Chapter 1

Lauren Brooks wandered around her apartment, trying to figure out what to do with herself. A morning off work came twice a week, but with another full time position elsewhere, those seemed few and far between. The young mother had been looking forward to spending some time with her son, but since he’d started that new job she hardly ever saw him anymore.

Emmanuel bringing home a paycheck helped the boy finally have some pocket money. Lauren was also spending less on groceries now since he’d been eating out every day at work. The new clothes were especially a blessing since she hadn’t been able to buy him anything new in years while dealing with skyrocketing rents in the recent housing crisis. Luckily her son was one of those kids that went ahead and got all of their growing out of the way by the time he started high school. The single mom should have been happy about all this, but she couldn’t stop herself from feeling guilty. Emmanuel worked so hard in school, and as far as she was concerned, bringing home good grades should have been his only responsibility. He was insistent on keeping the job though, and as long as his studies didn’t slip she wouldn’t complain.

The time off was a genuine boon, and the dark circles under Lauren’s eyes had disappeared over the last few weeks, bringing back a youthful energy she feared was long lost. There was only one real problem. She was bored to death, unable to find a single thing to do around the house. Emmanuel was sweet, and helpful when asked, but he’d never once in his life taken it upon himself to clean their home. A little prodding got the boy to confess that some new girlfriend helped. No wonder everything was so clean. The little red lipstick she’d found left in the bathroom was top quality, so the girl certainly had standards. Lauren imagined a supermodel strolling up and down the catwalk, or a bougie trust-fund socialite. Hopefully they’d stick around long enough for them to meet. She loved spending time with her son, but there was only so much overlapping interests a mother could have with a teen boy. The prospect of having a girl around to talk to, and spend some girl time with added a little pep to her step. Until then, with nothing but time on her hands, she’d have to settle for finding out what The Young and the Restless were up to.

Tobias Ottensen sat in his hotel room, a picture pulled up on his phone just sent by his wife. It was his two favorite kiddos, his youngest, little baby Abner, and his oldest, his beautiful daughter, Emery. The girl might’ve looked like an elegant princess, but she was anything but, demonstrated by the image of her blowing raspberries on her little brother's cheeks, or as she called them, fart noises.

Only recently had she come out to her family as transgender, and the transformation seemed to happen over night. Everything seemed to happen overnight for the father, if he was being honest, due to his profession keeping him on the road most days, but still, breasts popping up in a day was quite fast. Still, he was grateful that the miracles of modern science could get the girl the body she needed without having to wait for a small eternity for the hormones to kick in. Tobias’ wife Rose had only just seen to scheduling the necessary appointments a few days earlier.

The more Tobias looked at his daughter, the more he saw his first wife, his first love now passed. The same big blue eyes, the same bright blonde hair, and the same ditzy antics. The girl had her mother in her, through and through, and Tobias was grateful that a part of her would always be around. One more look and he realized Emery also looked a lot like Rose. The burly man chuckled, musing to himself, ‘I really do have a type, don’t I?’

Jii Rim had spent the better part of an hour marching halfway down the stairs to finally have a hard conversation with his wife, only to lose his nerve, run back up, and sit back down on his bed. Grace wasn’t the type of woman who was easily swayed. It was something he loved about her. That didn’t mean it couldn’t be an incredibly frustrating trait at times.

For the past month she’d had his son parading around town, dressed like some kind of miniature version of herself. After being told of Song’s crime, his boy wearing dresses was far more preferable to him having to spend time in jail. The family couldn’t have any more children. They even waited a little while for the first. Sooner or later they’d have to retire, and Song would be left to take care of them, and the family business.

As far as Jii was concerned, Song would never be able to do that effectively without a college education, and that was already hard enough without adding to the boy’s criminal record. Song was a minor the first time, but anything from now on couldn’t be wiped. “Makeup costs less than lawyers.” Jii told himself over and over again.

However, the other night his only son left the house on a date with some trailer-trash boy. Only then did Jii realize how quickly things had escalated. Song was not only dressing, but behaving like a completely different person. There was no longer any trace of his willful progeny to be found. He even had breasts and curves now, a fact the father learned by opening the boy's bedroom door without knocking, finding him struggling to get a bra on. Both were too embarrassed to ever speak of it again. It was all too much for the man to put up with anymore, and he decided it was finally time to confront his wife. Summoning up all his courage, he headed down to the kitchen for an intense conversation over breakfast.

“Grace, we need to talk about something.”

