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Chapter 6--I'm Going to Disney World! With a laptop in her hand, and her girlified son at her side, Sheila rang the doorbell at the Brown estate. Partially girlified, Sheila thought to herself as she looked down at Brad. After reading his mom the riot act for dressing him up in Allison's sister's stuff, he insisted on not wearing anything girlie. And he'd do so even if he had to wash his outfit every day. He stood there in a baggy t-shirt and shorts with his hair tied in a low ponytail and tucked into his shirt. "Oh, Jennifer, you've come through again," she said after Mrs. Brown opened the door. "No problem," Mrs. Brown replied. "Got everything you need?" "Actually, I need a cable," Sheila answered. "Right this way," Sheila said as Jennifer led her to the den. But she stopped Brad from following. "Brad, honey, be a dear and go tell the ladies we'll be right in." Brad looked mortified. "No," he said, not knowing what else to say as he looked at his mother. He was terrified to let people see him like this. "Oh, it'll be okay," Sheila said. "Now please do this for Mommy. Please." "That was weird," Brad thought to himself. He hadn't called his mother Mommy since he was seven. Yet she was referring to herself as Mommy on a regular basis. Not seeing any way out of it, Brad made his way to the TV room where a gaggle of hens were clucking and pecking at each other. The room grew silent when Brad entered. "Oh my word, what a pretty little girl," one of the women said. "But look how she's dressed," another said. "What's her mother thinking?" asked a third. Brad told the ladies his mother would be right there when Mrs. Forrester spoke. "There aren't any girls here," Rose Forrester explained. "But the boys are outside playing football." "Football?" Brad said as his face lit up. "I love football." "Mrs. Brown has a daughter about your age," the socialite continued. "I'll bet she has some pompoms you can borrow." "Pompoms?" Brad didn't know what she meant. Brad's smile turned vile. "I'm a man d--." He meant to say "dang it," but he caught himself. Oh no? What did he just say. "Amanda? What a pretty name," one of the ladies said. "Oh Amanda, of course you CAN play," Mrs. Forrester continued. "We women can do a lot of things. But if you ever want a boyfriend you have to learn how to carry yourself. You can't compete with them." "I don't want to a boyfriend," Brad said and ran off. As he passed his mother and Mrs. Brown in the, Sheila noticed a scowl. It was only magnified as he slammed the back door harder than a girl his age should. "Oh dear," Rose Forrester said to Sheila. "You're not going to let her rough house with the boys are you?" "Um," Sheila said hesitantly. "But she likes to play football." "She's your daughter," one of the ladies added disapprovingly. "At her age, I'd insist that she stop playing with boys. It can only lead to bad things." "It'll be okay," Sheila replied. "Now let me show you the benefits of listing your properties with me." Sheila hooked her computer up to the Brown's big-screen TV and started her PowerPoint presentation. This was great. Sheila was really connecting to these ladies. That is until she heard a scream outside. A door slammed and a boy about Brad's age came running in. "Mommy! It's Jason! I think he broke his nose!" "My Jason's hurt?" Rose Forrester said as she exited the room. "What happened?" "That girl did it," the kid said. "She stiff-armed him right in the face." Mortified, Sheila and the other women followed outside. Mrs. Forrester helped her son up and walked him back to the Brown home. Sheila and Mrs. Brown helped the boy onto the tile countertop in the kitchen. Having met her husband the heart surgeon when she was a nurse, Mrs. Brown put her own medical knowledge to work and tended to the boy. Wanting to crawl into a corner and die, Sheila pulled her female son into the other room. "What am I going to do with you?" She asked. She was really mad, but knew this had been hard on her son also. "I'm sorry, Mom. I was just playing football. I'm just better than they are." "Honey, you have to remember you're really much older. Even if you're physically the same age, you have to be careful around kids." "They treated me like a girl, Mom." "They said I couldn't play." "Right now you're a girl," Sheila said before pausing in contemplation. "Maybe you need to act more like one." "Mom, no." "I said 'act,'" Sheila clarified. "It wouldn't hurt you just to act like a girl for Mommy." As Sheila made her way back into the kitchen, the mother's had their backs turned. Most of the boys were back outside. 'What a beast of a daughter," one of the women declared. "What a horrid little girl," another agreed. "That mother should be ashamed of herself letting her daughter act like that." "She doesn't even know how to raise a girl." "What an awful mother." The socialite women never even saw Sheila standing there. But if they had, the snotty moms might have just said it to her face. So Sheila locked herself in the bathroom and cried. When she came out, the mothers were leaving. "Sorry," she said to deaf ears. Though some of the women looked at Brad, none made eye contact with Sheila as they filed out. Needless to say, Sheila didn't get any listings. "Oh, Sheila, I'm so sorry," Jennifer said to her. "I don't do much with those women any more. They can really be cruel." "I don't blame you." Sheila sounded dejected. "Things just haven't worked out for me lately." "Don't say that. You're strong." "Maybe they're right," Sheila continued. "Maybe I am a horrible mother." She thought of how pretty and perfect the Browns' daughters were. And that cute little romper Maggie had was to die for. "Don't say that, Sheila. You're a great mom. Maybe you shouldn't be alone." "I need to get home and pack," Sheila said. "The weekend conference at Disney starts tomorrow." "Just what you need to get your mind off things," Mrs. Brown said supportively. "May I ask one more small favor?" "Anything." "Mind if I borrow something for the trip?" # # # Brad sat much lower in the seat on the way to Walt Disney World. That he could used to. But what he was wearing he couldn't. The former boy did not look happy as he batted at his pigtails, hoping they would stay behind his hear. But they kept swinging back. And to make matters worse, the pink ribbons with lace edging that held them in place were also in his periphery vision, constantly reminding him of his appearance. Brad sat for twenty minutes on the trip to Orlando before breaking the silence. Sheila felt bad for making him do this, but her heart also skipped as the preteen girl in the passenger seat played with her hair. "Mom, please" Brad said. "I know what you're planning." "What am I planning?" Sheila asked her son. Sheila thought back to the day Allison's little sister wore the same outfit, right down to the hair ribbons. Even pouting, her daughter was even prettier than Maggie. And Maggie was a cute girl. But Brad was perfect down to his flawless skin and natural blonde hair. She couldn't wait to see her friends react to what looked like the perfect preteen girl. Brad was wearing a romper. A crisp white romper with baby doll sleeves. It had big fluffy ruffles around the neckline, sleeve, and leg cuffs. Sitting in the car, the bunched frill in his lap gave the appearance Brad was wearing a skirt. His lace socks kind of matched the frills, and his white Mary Janes that Maggie wore last year fit him perfectly. Brad was just so adorable! "You're going to make me dress up like this all summer," he said. Questions also flashed through Sheila's mind. The thought of Brad dressing like a girl for the summer would fulfill a dream. Was it so wrong to ask him to play along? People judge people on their looks. Wouldn't he fit in better if he looked the part? Was she cruel for doing this to her son? Or was she protecting him? "And what