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Thanks to Victor G for his editing and inspiration. I'd also like to thank Faith for her friendship. **************** Chapter 10 **************** I woke up Thursday morning with a pair of aching lungs, the result of keeping pace with my mother and her friends by matching them cigarette for cigarette. Some day, I thought, when I'm living as Nancy on a more permanent basis, I won't feel this way. But for now I'll just have to grin and bare it. The memory of hanging out with my mom and Susan and Margie was still fresh on my mind and I replayed the highlights while I lit my first cigarette of the day. Plain and simple, being one of the girls had been more exciting than I could have ever imagined and it would be something that I would look forward to doing every day for the rest of my life. I got out of bed with no intention of going to school. I was thrilled that I'd be able to stay at home and dress up as Nancy again, but I also dreaded the looming process of dropping out of school. It was just so overwhelming; I had no idea what was involved with dropping out. For all I knew, I'd have to go before a tribunal or a court. Perhaps that sounds silly but I don't know. I've never been friends with anyone who dropped out of school before, so it wasn't like I knew how to do it. First things first, however, I told myself as I drew a hot bath and eased myself into the luxurious, perfumed water. Nancy needs to get ready. I smiled as I carefully drew a pink ladies' razor over my legs and under my arms, shaving them for a smooth, feminine appearance. Even though I was an athlete, my muscular legs were slender enough that they looked great in a sheer pair of hose. I had just the pair in mind for today, a dark smoky gray that would look fantastic with the sweater, skirt, and heels I planned on wearing today. Oh my God, I thought. I'm mentally picking out women's outfits and shoes to wear, coordinating them in my mind. As Darren, I would never do that, I'd throw on whatever I found in my closet, just like any other teenaged boy. But as Nancy, I loved looking my sophisticated, feminine, stylish best. I grinned in anticipation. I really am starting to think like a middle- aged woman. I loved it! After getting out of the bath, freshly shaved and smooth and eagerly awaiting my transformation, I slipped into my foundation garments. There was some discomfort as my gaff tucking away my privates, but I got used to it. It was worth it to have that flat feminine-looking front. A padded girdle and bra with silicone breast forms gave me Nancy's false, mature curves. I made sure everything was in place before I sat before my lighted vanity mirror, eager to begin putting on my wrinkles and makeup. I pulled on a tight-fitting nylon wig cap, tucking away my boyish haircut. I reached for my Louis Vuitton cigarette case, pulled out a menthol Virginia Slims, and lit up. I took a long, steady drag and held the smoke in for a few moments before exhaling a thick cone of smoke into the air above my head. I was really getting the motions of being an addicted middle-aged female smoker down pat. I held up my cigarette in a mature, feminine manner. I smiled at my reflection. I cleared my throat and spoke with conviction in my Nancy voice: "My name is Nancy Peterman, and I absolutely love being a 46-year-old woman." I winked at my reflection, set my cigarette down in the ashtray, and started to work. First came the latex wrinkles, carefully applied around my eyes and mouth. I loved the way they made me look. So much older, wiser, and oh so feminine. After my wrinkles set, I began applying my makeup. I thought about all my friends as well as my coaches and teammates as I used a makeup sponge to work a heavy yet flawless layer of foundation over my face. Several guys on my team had called me the night before after practice. Coach Holloway had told them I quit and they all wanted to know what was up. I stuck to the script of lies my mother had helped me create. I told them that I was sick of school and was ready to make some real money. I told them a made-up story about a fictitious uncle that owned a fishing boat in Alaska. Yes, we had created yet another make-believe sibling for one of my parents; this time it was a fake brother for my mom, given that I - as Nancy - was now my dad's sister, and I didn't want to add any more to my dad's already large family. My friends had all seen the Alaskan fishing show on the Discovery Channel, so most of them swallowed my fibs hook, line, and sinker. They were pissed at me for quitting the team, but they were also envious of the "adventure" they thought I was embarking on. So much for my friends on the football team. I told the same tale to other friends of mine, ones who didn't play sports with me, but I'd known since I was a little kid. I also told my story to Gina Abramson. Gina was the closest thing I had to a girlfriend, but we'd hardly talked since I began my adventure into mature womanhood. She thought I was calling to say I'd found someone else and was dumping her. At first she sounded defensive when I called, but her defensiveness turned