Joey Prentiss is a 17 year old “assigned-at-birth-boy” who has just graduated from Port Jefferson High School on New York’s Long Island. Although she is decidedly not a boy by her own understanding, her parents, friends, and the world accede to society’s rigid notion of reality. Her parents are separated and divorce is taking its agonizingly slow course so, until she reaches the age of 18, she has to spend summers with her father, who has moved to Los Angeles.

Joey’s last summer before heading off to college turns out to be a completely different experience.

I thought about the night of our high school graduation party. The angry words exchanged between Rafe and his date Kelly as I stood by myself, an outsider, alone without a date, dressed even more casually than the most casually dressed members of the sports teams. I was startled when Rafe ran over to me and grabbed my arm. We exited the hotel and jumped into the car Rafe’s dad had bought him as a graduation gift. A steel blue Camaro Sport Coupe. As they say in all those B movies, we burned rubber, headed nowhere and everywhere at once.

Rafe stopped at a 7-Eleven on Nesconset Highway and bought a six-pack of Miller Lite. As we drove aimlessly around, Rafe unloaded all of his discontent to the night air. His parents had moved to Georgetown in Washington, D.C. because his father’s architectural firm had received a multi-million-dollar contract to design and build a dozen new hotels along the Eastern Seaboard for the world-famous Harriot Hotels company and their headquarters were in our nation’s capital. He was obligated to spend the summer in D.C. before attending M.I.T. in Boston, starting in September. He intended to declare engineering as his major. And he knew that I was headed to Los Angeles for the summer again to stay with my father and his girlfriend. In the Fall, I would matriculate at Columbia in the city. He almost screamed out that we might only see each other once or twice a year for the next four years at the very least. Given his emotional state and the six-pack of beer which he threatened to chug in record time while driving, I managed to out-chug him so he could stay relatively sober behind the wheel. When he reached for a can, I’d beat him to it. He really didn’t notice since he was in mid-rant. I was getting less lucid as the hours went by. I basically fall asleep when I’ve drunk a lot.

Sometime after midnight he must have stopped driving because I don’t really remember any more of that aimless rant-filled trip around the North Shore after we turned off the highway and apparently back-tracked toward town.

I heard a voice nearby muttering something I couldn’t quite make out. It took an effort but I opened my eyes. The sun was bright in the sky. It seemed clear I was lying on my back on wet grass. I turned my head slightly to the right and saw Rafe hovering above me. Finally, I could understand what he was whispering.

“So beautiful. Why are you so beautiful? It makes no sense. I love you, Joey…”

“Rafe? Rafe, where are we? Are we dead? Did you crash the car and kill us last night?”

“No, we’re alive. Good morning, Joey. I’ve got a hell of a headache.”

“It’s good we’re not dead. Remind me never to ride in any car you’re driving again—”

“We’re on Mrs. Caruthers front lawn. Jesus, how did we get here? It’s 6:30 in the morning. Sally’s gonna kill us. She must think we’re dead.”

“How can she kill us if we’re already dead? Where’s your car?” I got to my feet and looked around. It was a suburban neighborhood on a typical late Spring morning. I couldn’t see Rafe’s car anywhere.

“That’s a good question. We couldn’t have walked very far from it…before we collapsed on the lawn.”

“Hey, you young hoodlums! Get off my lawn! I’m calling the police!”

Mrs. Caruthers, a widow in her late ‘70s, was wearing a ratty old bathrobe and brandishing a broom like a martial arts staff. I didn’t doubt she knew how to use it. We ran like the wind off her lawn in different directions until I turned and saw Rafe disappearing from view. I changed course and caught up to him. I was always a faster runner than him.

His big sister Sally didn’t kill Rafe when we showed up at his house half an hour later but my mother read me the riot act. She would have been even more long-winded but I had to catch a plane to Los Angeles later that day. It would be a whole two months before she’d be able to finish her harangue.

