Exactly as Officer Martinez said would happen, the judge ordered no contact with us. Two policemen show up with Dad, and they ask us to leave for a little while so Dad can collect items that he’ll need.

  Needless to say, I didn’t miss the look he gave me due to my outfit. I thought he was going to say something nasty as well, but he gnced at the police, and I suppose he thought it’d be best to keep his opinion to himself. Still, his expression irks me, but instead of returning his gre, I offer a sweet smile, which I’m very sure only serves to make him angrier. Then I make small talk with the officers until Mom takes my arm, and we head out for a long, leisurely lunch to give him plenty of time.

  While we eat, I ask, “Mom, did you make my doctor’s appointment so I can begin HRT?”

  “I did; it’s Friday at 9 AM. Though I haven’t confirmed with them since they just informed me st night. I wasn’t sure if you’d be here for it, so I held off. I’ll call them back and make sure they know we’ll be there.”

  I pull back from the hug, looking into her eyes. “Thank you. As far as I’m concerned, I can’t start soon enough.”

  She gently cups my face and murmurs, “I know, sweetheart. It’s just a couple of days, though.” I see her eyes mist over. “I was really looking forward to having a daughter. I had so many pns for us, but those have gone up in smoke.”

  I sigh and softly say, “Leave him, Mom.”She smiles sadly and shakes her head. “I can’t. I don’t believe in divorce unless it’s due to physical abuse. He’s controlling and temperamental, but he has good traits too.”

  I feel a surge of frustration, but I bite my tongue. I've heard this argument before, and I know pushing won't change her mind. Instead, I nod silently and step back, running a hand through my hair.

  “I understand,” I say, even though I don't. Not really. I promise myself that I’ll never again allow someone to run roughshod over me. Either they’ll respect and love me as they should, or I’ll leave. It’s as simple as that. “There’s a lot already happening, but we need to get my name changed and file for a new birth certificate so I can attend the academy. I’d like to begin before the judge allows Dad back into the house.”

  Mom nods, seeming nonplussed by my request. “Of course. I should’ve thought of that when you mentioned it yesterday. I'll call our attorney and get him on it.”

  *****************************

  Much is going on in the background for me. The legal process of my name change so I can get a new birth certificate, getting the paperwork ready to get all my transcripts changed to reflect my name and gender, and admission to Starlight Girls Academy. The st one is a convoluted tale that I’ll sum up by saying, Mr. Devry called in a favor from someone who owed him one. Then there are several iterations of the same thing until it turns out someone was owed a rge favor by Mrs. Hoshino.

  As you can see, it was a dizzying list of events that got me admitted, but the results speak for themselves. Note to self: money and connections rule the world, so stop this introverted crap and develop connections because they come in handy.

  So, on Thursday morning, my phone chimes, announcing that I received an email from Mrs. Hoshino; the contents of it are surprising—because Mom hadn’t yet told me the list of events that got me admitted—and yet not. I seriously thought I still had to take the admissions test and go through the interview before that could happen.

  Anyway, the email and Mrs. Hoshino. It’s welcoming me to the academy. She states she’s well aware of my situation and that I’m not the only transgender student who attends the academy. She also invites Mom and me to come up for a tour on Friday. The only issue is we still have to wait for my transcripts to be changed before I can formally enroll and begin csses. In the interim, I’m still taking csses virtually so that I don’t fall behind.

  *****************************

  Friday morning, Mom collects me from my room, and we head out for my doctor's appointment. As we sit in the waiting room, she gently squeezes my hand and says, “You may not believe me, but I’m very proud of you.”

  I grin happily and reply, “Thanks; I’m kind of proud of myself, too.”

  She nods and returns my smile before I’m called into the doctor’s office. The doctor, Caitlyn Ellis, is kind, softly spoken, and understanding as we dance around the questions of why I’m female. I’m open and completely honest as I expin to her, in detail, that I’ve known I wasn’t a boy since I was 4 and the only reasons I’ve held off telling my parents. She challenges me during the conversation, and in the end, she agrees that I’m female regardless of my body.