to sorrow as I unveiled my made-up plans for leaving school to go to Alaska. I won't sit here and tell you that Gina Abramson was the love of my life, because she wasn't. We'd had some good times together and we'd done a lot sexually. I liked her tons, but not enough to stay male and finish high school. I did, however, think a lot about what I'd be giving up sexually. Plain and simple, I liked having sex with girls and Gina had been great in that area. Academically speaking, I knew what I was giving up physically by changing genders and ages, but I hadn't really dwelled on the specific emotional consequences. I just knew it was something I didn't want to think about so I chose to push potential remorse to the back of my head. Any remorse subsided as I recalled how wonderful it felt to be an older woman with my mother and her friends, and how it felt to talk to Tim Moreland as adults and equals. They had all accepted me as an adult woman and that was enough to keep me going ahead with my plans. I was excited about my new grown-up life but I wondered if I would miss my friends and the life I was leaving behind. The strange part was that I really wasn't going anywhere but as far as my friends were concerned, I was. If ever saw them or ran into them, I'd need to pretend as if I didn't know them, which, of course, "Nancy" would not. In a lot of ways I felt as if I was entering the government's witness protection program. ***** After over forty-five minutes of painstakingly painting my face and touching and retouching up my makeup and nail polish (I chose a lovely rose color to match my lips, as several discarded cigarette butts in the nearby ashtray could attest), I was finished, completely aged and feminized. I stared at Nancy's lovely, mature face in the mirror. I felt a stirring in my loins, but my gaff held everything in place. I didn't dwell on it, wanting to see the entire transformation, completely appearing as an older woman. There would be time later to take care of things down there. I looked forward to it. Ever since I'd been given permission to start dressing up as Nancy, to look, move, act, talk, and smoke like a middle-aged woman, my still-adolescent orgasms had been amazing. Setting aside those thoughts for the time being, I strode over to the closet and pulled out the articles of the outfit I'd planned on wearing today. I pulled on the sheer, dark hose over my smooth, shapely legs. I loved the way the control top of the hose fit into place over my padded hips and bottom. Just like they would on a real older woman, I loved it! I next pulled on a silky half-slip, followed by a knee-length black pencil skirt. It fit great over my false curves and was just long enough to show off my killer hosed legs. I then carefully pulled on a lovely navy blue turtleneck sweater that was just snug enough to call attention to my ample false breasts. I finished up the outfit with the remaining pieces of my disguise: black leather women's belt; gold clip-on earrings; a slim gold ladies' watch on my right wrist; a wide gold bracelet on the left; my green- tinted contact lenses; my long, femininely-styled blonde wig secured into place atop my wig cap. Lastly, I slipped my feet into an exquisite pair of black leather pumps with slender 3-inch heels. The height of the heels made me slightly taller than average for a woman, about 5- foot-9, but nothing out of the ordinary. I checked my appearance in the mirror. Satisfied that I was once again completely passable as an adult woman, I spritzed myself with some Chanel perfume, tossed my cigarette case and lighter into my handbag, slung the bag over my shoulder, and walked confidently toward the kitchen, eager to meet another day as my adult female alter ego. I found my mom in the kitchen talking on the phone. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table next to her, crossed my legs in a feminine manner, and lit a cigarette. I noticed that she didn't even blink at either my appearance or so casually smoking in her presence. I smiled inwardly that she really was so accepting of my Nancy persona. Mom got up and hung up the phone. "Who was that?" I asked. I thought perhaps she was talking to either Susan or Margie because of the things she was saying about yesterday. "That was Dr. Giardi," she replied. 'I was telling her about your meeting with Susan and Margie. She was really impressed by the way you handled yourself." "Did you ask her about me getting the orchiectomy?" I asked. Mom's smiled as she lit a cigarette. "As a matter of fact I did," she said with an exhale. "So....Is she okay with me getting one?" I asked. Mom nodded playfully. "Oh yes," she said. "That and much more. You're not going to believe this, but Dr. Giardi has been making arrangements with a reputable surgeon down in Mexico." "Mexico? I thought Dr. Lipscomb was going to do it here." Mom closed her eyes and squealed. "What would you think if I told you we could go to Mexico next week and you could have an orchiectomy and the cosmetic surgery you need?" "You mean boobs?" I asked excitedly. "It's better than just boobs," my mother said. "While we were talking to Susan and Margie