remind myself that this kid is only doing what comes natural.

"No," I say honestly, "No plans."

So immediately, he says "We should do something."

"No thanks," I say, punctuating the statement with a mouthful of chicken. I didn't even have time to play like I wasn't sure what he was getting at, or soften the blow by making up some excuse. "I don't like you that way. No offense or anything."

"Oh," he said, deflated. He lingered a moment before backing away.

This is going to happen. I'm in the mix, in this crazy environment full of hormonal teenagers who all have to coexist. There's nothing I can say or do that will brand me as being as far off the table as I really am. I have to be on this constant defensive of "No, no thanks, not happening, not interested." No room for ambiguity.

I would be thrilled to be friends with these dudes. If I had landed in a 17-year-old boy's body, I'm sure they and I would be tight right now. As douchey as teenagers seem to a grown man, they would be basically my only option. But that's not the world I landed in. To them, I'm like a meal, a prize, an object to pursue. These guys don't have female friends except ones they're trying to date or who are dating their friends. I haven't had a meaningful conversation with a human male in, I can't remember how long... probably some exchange Wade and I had, like when we went away for the weekend. But that's the exception. Mostly they're just paying attention to me long enough for me to signify that, no, I'm not interested.

So I have no choice but to turn toward the girls. When I got back to school last month, anytime I entered a classroom, I immediately sat near a girl, even if it was one I didn't know, so that some guy didn't think I was giving him a signal just by electing to be near him. I need to put half the entire world's population at arm's length for the time being.



This has its own problems: after all these months I still don't totally relate to these girls and that's probably not such a bad thing (remember, grown man.) But, surrounded by teens, I'm definitely feeling the ways my outside doesn't match my inside. Sometimes I see some adult concerns when they start fretting over schools and planning their futures, even occasionally talking about politics, but then they go back to gabbing about who's hooking up and what happens on reality shows and what Taylor Swift wore to some red carpet and I just... glaze over.

It's going to be a long year.

Maybe even longer than that. But I don't really want to talk about it, because I still don't know.

Ellie: The female Ferris Bueller

I took today off from school. "Dad" will probably be mad at me but I know he doesn't have any real power. "Mom" is really forgiving, always going on about how it's best for me not to exert myself. I know it's probably a good idea for people Ellie's age to stay in school but I can't bring myself to do it. I can't face those freaking people and I can't pretend I'm even trying to keep up with schoolwork.

I try not to overdo it, but every so often I feel the need to slag off and spend a day roaming the house in my PJ's, eating ice cream for lunch and watching The Wire on DVD.

I met up with Emily for coffee on Saturday. It sucked. She's dating some guy who totally is in love with her. She doesn't see anything wrong with stringing him along. The whole back-to-high school concept washes better with her than it did for me, I guess since I never really went. It's shown me an uglier side of her, because I see her connecting with the vapid bimbos at school and I just think "What's the point?" I thought she had more character.

We talked about the Inn and whether we'd be going back. I said I was completely certain at this point that if I could get back, I would, whether we ever find the real Ellie and Emily or not. Emily was squirming. "Maybe we should just let it be, we can't find them for a reason, it's not very practical, etc etc."

This put me in a bad mood for my first Saturday night study session with my new tutor, Iris. That's right, Saturday night, cracking the books, with some strange girl in my room.

I hate to be judgmental, but Ellie must've left me some kinda residual "mean girl" genes, because when I first saw her at my door I thought she looked like a wreck. Visually, she's not the queen of high school, you can tell. She's a skinny little nothing, with matted blonde hair and loose clothes, thick glasses and acne. Okay, 90% of the people I've met since I've been here have been acne-prone teenagers, but this girl seemed to have a bad case.