makes you think I'm going to do that?" Sheila asked. "Because you love it. You love the way I look." "Oh, honey," Sheila sighed before admitting. "I do love it. Having a daughter to raise just like me is a dream come true. Even if it is only temporary." "I'm your son, Mom." "Not to the outside world you're not," Sheila explained. "Real estate is about trust. Raising a perfectly groomed girl shows people that I'm organized, loving, and I have my priorities straight." "People aren't going to judge you like that." "Were you not there yesterday?" Sheila asked sternly. "You're going to be around my colleagues all weekend. I'm being judged too, you know." "What if they don't change me back, Mom?" Brad asked, legitimately concerned. "And have you seen how quickly I'm picking up dance moves? I think they're making me a girl inside and out." "Well your dancing ability is partly a gift from Jenn Tech Industries," Sheila told her son. "They turned me into a dancer?" Brad asked sounding alarmed. "Not exactly," Sheila began to elaborate. "You have new legs. The process they used naturally enhances your motor skills, so you don't have to learn to walk all over again. Babies have no motor skills and have to learn the simplest things. Only athletes, through natural ability and lots of practice, are able to manipulate their bodies to do what their minds tell them. Jenn Tech has streamlined this process genetically. You would also be a better soccer player than most eleven-year-old girls because of the same process." "Well, I have a lot harder time with all those stupid arm movements she tried to teach me," Brad said to his mother. "That's because your upper body wasn't made by them," she continued. "Although Professor Chase says if you want your motor skills increased up top she can take care of you with a simple injection." "So I can end up on the powderpuff cheer squad? No thanks," Brad said and rolled his eyes. Brad had always been stoic and reserved. But since the change, Sheila noticed he was a bit more expressive. More muscles on his face moved to emphasize what he was saying. In all, it made Brad easier to read. "Now remember when we get there, you're my niece, Mandy." "Yesterday I was your daughter." "They just assumed you were my daughter," Sheila corrected. "But everyone here knows me and they know I don't have a girl." "Your niece could always be a tomboy," Brad replied. "A lot of eleven- year-old girls are. I know I have to keep my hair long, but I could just hide it in my shirt." "Honey, this is a unique opportunity for me," she said. "I always wanted another child: a girl that I could raise just like me." "I'm not just like you, Mom," Brad protested. "You have your mother's eyes, your mother skin, and your mother's hair. And based on those little jiggly things hanging from your chest, you have more things similar to me than the old you. Now what would other parents think if I let my little niece parade around like a...boy." "I knew it," Brad exclaimed. "I knew I looked too similar to you for this to be a coincidence. Did they use your genetic coding in some of their products?" "Yes, Brad, they did," Sheila acknowledged. "Back when Professor Chase was developing this technology, I let her experiment a little with my DNA. One of the reasons they were able to rebuild you the way they did, was the similarity between what they had on file and your genetic makeup. So you really are my daughter, even if it is only temporary. Now won't you please just indulge me a bit? You don't understand what a thrill this is for me." "But Mom," Brad tried to protest, "what's my girlfriend going to think if you make me out-girl her? And Randy's gonna rag on me forever. You know how he likes to joke." Sheila thought about Brad's comment for a moment. "Okay I'll make a deal with you." "Sounds like I'm going to be on the losing end of this negotiation," Brad said. "Well, I don't completely like it either," Sheila said. "But here it is: if you indulge me at this Disney World conference, and on a few special occasions to be named later, I'll let you be a tomboy in front of your friends." "So I have to be all girly at Disney?" "No one is going to know you here," Sheila said. Brad didn't have a good argument to counter. "What do you mean by 'a few special occasions?'" Brad asked. "That scares me." "I don't know," Sheila told her eleven-year-old female son. "But as your mother I'm not giving up my parental override." "Come on, Mom," Brad asked. "Can't we do a little better than that?" "If you give me a hard time about it, you're going to find yourself in dresses and pigtails twenty-four seven." Brad knew this was the best he was going to do for now, so he gave his mother a pouty look and crossed his arms under his budding breasts. Just before lunch, the two had arrived at Disney's Boardwalk Inn and Sheila went to register. They dropped their bags in their room and went to the banquet room where lunch was served. "Husbands get a day of golf, and boys get to spend the day at the ESPN Zone," the vice president of the company said as he checked the pair in. He was unaware of Sheila's personal situation. "Oh Mom," Brad asked. "Can't I please go with the boys? I've always wanted to go to the ESPN Zone." "No, darling. After what happened yesterday, I don't think it's good for you to rough house. You're a girl." "I'm a tomboy," Brad argued. "No, Amanda," she said, calling him by the female name. "I said you could be a tomboy in front of your friends at home. Now let's see what they have planned for girls your age." "For moms, you will feel like princesses after a full day of makeovers at the spa," the VP continued. "Girls thirteen and older may join their mothers for the experience." "That's a relief," Brad thought to himself. The last thing he wanted was another day in a beauty salon. "And for girls twelve and younger, you can relax by the pool for a couple of hours, but at four o'clock sharp you can feel like a princess, too, with a Disney Princess makeover! Aurora, Cinderella, Jasmine, Pocahontas, Snow White, and more." Brad was horrified. They couldn't possibly dress him up like a Disney Princess, could they? "No, Mom," he pleaded. "You're not really going to let them do this to me, are you?" "Oh honey, please do this for Mommy." Sheila referred to herself with that word again. "It's not really real you know. But it is very important." Brad couldn't believe this was happening. Though he'd hoped four o'clock would never come, the clock kept ticking, getting closer and closer to Brad's humiliation. There were seven girls including Brad in the group standing backstage dressed as Princesses or Disney characters. There was a Belle, a Tinkerbell, a Snow White, a Pocahontas, a Jasmine, and a Megara. Since Disney wanted to plug as many of their characters as possible, no two girls wore the same costume. They called the girls by their character name, and real name, out on stage one at a time to the applause of the audience. Each of the six had gone, and Brad could only hope they had forgotten him. But to no avail, the emcee announced, "And from Cinderella's Castle at the Magic Kingdom, we have Mandy Dowdy, eleven- year-old niece of Sheila Dowdy, as Cinderella!" Brad's heart was beating fast as the curtain opened and he walked out onto the stage. Brad was wearing a floor length powder blue princess dress with a silver satin bodice and puffy sleeves. He was also wearing satin and tulle underskirts that made the dress poof out, and had on white stockings and silvery shoes that almost looked like glass slippers. His blonde hair was pulled tightly into an updo topped with a tiara. They finished his accessories with a necklace, clip-on earrings and elbow- length shiny gloves. All eyes were on him, and camera flashes were going off in the audience. The bright red glowing from Brad's face was only partially the makeup as he walked onto the stage and stepped up on