yesterday, Dr. Girardi was discussing your case with a surgeon who can do everything!" "Everything at the same time?" I asked hesitantly. "Not at the same time, but close," my mother said. "Our first day would be a consult. The surgeon will talk to you about how you want your body to look. Dr. Giardi said he'll show you pictures and you can decide how big your breasts and hips should be. He'll also talk to you about cheek and chin implants, but here's the really wild part. None of the implants you'll be getting will be made from plastic. You're going to get a fat transplant!" "Fat transplant?" I asked. "You mean they're going take fat from someone else and put it in me?" "Exactly! Its just like getting a blood transfusion except its fat." "Is it safe?" I asked. "Of course it is," my mother said. "Dr. Giardi wouldn't suggest it unless she was sure. But the best part is that it will stay with you forever! Dr. Giardi says that plastic implants can show once your body starts to age or lose weight, but its not like that with fat." "What about my skin? Can he make my skin look older?" I asked. "Absolutely! Dr. Giardi talked to the surgeon about it and it turns out that its easier than she thought it would be. They can destroy you collagen with ultra-violet lasers. It's going to be painful though. Dr. Giardi said you'll probably have red skin and blisters for about a week after the procedure, but afterwards your skin will look as old as mine. Your breasts will sag and you'll even have crow's feet around your eyes and lines around your mouth. Isn't that amazing?" "That is amazing!" I said excitedly. "And it can happen just like that?" "Just like that," my mother said assuringly. "Its complicated but its simple and by simple, I mean that its been done before. It turns out you're not the only person who wants to look older than they really are." "Are we going to have to stay down there for a whole month?" I asked. "Oh no! Nothing like that. We'll stay a week. Dr. Girardi said they could do your orchiectomy and the cosmetic surgery on the same day. You'll need to stay three days in the hospital and two more days in a hotel. They'll take the bandages off after that and we can catch a flight home. And then we'll go back after Christmas to get your vagina! Can you believe it, Honey? You're going to be a real older woman in January!" I did my best to tell my mother how happy and excited I was without letting on that I was freaking out. I reached under the table and squeezed my balls. Oh my God! Next week they'll be gone! "Are we going to keep having to back down to Mexico for checkups or anything?" I asked. "I don't think so. Dr. Girardi said that Dr. Lipscomb can handle your aftercare," my mother said. I pulled a fresh cigarette from my case and lit it using the one in my hand, then crushed the old, spent one in the ashtray. I'd done it without thinking much about it, but it did catch my mother's attention. "Not that I'm keeping count but it's hard not to notice how much you've been smoking lately," she said. "How's your carton holding out?" "I've got one more pack after this," I said nervously. Mom laughed at my perceived plight. "Relax, Honey! I'm not mad at you," she said. "I was just going to say you need to keep up with how many cigarettes you have left. I'd rather you didn't smoke at all, but since you do, I don't want to see you run out because I know how bad that feels. We'll stop by the store later this morning and buy you another carton. On second thought, we should probably get you two. Maybe you should start smoking the 120s. They're a little longer, so maybe you wouldn't smoke as many." "You mean like those long skinny brown cigarettes that Margie smokes?" I asked. "Yes," my mother said. "Those or Virginia Slims 120s. The Virginia Slims are white." "I like the way the brown ones look," I said. "They look so elegant and sophisticated. You know...kind of older and more mature. But they're so much longer than my Virginia Slims and they just barely fit in my Louis Vouitton case." Mom shook her head and laughed. "My oh my," she said. "You're worried about your cigarettes fitting inside your pretty little cigarette case. You really are a woman." I blushed and told her I was sorry. "I guess that does sound kind of silly." Mom covered my hand with hers and assured me that I wasn't being silly. "It's a part of who you are and who you want to be and I'm behind you 100%." "Thanks Mom. I know its hard to understand," I said. "It is hard to understand," my mother said, "but I was a little girl once too and I remember the way I felt." "But its not the same thing," I said. "I don't want to be a little girl. I want..." My mother finished the sentence for me, "You want to be a real woman and you want to smoke like one too." "Exactly," I said. "That's exactly what I want and its what I've always wanted ever since I can remember." "You know honey, if you want to try a More 120, we could buy you a pack and if you like them, we could buy you a long cigarette case like Margie's." I remembered the way the skinny brown cigarette looked in Margie's hand. A cigarette like that wouldn't look right with a younger