I hate that I'm telling you this. I hate that I think that reflects on her as a person. I think it's given her some aggression because she took it out on me hard when I simply could not "get" the math she was helping me with. At first she seemed pleasant, instructing me on the algebraic formula and order of operations and stuff, but the more questions I asked, the more exhausted she seemed and the more I wanted to tell her "Hey, shut the fuck up, I didn't ask to learn math after all this time of being on my own!" I felt a panic attack coming on, but luckily she called it a night early. I think she doesn't like me. Or she doesn't like the person she thinks I am. I'm not sure what I think about her.

It's almost a lost cause, this math stuff. If I made it this far without using it, I doubt I'll need it wherever I end up. Ellie's doomed to stay in high school at least another year even though she should be graduating. Me trying to learn math, that feels like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. Unfortunately, that's the one point "Dad" has managed to win over mom, that their little girl needs to at least graduate high school.

Wherever the real Ellie is, I hope it's better than high school.

Alia/Rob: Maine in Vain (Stand By Me)

Before leaving for Maine yesterday morning, I met up with Tori for a cup of coffee (or coffee-flavoured blended drink.) Since she starts work at midday, she was eager to see me off.

There was a bittersweet feeling to the meetup. We got into this together and haven't remained as close as we might have. I haven't been able to be there for her at several times when she probably could've used me and thus we've both drifted off. Now that she's staying in Philly and I'm going back to Toronto-via-Maine, it really feels like the paths of our experience have split far.

The meeting wasn't too much of a downer. As distracted as she seemed, she made more jokes than anything, seemed in high spirits. Part of me thinks she might just be covering, but in all the time I've known her, she's worn her emotions to a great extent on her sleeve. If she was really troubled, I probably would have been more easily made aware of it. "Yes," she asserts, "It sucks not going back. Can't help being disappointed. But I'm in a good place." I have to say, she's way more at ease in her skin than when she was freshly-transformed. No, she's not over-confident in her looks or her presentation. Aside from a lot of temperature-necessary bare skin, she dresses pretty modestly. There's a downright honest sexiness to her that says to me, if she ever figures out who she wants to be with, she'll have no problem getting them.

Rob's body agrees.

As we sat outside in the sun, a student passed by, a girl named Stephanie. It was clearly a bit awkward for her -- as it always is when you're a student and you see a teacher out of school. I remember once being stuck on the subway with a Prof for about 8 stops and having no idea what to say. I gave her a quick, non-committal wave, to acknowledge her and potentially diffuse the awkwardness. She took it as a sign to come over and chat.

She was a good enough student, but I didn't think she was the type of girl who would honestly want to talk to her English teacher. Instead she gushed about how nice she thought I was and how she was really excited to be getting some reading done this summer. She asked if she'd be seeing me again next year.

I was a bit sorry to say no -- I'm pretty sure Rob won't be teaching her grade, but more than that, I'll be long gone. She expressed some disappointment, and I assured her that most of the other teachers in the department were better than me.

She smiled. "That's not what most of us think."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I don't know. Older teachers are all business, or they stopped caring. A lot of younger teachers think they get along with students, but I think you're the only one who really does. Like, you don't talk down to us, but you also seem like you remember what it is to be a student, be stressed out and confused about shi-- er, stuff."

I felt myself blushing a bit. "Yeah, maybe I do. That doesn't make me a good teacher, though. There were some pretty low marks in that class."

She told me, "You'll figure it out. See you 'round, Mr. G."

I was uncertain how to feel as she walked off. I explained to Tori that it was my honest intention to just resume my career path and forget about teaching. I didn't feel like I was any good at it, and it stressed me way out. But there were times when it felt good, and now that I've gotten a taste, it doesn't seem like such a bad option. It's not exactly my dream job, but I don't feel like I should rule it out anymore.

I had a lot of time to think about this on the drive up to Maine. I got there after 8 and was so exhausted from the drive that I practically just collapsed in my room. I checked in and lay down on the bed for like an hour before even looking around for my old body's luggage.

I found it in the closet. It appeared to be mine, all right, complete with a brief letter from Crystal apologizing if she overstepped her boundaries with Bryan. Well I certainly don't feel great about that, and I'll be carrying around a smidge of bitterness for a while I think about this whole affair, but I don't lay the blame on her. I don't think anyone is to blame. It was a shitty situation we all need to get past.