a pedestal high enough for everyone to see. He curtsied as they had taught him during the rehearsal, then stood there holding a bouquet of white roses in his glove-encased hands. The pedestal did a slow twirl for everyone to have a three- hundred-sixty degree view of him in his dress, before he was helped down and escorted off the stage. As a paparazzi followed, Cinderfella walked down the red carpet and was ready to take a seat next to his mother at the banquet table. In fact, maybe after a few minutes, he could hide under the table. But instead of sitting down, his mother stood up. She was dressed in a similar silver and blue gown with matching gloves. Her hair was up, much like his, and she too was holding a bouquet. The photographer took several mother-daughter shots along with some individual ones of Brad alone. Following dinner, they took pictures of all the princesses together, then all of the princesses together with their mothers. Then, each Princess was whisked away to a corner of the Magic Kingdom to enjoy a live performance of their story. He and his mother were helped into a horse-drawn pumpkin-carriage and whisked away across the Disney landscape. Once inside the theater, as Brad sat there in his pretty dress, he was definitely seeing the play from a whole new perspective. To add to his humiliation, during the intermission, he went out for refreshments when he realized he had to use the bathroom. And if walking in the ladies room wasn't bad enough, once inside, he realized he might as well have been wearing a straitjacket. There was no way he could get out of his dress on his own. Brad almost started to cry. He went back into the theater where he was compelled to ask his mom to come help him in the girls room. Sheila looked so thrilled as to be helping him do this, which only added to Brad's embarrassment. And to top things off, after he was done doing his business, she touched up his blush, mascara, and red lipstick as he was forced to stare into the mirror. Soon enough, the intermission came to a close and the two were back in their seats, when the emcee made an announcement. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special guest in the audience," he began. "Please no, please no, please no," Brad said with his gloved hands clasped in prayer. "The real Cinderella is here tonight in our audience. She's also known as eleven-year-old Mandy Dowdy. Mandy will you come on down?" Brad looked at his mother and she grabbed his arm and yanked him up out of the seat pushing him towards the usher. Mortified, he was guided up to the stage. "Hi there Mandy," the emcee said. "Or may I call you Cinderella?" "Okay," Brad said in a one-word answer. Though he had earlier thought it was funny that he picked the name Amanda, his mother one upped him and wrote Mandy on the registration form. Since then, that's what everyone has been calling him. "Isn't Mandy adorable?" the man in a white tuxedo asked and then he waved his arms in the air. The audience erupted in applause. "Are you enjoying the performance, Cinderella Mandy?" Though he wanted to say no, at this point he was too afraid of what his mother might do to him if he embarrassed her. "Yes." "So tell me Cinderella Mandy, I'm sure the audience wants to know," the silver-tongued emcee continued, "have you found your Prince Charming yet?" "No." The audience laughed. "I find that hard to believe that a girl as pretty as you doesn't have ten Prince Charming's," giving the audience a sly wink. Brad shrugged his shoulders and the audience laughed again. "Oh come on," the man continued. "Be honest with me. You do have a Prince Charming, right?" Brad didn't know what to say, but he wanted this to be over. "Yes." The audience laughed again. "Before I let you back to your seat, I have one more question," the emcee continued. "Is that okay Cinderella Mandy?" "Yes," Brad answered. "Only one more question." "Who is Cinderella Mandy's Prince Charming?" Brad didn't know what to say and was physically squirming on the stage. "I don't know," he finally answered, sounding very shy. "Oh you're thinking of someone," the man kept pushing. "I can tell." Brad didn't know what to do. He was on stage in the spotlight with an auditorium of people staring at him. Finally he answered, "Randy." "Did you hear that, ladies and gentlemen? Cinderella Mandy's Prince Charming is Randy!" Oh no, of all the names he had to say, why did he have to say Randy? His mom would never let him hear the end of this. But the emcee wouldn't stop. "And what makes this Prince Charming Randy so special?" Brad was squirming again, literally twisting his body and rubbing his ear against his shoulder. "He's the quarterback," the girlified boy said. "Awwww," the audience erupted with some laughter. "Ladies and gentlemen, let's have a big round of applause for Cinderella Mandy Dowdy who is here with her Aunt Sheila from Tampa." Lifting his skirts, Brad scurried back to his seat causing the audience to laugh once again. Then the emcee continued, "Princess makeovers are available at Cinderella's Castle in the Magic Kingdom and are available between the hours of eight a.m. and eight p.m. See your Disney representative to set an appointment." "Great," Brad thought. "I'm a commercial." And when the night was finally over, instead of going back to their hotel room, their Disney escort took them to Cinderella's Castle for a night in the Princess Suite. The room was made over to look like the storybook, and Brad began to feel more and more like his life was becoming trapped in a fairytale. After a few more pictures, inside and outside the castle, Brad's mother helped him out of the dress and into a girls night gown. At this point, Brad didn't even object and soon sleep overtook him. The next day was theme park day when everyone was free to do what they wanted. The parents had to meet for a conference at six o'clock that evening, but until then they were free to explore Disney or Epcot. As Brad was supposed to spend time in the sun, Sheila dressed him in a tiny sun-top and pink short shorts. She put his hair up in pigtails again and tied pretty pink bows around each. Brad had fun riding all the rides, and at times, even forgot he was a little girl. Sheila would sure remind him later as she took hundreds of pictures. As the time approached six o'clock, Sheila and Brad headed back to their original hotel room to get ready for the evening's activities. Sheila had to attend a two-hour business presentation and upon its conclusion, would have drinks and mingling for the rest of the evening. Needless to say, there were no kids allowed, so Brad was destined again to be stuck in a room full of little girls. Since the next oldest girl in his group was nine, Brad once more tried to convince his mother that he should be allowed to participate in the boys activities. Though his mother would hear nothing of it, she came up with another compromise. "If you want, Brad," Sheila offered. "I'll see if they'll let you in with the older girls. At least you'll be with people closer to your real age." Brad contemplated his options for a moment. Had he been able to do the same last night, he would've been spared the humiliation of being turned into a Fairytale Princess. Even a makeover at the Disney salon wouldn't have been so bad compared to what he had to endure. Plus those little girls he was with last night were truly children. He'd certainly rather spend time with teenagers than children. "Okay, Mom," he said. "I guess." A short while later, a small white bus pulled up in front of the hotel. Brad and a group of about ten teenage girls boarded. The girls ranged in age from about 13 thirteen to 15fifteen, and were two inches to five inches taller than he was. No one seemed to want to sit near him, and Brad was fine with that. He stared out the window as they made their way across the Disney complex. Eventually, the bus stopped and the