woman, but they suited Margie to a tee. I looked down at my hand and wondered if I would look as sophisticated and proper as Margie did if I started smoking More 120s. I also thought about how cool it would be to buy them myself. I knew I looked older but I wanted to prove it and buying cigarettes was a good way to see for myself. "Do you think I could go in the store and try to buy them myself?" I asked. "I think that would be so awesome!" "Well, I wouldn't call it awesome but I can see how you would," Mom said solemnly. She paused as if she was trying to remember something. "Were you going to say something else?" I asked. She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I was just thinking about when you were a little boy." I exhaled and told her that I hadn't been a little boy for a long time, and sure as hell didn't look like one now. "I know you feel that way, but for me it was just yesterday. We're supposed to be best friends, and we are, but you're still my baby boy and you'll always be my baby boy, even after you become a middle-aged woman." "I can see you're really bothered about this, but why did you wait until now?" I asked. "I thought you wanted me to be a woman." "It doesn't matter what I want, sweetie. This is your life." "Then why does it sound like you're backing out? Is that what you're doing?" I asked, a note of fear in my voice. She was supposed to help me become Nancy, she couldn't undo everything now! Mom noticed my apprehension and patted my hand gently. "I'm not backing out, honey. It's just that this is happening faster than I thought it would. I thought I'd have more time to get used to the idea. Don't you see? I love you so much and I don't want to see you make the worst mistake of your life." I told her that wanting to be an older woman wasn't a mistake. "It's what I want, Mom. I promise." Mom bit her lip and shook her head. "What would you think about some kind of a compromise?" she asked. "Compromise? What kind of compromise? I hope you're not talking about splitting it down the middle between 16 and 46 because I don't want to be 30." "Actually, I was thinking younger than that. I was thinking maybe you could try out being a girl your age." I stabbed out my cigarette in the ashtray and shook my head violently. "I don't want to be a teenager, Mom. I don't want to be a teenage boy and I don't want to be a teenage girl. I want to be a grown woman like you." "How about just for a day? We could do it tomorrow and then you could go back to being older for your date with Tim." "What would that prove?" I asked. "I've never wanted to be a teenage girl and dressing up like one isn't going to change my mind." "Okay then. If you won't do it for yourself then do it for me." "For you?" Mom sighed and shook her head. "I'm 46 years old and I'm never going to have a daughter." "So you're saying this about you and not about me?" I asked. "Kind of yes. I suppose it is," she said. "But it wouldn't hurt you to try it out and I would really appreciate it." "Okay, so we're talking about being your daughter for a day? Just a day?" Mom nodded slowly. "And then I could go back to being older and we can go to Mexico next week?" "Yes. If that's what you want. We can still go to the bank today and get our passports." "So what would we do if I spent the day as your daughter?" "You know. Mother and daughter things. I thought we go shopping and do lunch. I've always dreamed of doing that," she said. "I hear the way my other friends talk about spending the day with their daughters and I get so jealous. And if you're up to it...I thought you might try on my wedding dress." "Your wedding dress?" I asked. "Yes. I've always wanted to have a daughter and see her wear it. I think you'd look so beautiful in it." I had to admit that I was psyched about trying on my mother's wedding dress. I knew exactly where she stored it in her closet, but it was vacuum packed so I left it alone. But still, I didn't want to risk showing my excitement because I didn't want her getting the wrong idea. "I guess that would be fun but its not like I couldn't do it later," I said. Mom shook her head and said, "Sweetheart, when you get back from Mexico, you're body is going to look like its given birth to triplets. Maybe I didn't tell you but that cosmetic surgery is going to add 20 pounds. You'll never be able to fit into my wedding dress unless you do it now." "And this would make you happy?" I asked strategically. "Absolutely! You'd make me the happiest mother in the world if you did this for me." "Then its a deal." "Okay then! We'll do it tomorrow," she said as got out of her chair and came around the table to hug me. "And who knows? Maybe you'll like it so much that you'll stay in school and become a cheerleader." "Speaking of school, I thought we were going to take me out," I said. Mom gripped my shoulder and said, "I suppose we should, but if you change your mind about starting out as a younger woman and growing into an older woman, we could enroll you in another high school." "Well let me drop out of this school first and we'll see what happens later," I said. Mom and I talked about my plans for dropping out of