Exhausted, I stripped down and went to bed, hoping the change would be that night. However, I hardly saw another human being, just a girl reclining in her bikini in the front sitting area. Plenty of cars in the driveway, but few bodies. I wanted to reach out to her, to warn her of what awaited her, but at best she knows and at worst she won't believe me, or she'll be scared off and the whole thing will fail.

I couldn't sleep. My mind went a hundred different directions. Regaining my femininity, leaving Philadelphia and Tori behind. Reuniting with Todd and Bryan in Toronto. trying to pick things up where they left off -- without rehashing the baggage, let alone my experiences with fake-Todd... and every time I tried to put my mind at ease, my libido kept pushing me back to the sexy girl I'd seen earlier outside the place.

I did bring DVDs and books to distract myself, but they didn't help put me to sleep.

Eventually, at nearly 4 AM, I managed to slip into sleep, although I didn't sleep late. I spent most of today wandering the town, seeing the locals, wandering the beach. The weather this year is a lot nicer than it was during my rainy last visit. I should try to at least enjoy myself a bit.

I'm about to get some dinner, then hit the bar. I'll check in again soon, if I haven't transformed tonight.

Cheers,
-Alia

Alia/Rob: 90's Dance

A lesson I keep having to learn no matter what life I'm in: you can't control other people. You'd think, having dated Todd, I would be used to the idea, but it was something that often frustrated me. People are gonna feel what they're gonna feel. It's hard enough to control yourself. Other people? Forget it.

I was chaperoning a dance with Cathy last week. Teachers are obligated to put in a certain number of extra responsibilities, and sometimes I'm okay with them, sometimes not. By that token, dances are a bit easier to stomach than, say, PTA meetings or parent-teach nights. The PTA is a bore, and parent-teacher nights have largely been a train of parents asking why their kids aren't doing so well (admittedly, their teacher is an under-trained novice, but I've gotten better.) Some parents can handle themselves, others decide to forget that I'm a human being and just let loose all their frustrations on me.

So dances. Yeah, that's a bit easier to take. All I have to do is stand around and enjoy the snacks while the kids paw at each other, and make sure they know they're being watched.

By some strange twist of fate, the dance Cathy and I signed on for was the "90's dance." I'm not some old lady, but I grew up in the 90's, and it was trippy to see my youth re-purposed the way people did the 80's when I was young. Nobody dressed up in 90's clothes or anything, but the music was a pretty dead on recreation of what was around back then, ranging the entire decade:

List of artists who were played over the course of three hours: Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Guns N Roses, Soundgarden, Metallica, Boyz 2 Men, Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Brandy, Monica, Eve 6, Smashmouth, Sugar Ray, Third Eye Blind, Fatboy Slim, Beastie Boys, NSync, Backstreet Boys, 98 Degrees, Blind Melon, Jamiroquai, Beck, Cranberries, Barenaked Ladies, U2, Rob Zombie, Cher (Believe), Aerosmith, Spice Girls, Michael Jackson, Seal, Chumbawumba. Yeesh. Talk about hitting all the bases. The 90's were one effed-up decade, in retrospect, as far as popular tastes were concerned.

Cathy, who is about Rob's age, was similarly nostalgic for all this, although she has very different memories than I do, obviously. I was in grade school, and a little bit of high school, for all of this, so my earliest school dances would've had Britney and boybands. Also Canadian groups like The Tragically Hip, Great Big Sea and Moist got their due, but I'm getting off topic.

Cathy and I rehashed the stories of our youths, me sort of improvising on the spot to account for my age and gender. I mainly let her do the talking. When the Backstreet Boys' "I Want It That Way" hit, she couldn't take it anymore and led me out on the dancefloor for an "awkward high school slowdance."

