By Christopher Leeson
Chapter 3
Tuesday morning came cold and bright. Donna stood before the full‑length mirror on the closet door, wearing the least objectionable outfit from Saturday’s shopping trip: dark jeans loose on her new hips, a charcoal hoodie two sizes too big, plain black sneakers. She yanked her golden hair into the tightest bun she could manage. Stray curls still escaped and clung to her neck.
The face in the mirror looked too soft, too noticeable. She scowled. It didn’t help.
Elisa appeared in the doorway, keys in hand, travel mug steaming. “I’ll drive you this morning — first day only. After that, it’s the bus. My showings start at nine‑thirty.”
Donna’s stomach twisted. A bus full of staring kids. Perfect.
“Cousin Donna Ellis from Iowa,” she recited. “Mom passed last month. Living with you. Keep it short.”
“If they push, say it’s still raw,” Elisa said. “Head down, short answers. The quieter you stay, the less they poke.”
The drive was silent. Donna kept her hood up until they reached the parking lot. When she pulled it down, her hair caught the sun immediately.
“Text if it goes sideways,” Elisa said. “I’ll answer if I can.”
Donna grabbed her backpack — Langdon’s old one — and stepped out.
Students milled on the lawn. Heads turned. Quick glances, second looks, murmurs. She hunched and walked fast toward the doors.
Inside, the office smelled of burnt coffee. “Donna Ellis?” the registrar said. “Schedule’s ready. You picked Automotive Basics — good choice. First period English 11 with Mr. Torres, Room 214.”
Donna mumbled thanks and slipped into the hallway. People still noticed her. A boy grinned as she passed. Two girls whispered, looking like they had just discovered the Nile.
In English, she took a back wall seat.
“Ellis, Donna?” Mr. Torres called.
She wearily waved her hand. “Here.”
“Page twenty‑six of The Great Gatsby. Read aloud. Somebody, give her the book.”
A boy passed her the novel. The girl beside her — curly red hair, band T‑shirt — leaned over. “Hey. You’re from Iowa, right?”
Donna nodded.
“Cool. I’m Kaylee. If you ever need notes…”
“Thanks,” Donna said while searching for the page.
The class dragged. She answered one question, short and correct. That was her active participation for the day.
In the hallway between classes, a tall boy slowed and let her catch up. “Hey, new girl. Name?"
“Donna.”
“Nice. See you around.”
Another boy whistled. Her cheeks burned. Langdon would’ve given him a shove for being annoying. Donna just kept walking.
At noon, she ate lunch at an empty table. Curious eyes drifted her way. A senior girl with a hairstyle combining dark braids with a ponytail stepped up.
“You’re the new junior from Iowa?”
Donna nodded.
“My name's Esther." She pointed at a group of seated girls. "You can sit at our table if you want.”
“Maybe I will,” Donna said with a tight, forced smile.
#
Gym was the day's last class. Warm‑ups, then dodge ball. Donna moved awkwardly — unused to her weight, build, and balance — but she still avoided most balls aimed at her. Her heavy sweat, however, made her shirt cling in embarrassing ways.
In the locker room, girls peeled off PE clothes. Unlike the boys' shower room, the girls had little curtained stalls. Donna ducked into a stall with her street clothes still on and stripped quickly, avoiding looking down at her own body. To keep from getting her gym clothes wet, she put them in a pile outside the stall.
The water felt good. Someone in the next stall was humming. A girl walked nude past the part in Donna's curtain, towel low on her hips, breasts bare and trembling as she stepped along.
Donna reacted. Her thighs pressed together. Her nipples tightened. It was an automatic reaction, but different from what she was used to. "Damn!" she thought. "This body can't even look at a hot chick and do it right!"
She carried the bundle of gym clothes with her back to her locker and put on her street clothes with shaking hands. The warmth, lit by her sight of the mostly nude girl, lingered.
After the final bell, she walked to the bus stop. Though kids glanced at her on the ride home, nobody spoke. From the stop she fast-walked home.
Elisa’s car was already in the drive. “You’re home early,” the girl said.
“Took the afternoon. Wanted to be here for your first day.”
“People stared,” Donna said. “A lot.”
“That's to be expected. You’re new,” Elisa said gently. “And… you’re pretty.”
Donna’s jaw tightened. “Stop saying that.”
“I’m just telling you what people see.”
Donna headed upstairs.
That night, she avoided the mirror. She put in the earbuds to hear the doctor’s recording. Visualize your true form. Strong shoulders. Deep voice. Temporary. She pictured Langdon filling doorways, taking up space. She fell asleep gripping her pillow like a lifeline, her drowsing mind still listening.
#
The rest of the week dragged the way new routines do. Cold morning walks to the bus stop. The same alley with the two older guys smoking. They never bothered her, but she kept her pace brisk.
By Thursday, Kaylee and her friends waved her over to their table. She accepted and took a chair with them. The conversation went shallow and easy. She contributed just enough to let people know she was present. This kind of socializing felt… manageable.