“You’re absolutely right, honey.” the imposing woman replied. “We need to start making some donations to grease wheels so our little star can get into a decent university. I won’t have her going to some clown college like Central. We’ve got a long way, and probably a few transfers before the ivy leagues are willing to take another look at her, but there is a path. All hope isn’t lost after that little incident when she was finding herself. Once that record is expunged, I think we should try for something as lofty as UCLA. Her grades might not be the best, but with a great essay about the struggles of being buried in a closet, and overcoming that with the love and support of her family, not only do I think she’ll get in, but possibly even with a full scholarship.”

“No, Grace, I mea…a full scholarship?” Jii was stopped in his tracks. He didn’t become pointlessly wealthy by spending money he didn’t have to.

Grace wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, and began to sway like the first time they ever slow danced, and her husband could only follow along. He placed his hands on her hips, and listened while she began to paint him a lovely picture. “Imagine it, Jii. You and I, sitting on the porch, retired. Song arrives for a visit, her handsome, fiscally responsible husband, and many children with her. Of course he’s on the board at Rim Cosmetics, but Song, your daughter, is running everything. They’ll probably have to adopt of course, but there’s nothing wrong with that. You should know as well as anybody that with genetics advancing like it is, they may even be able to have one of their own with a surrogate. When we’re feeble, we can move in with them, and she’ll take good care of us. I know she went through that hooligan phase, but she’s been so responsible lately. We’ll get to spend the rest of our days pampering our grandchildren. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“A full scholarship.” If someone looked hard enough they might have been able to actually see the thought bubble floating above the man’s head, dreams of a swollen bank account, a well educated child, and a prospering business dancing along with the married couple. It was clear where his priorities lie. Grace smiled happily at her husband, whose fantasies had him far from the conversation. She almost didn’t notice a certain someone trying to sneak out the door without saying goodbye.

“What are you wearing, young lady?” Grace asked, genuinely shocked by the clothes, or rather lack of clothes, Song tiptoed down the stairs dressed in that morning.

It was a simple ensemble, as trendy as it was cute, consisting of a simple white halter-neck crop top, and a brown suspender skirt, over a pair of cute platform sneakers. What was a first, this particular outfit did little to cover the petite boy's slender figure, his navel on full display for the world to see.

“Please, Mummy, other girl’s dress like this all the time. It’s the style now. You've seen Emery and Mary at the shop, right? They wear things like this too.” Song was kicking himself for yet again referring to himself as a girl, but he’d learned it was the quickest way to get his mother to agree to a request. Truthfully, it was approaching one-hundred degrees outside in the summer California sun, and Song, like everyone else not blessed to solely exist in central air-conditioning, was seeking whatever relief he could find after leaving the house. That’s what led to his choice of coiffure for the day, a pair of adorable pigtails tied off with matching ribbons leaving his little dangling earrings to bobble back and forth whenever he shook his head.

The intimidating woman paused to think for a moment. She was pleased at the shift in personality her daughter was demonstrating, and was kind of surprised Song would choose something that so prominently highlighted his breast of his own volition. Deciding to take the win, she said, “How can I say no to my little star? You know, I think you actually look a little like Jennie. Maybe you can be in the next Blackpink. You’ve been practicing that dance right? I want to record it soon. You took your vitamins, right?”

Drowning in the usual deluge of attention and interrogation from his mother, Song chose only to acknowledge the last question. He didn’t enjoy the comparison of himself to the idol in the Kpop group. “Taking them now, Mummy. I’ve got to go though. Don’t want to miss the bus and be late for work, after all.” He popped open the two bottles his mother started him on just a few weeks before, tossed the pills into his mouth, and chased them with his usual tea. He kissed his mother on the cheek before darting out the door. ‘She’s so obsessed with my skin! It’s so weird!’ Inside he was greatly annoyed with her usual micromanaging, but he also kind of enjoyed the attention when he was home. It was a welcome change from mostly being ignored. The giant house used to be such a lonely place. Perhaps that was why he kept following her instructions to the letter, even when she wasn't watching. Whether he could admit it to himself or not, Song truly wanted his mother to be happy with him.

Grace watched her new daughter glide down the front porch stairs, before wiggling her hips as she hurried to the end of the driveway, pleased with all the progress made in such a short period of time. She wondered if it was too late to get Song enrolled in singing lessons, and perhaps a few auditions. It had been a long time since she had seen her child really put an effort into anything, and this punishment the strange woman came up with, while odd, had given her a glimpse into what her baby could have been. Just hearing Song’s soft voice calling her Mummy made her heart sing. Grace wasn’t sure why her smart and talented child stopped pushing themselves, turning to crime and mayhem, but it felt like she had a second chance with them. She wasn’t going to allow herself, or her child to fail twice.