I had my hands around her waist, she reached up and rested hers on the back of my shoulders. Suddenly I felt like I was back in a time before all this, way before Rob Garcia and the Trading Post inn and even before heartbreak and angst over Todd or the stress of University, when you could just be with someone and feel awkward over something so simple. And I looked down at this woman and she was clearly thinking the same things, just enjoying her flashback, and then she drew closer and closer, and I didn't mind so much, even when she pressed herself against me and I very clearly had an erection. She felt so small in my arms. Then at the end of the song, she turns her face upward and kisses me in the cheek, then again closer to the lips. I pull away in shock.

She glares at me in... shock? Disappointment? Embarrassment? I don't know. She wasn't pleased with either of us, because she just walked off and didn't talk to me for the rest of the night.

I caught up with her the next day and she was still cold. "I'm sorry about that," she said bitterly, "I guess I just misread the entire thing. I'm an idiot, okay? don't hold it against me." It was half a sincere apology and half pure anger. I know, because I've used that tone.

"Cathy, things are really complicated, and I don't think..."

"No, shut up. It's not complicated at all, you idiot. We're grown-ups. You don't have to act like every little thing is a tragic romance. You have to let yourself have a little fun. I mean Jesus, what did your wife do to you that you can't even just... enjoy things?"

And that was that. I'll never be able to explain exactly why I can't be with her. I was trying very hard not to get close enough to anyone that this sort of emotional reaction would happen, but I guess no matter how hard you try, people can't be taken and packed away like that. Now I've hurt someone without meaning to, and made things awkward with the woman who had pretty much been my closest friend here. I shouldn't take things like this personally, maybe, but I can't say "it's not really my life" because it really is. I did this.

I don't think I was wrong, but I feel bad that it came to this. I wish I could just crawl into bed for the next month and a half and wake up in Maine, but sadly, this is the real world, and I have work to do.

-Alia

Alia/Rob: Mentor

Yeesh. If it weren't for the walking reminder of my physical state, I might forget this blog exists.

Call it self-censorship. I don't live a terribly interesting life. Cliff doesn't either, but she's at least willing/able to air her grievances/thoughts on her body, on her life. I get home after a long day at work and just zonk out.

Stress stress stress stress stressstressstress.

For a long while, it was just overwhelming. I wanted to find some quiet corner of the school and cry (manly tears) over how overwhelmed I was. But generally speaking it is not recommended that teachers lose control of their emotions in front of students. So I bottle it all up.

It's hard, man. Let's not kid ourselves here, this is a stressful job. I remember when I was in high school, the feeling of how overwhelming the pressure was, my quiet suspicion that nothing I was doing would affect me in the long term so long as I got into a decent University (I did.) These kids walking around the halls, half of them have the same parental issues as I did, some way worse. Some don't even talk to theirs, for better or worse. I certainly don't know all their stories, but you get to know who's having trouble.

Oh, you get to know things. The way hormones rule this hallway is palpable, to say the least. Monday morning comes and you can tell which ones had a bad weekend. Every little romantic gesture is scrutinized and agonized over. Students' moods and behaviours change on a regular basis, especially the girls. I've chaperoned a couple dances (I'm on duty for one more this week as a matter of fact) and seeing the way these kids attempt to free themselves from their own awkwardness - with varying degrees of success - well, it takes me back.

That's not to say the teachers are immune to this. We gossip, we make cliques, we have in-jokes. In some really sad ways, we emulate the behaviour of the kids for whom we're supposed to set the example. The sex lives of unmarried teachers (like myself and Cathy) are scrutinized by the older ladies teaching English, Geography and History. We all indulge in inappropriate speculations about the kids. It becomes like a weird little soap opera for some of these people.

Some, however, don't seem to care. This is Marshall McPhee, the senior English teacher. Earlier this year, when the Vice Principal was on my ass about my lackluster in-class performance, Mr. McPhee stood up for me, and even became a mentor of sorts. He's the kind of teacher who's been at it for 25 years, and still gets out of bed in the morning, glad to be teaching, where so many of these people have had their spirits ground down. He's a friendly, balding, thin, bearded sort with John Lennon glasses and a button-up vest.