girls got piled out. Brad heard all the girls squealing and looked up to see what had them so excited. They had arrived at the "Hannah Montana Dance Studio." As he followed them inside, Brad thought to himself he was the unluckiest person on Earth. The girls were all issued leotards and tights. In case any of the girls had no previous dance experience, the chaperone explained that the tights had underwear built into them. There was no need to wear their panties. They When they went into the locker room to change, Brad had never seen girls in this kind of state of undress. He couldn't believe how their boobs, hips, and crotches looked different from the male ones he had seen in locker rooms. Knowing that if he had another growth spurt or two he would look like these girls scared him. He quickly changed and joined the other girls on the floor. They were told to sit on the dance mats until the choreographer arrived. "I'm the fabulouso Bruno," the flamboyant instructor stated as he made his grand entrance. "You might have seen me on the hit show 'Dancing With The Stars.' And tonight I will teach 'you' to be Hannah Montana." With that the girls (except for Brad) screamed. "Tonight," he continued. "You should consider a competition. And the winner gets a fabulouso prize." The girls sat wide-eyed, waiting to hear more. "Do you want to know what it is?" The girls nodded their heads. "I said do you want to know what it is?" The girls answered, "Yes," in unison. "I asked you do you want to know what it is? "YES!!!!!" They screamed. Again, all of them except for Brad. "The winner of tonight's competition gets a fabulouso Hannah Montana makeover!" The girls all screamed again. "Now I want to hear a little about each of you and how much dance experience you have," he continued. All of the girls had at least some formal dance training, with the fifteen-year-old having danced since she was three. "Excellent," Brad thought to himself. "There's no possible way I could win this." "And you, Miss Mandy Dowdy, how much dance experience do you have?" "None," Brad said. "I haven't had any." "None?" Bruno asked emphatically, "You have none?" "Nope." "Do you know what we have here girls?" Bruno asked the audience. The girls shook their heads no. "We have a dance ...VIRGIN!" The girls roared in laughter. Brad knew this was going to be a very long night. Bruno got up and began to show the girls some of Hannah Montana's routines. He set up the camera to videotape their performance for his review. It was clear the older girls had been practicing them as they had every step down to a T. But then when they got to a particular number titled, "The Ice Cream Freeze," Brad's eyebrows raised. This was the dance Allison had tried to teach him the night before. It kind of had the feeling of a country line dance, in the words of the song were also the steps of the dance. So by singing along, the dancer would know what to do. "What do we have here, young dance VIRGIN?" Bruno asked as he drew attention to Brad. "It seems THE VIRGIN has come alive." "You girls keep the dancing," Bruno instructed. "I am going to work on THE VIRGIN." Bruno took Brad into a corner. "Your legs ... fabulouso," he said. "Your arms ... not so." He stopped Brad from dancing and painstakingly went over every upper body movement time and time again. Fearing he would never get to do his actual required exercise, Brad had no choice but to pay attention and work on every move. Bruno was skipping back and forth between the rest of the girls in one area, and Brad over by himself. As Brad caught glimpses of the other girls dancing the moves to perfection, it bothered him to the core of his being that if he kept this up he might soon be as good as them. Coupled with the instruction he had from Allison the night before and the expertise of the Dancing With the Stars judge, he almost had two dances down pat. He avoided doing as much work as possible, and rejoiced when the two-hour session was finally called to a close. "Gather round girls," Bruno said. "It seems I may have spent a little too much time with THE VIRGIN," Bruno told the girls and dismissed them to the showers. "You will have to wait for me to declare the winner in the morning, after I watch the TAPE." "Well there's no way I'm even on that tape," Brad thought to himself as he approached the chaperone. He had spent the night on the other side of the room. "Yes, Mandy," she said to him. "I really didn't get to dance that much," he explained. "Is there any way I could stay a little longer and get my exercise in?" "Sure, darling," the woman replied. "I'll come and get you when you're finished." Brad hit play on the boom box and began mouthing the words as he went through the dance. "Do the ice cream freeze ... Strike your pose ... Can you do the milkshake? Shake it shake it down low," Brad sang as he went through the three-minute song to start his exercises. And after only nineteen more times, Brad was convinced he had exercised enough and headed for the showers. The next day, one of the chaperones woke Brad up early. "Get dressed," the woman said. "You have a big day ahead if you." "Huh?" Brad asked, still half asleep. "You won the Hannah Montana makeover." Brad jumped up in bed and was instantly awake. "I won what?" "When Bruno finished his shower, the rest of the girls had gone and you were still in the dance studio practicing your moves," the woman said. "He was definitely impressed with the strides you made, but it was your hard work after the other girls went home that pushed you over the edge." "But I wasn't working on my dance moves," Brad tried to explain. "I was just exercising." "Well, whatever you were doing, it worked. You're getting a complete Hannah Montana makeover including wardrobe!" Brad tried to think of something, and think of something quick. "I don't really think I deserve such an honor," Brad said. "Why don't you give it to one of the older girls instead?" "Your mom said you didn't like people to fuss over you," the woman told him. "But she told me to give you a message." Great. His mom knew about the prize. "What message?" "She said you truly earned your prize," the woman told him. "But if you don't want us fussing over you here, she will happily schedule your Hannah Montana makeover back home." Brad rolled his eyes. Was his mother going to do this to him all summer? He wasn't sure of that answer, but he was sure he had to go along with it today. So forty-five minutes later, Brad had finished breakfast and was sitting in a satiny pink robe downstairs in makeup. His hair was already the perfect color, but the Disney stylists shaped it a little differently and cut the front into bangs. After adding some hair extensions for the extra body and length, Brad was truly cultivating the Hannah Montana look. "Are you sure you don't want us to pierce your ears?" the makeup artist asked Brad. "Yes I'm sure." "Would you like us to ask your mother?" "No, please," Brad said, his voice rising in pitch. "Please don't ask my mom." Then the chaperone came bursting into the room. "I've got some exciting news," she said. "Great," Brad replied, trying not to sound sarcastic. "Bruno loved your efforts so much, he is going to introduce you at the real estate luncheon today and have you lip-synch to Hannah Montana." Brad's eyebrows shot up underneath his bangs and his face got red with anger. "There is absolutely no way I'm going to dance around and sing like Hannah Montana in front of my mother and her cronies," Brad said. "This is where I put my foot down." "Oh, you poor dear. Your mother said you were really shy in front of large groups," the woman said. "She said if you rather, you can just show her back at home with a smaller audience. She says your Prince Charming would love to see your talents." Once again, Brad's heart sank. This was going to be the longest summer of his life. Backstage in full wardrobe, Brad was once