school. The thought of dropping out was liberating for obvious reasons. It would free me up to pursue my life as Nancy. On the other hand, I had to admit that it made me feel like a failure. I had never been the best student but I had never imagined my self dropping out of school. I also never imagined it would be so easy to drop out. I watched and listened as Mom placed a call to my guidance counselor. The call lasted less than two minutes. "Congratulations," my mother said. "After today, you'll never have to wear boy's clothes again. Your counselor said that I need to bring you in and sign some papers and that will be that." That wasn't what I wanted to hear. "What? I have to go back to school?" I asked. "You do if you want to drop out and live your life as a grown-up." "But what if I see my friends or Coach Holloway?" "I suppose you could run and hide but wouldn't you like to make one last stand as a boy?" she asked. "What do you mean- one last stand?" I asked. "Well, unless something really crazy happens, like the sky falling on top of this, today is probably the last day of Darren Peterman's life. Just think about that for a second." I took my mother's suggestion and thought about today being the last day of my life as Darren Peterman. It was strange because it made all the sense in the world but I'd never really thought about in terms of finality. I'd been so busy running away from Darren while running toward Nancy that I'd never really taken the time to think about what I was leaving behind. "I hear what you're saying," I said, "but it doesn't really change anything because I don't want to be Darren any more." "I know you don't, Honey. However, like it or not, Darren and Nancy are always going to be one in the same. You can't be Nancy without being Darren and you can't be Darren without being Nancy. I've heard you say things like that yourself." "Okay. So what are you really saying?" I asked. "I'm saying that Darren needs to leave Nancy a legacy. You were never a failure as a boy! Don't go out with a whimper now. I think it would be a big mistake and an injustice to yourself if you spent your last day as a boy with your head held low. Stand up for yourself like you did with your coach yesterday. This will probably be the last day that anyone from your school ever sees you again as Darren. Give them something to remember you by." "But how am I supposed to do that?" I asked. "By being proud of yourself! How else?" my mother said. "I want you to walk into that school with your head held high. You quit the football team and you're dropping school!" "But I'm not proud of that. I'm just doing it because its the best thing for me to do." "I'm not going to disagree with you about that," my mother said. "However, that doesn't mean you can't make the best of it. It's your last day, Sweetie. Have some fun with it. Walk with a swagger. Be an ass." "An ass, as in asshole?" I asked. "Why would you want me to act like an asshole?" "Because once you become a woman, you'll never have the opportunity to be an ass the way a man can be an ass," my mother said while trying to keep a straight face. And that's when it hit me. Today really was going to be my last day as Darren. A montage of thoughts flashed across my eyes and made me smile. "I can't get in any trouble today. Can I?" Mom raised an eyebrow and asked, "What are they going to do? Kick you out of school?" ******* I met my mother in the kitchen after getting dressed. Except for my pretty eyebrows, I looked like my old myself, and it made me feel naked and vulnerable. I was wearing jeans and a button down oxford shirt with a pocket on the front. Mom smiled at me and lit a cigarette. "You make a beautiful older woman but you're not so bad as a boy either," she said. "I feel stupid," I said. "What if someone gives me a hard time about my eyebrows? You know they will." "Fuck them!" my mother said defiantly. "Who cares what they think? Tell them you like the them that way." My mother and profanity weren't cozy bedmates so I was a bit surprised by her language. "Fuck them?" I asked. "Well...not literally. I was just trying to sound tough because I want you to be tough." I nodded and told her I'd keep that in that mind. I reached for my cigarette case but withdrew my hand. I needed a cigarette badly but I couldn't bring myself to smoke in boy mode, especially not Virginia Slims. Mom noticed my reaction and said, "I guess you wouldn't feel too tough smoking Virginia Slims, would you?" "Not exactly," I said solemnly. "Would you like one of mine?" she asked as she offered me her cigarette case. "They're Marlboro so men smoke them too." "But I'm not a man, Mom. I'm just a boy and boys shouldn't smoke." "No, Honey. Today you're a man so today you'll smoke like a man," she said as she retrieved a full pack of Marlboro Light 100s from her carton in the cupboard. I tried to argue with her as she tore off the cellophane and tucked them into my shirt pocket but she wouldn't take no for an answer. The cigarettes felt heavy and dirty and foreign against my chest. The top of pack was clearly visible as it poked out of my pocket. The pack screamed Marlboro and like