"Rob," he says to me after school one day, "It's our job to positively impact these kids' lives. We may be here for the long term, but they aren't, and it's our responsibility to see them them through that. We only get a few years to do anything for these kids, and even then it's just a sliver of time. And then they're gone. You've got to be strong. You've got to know your stuff, and you've got to be there for them." I'm paraphrasing, of course: This was months ago. But the feeling stuck with me.

There was this girl who, at the beginning of the semester, was having relationship trouble. That much was true. She showed promise, but also distraction. I knew a lot of girls like that in high school -- hell, I envied them, I was never the one who had the boys' attention, until Todd -- and I know it would've been hard for me to take any teacher's advice seriously (especially a male one) but I did what I could.

Basically, what it amounted to was taking her aside after class and assuring her of the potential I saw in her, and reminding her that things were probably going on in her life that felt the most important, but wouldn't seem so relevant down the road. And showing her perceptiveness, she rebuffed, "And all the classes ARE?"

I told her, "At this point, you're learning more about how to be a person than you are about books. We give you assignments and work not only to teach you their lessons, but how to learn, how to work, full stop. Having a life is important, but what's really important is to learn to balance it all, because believe me, it's never going to stop. There will still be boys, if you don't run off every weekend to hang out with them, and instead keep up on your readings."

And she laughed at this, but a little later when we started doing poetry, she was the only one to have anything memorized, and her insights were quite strong as well. She did a report on Sylvia Plath, which was a sort of "Oh God what have I done" moment (I kid, Plath-lovers.) Was it University-level? Of course not. But she's only a sophomore in high school.

Anyway, the balance-talk worked on both ends because I started dealing with school-related issues a little better, even taking a few extra assignments just to hone my abilities. It's still not my dream job, but I'm getting better at it. And like high school, my time here is limited, and in fact coming to an end sooner than later.

Anyway. It's late, and as always I have an early morning tomorrow. Todd sent me this album by this new Canadian band, Zeus. He loves it, but I think it's a little weak until the midway point gem, "Marching Through Your Head," and then there are some lovely tracks after that, such as "The Sound of You" and "At The Risk Of Repeating," which all makes me yearn for home.

I made him promise not to send me the new Broken Social Scene album. I don't want to hear that until I'm a girl again.

-Alia

Marc/Betty: I hate my hair

It's not the only thing about this body - well, this form; it's still my body, isn't it? - that I hate, but it's something that I just can't seem to get any help with. For all the hints Arlene can give me about every other element of being a teenage girl, dealing with African hair is all on me. I'm half-tempted to go out for the swim team just so that I have an excuse to shave it off, but that would mean more time in the locker room.

If Betty were college-aged, that might be fun, although I suppose that in such a case I might be mortified over other people seeing me getting changed, as so many other people who have been through the Inn and changed sex have described. Instead, though, I'm stuck taking a physical education class with a bunch of Grade 9 girls, and how do you not feel like a complete pervert surrounded by 15-year-olds? I usually just try to face the locker as much as I can and not make eye contact. I'm not sure which is worse, feeling disgusted at myself or the idea that I eventually may not feel that way.

Arlene feels it too, at least a little. About a week ago, she came home from a football game late. The Daves didn't much care, and why should they, but she shook me awake as soon as she got in (and I'd just fallen asleep!). I asked what it was, and she said she'd gone out with some of the other cheerleaders and players after the football game, and she'd wound up making out with the quarterback.

I congratulated her and rolled over in bed, but she pulled me back. "I told you when this first happened to me, I don't do kids! He's only seventeen, and he thinks I'm sixteen, so that's trouble no matter how you look at it! And I don't want trouble this time!"

"'This time'. You understand that these aren't our lives, right? That eventually, we're going to be ourselves again?"