again feeling nervous. As he stared into the full-length mirror, he couldn't believe the image looking back at him was real. The young girl with Hannah Montana hair was wearing a black T-shirt, a high waist pink ruffled skirt, and pink cowboy boots. Over the shirt was a three-quarter length opened vest which ended a few inches above the top of the skirt. But the outfit wasn't that simple, as it glimmered and shimmered under the stage lights. There were clear rhinestones every few inches apart, covering the vest, and black rhinestones, completely covering the belt on the skirt' s high waist. The shirt had pink rhinestones forming a star in the middle of the chest, and decorating the sleeves. With glimmer heart earrings, and a pink fingerless rhinestone encrusted glove, Brad definitely looked like a preteen starlet. "I am Bruno," the man onstage announced. "You may know me from the hit television show 'Dancing With the Stars.'" The audience applauded. "Ladies and gentlemen," Bruno continued. "We have a special treat for you today. Performing as Hannah Montana is Mandy Dowdy, the eleven-year-old niece of Tampa realtor Sheila Dowdy." A curtain rose and the music started. Brad was lip-synching and dancing to the hit song "Ice Cream Freeze," from the third album. And the parents with little girls recognized how he was dressed just like Hannah was in the music video. But what was more impressive was that the preteen Brad hit every move. After three minutes, the song stopped and Brad froze in place. The audience erupted with a standing ovation. "She's only eleven?" one of the other realtors asked Sheila. "Can you believe it?" Sheila answered back, very excited. "What great presence," another woman remarked. "She really carries herself." "She's very mature for her age," Sheila told them. Sheila Dowdy took home some interesting and important real estate trends from the conference. She met some colleagues and gained some possible referrals. Yet more than anything, she took home memories that would last a lifetime. And because they were burned to DVD and flash cards, they might even last longer. Chapter 7--Grandpa Needs a Hug "Hi, Allison," Brad said as he walked in the back door of the Brown mansion. His hair was in a ponytail and he was dressed for a workout. He was wearing shorts and a half t-shirt over his sports bra. Along with a duffle bag with a change clothes, he was carrying another tote. "What's that?" "My mother's oh so special blueberry cobbler," he said as he set everything down and pulled the pie out. "It's a thank-you for all that you and your family are doing for me." Allison came over and gave her female boyfriend a hug. "Awwww... You're so great," she said. "And awfully cute. I can't believe my boyfriend is so pretty." Brad hugged back tightly. It sure was different hugging his girlfriend like this. A crack of thunder broke their moment. A quick glance out the window confirmed it was raining. "It sure has been dreary lately," he said, trying to change the subject. "Florida thunderstorms. You can set your watch by them." "It sure doesn't make it easy to lay out, though." "Oh, that reminds me," said Allison as she zipped across the room and grabbed her purse. She pulled out several bright yellow pieces of paper. "Free sessions at the tanning salon." "Awesome. Where'd you get those?" "A research group pulled me aside for a survey. They gave me a bunch of free passes to the Sun Fry Tanning Parlor afterwards. And with as much sun as I've been getting, God knows I don't need them." Brad was very appreciative of the gift. Tanning in private, a room was definitely less embarrassing than lying outside in his bikini. Allison had some errands to run, so they decided to stop by Sun Fry. It was located in a strip mall right in between Nail World and the Carat Gold Pawn Shop. There were burglar bars on the windows, and seventeen-year-old Allison's BMW was by far the nicest car in the lot. And she was clearly having second thoughts. "This doesn't look so hot." "It will be okay," Brad assured her. He rolled his sleeve up and flexed a tiny muscle. "I'm here to protect you. Besides, no one's going to mug us in the rain." The two headed inside. Sun Fry was like a dungeon. The only light Brad could see was a purple florescent glow coming from beds lining a single hallway. For a moment they didn't even notice the little old man staring at them from a stool in the corner of the room. "Can I help you girls?" Allison was the first to speak "Do you work here?" "Gus," he said. That must be his name. "I manage this place. But you can call me Grandpa." Brad tried to take the lead as he would normally. "Hi ... uh ... Grandpa," he said in his little girl voice. "I've got some free tanning coupons." "You do?" "Uh huh," Brad answered. The way that old guy was looking at him was downright creepy. The clerk looked the coupons over and then Brad. "Free?" "Yep." "And how did you get those?" "My girlfriend took a marketing survey." "Girlfriend?" the clerk asked as he creepily looked the seventeen-year- old Allison and the eleven-year-old Brad up and down. "Not like that!" Allison interjected as she gave the old man a dirty look. "I've got six here, and they say twenty minutes apiece, so I'd like to use three." "You can't use three." "Why can't I use three?" "Too dangerous," the manager said as he shook his head. "No more than twenty minutes at a time." "But I need to layout an hour," Brad told him. "Twenty minutes in one of our beds is equivalent to two hours in the Florida sun." Brad's eyes widened. This was the best news he had received in a long time. "You mean to get an hour's worth of sun, I only need to be in there ten minutes?" "That's exactly what it means." "Are you sure?" The old man pushed a piece of paper into Brad's face. "Read the Attorney General's warning yourself." Brad quickly stepped back and grabbed the piece of paper from the geezer, careful not to touch his wrinkly hand. He began to read To himself. "The Florida Surgeon General warns that use of a tanning bed contains risks including ... elevated carcinogens ... may cause cancer ... no one under eighteen should ..." "Anything to bad?" Allison asked. "Nope. Sign me up." "Very good. That will be seventy-nine dollars and ninety-five cents." "Seventy-nine ninety-five? These coupons say it's free." "Read the fine print, Miss. It clearly states six free tanning sessions with the purchase of manicure and pedicure at Nail World, our sister store next door." "I don't have that kind of money." "Sorry, cutie-pie," he said as he reached over. "But hugs are free." With lightning fast eleven-year-old reflexes, Brad jumped out of the way. He stared out not knowing what to say. But once again, Allison was there for him. She reached into her purse and pulled out her plastic. "If I get my nails done, can she tan?" The old man contemplated for a moment. "I guess." "If anything happens, scream. I'm not leaving you." So Brad went into the tanning booth, and Allison left though Brad was only in there for minutes, it took Allison an hour and a half. After what seemed like forever, the two were finally back in the car heading for safety. "Well, I guess we're never doing that again," Allison said with a giggle. "I don't know. It only takes ten minutes." "Are you serious? Did you see the way that perv was looking at you?" "Yeah," Brad answered as a chill ran up his spine. "And it was really gross when he hugged me." "You let him hug you?" "He said he would take my free coupon away." "That's the grossest thing I've ever heard. I can't believe you." "It was icky," Brad agreed. "Especially with all of my new parts." "Don't you dare do that again, Brad. You're not that kind of girl." "Let's change the subject," Brad said as he hit the CD player. Though he hated the dance music, he knew it would shut her up. The two sang in unison for the rest of the trip home. Upon arrival, Brad was surprised to see