James Eastman

I sat on my bed, nervously twirling a loose curl around my finger. The events of the past few weeks had turned my world upside down, and yet, here I was, fully made up, dressed in a pale lavender sundress, and feeling far too comfortable in the clothes that should've felt foreign. Tracy and Aunt Helen had just finished their masterpiece—a light touch of makeup, simple stud earrings, and my hair in soft waves that bounced with every movement. No nylons today; it was too warm, and the summer sun poured in through the window, adding a golden hue to everything it touched.

Aunt Helen's voice cut through my swirling thoughts. "Heather, sweetheart, are you ready for your date with James?" She said it so naturally, as if James and I had always been this way—as if I had always been Heather, the girl nervously anticipating a boy's attention. I swallowed hard.

"Y-yes," I stammered, clutching my small, dainty purse. Aunt Helen gave me a knowing look, the kind that told me she knew how much this whole situation affected me. Yet, she smiled.

"Good. And remember, having a boyfriend will only make you more convincing as a girl," she added, her tone light but firm. I don't want to scare but you daddy's private investigator has been seen in the area.

James texted earlier, saying he'd be here soon to take me to the movies. His texts were always short, confident, with that hint of casual masculinity I couldn't help but notice. The idea of being out with him again sent a thrill of both fear and something else I didn't want to acknowledge.

When the doorbell rang, my heart leapt. Tracy was at my side in a second, beaming. "You look so pretty, Heather! He's going to love it." She fussed over the hem of my dress, making sure everything was perfect.

James stood in the doorway, looking effortlessly handsome in jeans and a white t-shirt. His smile was warm and easy, but his eyes had that same calculating look that always made me feel small. "Hey, Heather," he greeted, and I tried to ignore the way my cheeks heated up.

"Hi," I replied, my voice soft. I felt tiny and delicate as he took my hand to guide me to his car, like he had always been the one in charge, and I was the one who followed. He opened the car door for me, and I had to remind myself to slide in gracefully, keeping my knees together like Aunt Helen and Tracy had drilled into me.

James was every bit the gentleman. He didn't rush me, didn't make me feel uncomfortable, and yet, there was something about the way he led—whether it was opening doors, choosing our seats, or gently guiding me through a crowd—that reminded me of the expectations society placed on boys and girls. He knew he was "the man," and I was supposed to be "the girl," following his lead.

At the movies, he bought the tickets and even a giant bucket of popcorn. We sat near the back, the air-conditioned theater providing a cool relief from the summer heat. As the lights dimmed, I felt his arm rest along the back of my seat. My pulse quickened. I couldn't focus on the screen; I was too aware of the way his presence dominated mine, the way his casual, confident demeanor contrasted so sharply with my own uncertain, feminine act.

Every time he whispered something funny about the movie, I found myself giggling, high-pitched and girlish, without even thinking. It was terrifying how easily Heather came to me now, how natural it felt to be this version of myself, despite the boy buried somewhere deep beneath the makeup and curls.

As we left the theater, his hand found the small of my back, guiding me once again. I was both embarrassed and oddly comforted by the touch, and I couldn't understand why. Being with James made me feel vulnerable, but in a way that made my heart race for reasons I couldn't fully admit to myself.

When he dropped me off, he leaned in, his face inches from mine. My breath hitched, and I felt that same thrill of fear and something else, something thrilling that I hated acknowledging. He kissed my cheek, lingering for a moment, and I felt my cheeks flush with heat.

"Thanks for coming out with me, Heather," he said, his voice low. His eyes held mine, and I could only nod, feeling far too much like the girl I was pretending to be.

Inside, Tracy and Aunt Helen were waiting, eager for every detail. But I could barely speak. The truth was, I was starting to feel something. Whether it was for James or for the idea of being cherished, I wasn't sure. But Heather was becoming more than a disguise, and that scared me more than anything.