She groaned, not wanting to get into the argument over why we haven't heard from the original Betty or Lasker family yet again. It's something we've hashed and rehashed over the past month and a half, generally along the lines of me and Big Dave not wanting to spend the rest of our lives female while Arlene and Little Dave say our lives our better and not to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Look, even if Betty and Heidi do show back up and want their lives back and we can give it to them, do we want to give them back screwed up?"

"So what's the problem? You made out a little, got grossed out, came home."

"What about next time? I've got a ton of teenage hormone juice in me right now, and this may come as a shock to you, but I wasn't so hot at saying no the last time!"

"I imagine you'll get better with practice."

"Yeah, but... Look, Rick and I have a double-date with Justin and Lacey on Friday. I can't back out, and even if this is temporary like you say, I don't want to leave Heidi with a bad reputation. Could you come with us? Be our fifth wheel, help me put on the brakes when I need to? I'll get better at this, I promise, but until I do..."

"Damn it, Arlene..."

"I'll find out what Keisha does with her hair. Her straight, beautiful hair."

"Fine! Just let me sleep!"

So the next day, Arlene asked one of the black girls on the squad how she got her hair straight, saying that "Betty" envied it but didn't want to look like she was ashamed of her African-ness. It turns out it's done with some chemical goop called "relaxer". We bought a container of it at a CVS before meeting the others for the movie (is it me, or is the beauty products section of a drug store much smaller here than it is back home?).

I was oddly excited about getting that stuff under control, and then the previews before the movie included one for a documentary with Chris Rock that shows that the stuff is incredibly toxic and corrosive, so that gunk got thrown in the trash on the way out. I'll deal with brushing if the alternative is something that can burn my scalp. As I said, this is still my body, and who knows if any sort of damage to it will carry over should I get to be myself again?

Arlene did, at least, promise to treat me to a trip to a hair salon as a "birthday" present (Betty's 17th was last week). Nice of her, I guess, and I don't have any reason to be suspicious of it, the same way I may of the restaurant gift certificate that arrived a few days later.

-Marc

Marc/Betty: Repeating a grade.

Having heard from both teachers, it's probably worth hearing from the one of us who became a student, right? I meant to post something about it last weekend, but we'll get to why as the time comes.

The first day, at least to start with, was almost too hectic for me to focus on what was going on. We got back to Newton late on Labour Day, and had to stay up late going through the mail that had piled up in the past month, looking for the things that directly pertained to us, with Arlene forging the signatures of Don and Jillian as necessary. The Daves were no help, although I can understand their perhaps being more focused on sleeping arrangements. Little Dave was trying to push the single-bed plan, while Big Dave was having none of it. She (pardon me for this, but not having met Big Dave/Jillian before, it is hard for me to describe her as a man, no matter how decidedly unfeminine she acts) was trying to get him to rearrange the bedrooms so that Arlene and I were sharing a room that night, but he was tired and we pointed out that maybe they didn't have to get up the next morning, we did, so why not save it for tomorrow?

Then they started arguing about who would take the couch that night. It was, I suppose, kind of darkly funny, with "Jillian" saying that "Donald" should do it because he's the man, and then "Don" riposting that she'd spent the entire weekend saying she wasn't really a woman. Finally I said I would do it, just so I could get some sleep. I got everything I figured I would need out of the spare bedroom, set my alarm, and somehow got five hours of sleep before getting up the next morning and having Heidi drag my half-awake self drag me through the process of getting ready.

Getting to school wasn't too hard; Heidi had left instructions on how to use both Newton's own bus system and the MBTA to do it. We arrived a bit early, and then she arranged to tag along as the vice-principal gave me a quick tour of the grounds, since Betty hadn't flown in from Africa for orientation like new students or attended for two years like Heidi had. It was, I had to admit, impressive, far more so than the public school I attended outside Montreal twenty years ago - we certainly didn't have a swimming pool, a separate science building, or a miniature food court in the cafeteria. She was pleased to meet me, but noticed that my accent was different from some of the other Nigerian students they had hosted in the past. I'd done just enough online research to bluff my way through an explanation that Nigeria had as many if not more regional languages as an equivalent area of the U.S. I think she expected me to be harder to understand, but having lived near Montreal all my life, where it pays to be bilingual, I speak English fairly well, even if I still think in French.