his mother's car in the driveway. "Wow Mom, your home early. And don't you look great!" Brad greeted his mother. She was wearing a black cocktail dress along with high heels and elbow length opera gloves. Her hair was in an elegant updo, and her makeup was perfect. "What gives?" "I closed on a house today," Sheila explained. "Everything went smooth as silk and there were no problems with the paperwork." "Cool," Brad said. "So you banked?" "Yes," Sheila said discreetly. "I made a commission." "Awesome, Mom," Brad said. He was happy for her. With his father gone, and Brad scheduled to graduate after this school year, his mother really needed a profession. She really seemed to be liking real estate. "And I'm not going to tell you how much," she said to her son. "But let's just say it was a very big house, and now I'm in the mood to celebrate." "Way to go," Brad said. "But I don't know who you're gonna find to go out with you on a weeknight." "Yeah," Sheila paused and said with a touch of sadness, "Most of my friends are either home with their husbands or families." Brad walked over and gave his mother a hug. "I'm sorry, Mom," he said. "Maybe you can have a girls' night out this weekend." "Or," Sheila said as she held Brad at arm's length. "I could have a girls' night out with my niece tonight!" "Mom, no!" "I've already made reservations, and there's an outfit for you on the bed," Sheila told her son. Brad couldn't help but feel that his mother had set him up by making him feel sorry for her. "Can't we just order a pizza?" "Brad, Dear," Sheila tried to reason with him. "Like you said, it's hard for my friends just to drop everything to go out spontaneously. It would really mean a lot if you would do this for your mother." "You said I didn't have to be all girlie at home." "We won't be home. The restaurant is all the way down at the beach. It's almost an hour away." "Just let me wear pants." "And though I told you, Brad, that for the most part you could be a tomboy at home, I said nothing about your cousin Mandy," Sheila said. "And unlike you, Brad, I don't think Mandy is a tomboy at all." Sheila paused for another moment in contemplation and looked at her son. "Yeah ... I'm pretty sure Mandy is a girlie-girl who's in town for the Miss Orange Blossom pageant next month. You know the one.... It's the same pageant her Aunt Sheila won when she was Mandy's age." Sheila was using some of the same tactics she used at Disney World. Brad needed to put an end to this, or it would go on all summer. "You're bluffing," he challenged. "Try me," Sheila challenge back. "You say that when I dress and act like a tomboy, it embarrasses you. But even if you dressed me up all pretty, I wouldn't know the first thing about being in a pageant. I'd embarrass the both of us." "Not with a little bit of Finishing School you wouldn't." "Finishing School?" "Charm School for girls. Jenn Tech specializes in all kinds of beauty enhancements, including pageant training. I'd drop you off there in the morning and pick you up at night. Professor Chase tells me that with their accelerated learning techniques, you would be the perfect little lady within a week." "You mean they'd brainwash me?" "No," His mother wanted to convince him there was nothing sinister about Jenn Tech. "They don't brainwash people. But much like your dance moves, they can teach important skills very quickly. Posture, maneuvering in gowns and heels, and even doing hair and makeup can be taught in a matter of days. Those pageant girls will have nothing on you." Brad carefully thought for a moment as he paced back and forth. He had to make this good. "But Mom, I don't have a pageant dress," Brad said. He thought he had her there. "And I've seen the small fortune Allison's family spent for her and her sisters." With the money Brad's medical bills came to, there was no way his mom was going to drop cash on a pageant dress. "And secondly, I don't have anything that I could do for the talent competition." Sheila fired right back. "I'm not so sure, 'Hannah.' As I recall, you're quite the little dancer." That took Brad aback. He looked down at his feet as he went through some dance steps in his head. His mother was right. He wouldn't have any problem for talent. When he looked back up, his mother was holding a garment bag. "What's that?" "This," she said as she pulled the zipper down revealing a pink shiny garment with plenty of sequins, "is your pageant dress. You can thank the Browns." Brad was silent. His mother had really thought this through. All of the Brown sisters had competed in pageants. He should've known his mother could borrow a dress. "So what do you say you wear this tonight?" Sheila grinned like a Cheshire Cat. "Or would you rather wear it for the Miss Orange Blossom pageant?" Realizing he had little choice, Brad walked dejectedly up the stairs to get ready for his shower. He tucked his shoulder-length hair into a shower cap and turned on the water. The splash of the cold, hot, and warm water he experienced on his softer skin and tender parts sent eerie sensations to his brain. He soaked and rinsed off quickly and wrapped the towel around him like any girl his age would. He made the long walk to his mother's bedroom where she was ready to start on his hair and makeup. First, she brushed his hair out until it was super smooth. But Sheila wasn't finished. She grabbed rollers and tightly wound his hair. Then she started on her son's makeup. Once applied, Brad could barely tell he was wearing any other than the lipstick. The lipstick was called Tempting Toffee and gave his lips a wet, but natural look. Like the name implied, it actually tasted of toffee and smelled delicious. Brad had to admit, it wasn't an unpleasant sensation coating his lips with this stuff. Finally came the dress. The pink pageant dress had cap sleeves and the tight bodice was super-shiny with sequins. He was happy to see the loose skirt went a bit past his knees. But then his mother pulled out a taffeta underskirt, which he dutifully stepped into. She pulled it up causing the skirt to flare out, and the length to, well above where it started. Next, she sat him down on the bed and slipped lace socks and pink slippers onto his feet. When she pulled the rollers out, one by one, it resulted in a head of tight blonde curls. So they wouldn't lose their shape, Sheila must've used half a can of hairspray. Brad was now a walking fire hazard. At the restaurant, Brad received tons of compliments. Actually, his mother received a lot of compliments about him like he wasn't even there. But at least the food was good. Throughout the evening, Sheila would take Brad into the ladies room to repair his make-up. After a couple of times, she showed Brad how to do a few simple things himself. The car ride back from the beach was pleasant, albeit a long one. As the full moon beamed down over the waterways, Sheila glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was almost midnight as she looked over in the passenger seat where an eleven-year-old girl lay sleeping. That girl of course was her seventeen-year-old son Brad. "I really appreciate all you did tonight, honey," she said to the sleeping beauty. "Mommy's never had a daughter, you know. All of those years, I watched you follow your father around like a little version of him. But I've never had a little version of me. Now you're not going to be a girl for very long, you know. Can't you indulge me for just the summer?" A tear dripped down her cheek. The rest of the ride home, Sheila drove in silence. Chapter 8 Teen Queen The next morning, Sheila was off to an early appointment and decided to let Brad sleep in. With a mother's intuition it told her something wasn't right, and after her appointment she went home. Brad's door was still shut, meaning he was probably still asleep. She knocked lightly and turned the handle to quietly enter. The bed was empty, but had not been