my eyebrows, there was no denying that they were there. I felt ashamed. "Well aren't you going to have one?" my mother asked. I nodded sadly as I removed the pack from my shirt pocket and lit one. I inhaled a big puff of shame and humiliation and blew it back out. "Feel better yet?" my mother asked. "I feel better in some ways," I said, "but not in others." "Well remember; whatever doesn't kill you will make you stronger," my mother said. I chewed on those words as we drove over to my school. ***** We arrived at my school around shortly before 11:00 while classes were changing. I was never a wallflower and people knew me so I didn't go unrecognized. Everyone had heard the news or the rumors. I'd quit the football team and I was dropping out of school to go fishing in Alaska. People said hi to me in the hall. I saw their eyes drawn to the pack of cigarettes in my shirt pocket. It bothered me a lot but I was also very thankful for them. I quickly figured out if people were looking at my cigarettes then they wouldn't notice my eyebrows as much. I thought I might make it to the counselors office without seeing anyone from my football team when I turned the corner and almost walked into Coach Holloway and John Adams, our offensive tackle. John and I were friends and he was clearly glad to see me despite what he might have heard. "Peterman! You're back!" he said as he punched my shoulder. Holloway glared and the veins on his temples pulsated as his jaw tightened. "You're too late, Peterman. I kicked you off the team when you didn't show at practice yesterday." I'd like to say that I had matured enough from our phone conversation to not be intimidated but that wasn't the case. I could have said okay, and kept walking, but I remembered what my mom had said about going out with a bang. What does "going out with a bang" mean, anyway? Did she expect me to pull the fire alarm or start a food fight in the cafeteria? I looked at my mom for a little help and reassurance but things were moving too fast. Coach Holloway reached out and pulled the pack of cigarettes from my shirt pocket. "You and I are going to take a little trip to the principal's office, buster," he said as he grabbed me by the elbow and began leading me up the hall. "You're looking at five days suspension for bring cigarettes on school property," he said menacingly. The kids in the hall parted for us and stared as the coach dragged me behind him as he screamed and yelled about the cigarettes and my smoking. I looked over my shoulder at my mother who was following us. I could tell she was mad and angry but I also knew that this was my fight and not hers. She wasn't offering to step in and I wasn't ready to ask her too. Coach Holloway pushed me into the administrative offices and loudly announced that he had caught me with cigarettes and needed to see Principal Davis. Mrs. Colcheck looked up from doing her nails and sneered at me as she shook her head. She shot me a look that said I was a dumb shit delinquent. Oddly enough I'd alway had a case of the hots for Mrs. Colcheck. She was an attractive redhead in her early 40s and I'd seen the cigarettes she carried in her purse. She'd always been so nice to me when I was playing by the rules and staying in my place, but now that I wasn't, she couldn't even offer me a sympathetic look. "Mr. Davis is in his office," Mrs. Colcheck said. "You can take him back there." As Coach Holloway was pushing me down the hall, I heard Mrs. Colcheck ask my mother if she could help her. "He's my son. Can I go back with him?" she asked. "Mr. Davis always call the parents after something like this happens and he's had a chance to talk to the students. If you can just take a seat, I'll let him know you're waiting." Coach Holloway pushed me into Mr. Davis's office and dropped my pack of Marlboro Lights on to the desk as Mr. Davis scowled at me from his chair. Coach Holloway loudly explained my offense and did his best to make it sound as if I'd murdered something. If I had murdered anything, it was Coach Holloway's ego. Mr. Davis told me how disappointed he was in me and recited an excerpt from a lecture that I'd heard in health class. He also went on to tell me that it was customary to suspend students who had been caught with tobacco for 5 days. "I know you have a big game tonight, Coach," Mr. Davis said. "One of the biggest," Coach Holloway agreed. "We have to punish Darren, but if you want to, I suppose we could let you discipline him. It would save you a player and I suspect your punishment would be more difficult than five days of sitting around home." Judging by the look on Coach Holloway's face, it had never occurred to him that he might be able to have his cake and spit on it too. "I think we could work something out," he said. "We can dress him out out for tonight's game and then I own him for the next 30 days." "Thirty days sounds harsh," Mr. Davis said. "However, it will look better on your record than a suspension. Of course I'll only agree to this if Mr. Peterman signs a pledge to give up smoking immediately." He looked up at me and said, "Not that it matters, but I assume you're agreeable to the plea