  Before I leave, she faxes three prescriptions to our pharmacy: estrogen, progesterone, and a puberty accelerant, prepanatal dexntropin, which I didn’t even know existed. The accelerant is to increase the rate of my development and allow me to catch up physically to others my age. Once I have, they’ll take me off of it. After the appointment, we stop by a pharmacy to pick up my prescriptions.

  Back at home, I immediately take my prescriptions, then hide them in my panty drawer—better safe than sorry when it comes to my dad. I curl up on my bed with my tablet to read for a while to kill some time before we have to leave again. Mom and I are driving up to Starlight to take a tour after lunch, and after we return, Kelly Anne, a few others, and I are going out this evening. She’s being cagey about what we’ll be doing when she informed me that we’re going out. The only thing she said clearly was to dress comfortably but to make sure it was cute. So, Lord only knows what we’ll be doing. Honestly, the fact that it’s going out with people I don’t know makes me more than a little nervous, but I trust Kelly Anne, and who knows, I might even make a couple of friends.

  As I'm reading, my mind keeps drifting to the pills I took. How long until I start to see changes? The doctor said they’ll have immediate effects, but it’ll be at least a few weeks before any noticeable changes happen. Then I begin wondering just what I’ll end up looking like in the future. It won’t be either of my parents, I’m sure, because of the facial reconstruction surgery after the accident.

  My figure is the main question I have there. Will I look like my mom or what? I seriously doubt I’ll ever have her D-cup boobs, not that I’d want mine to be that big. At the moment, I’d happily settle for a nice B-cup. That said, Dr. Jalil has already told me that I’ll always be rather petite. Hence why Dr. Ellis prescribed the prepanatal dexntropin, though, as she said, it can only help so much. Too bad it wasn’t around a couple of years ago when they found out I had AIS. If it were, then my height might not be an issue now.

  Let’s be honest here; I am undeniably, absolutely, positively tiny at 4’10” and 74 lbs (147 cm and 33.6 kg). I’ve been warned that I shouldn’t expect my height to exceed 5’2” (157 cm). We shall see, and I still have hopes they’re wrong, but on the plus side, Kelly Anne says most guys love short girls. So, I guess yay for me.

  On to another subject of interest. One of the forum threads for transgender individuals has a very long, involved discussion about rumors of new surgeries for transitioning girls. It seems that a couple of doctors—their identities and locations are unknown or unstated—are reportedly using genetic therapy and organ cloning to transform us into complete biological females. I’m unsure how this would work because I am not a doctor, and I haven’t done any research on it. However, it’s worth saying that genetic therapy and organ cloning are common and have been for some time, so as fantastical as it sounds, it might just be true.

  *************************

  Mom takes her time selecting my outfit for the day because she wants me to make a good impression at Starlight.

  It’s a 90-minute drive to Starlight Girls Academy, and I’m both extremely nervous and excited to see what my new home is going to be like.

  Once security checks us in on his computer, he opens the wrought-iron gate, and we slowly make our way along the long, winding drive that leads to the school compound. Trees sway in the breeze, and immacutely manicured hedges line the path.

  We pull into the small parking lot outside of the administration building, and Mom turns to me with a smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Well, here we are,” Mom says, giving my hand a squeeze.

  We step out of the car and make our way up the marble steps to the entrance. The click of our heels echoes in the cavernous foyer. As I look around, I’m awed by how elegant the entire building is. The walls are lined with paintings, and there are intricate chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. A rge marble staircase curves up to a balcony on the second floor, where I can see girls walking around.

  “Wow,” I breathe, turning to my mom with wide eyes and feeling more than a little intimidated.

  “I know,” she says with a smile. “It’s quite something.”

  We head into the office, and Mom informs the receptionist who we are, and a few minutes ter, a stunning Asian woman in a pencil dress comes out of an office and makes her way over to us, her long, dark hair flowing behind her. To me, she looks like she stepped straight off a runway.