An hour later Song was wondering why he was in a rush to the hell that was his daily workload. He wasn’t sure which was the lesser evil, his mom plotting a record career to vicariously fulfill her dreams, or Eun’s rehearsal for a future career as a drill sergeant, while she criticized any little detail she could find. That morning it was the way he arranged the bottles of Chanel nail polish on his cart. Strangely, she also had him do some filing on an actual customer that morning, instead of one of the girls from the shop. It was under her intense supervision, of course. She didn’t even find any faults though that might have been because the client attached to the pair of hands was in earshot, though usually in that case she’d just do it in Korean. A win is a win, and those were few and far between for the beat-down boy. At the very least he hadn’t yet had to clean the toilet that day.

Three weeks under the boot of customer service, Song became familiar with the clientele, and had started mentally sorting them into boxes, a little game to pass the time. The nail-tech in training was putting a final topcoat, the finishing touch, on a pair of pedicures, two Fox News blondes as he categorized them. One leaned over to the other, and said, “Isn’t she just the cutest thing, Mindy? Look at that skin. It’s not fair they don’t have to age like we do. She might actually be thirty for all I know. I have to draw my eyes to look like that.”

“Hush, Mandy.” her friend playfully chastised, perhaps sensing that lines were being crossed, but not having the self awareness to realize her laughing at the ignorant nonsense was just as bad. “She might speak English.”

“DO…YOU…SPEAK…ENGLISH?!” Mandy yelled the words slowly, as though somehow volume and tempo alone could break down any language barrier.

“I’m from the hills…ma’am.” Song said, his face only briefly betraying his irritation with the casual racists he probably shared a zip code with, before twisting itself back to the practiced customer service smile. ‘Now I wish I could drive my car just so I could hit this bitch with it in the parking lot.’ Song thought while imagining giving the woman the finger before getting back to task.

“So you are.” Mandy replied, her sneer matching the bile eager to escape her mouth. It wasn’t much, but enough passive-aggressiveness poked through for the hateful caricature of a trophy wife to recognize the bitchy comment when she heard it. Game recognizes game after all. It wasn’t enough to merit a call to the manager, but she made it a point to bob her foot up and down a little more while Song finished up on the last two toes. If she was lucky then maybe she could goad the teen into making a scene before it was time to settle the bill.

“Thanks!” Song said, a little too cheerfully as he handed the two women their receipts and waved as they walked out the door, teeth clenched so hard one might have thought they’d crumble under the pressure at any moment.

As the pair of blondes exited the store Song could still hear them talking about him, his level of irritation only growing. “That Chinese girl spoke English good, but no way does she live in the hills. Like she could afford that with her job.” Mandy said scoffing at the audacity of the employee to pretend she had money.

“She did, but I think she might be Japanese. I don’t think they like being mixed up. I can't remember which, but one of those definitely does care if you confuse them.” Mindy said while her friend rolled her eyes.

“Like it really matters.” Mandy said as the two carried on, strolling far enough away Song could no longer hear the casual racism.

“Fuck that bitch.” Eun said, startling Song who didn’t know his supervisor had been standing behind him for almost the entirety of the awkward exchange at the register. “Every other Friday for the last three fucking years. I hope her implants pop. You handled that well.” Handing her employee a sealed envelope, she said, “Here’s your pay stub, you should already see the money in your bank account.”

The sentence didn’t carry the tone that usually accompanies a compliment, but Song wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “T-thanks” he sputtered, hoping the next words out of her mouth didn’t somehow involve cleaning human feces.

Instead he heard, “Go ahead and take lunch. Be back in a half-hour, not a minute later, little sister.”

Excited for the break, Song threw the envelope directly into the nearby wastebasket without opening it. Since the tender age of twelve he’d never gone with less than five-hundred dollars in his personal checking account. Why should he start worrying about it now?

Across the store Emer was putting the finishing touches on his fourth makeover of the day, with a few expert swipes of a mascara wand, all the while gabbing with his pink haired supervisor. “I’m telling you, girl, dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets just taste better. If you’re not picking those, then you’re missing out. It’s like Covergirl vs TooFaced. If both are on the shelf, why would you not choose the best?”

“Are you done?” the customer asked, getting more and more nervous as the coated brush waved in front of her face.