made. The pink nightshirt Sheila draped over her sons eleven-year-old body last night had been tossed on the floor next to the full-length mirror. Yet Brad was nowhere to be seen. Then her phone beeped with a text message. "It happened again, Mom," the message said. "I'm physically thirteen now. Allison took me to Jenn Tech. Can you come get me at five?" "What happened?" Sheila texted back. "I'll explain everything," Brad's newest message read. "And I almost forgot, I'm gonna need some clothes." It was now 5:30 p.m. on a hot summer day in Florida. A pretty blonde woman, almost forty, was driving an adorable thirteen-year-old girl home. The girl's honey-blonde hair was long enough to dance across the twin protrusions stretching her T-shirt. The newly-teen girl used her cape of blonde locks from making eye contact. Trying to look straight ahead, the blinding sun kept her squinting, or looking down at two perky breasts before her. Breasts, that yesterday looked like upside-down tulips, now resembled summer peaches. In an attempt to concentrate on the road, the older woman reached up and pulled her visor down, partially blocking the sun. The young girl reached up, too, noticing her long fingernails had been shaped and painted hot pink. With her seat belt fastened, she crossed her arms under her breasts. "You told me you were laying out," his mother scolded him. "I was," Brad argued. "Then how come 'THIS' happened?" she asked, as she gestured to the boy's newly acquired teenage girl body. "You know how the sun produces UVA 'and' UVB rays?" Brad answered. "Yeah?" "Well apparently tanning salons don't have both," he said and turned his head with a huff. In doing so, his long hair, once more, ended up in his eyes and mouth again. The ride home continued in silence as the young girl thought about the day: waking up to see she had grown three inches overnight. Her hair had grown almost eight, and her breast buds filled out to B-cups. To make matters worse, she had been subjected to the salon treatment again. Now, with the passenger seat visor turned down, the girl couldn't help but to once more steal glimpses of herself in the makeup mirror. "Mom," he complained. "Couldn't you have found something else?" Brad asked gesturing down at his glimmery vest, t-shirt and skirt. "I look like Hannah Montana again." Brad had been humiliated the week before when he was forced to dress up like the Disney superstar and dance like her on the stage while he lip-synched one of her songs. Now here he was again, wearing that outfit with his hair styled like the teen starlet's. With him now thirteen, puberty was in full swing. The girl-mones had truly started to assert themselves in his female body causing his hips to flare, and pockets of girl-flesh to develop in all the right places. "You don't have anything else that fits," Sheila explained. When they had issued Brad his Hannah Montana music video outfit, they purposefully fitted it a bit big. Since Brad was physically only eleven at the time, they wanted the clothing to be extra loose, and the skirt to hang down just a little more so. Besides, the Disney people knew most girls would cherish such an outfit, and they wanted them to be able to wear it for a few more years. They even provided Brad boots in three different sizes, so even as his feet grew he would still be able to complete the outfit. "But my hair," Brad continued. "Why did they have to make my hair like this, too?" "I think we've had this conversation. "It's a very popular hairstyle," Sheila repeated. With two growth spurts totaling four years, his hair had grown just below his bra straps. Unfortunately for him, in the contract he signed, Jenn Tech would determine the style in the length. He was simply not permitted to cut it. "We're just lucky that with the added growth, we are actually getting more credit for it." Brad was silent. Something definitely wasn't right. Jenn Tech was definitely trying to make a girl out of him permanently. He had to convince his mother. "Mom, there's something really fishy about that company." "Not this again." "I've been there a bunch of times. Not once have I seen another guy." "They specialize in women's products." "That's ridiculous. With all their money that they're making enhancing women, they could double it by doing the same to men. If they could make me just a little faster, I'd have a college football scholarship for sure. And if they improve my hand eye coordination, I'd surely make the NFL." "What's your point, Brad?" "Those enhancements would be worth millions of dollars. Why wouldn't they get involved?" "I don't think Professor Chase would be interested," Sheila explained. "She doesn't like men very much." "Exactly. So you're telling me that the fact that your son is a thirteen- year-old who dresses like Hannah Montana, dances like Hannah Montana, and has hair like Hannah Montana, is nothing to be concerned about?" "You worry too much, dear. I try not to. It'll give you wrinkles." Was she not listening to anything Brad was saying? How could she be this oblivious? Unless .... No. Brad could never consider that thought. There was no way his mom was in on the conspiracy to make him a girl forever. Was she? Brad felt the car slow down as they pulled into the driveway. His mother gently tapped the horn twice. Between the fact that Brad spent most of the ride staring in the mirror, the fact that his thick, full hair acted as a blinder, and the fact that his smaller frame set much deeper in the seat, he hadn't even realized where he was. Allison's! "What are we doing here, Mom?" Brad asked. "You promised I didn't have to dress all girlie in front of Allison. "We had a deal." "Well you don't have anything else that fits," his mother responded. " I don't know what we would do without the Browns." "So we're here just to pick up some more clothes? Could we please leave right after that?" "They've invited us over for dinner. Allison already told them what happened. Doctor and Mrs. Brown really want to see you." "But I don't want to see them." "Too late." The Browns were in the driveway looking at Brad and smiling. Doctor Brown opened the door, and Mrs. Brown grabbed him by the hand and helped him out. "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!" Allison squealed as she hugged her boyfriend. "You look just like her!" Allison was right. When Brad first received his Hannah makeover, he was eleven. But now he was thirteen, the same age Miley Cyrus was when she first started the show. Since Brad was a bit more developed than the average thirteen-year-old, he really looked like Hannah Montana in her mid-teens. The expert stylists at Jenn Tech did nothing to help Brad's situation by styling his hair just like the teen sensation's blonde wig. "Look how adorable!" Allison's mother, Jennifer Brown chimed in. "Sheila, you are so lucky." "Look at what you're wearing!" Allison continued. "I know what I'm wearing," Brad said embarrassed to the core of his being. He tried to calm his girlfriend down who was just so excited. "It's the same outfit she wore in that music video." "More than that," Allison said. She was so excited, Brad thought she might get hysterical. "Mom, Dad, look at what Brad's wearing," she kept going. "Look at what he's wearing." "Allison," Brad said trying to shush her. "You're embarrassing me." "That's the outfit Hannah Montana wore for her third season concert tour," Brad's girlfriend explained to the group. "And since the video for 'Ice Cream Freeze' was actually made from concert footage, it was also worn in a video." Mrs. Brown chimed in, "Allison's a big Hannah Montana fan if you hadn't guessed. All my girls are. I know more about Miley Cyrus just from osmosis than any adult should." "This is it Mom." Brad's girlfriend just wouldn't shut up. "This is the actual outfit she wore. Do you remember how hard we looked for these pieces?" "Do I ever!" Mrs. Brown agreed. Allison