  “Welcome to Starlight. I’m the headmistress, Evelyn Hoshino, and you must be Jackie,” she says warmly, csping my hand. She eyes me up and down, clearly appraising me. She nods approvingly and then says, “My, you certainly are a pretty young dy. I can see you walking the runway someday.” When I open my mouth to protest, her smile widens for a moment. “Don’t bother saying it. Almost all our girls say there’s no way that’ll ever happen, and yet it does. About 85% of our graduates go on to work in design or modeling.”

  Mom beams as I blush, and I stammer out a thank you, caught off guard by the compliment. Her final statement definitely makes me think, though. I’ve never considered what I want to do with my life. I mean, I’m in 8th grade, and I doubt all that many my age think that far ahead. I certainly don’t. Right now, I’m barely able to pn for tomorrow.

  She then arches an eyebrow and asks, “So, what is it about you that makes someone like Mr. Devry call in a huge favor?”

  I shrug, but Mom says, “He’s a longtime friend of mine as well as our family attorney.”

  Headmistress Hoshino’s gaze flickers from me to Mom, her expression unreadable for a moment before she smiles again. “Hmm. Well, Mr. Devry has always had impeccable... taste,” she says smoothly, but it’s said in a way that I feel like I’m missing some additional context. Looking back at me, she says, “Well, I’m sure you’ll fit right in here, Jackie.” Then she waves over a student who stands up with a smile and walks toward us. “Jackie, I’d like you to meet Amber Wilson, the student council president, and she’ll show you around campus,” she says.

  A perky blonde bounds over, her ponytail bobbing. “Hi there! I’m Amber, and I’m pleased to meet you. You’re going to love it here, Jackie.” She steps forward and slips her arm through mine. “Alright! Let’s get the grand tour started!”

  Amber takes us into one building that is a cavernous library with floor-to-ceiling shelves. Then to a building with a state-of-the-art gym, yoga studio, dance studio, and modeling studio with an actual runway. She points to another building and says that it has two indoor Olympic-sized pools. It sits beside yet another multi-story building that houses many of the various sports venues. On the backside of it is a very rge, sectioned sports field with a track. She expins that while sports are not the focus at Starlight, there are many sports teams, some of which have won national titles over the years. They include badminton, basketball, competitive cheerleading, dance, golf, gymnastics, track & field, soccer, softball, swimming, tennis, and volleyball.

  She then leads us over to one of the dorms. “This is one of the six dorms on campus. They are one of the reasons tuition is so high here.” She smiles and waves at the girl sitting at a desk. Leading us to a room, she opens the door and waves us inside. “All of the dorm rooms are set up the same way. So, regardless of grade or position on campus, we get the same rooms. As you can see, they are two-person dorms set up like a 2-bedroom hotel suite. You’ll each have a private bedroom with rge closet spaces and an en suite bathroom, but the living space is shared.” She points out a small sectioned-off area near the entry door. “Most of us call this the kitchen. It has a full-size refrigerator, and microwaves and other small appliances are allowed but not provided. The only proviso is that all of them must have an auto-shut-off feature. Alright?” We both nod in understanding. “Good. We check them regurly, too. Next up, the dorm cafeteria, but don’t expect cafeteria food like you usually get.”

  She leads us back out and down to a door by the front desk and then inside. “Voilà,” she chirps as we enter what looks to me like a very rge restaurant rather than a cafeteria. 2-, 4-, 6-, and 8-seat tables are scattered across the rge space, and on the right side are a dozen service windows. She leads us deeper in, toward the windows, and begins talking. “The food here is excellent, with several options for each meal.” She looks over at me and asks, “Do you have any food allergies or special dietary needs?” I shake my head. “Mmm. Well, we have several girls here who do, and we accommodate them. The service staff works very hard to provide us with banced yet delicious meals. Alrighty then! On to the next!”