The school day itself was mostly like I remember from my own high school days, only in English. The differences were striking, though. I felt odd standing for the Pledge of Allegiance, although I hope that at some point the unease will fade and I'll just be able to laugh at the absurdity of me, a French-Canadian man pretending to be a Nigerian girl, standing while the rest of the class intones this speech in a quite frankly frightening monotone. Most at least understand my not putting my hand on my heart and reciting, since I'm foreign. It at least means I don't have to spend that minute feeling uncomfortable about touching my underage breast.

The biggest change, I think, is that most of the students, "Betty" and "Heidi" included, have traded in spiral notebooks for laptops. I've got one of those miniature ones, "netbooks", that actually feels like it's about the right size because of my smaller hands. I'm still not used to taking notes that way, and neither is Arlene. Some of the kids just open them up, use the camera to record the lecture, with the intention of transcribing it afterward. For us, it feels wrong not to take paper notes, so I tend to jump between the two, occasionally writing my blog on Tuesday during classes I knew from long ago... Like French, my first class on that day.

Even though we know a fair amount of what we're being taught, Arlene and I are both putting in the time after school to study and read our assignments. We haven't heard from either the original Betty or Laskers, nor the new people taking up our lives, so I've got to make being Betty work; though I doubt they'd deport me for failing my first chemistry test, why do anything more that might move me closer to having first-hand knowledge of what Nigeria is like?

I also must say, I don't know whether to be impressed or alarmed with how clever Arlene is in terms of insinuating herself into Heidi's life, especially since I appear to be one of her primary tools for doings so. For example, last weekend, I'd been planning on just resting, maybe getting into contact with the other transformees in the Boston area or even catching a train back up to Old Orchard to see if we could meet the new us or learn more about the Inn. Instead, though, she decides it's important that we hang around with Heidi's friends.

I say she should have fun with that, but she says it's important I come along - after all, even if the Inn's curse keeps people believing that we're who we appear to be, it doesn't give us any information. But, stick a stranger in the middle, and Heidi's girlfriends will explain every little detail. So now Arlene's got the lowdown on who Heidi was dating, why they broke up earlier in the summer, which members of the cheerleading team were bitches and which weren't, and similar information about the teachers.

Useful, I suppose, although it's rather creepy when, on Sunday night, the sweet-looking young girl combing her hair tells you how it's just like reading johns, figuring out how to get them to talk about themselves, fill you in so that they feel like they're making a connection. She's quite matter-of-fact about that, and it's a little scary, to be honest - as much as the new body situation is freaking me out, she is genuinely enjoying being young again, and sees a new life laid out ahead of her as a blessing rather than the frightening situation it seems to me, but there are moments when it's very clear that she certainly hasn't put her old one completely behind her.

-Marc

Alia/Rob: Mr. Garcia's World

For starters -- no, I am not teaching at the same high school as Tony Danza.

For the last few weeks I've been doing Rob's job, teaching his classes. I won't lie, I'm not the least qualified person that could've been put in his shoes, but it doesn't mean I've been loving it. It's been... educational, I suppose you could say.

Given that I appear to be a person who has been doing this job, teaching high school, for several years, I didn't expect anyone to cut me slack while I found my footing. I came in intent on running things by the books and just taking as straightforward a route as I can. Not ruffling any feathers. To date, nobody has called me out on my performance, which shouldn't come as a surprise I guess, even if I'm often self-conscious about it.

What I discovered after a week or two is that I really hate doing that. I lose focus on the topic at hand, I go on tangents, I get distracted when the kids start acting up and I lose control. It's a waste of energy.