“Oh right, sorry.” Emer said, remembering what he was doing. He screwed the cap back into place and held up a mirror for the young woman to see.

“Oh my word!” The woman was floored. “I’ve never looked so good. What did you do?” she asked, turning her head from side to side, looking in the mirror.

“Oh..umm…” The apparently talented femmed teen boy picked up every product involved in the makeover, and stuffed it into the woman’s hands, the pens, and tubes sticking out in every direction. He unhelpfully said, “I used this stuff.” and then proudly pointed to the front of the store. “Somebody will ring you up over there. Have a nice day!”

“Right…?” The woman waited just a moment for the excellent makeup artist, and terrible salesperson to perhaps elaborate, but only received a blissfully ignorant smile for her troubles, so she took the mess of plastic to the front, and hoped she could figure it out at home.

Mary pinched the bridge of her nose, and tried not to snicker too loudly. She knew she should correct her employee, but if the customer didn’t complain then she didn’t see any harm in letting it slide this one time…or the many before. Emery’s smile was just so infectious, it was hard for the mentor to bring herself to tear the protege down. “Good job, Emery. I’m proud of you. I love that dress, by the way. It’s so fun and flirty. You look gorgeous.”

“Oh this thing.” Emer said, pulling both ends of the skirt of the blue floral print garment with the corseted bodice, and little strip of flouncy ruffles that wrapped around his biceps pretending to be sleeves. No shame evident, he said, “I like the way my boobs look in it.” like that was a common opinion to share in the workplace.

Mary had to chuckle out loud this time. In spite of the complete lack of tact or a basic ability to be able to read a situation, Emery still managed to be one of her best sales girls. She had a way of making the customers look their best, and sometimes even feel their best with her relentless positivity. It was clear the boy turned girl had a crush on her too, and an eager to please employee was the best kind of employee. If the girl didn’t already have a boyfriend, Mary might have actually made a move herself already. It wasn’t like Rim Beauty had fraternization policies. She’d just have to settle for the cute grin every time she paid a compliment, at least for now.

“Payday, girls.” Eun said, making that leg of her rounds.

“Is that an actual check?” Mary asked, surprised at the sight of the archaic document printed on dot-matrix printer paper.

“Somebody didn’t set up her direct deposit like she was supposed to.” Eun said, lightly swatting the pretty blonde on the head with the check. “It’s not two-thousand five anymore Emery, get your shit together. We had to get that printed specially so Mrs Rim took ten dollars out of your check. It will be twenty next time if you don’t handle it by then, understand?”

“Umm…yes…?” Emer said with a nod, having no clue what the scary boob lady was talking about, and making a note to ask Rose what direct deposit was when he got home. With the nature of his employment essentially being a punishment, though one he really didn’t seem to mind at all anymore, the idea of actually bringing home a paycheck for his labors never occurred to the youth. Once Eun was out of earshot, he turned to Mary, and asked, “I’m getting paid for this?”

“Of course, Princess.” Mary said, wondering how Emery didn’t get locked in a building every time a door didn’t actually tell her to pull instead of push. “It would be illegal otherwise.”

“Awesome!” Emer held up his long glossy fingernails, and started tapping them to his thumb as he attempted some simple addition in his head. “Okay, so I’ve worked here for, like, three weeks, so that’s like two-hundred hours. It’s gotta be a ton.”

“Three weeks is just one-twenty, Princess.” Mary explained. “Also, that’s just for the last pay period. You’ve got to wait an extra week for payroll to do their thing. It’s probably not that much, since you won’t start getting commissions until you’re out of training. Just California minimum wage.”

Undaunted, Emer flipped open the folded piece of paper. It might not have been that much but a few thousand was still more than he’d ever had at once. He might not have been that bright, but he knew enough to be disappointed when he saw three big digits next to the two little ones instead of four.

Mary’s heart broke for the girl. At first, more so than usual, she looked like a Disney princess about to break into song, little birds following behind her showering rose petals, and chirping accompaniment. As Emery’s expression turned to one of a girl whose puppy had just been kicked by an asshole that dared to tell her she wasn’t cute, it was almost as much as the pink haired influencer could bear.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t as much as you thought it was going to be, Princess.” Mary said, placing a hand on Emery’s shoulder to console her.

“It’s okay. Who’s got two thumbs, and is gonna buy some weed tonight?” Emer pointed both digits to himself, and again finding that spirited chuckle said, “This girl!” before catching himself and correcting, “I mean this boy. I’m a boy, lol. God I’m such a ditz, sometimes.”