had been so obsessed with Hannah Montana clothes that she had her mom searching everywhere. "What do you think of Brad's new look?" Allison asked her father, who was silently studying the boy turned girl. Dr. Brown was a man of few words. But after some careful contemplation, one of the most respected surgeons in the community finally spoke: "Wow," the heart surgeon said. "And I'm speaking strictly from a medical point of view." Each of the Browns gave Brad a hug, and then walked around the back of the car where they pulled out boxes of hand-me-downs that were being returned to the Brown household. Since the Browns had three girls, with Allison being the oldest, their home was like a treasure chest of hand- me-downs. Brad remembered the ordeal they made him go through trying on clothes intended for Allison's little sisters. He hoped there was some way he could avoid it. "Well let's go inside," Mrs. Brown insisted. "Dinner is served." Though the housekeeper often prepared their meals, Mrs. Brown's cooking was nothing short of amazing. The lasagna was as good as the finest Italian restaurant. Delicious. At least his tastes hadn't changed. Once or twice, his hair sopped up some of the delicious tomato sauce on his plate. He wiped it off with a napkin, then tossed his flaxen hair behind his back. "I cannot believe how different Brad has become," Dr. Brown observed. "I know," Sheila said to the doctor. "He really hates being like this, but he knows how much his mother appreciates him playing along. I always wanted a boy and a girl, but that never happened. So for the summer I do have a girl. The only thing that's different about it, is that she's also my son." "The physical metamorphosis is nothing short of a wonder," the doctor continued. "Amazingly even his mannerisms and facial expressions are similar to Allison and her sisters sister at that age." "Professor Chase explained that in puberty, hormones cause different areas of the brain to develop," Sheila explained. A much larger part of the brain is devoted to communication. Men tend to just talk louder to get their point across, while women use different tones, pitches and more pronounced expressions to communicate. What you're seeing are just signs that Brad's brain is undergoing female development, much like his new body." "That is truly amazing," Doctor Brown said. "But aren't you worried on the long-term mental effects?" "Professor Chase assures me that when we make him a child again and he grows back up as a boy, all of his male attributes will return." "I guess they would." "But that's not all," Sheila continued. "Brad is required to exercise for an hour a day, and on some occasions has had to participate in aerobics and dancing. You should see how thoroughly he is picking up complex dance moves." "I'd really like to see that," Doctor Brown requested. "Whaddya say, hon?" "Mom!" Brad said as he stared daggers at his mother. "Brad's really shy," his mother told the Browns. "Well trust me, dear," Mrs. Brown said to him, adding insult to injury. "You're doing a fine job. You make a lovely young lady." Though Brad tried to make an angry face, the result was the cute pout of a teen girl, which only caused the adults to smile and laugh. When dinner wrapped up, Doctor Brown excused himself to his study. Mrs. Brown, Sheila, and Allison began to clear the table. Brad excused himself to the restroom, but scooted down the hall to the doctor's home office. "Doctor Brown? Can I talk to you for a moment?" "You can talk to me anytime," he said. "Is something troubling you?" "Of course something is troubling me," Brad said as he gestured at himself. "This." "You are some piece of medical science," the doctor said with a chuckle. "So what seems to be the problem?" "That's just it," Brad said. "I think they're trying to make me a girl ... forever." "Oh, Brad," the man said to him, "I think you're overreacting. The physical and mental changes you're feeling are simply from experiencing puberty from the other side of the fence." "It's more than that, Doc," Brad said. "Even the dancing thing they said about me is true. I can dance like Hannah Montana." "You know all of her dances?" "No," Brad answered. "Just one and parts of another." "Did you have to learn it, or did they somehow implant the knowledge into your brain?" "I did have to learn it," Brad admitted. "But I learned it fast. Way fast." "Well, I've known you for a long time, Brad," Dr. Brown said. "You always have been very athletic. Anything you put your mind towards accomplishing, you've been able to do. Maybe it's just that." "No," Brad said. "It's more." Allison's father paused for a moment. He did not understand the science perfectly, but some things didn't make sense. Was it that far of a stretch, that an athletic boy, who was age regressed to a nine-year-old girl, would not be athletic as well? If that person put his or her mind to it, it wasn't that unreasonable that he or she would be good with athletic tasks of the opposite sex? Doctor Brown was aware that Brad must be very uncomfortable in the body of a girl, especially considering the fact that he was younger now, his brain was less-developed, and female hormones that he never had before were coming into play. So he asked him, "Do you feel like you are mentally a girl now, Brad?" "No way." "Do you want to date boys?" "Absolutely not," Brad said. "And girl' s clothes, do you want to wear them?" Dr. Brown asked. "No," Brad said. "I hate dressing like this." "I know this experience has been very traumatic," the doctor said. "But there's a lot in play now, and I think you are worrying about things too much." "I'm Hannah friggin' Montana," Brad said. "How can I not be worried about it?" "If they can do what they've done to you, I'm sure they can undo it just as easily," he reassured Brad. "There's the question of whether they can," Brad said to the doctor. "And there's the question of whether they will." "It would be completely unethical for them to do otherwise." "I hope you're right," Brad said. The talk was making him feel better. "But I am still very interested in monitoring your dance abilities. Maybe I'd change my mind after seeing you perform," telling a partial truth. While Dr. Brown was interested in the science behind Brad's enhanced ability to learn, he knew what a thrill it would give to Mrs. Brown and Allison. "Really?" "I'd be happy to give you my professional opinion." If ever there was a good reason for Brad to perform like the Disney star, this was it. Maybe Dr. Brown would see that something really strange was going on. So as not to alert his mother, (whose side was she on, anyway?), that he was consulting with the Doctor, Brad went upstairs where Mrs. Brown, his mother, and Allison were boxing up clothes. "Look everyone, it's Hannah Montana!" Allison said, and then screamed like she was at a concert. "Ha ha, very funny," Brad said. "You're really getting a kick out of this, aren't you?" "Can you blame her?" Mrs. Brown chimed in. "In all seriousness, we would all really love to see you do that dance." Perfect. Brad couldn't have planned it any better. "Okay, I'll do it," he said. "But this is a one-time thing. What do you say to taking a break and doing it now? Dr. Brown is going to bed soon, and like I said, I'm only going to do this once." They adjourned to the dance studio where once again, Brad Dowdy was performing "The Ice Cream Shake" to a captivated audience. The Browns went so far as to pull up the music video and play it on the big screen while Brad was lip-synching with their karaoke microphone. At the end of the number, Mrs. Brown, Sheila, and Allison stood and gave him a roaring ovation while Dr. Brown sat and clapped. "That was very fascinating," Dr. Brown said. "Would you mind doing it again?" Brad agreed he would do it once more. But after three run-throughs, Brad put his foot down. "Okay, that's it. That's the last time anyon