I decided that the only way I'm going to survive this job (by which I mean not "avoid getting fired" but rather "keep from exploding") is to do it my way. Free-form it. To my (partial) surprise I've found I've got a bit of knack for improvising my way through this whole thing, maybe because I always had an appreciation for teachers who seemed to love their material, so deep down I'm emulating their behaviour. (I should get out of the habit of using my beloved Canadian spellings, shouldn't I...)

I teach three classes through the day, each with something of a different strategy. Second period (man I love having first period off so I can arrive late or just hang around the teacher's lounge) I teach Grade 9 English (er, "Ninth Grade") which is mostly language-based, so I'm doing lesson-plan stuff involving sentence-diagrams, symbolic language, fairly basic stuff. A little later will be book reports mixed in, but for now its grammar hour.

Third period I move up to grade 10 (again, "Tenth Grade") where we've started with some short story discussions and in October we'll be moving on to Romeo and Juliet, one of my favourites. So far, some of the kids have made some very intriguing observations about the stories we've studied. It's led to some cool discussions I was glad to witness.

One thing you can't say about these kids is that they're dumb. Okay, some of them are, but it's not to the level where I would give up on them, because they all show promise and good critical thinking, even if it is sometimes misplaced. (One student spent about ten minutes laying out a case that Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery" was about racism, which was an interesting extrapolation if a little creative/colorful/misguided.)

Anyway. I don't know how much time I want to spend talking about the job, but at the same time that is most of what's going on in my life. Todd and I talk a lot on MSN and he's been saying I should be posting more, and I say the same thing to him, so this is me trying to encourage him. As usual I have to set the example (long story.)

I almost didn't mention, my last class, fifth period (after getting fourth for lunch) which is American History. I'll admit, that's still mainly me reading from a textbook. It'll be more interesting when the kids start doing historical re-creations and such later in the semester.

So yeah, the first couple weeks have been a bit of a blur. It's so weird being among these kids and looking like a real adult, as opposed to, I dunno, I guess I really am an adult but as a 24-year-old grad student a high school kid might feel more like my contemporary even though the grade 9's were born after Kurt Cobain died. That's messed up.

So anyway. I haven't gotten around to writing about it for a few reasons. For starters, I get pretty tired by the time I finally get home I just want to hang out on the couch with my hand down my pants (seriously, why are those things never comfortable unless I'm cupping them? Rhetorical question. Also, exaggeration-but-not-really.) For another thing, it's not a huge part of the "Strange being a man" story this blog seems more geared toward. I mean, I guess anything is fair game, but whether I just adapted quickly, or I lost interest, I just have a hard time discerning exactly what I should be writing here. So if I disappear for long spans, I apologize in advance.

I mean, yes, it is extremely odd walking around a high school full of teenagers and being looked at as some kind of authority figure. Towering over a lot of these kids in my white shirt and tie. Being sure to avert my eyes whenever a girl tests the dress code just a little too much. Some things never change, and the desire for "a certain type" of girl to want to show off her body is one of those things. And I remember how all the male teachers who enforced those rules would be thought of as pervs amongst the girls... not that I was ever one of those "dress-code testing" girls (well, I've got some outfits at home, but they came later for me.)

Example. I was on lunchtime hallway duty with a male teacher friend of Rob's (and I guess, by extension, mine) about the same age, and as one group of girls passed he just shook his head and muttered wryly "My friend, we were born in the wrong decade." He laughed about it, but I was just grossed out.

I was never a "bad girl" and I don't think I was particularly weak-willed but it still feels strange that young people see me as being in charge of stuff. They ask me if they can go to the washroom. I CONTROL THEIR BLADDERS, DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?!?!

Ahem.

Yet that still does not stop them from talking when I'm trying to teach, or leaving their garbage behind at the cafeteria tables.

I still don't think I was made for this "inspiring young minds" thing, but I fake it about as well as some of the teachers I had when I was in high school.

Stressful, but... manageable, I guess. For now.

-Alia