LAX on Saturday, Noon Pacific Time. I had just arrived on a 6 hour direct flight from JFK Airport. Against my better instincts, I expected my father to pick me up. After all, it was a weekend and he’d have just enough time to meet me at the airport, drive the half-hour to his house in Sherman Oaks, drop me off presumably to Aunt Lori, and continue to the club for his 18 holes of golf. We were never really that close in the way most fathers and sons must be. I wouldn’t know. I’m really his daughter. If he had an inkling, he refused to show it.

I had been waiting, watching the human circus pass by me for almost half an hour before someone actually came to pick me up. It was Aunt Lori. She was her usual cheerful self, her reddish-brown hair in a modified bob cut, dressed in fashionable casual wear, the $500 Gucci bag that Dad had bought her for Christmas dangling off her right shoulder.

She was a good 17 years younger than my father. But I have to say, we got along really well. From the first day three summers ago we met, Lori caught on to my gender confusion. It became apparent when she surprised me one day returning home early from work trying on tops and skirts from her closet in their old house in Alhambra. They had moved to Sherman Oaks within the last year. Instead of going off on a screaming fit, she sat down with me and listened to my life story so to speak. Afterwards, we hugged and she promised to keep it our little secret. She knew Dad would never accept the fact his only son was actually his daughter.

The best days of the past two summers were when Lori and I would go out and about, doing things you might expect sisters to do. With her own money, Lori bought a small but functional wardrobe for me. These occasional outings were rare but exhilarating. All the time, Dad had no clue what his son was doing, traipsing through Los Angeles environs in fashionable teenage girl clothes. Since my father had no interest in sports, it was Lori who took me to baseball games at Dodger Stadium. Being from New York, I didn’t cheer for the reigning World Series champs but enjoyed the famous 10-inch Dodger Dog, peanuts, and popcorn while silently hoping they’d lose. There were boys my age who paid more attention to Lori and me than the game itself. I thought about how Rafe back home would react if he saw me now.

After we had lunch on the patio by the pool (Lori’s famous cucumber and tomato sandwich on lightly toasted sourdough bread and strawberry-mint iced tea), Lori ushered me into my assigned bedroom in their new house and opened the closet to display an all new wardrobe for me to wear that summer.

“Lori, I’m overwhelmed. You know my tastes so well.” I pulled out a pair of Jordache Designer Jeans. The embroidered back pockets with the horse-head logos mesmerized all the boys back then. “I hope it all fits okay. I am a growing girl.” I laughed self-consciously.

“My mother used to be the seamstress for The Children’s Theater in San Francisco where I grew up. She’s a whiz with a sewing machine—”

“But I’m not a girl. Are you sure she’ll be okay with it?”

“My mom? She’s the Mother Theresa of tailoring. Really, she’s seen it all and I mean all. She worked with drag queens in the Castro before the Children’s Theater gig.”

“I’m not a drag queen or…or a transvestite!” I objected heatedly.

“Sorry, Joey. I didn’t mean it that way. I know you’ve got some real gender issues. And hopefully one day the issues can be resolved.”

“I didn’t mean to shout at you either, Lori.”

“Try on that sundress. The cerise one—”

“Cerise? What you talkin’ ‘bout, Willis?”

“It’s sort of reddish pink. Here’s some underwear. You haven’t got boobs but this A cup bra will be convincing enough. And these compression panties will keep everything tightly packed. Go into the bathroom. You can close the door if you’re bashful.”

After I shut the bathroom door, I changed into my girl mode. It was thrilling in a strange way to put these items of clothing on one after the other. I tried not to look in the full-length mirror but I couldn’t help but peek now and again.

“When is Dad getting home?” I asked.

“I was going to explain in the car on the way from the airport but decided to make it a good surprise when I finally told you,” she said from behind the door. “You see, your father collapsed at the office about 10 days ago and had to be admitted to the hospital for total exhaustion. They kept him there for almost a week. Doing tests and trying to figure out what caused his collapse.”

“Oh my god, is he alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, they had to release him anyway. And he went back to work. Against everyone’s advice. Including his bosses. He’s in Santa Barbara now. He’s supervising the building of an office complex there and planning for a galleria in Goleta. He might be back home a couple of days every two weeks. Sorry.”

“Do they know what caused his collapse?”