bargain, Mr. Peterman." I wasn't a natural born smart-ass, but I hadn't come back to return to school or to play football for Coach Holloway. I couldn't say yes so I had to say no, but I knew this was what my mother was talking about when she said I should go out with a bang. I looked down at the name plate on the desk as I chose my words. "To tell you the truth, Arnold, I think I'm going to be busy doing something else for the next 30 days," I said as I picked up my cigarettes and tucked them into my shirt pocket. "Now if you'll be so kind as to excuse me, I have an appointment with my guidance counselor and it would be rude to keep him waiting. Don't you think?" I turned around to walk out the door but not before I saw the two shocked faces with hanging jaws staring after me. I saw my mom standing in the doorway and I expected Mr. Davis to call after me, but instead I felt Coach Holloway's hand yanking on the back of my collar. He spun me around so that I was facing his red angry face. He was screaming and yelling. I heard my name. I heard the word "pussy" and I heard the word bastard. I couldn't breath because he had twisted my collar around my neck. I wondered if he was really going to kill me before I passed out. The man had definitely lost control and if I didn't do something soon, I was going to wind up seriously hurt and injured. I tried to fight back and get away, but the harder I fought the more he choked me. I did the only thing I could think of. I kicked him in the balls. When he lowered his hands from my neck to cover his balls, I round housed him in the face for all I was worth. Coach Holloway fell backward against the filing cabinet, knocking a painting loose from the wall. I dropped to my knees and rubbed my neck while I caught my breath. I looked up to see my mother rushing into the office. She was panicked and hysterical, but when I told her I was okay, she turned her fury on Coach Holloway who was still reeling in pain. She swung her purse like a mallet against the side of his head and he fell like a tree in a storm. My mother read the riot act to both my former principal and coach. She threatened to call the police and file a lawsuit against the school. Mr. Davis immediately grasped the seriousness of the situation and began apologizing profusely. He offered to overlook my tobacco infraction. Mom walked up to his desk and told him he could shove his tobacco infraction up his ass. "The only reason we came up here today was to withdraw Darren from this hell hole that you call a school." Mr. Davis escorted my mother down the hall to Mr. Edwards' office and assured us that he'd assist us in anyway he could. "We'll have his transcripts delivered to any school of your choosing," he said. My mother told him that wouldn't be necessary but if he really wanted to do something to appease her, he'd fire Coach Holloway before she got home to call her lawyer. Mr. Davis handed Mr. Edwards the discipline form he had begun filling out and told him to file it but not report it on my permanent record. He then urged Mr. Edwards to do anything we asked before shutting the door behind him and slinking back to his office. Although he'd been my guidance counselor for the last 3 years, this was only the fourth time that I'd sat in his office. I'd always been a good kid making decent grades. Up until now, I hadn't had a reason to see him other than the mandated once-a-year meetings. He seemed like a nice enough guy, a family man judging by the pictures on his desk and walls. He was older, probably in his late 40s or early 50s. Like most older guys, he was a little on the heavy side. His remaining hair was dark and salted with gray. He also sported a beard and wore glasses. If there was anything special about him it would probably be his blue eyes and mellow voice. He had nice friendly eyes that seemed to care. "That was quite a commotion down the hall," he said as he sat back down. "And from the sound of things it looks as if you got the best of Mr. Davis." My mother told him that Coach Holloway had tried to strangle me. He listened intently as my mother and I filled him in on what had happened in the principal's office. After we finished telling him the story, Mr. Edwards said that he hoped Mr. Davis would take my mother's advice and fire Coach Holloway. "The man is a loose canon," he said. Mr. Edwards looked at me and then to my mom and said, "So am I to take it that you're here to follow up on our phone conversation?" he asked. "Yes we are. Darren wants to withdraw from school and I believe you said we'd need to sign some papers." Mr. Edwards opened one of his desk drawer and took out some forms. "The process is simple enough," he said. "Both of you will need to sign on the dotted line and that will put an end to Darren's high school education. However, before I can let you do that, I need to talk with Darren about the decision he's making and the factors that led up to it. In other words, I'm going to try to change his mind." That's when my mother did something that surprised me. She took Mr. Edward's side. Of course I realized she was just playing along and I completely understood her motivations. My