“Right?” Mary said, wondering to herself how long it was going to the slower Emery to figure out she was right the first time.

Still not quite believing they paid him enough, Emer kept trying to remember the multiplication tables, until he was interrupted by Song walking over from the register. “Miss Park just sent me to lunch. Do you want to eat? It’s on me.”

“Can I go?” Emer asked with his eyes, receiving a gentle nod and big smile for an answer, Mary having a hard time saying no to the girl’s big baby blues. The two friends then headed out into the food court for some rare one on one time.

“Let’s get Chinese.” Song said, pulling Emer along to one end of the scoop-and-serve establishment. They made their way down the line, making their choices, as the employees passed their trays along to the register. Once there, Emer watched in a stunned silence as the cashier looked him up and down before greeting Song happily in a language the blonde didn’t understand. The two chatted back and forth for a minute, Song twirling his pigtail around his finger while giggling at every other word the older man said. Without opening his purse once, Song waved his fingers gingerly to the fellow, and picked up his tray before turning around, and walking off. Once out of earshot, he pulled an expression showing the kind of revulsion usually reserved for wading through knee-deep sewage. “What a creepy loser.” the Asian-American boy muttered.

“I didn’t know you spoke Chinese.” Emer said, still not quite sure what to make of what he’d just witnessed.

“That was Korean…He’s Korean, Emery. He just owns a Chinese restaurant. Actually it’s not even Chinese really. It’s vaguely ethnic American. China didn’t even have beef until well after western imperialism…” The vacant expression on his dimwitted friend told him he’d lost him somewhere along the line. “Look, he’s Korean. My family is Korean. I speak Korean.”

“Right.” Emer agreed, following that much. “What did he say?”

“Your friend is almost as pretty as you.” the pigtailed teen said, rolling his eyes.

“Well now I know he just wants to get in your pants.” Emer laughed. “You slut!” he playfully jabbed. “I like your outfit, btw.” The blonde said using the text-speak. “I never thought I’d see you dress that slutty without Bianca holding a gun to your head.”

“Shut up, bitch.” Song shot back, not angrily, but rather channeling his inner Regina George, the portrait of a queen bee from Mean Girls. “I didn’t want to deal with pit stains today, and this is definitely better than the alternative. I’m long past being ashamed of something as trivial as my clothes. There are worse humiliations, believe me. Do you remember in the Avengers when Bruce Banner said he didn’t turn into the hulk anymore because he was always angry? That’s me now. Emery, I'm always humiliated.” Song winced, a slight pain in his chest from waving his arms about while ranting. “And to top it all off, my breasts hurt!”

“Oh, right.” Emer held each C cup in his hands, giving them a jiggle while a few middle schoolers at a nearby table watched with their jaws on the floor. “My tits hurt a lot too. Probably from the shot thingies. I thought they were gonna shrink more before Eun had to do it again, but whatever. Saves me half a Saturday, right? Why are you so humiliated though? Like, this isn’t so bad, Song. You just got us both free food, and we didn’t even have to steal it. I don’t miss having to run all the time, that’s for sure. Also people are a lot more helpful when I get confused now. No one is as mean. I’m just saying, there’s worse punishments.” A brief moment of terror flashed across the lewd teens face as he imagined Bianca coming for Little Emer with a pair of hedge clippers.

“Men aren’t as cruel.” Song corrected. “But yes…At first that guy kind of scared me, but free sesame chicken is free sesame chicken. Once I realized the counter would always be between us, I just kept coming here. Suffering that lecher at the register is definitely preferable to having to do those things with Brooks.”

“You’re right about that!” Emer agreed, the memory of choking on Manny’s jizz still fresh in his mind. “I never wanna do that again, but what can we do? It’s not fair, but Bianca isn’t going to let us stop any time soon. Until then, I’m just gonna make the best of it. I’m hot. You’re hot too. Just like, enjoy it, or whatever.”

While Emer made a mental note to find his own cute cashier to flirt with, hopefully at a place that served tacos, Song absorbed the bimbo’s words. He had to acknowledge that even the village idiot could carry a few pearls of wisdom. Perhaps playing the part of the pretty girl he appeared to be could be the key to getting something he truly wanted. He certainly didn’t enjoy looking like he did, but honestly he didn’t really enjoy much of anything anyway, so if he had to, he could suffer through it for the time being. Right then some of those daydreamed fantasies began to take shape, and back to form, an actual plan started to form behind those big beautiful eyes.