She dined with the other junior girls at lunch the next day. But they had a girl with them that Donna didn't recognize. She had dark waves spilling over a cropped black hoodie. She looked at Donna and introduced herself. "Hi! I'm Glory. I just transferred from Cedar Falls in Iowa.
"Hi. You must be crazy to want to a place like this," Donna quipped sourly.
“Rough week?” Glory asked, peeling the foil off a yogurt.
"Surviving.”
"I'm lucky that I met some people right after I got to town. Do you know Mike Potter?"
"No, I don't."
"He and three other guys have their own band. They invited me to join it. They wanted somone who could sing and dance."
"Are you sure you can trust three strange guys?" Donna asked.
"So far, so good. Say, doing anything tonight? The band guys are rehearsing tonight in Mike's family's garage. Guitars, drums, bad pizza. Come watch?”
Donna thought about it. She had no special interest in music, but she was willing to use it as the excuse to hang with Glory. “Sure, I’m in!”
Glory slid the phone across the table to her. "Please put in your number and address," she urged.
Donna did as asked and then slipped the phone back. Their fingers brushed when Glory took it. The touch gave Donna a thrill, both strong and unexpected.
#
After dinner, Donna rode bus connections to Mike’s neighborhood. His garage smelled of motor oil and old carpet. The band was already playing — tight groove, steady kick drum, two guitars weaving together. Briefly, Donna stood in the doorway, listening.
Glory hurried up holding a tambourine. “Donna! You made it."
Donna stepped into the garage, giving perfunctory nods to the four band guys, then noticed the empty dog carrier near the amps and sat down on it. While the musicians prepared for the next number, Donna mostly watched Glory.
Then the performance began. Glory moved with an easy rhythm — jingling the tambourine competently. And she also had a sweet singing voice and sang with her hips swaying in time. When the band played for her vocal, they got serious and bore down. Donna felt the shift in the room. Obviously, she wasn't the only one interested in Glory.
Glory laughed at something one of the two guitarists said. Donna felt jealous when the brunette focused her attention on the guy.
At the break, Glory approached Donna and made herself a seat by putting peach crate on its side, sitting close enough that their knees kept brushing. “We don't do too badly, do we?” she asked.
“Listening is better than staring at a ceiling,” Donna said. “By the way, you've go talent.”
Glory gave an amused shrug. “And I'm guessing you’ve got rhythm too. Whenever you stop stomping around like a gang girl, you can move in the cutest way.”
"The one thing I'm not is cute," said Donna.
"Of course you are. Don't you ever look into the mirror?"
"I try not to.
Donna blinked. “I noticed you talking to the Auto class teacher, Mr. Adams. How come?"
"My parents just gave me a car, and I don't want to be a dummy about it. Say, can we study together?"
"It might hurt our friendship."
"Why?"
"People don't warm up to me very easily."
"I don't believe that!" declared Glory. "Who told you that?"
"Nobody has to. I can feel it."
“Well, we’ve got to work at getting rid of that feeling. I know! This band could use more than one dancer,” Glory said. “Ever think about dancing?”
“No.”
“You might be good at it.”
“I said no.”
“I heard you.” Glory bumped her shoulder. “I'm just saying what I see.”
“I don’t know a thing about stage dancing.”
“Nobody knows anything when they're just starting out. I learned to dance from YouTube. I can teach you.”
Donna hesitated. She was being given an excuse to spend time with Glory. Cool. “Maybe,” she said.
“Wonderful.”
The guys began the second set just then. When Glory took the lead vocal spot on the last song, Donna watched her — really watched her. Glory was the kind of girl that Langdon would have loved to get things on with. A guy with a girl like Glory would be looked at as somebody. But he could never get any of the really pretty girls to like him. Right now, though, Donna had her antennas up to find excuses to spend more time with this girl.
While the boys straightened up the garage, Glory walked Donna to the bus stop. “Thanks for coming,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll wait with you. Every neighborhood is swarming with creeps.”
“I’m finding that out,” Donna said. “That’s why I always dress to not draw attention.”
“I think you have a nice face,” Glory said. “What you most need is a total fashion reset.”
“Attention is the last thing I want.”
“If you ever change your mind about that, I can help you shine.”
"If I change my mind, I'll let you know." But Donna doubted her mind would ever change.
They parted and she rode the bus downtown. She had to wait ten minutes for her transfer, but fortunately none of the after-dark types gave her any trouble. When she got off in her own neighborhood, she walked home carrying an unfamiliar warmth in her chest. She never admitted to being happy, but the aftermath of the rehearsal left her feeling something close to that.
Suddenly, alarm. The doctor had warned that if she started feeling, she might have to stay a girl for the rest of her life. What she needed was to get angry again, and fast.
Elise was at home, but Donna walked past her without speaking. Upstairs, she quickly shoved the buds into her ears. The familiar recording once again reassured her, using talk of broad shoulders and deep voices, and the ease with which she could break the magical spell. She let the enthusiastic pep‑talk wash over her, until she fell asleep after only a few minutes.
Through the long night, the sleep-teacher played on.
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TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 4
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