  We leave the dorm, and she points to two rge buildings near the dorms. “This is a salon, and that is a spa. Believe me, you’ll be happy they’re here. Personally, I make rather liberal use of the masseuses.” Then she leads us to a 10-story windowless building. She has a huge smile as she leads us inside and ughs when she sees my reaction once we get past the reception desk.

  “Officially, this is the Monroe Building, but we call it the costume shop. Everything you see is funded by our alumni and donors. Every floor is overflowing with racks of clothes and shoes from many eras of women's fashion. Thursday is dress-up day at school. You’ll be expected to select an outfit from here to wear that day that fits with the theme. It’s something fun we do to help offset what most agree is a rather grueling schedule. You can check out any outfit for any reason you want. However, you are also responsible for what you check out. If you lose it, tear it, or stain it, you’ll have to repce it. Many of us have, umm… shall we say, high-profile boyfriends and get asked out to events. So, if you don’t want to spend the money for a gown or evening dress, then you can check one out for the event.”

  We leave the building and begin slowly making our way back to the administration building when she stops and turns to me. “As you can see, we have a lot of amenities, activities, and such, so our lives here are good, but there’s a darn good reason. There are very few schools that have a css load like Starlight. If you aren’t up for it, then don’t attend. If you aren’t interested in learning all they offer, and they offer a lot, then don’t attend. If you believe you can just skate your way through by the skin of your teeth, don’t attend. If you aren’t willing to accept or provide aid to and from your fellow students, then don’t attend. I’m not trying to be harsh, scare you off, or in any way try to dissuade you from attending either. It’s merely that no one here wants or needs any dilettantes around to distract us.”

  I cut in and ask, “What happens when one comes? I’m sure there have been some.”

  The smile she gives me is almost predatory. “Oh, they never st long. They usually decide they’d be much better off elsewhere.

  “Alright, where was I? …Oh, yes. We have girls from 11 to 18 here, and as you progress, more and more will be expected of you. The staff and instructors only handle the most egregious viotions here because the student council manages the day-to-day affairs of the students. What that means is we are responsible for correcting and, if needed, reprimanding you for failing to meet the standards or vioting the rules.”

  “Regardless of the CCN report that said we are turning out mindless, docile, submissive dolls, the entire aim here is to become the best dy you can be. That means the best girls come here, and by the time they graduate, they are intelligent dies who are well-spoken, graceful, and not only know how to dress for any event but also know exactly what fork or spoon to use for what dish in the best dining settings.”

  She waves her arms around her and then firmly states, “We are a very tight-knit community of like-minded, driven girls. 85% of us leave here with offers to join the fashion industry; the other 15% go on to college… We’ve had a fair share of CEOs and executives among the alumni.”

  As we continue our slow walk to the administration building, she goes over the wide array of csses, not all of which are about academics. Then she tells us about some of the alumni who’ve been really successful. Some are CEOs or highly pced and respected executives, fashion designers, and nationally accimed models. She also informs us that we don’t have to do our own undry, as that’s a provided service.

  As we’re walking up the steps, Amber smiles and assures me, “We’re in csses 10 hours a day, 5 days a week, and you’ll be expected to fill in all of your non-academic selections too and pass them just like you would math or science. Then we have clubs, and on the weekends, the school holds events, or you can take one of the shuttles into town to see a movie or whatever. You just have to be back on campus and check into your dorm before 11 PM.

  “It’s great, and all the girls are friendly, even if we are competitive, so you’ll make lots of friends in no time.” She pauses when we reach the door and gazes at me with a serious expression. “By the way… you don’t look to be the type, but we warn everyone. Bullying, whether verbal or physical, is not tolerated, either on or off campus. You get one strike, and then you’re expelled, so mind your Ps and Qs, ‘kay?”

  Despite my nerves, I’m getting excited because, assuming she isn’t exaggerating, with a little effort, I can see myself thriving here. After we say our goodbyes to Amber and Mrs. Hoshino, Mom and I head back home while I smile my little butt off as my mind spins out different ideas of what attending school there can mean for me. Oh, and lest we forget, it’ll be a great pce to make connections, too. I can’t forget that.