mother had a reputation to uphold. I'd almost been suspended for bringing cigarettes to school and I was dropping out of school. I suppose there was no reason for both of us to have to look bad. His soft blue eyes focused on the pack of cigarettes peeking out from my shirt pocket. "I take it that Mr. Davis and Coach Holloway wanted to suspend you for bringing cigarettes to school. Obviously suspension isn't on the table any more, but I'm still curious. Why did you start smoking? You don't seem the type." I gave him a shrug and told him I didn't know. Mr. Edwards nodded his head and told me had started for the same reason when he was my age. "Really? You smoke?" I asked. "Unfortunately, yes. I do smoke, which is why it pains me so much to see young people such as your self take up the habit." He turned his attention to my mother and asked how she felt about me smoking. "I don't like it all," my mother said. "His father doesn't smoke, but I do and we've always told him and his little brother never to start. He's just been so rebellious all of a sudden." "I see. How are things at home? Is everything okay with you and your husband?" "Things are great," my mother said. "It's just Darren. I know it's not drugs or anything. He's just got this crazy idea in his head that he's tired of being a kid and wants to grow up and go out on his own." Mom told him about her fictitious brother who lives in Alaska and owns a fishing boat. "Darren is going to live with my brother and work on his boat. I wish he'd stay in school and go to college, but I know my brother will watch out for him. The money should be good too." Mr. Edwards turned to me and said, "I have kids of my own and one of them is about your age. He's in a hurry to grow up too and I don't understand that. Being a grown-up isn't all its cracked up to being. People still tell you what to do. Mr. Davis tells me what to do and how to do it every day." "At least you're getting paid and you're making money," I said. "That's true," Mr. Edwards said. "And because I stayed in school and went on to college, I get paid well for being told what to do. I know this fishing thing sounds like a lot of money to you right now and it probably is. But what about 10 years from now? You're going to want to get married some day and raise a family. You won't be able to do that if you're making the minimum wage." I politely told him that I'd already given it a lot of thought and I wasn't going to change my mind. Mr. Edwards wouldn't take "no" for an answer. He wasn't overbearing, but he asked questions that made me think and he dissected my answers. Mr. Edwards was very persuasive. I think he would have talked me into staying in school if I'd been telling the truth about wanting to work on a boat. He painted a rosy future for me if I stayed in school. He made it sound as if I would have fame, fortune, fast cars and a pretty wife. Those things would have sounded good a couple weeks ago but not any more. Without question, I admired his perseverance and character. He had put his heart and soul behind selling me on the concept of staying in school, but for what reason? I seriously doubted that he earned a bonus or a commission for every student who stayed in school. His motivations were completely unselfish and I liked that about him. I looked at one of the pictures of him and his family that was sitting on the desk. I assumed it was taken some years earlier because Mr. Edwards had more hair and less gray. They looked like a happy family. He and his wife had two boys and one girl. I thought his wife was very pretty and I found myself wondering if perhaps he had a fast car in his garage. Fame, fortune, fast cars and a pretty wife. I was happy for him. I picked up a pen off his desk and told him I was ready to sign the paper. He looked at my mom one last time before sliding me the paper and pointing to the line where I was to sign. As my pen scrawled across the paper, I imagined myself signing an official document as Nancy Peterman. Dropping out of school took me one step closer to that goal. I handed the pen to my mother and had her sign below my name. We stood and thanked Mr. Edwards and he wished me luck. "Be safe on that boat," he said, "and try to give up smoking if you can." ***** I couldn't resist stopping by Mrs. Colcheck's desk as we were leaving for one final goodbye. She swallowed her sneer as I approached her. I looked at the nails she had been working on when Coach Holloway had dragged me into the office. She had painted them pink and I told her they would have looked better if she had used red, "And you might want to go a little easier on your make-up the next time. Too much makes you look like a drag queen. Don't you think?" I asked. She looked at me as if I'd hit her with a brick. "Nice job back there," my mother said as we walked out of the office and into the crowded hall. "Do you have any more loose ends or unfinished business to take care of?" I took a deep breath and sighed as I watched the students walking by on their way to class. I told her I didn't think so. "The only thing I want to do now is to have a cigarette and get out of these clothes."