“They think he’s in the early stages of cirrhosis of the liver. They gave him the name of some specialist in Santa Barbara that he needs to check in with every couple of weeks or so. But, you know your father, he’s already playing golf today at a club up there. His only concession is taking a golfcart to get around.”

“Well, to tell the truth I wasn’t particularly looking forward to spending quality time with Dad anyway. This is the last summer I have to stay with him. I’ll turn 18 in December.”

“On the bright side…” Lori teased. “On the bright side, I’ve been given the green light to work from home by Mrs. Glover, except on the days when I have to deliver the mechanicals to the printers or accompany her on sales presentations.”

“I thought you were planning to quit and concentrate on starting your own commercial art studio.”

“I don’t know, Joey. Your Dad’s been talking about us getting hitched after the divorce is finalized. It’d be more convenient if I stayed in LA instead of going back home to San Francisco. You’re not upset about your Dad remarrying, are you?”

“No, I’m fine with it. Good luck to both of you. Although I must say my father doesn’t deserve someone as pretty and smart as you.”

“I know you’ve had your issues with him but, Joey, he’s been real good to me.”

“Ready or not, here I come!” I shouted as I swung open the bathroom door, wearing the cerise sundress Lori had purchased for me.

“Oh my god, Joey!” Lori exclaimed. “You’re gorgeous! Now a little light makeup and you could be on the cover of Seventeen Magazine. No shit!”

I twirled with a wide grin on my face. “Oh, pshaw, you’re a liar.”

“Let’s go the living room. I’ve got to take some photos of you in that dress!”

Lori used up a whole roll of Polaroid film on me in my sundress. 8 shots. I tried to vary my poses. My left hand on my hip, looking seductively at the camera. My legs crossed together as I peered up at a spot on the wall behind Lori. Standing sideways with a come hither look. For the last one, I dragged my fingers through my hair and laughed like a classic Marilyn Monroe photo.

Lori spread the eight Polaroids on the coffee table so we could pick the best ones.

“I’d like to send one to my friend Rafe.”

“Do you want to do that? Didn’t you tell me last summer that Rafe’s mom forbid you two to see each other?”

“I think that’s as much Dad’s fault as mine for being uncertainly gendered. She accused Dad of trying to run over Rafe’s father with his car after he fired him for drinking on the job.”

“Regardless, what do you think you’d accomplish by sending this to Rafe?”

“I don’t know. Maybe show him what he’s missing out on. Oh, I don’t know, Lori. I’ve been in love with him since I was 8 years old.”

“And is he in love with you?”

“He called me beautiful more than once.”

She handed me the Polaroid I’d chosen.

“I wanted you to be confident in a dress like that,” Lori said in a serious tone.

“Why? It’s not like I’ll be walking around LA looking like that anytime soon. I don’t think I could actually look anyone in the eye wearing a dress. Much less makeup. Being in a crowd and being anonymous is one thing—”

“You’re wearing that dress tomorrow.”

“Sunday? Don’t tell me you’re taking me to church.”

“No, one of the stipulations she insisted on when Mrs. Glover let me work from home was that I’d be on call whenever I was needed. Needed for anything. Including personal things.”

“Personal? Like what?”

“Her 11 year old granddaughter is having a birthday party at her house tomorrow. In their backyard, which is as big as a ballfield. Well, almost. Anyway, being an ‘artistic’ type as she calls me, she asked me or ordered me to plan the party. Pull out all the stops. Activities, props, food, music, the whole shmear. You are coming to be my assistant. In that dress. As my prospective stepdaughter Joey Prentiss. She’s expecting to meet you.”

“Lori, how could you?”

“Don’t you look nice in that dress?”

“Well, yeah I do.”

“Don’t you want to see what it’s like to live as a real girl?”

“Well, yeah but—”

“It would give me points toward a promotion to VP of Marketing.”

“Oh, alright. It’s only a bunch of little girls anyway, I suppose.”

“There is a teenage boy. The girl’s older brother, Blaise. But, don’t worry, he’ll probably barricade himself in his room while the party’s going on.”