Becoming Angel

“Here's your deposit, Mr. Stanfield,” I chime in my best feminine voice. I've been working with my speech therapist a lot lately. She says I sound just right for a girl my age.

“You sure you want a two bedroom apartment, Dear?” he worries once again. “Rent doesn't come cheap, even in this area of town. You sure you can afford it?” He opens the envelope, “You're paying your deposit in cash?” he raises an eyebrow.

“Until my new bank account is set up, yes. I just moved here,” I remind him.

“You're not running away from something, are you, girl?” he frowns. He called me a girl!

I return a musical giggle that softens his expression. “Not running away from anything. My parents fully know where I live now. They set up the apartment...” I stress.

“You're right,” he relaxes. “Just not used to girls your age moving out on their own is all,” he flashes me a fatherly glance.

“It's why I want a two bedroom apartment,” I smile with more confidence than I feel. “I'm looking for a roommate if you have any recommendations.”

“Female roommate?” he queries, and I nod. “I'll let you know if anything comes up.” He glances over his shoulder as the stoic statue that is Claude stares him down at the end of the hall. “You can, um, tell your guy behind me there that he can lock the elevator to move your stuff up.” He pauses, “I'll need that back when your done.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Stanfield,” I flash him a sweet smile and his face softens. Men are so easy to sway, too easy sometimes.

His expression changes as Claude clears his throat. “Right, I'll be down in 101 if you need anything,” he nods and heads off for the stairs.

Once he's out of earshot, I turn to Claude, “You didn't need to scare him off. I need to keep on Mr. Stanfield's good side if I want to live here without scrutiny,” I growl slightly.

“Begging your pardon, Miss Goodson. It's my job to keep you safe...” he argues.

“It was your job to keep me safe. Today is your last official day as my guard and driver,” I remind him.

“I still don't like this, Miss. Goodson,” he argues for the 5th time.

“No one at Eastside High will know who I am. I'll just be like any other 16 year old starting grade 10. We made arrangements with the school to not treat me any differently, and that goes for you as well,” I command.

“Yes, Miss Goodson,” he nods. It doesn't take my empathy to see he's not happy with this arrangement. It's written all over his face.

“Okay, I'm going to see how far of a walk it will be to school while your men bring everything up,” I chime as I hand him the keys.

“Is that safe?” he raises an eyebrow.

“In bad weather, there's a bus stop out front that takes me right by the school, I'll be fine,” I reassure him, patting him on the arm.

“You take too many risks for the pretty young girl you now look,” he reminds me.

“You worry too much,” I sing-song as I head for the stairs.

“It's my...” he begins.

“Not anymore,” I spin around and cut him off.

I hear him grumble about how I'm just as difficult as my father before he enters the elevator. I sigh. His over-protective nature is not helping my resolve that I can actually do this on my own...

I bounce down the five flights of stairs and meet Claude in the lobby. Okay, the elevator is slow in this old building. As the men begin to unload my belongings out of the van, I snag my guitar and backpack, then dash out of the way.

I skip down the street, humming this tune I've been working on. This part of town is busy, but it's clean. Fortunately, the school is off the main road, so I can avoid the worse of the traffic, the crowded street level shops, and busier sidewalks. The side residential street is lined with apartment buildings and brownstones. The lower east end of town is nowhere close to the comfortable life I've lived so far, but I needed a new beginning... a chance to be me. Time to bury the name Andrew and become the Angel I was meant to be. Angel, such a pretty name. Lyric said it matched my pretty face and voice. She's an Elven Bard, she should know something about beauty. I've always been effeminate. I've always had soft features, soft blond hair, and captivating blue eyes. My parents never dissuaded me from expressing my feminine side. Even before my transition, I had long hair and loved dressing up. Being the child of the CEO of Goodson Bottling Group and younger sibling to Clark kept the bullies at bay. No one dared touch me for fear of what would happen if they did. Not that I ever threatened anyone in my life, but it appears I never had to. It was an unspoken notion that I was untouchable. I'm tired of being babied. I need to find out who and what I am now that the doctors have allowed me to transition. Thanks to my father's wealth and connections, they put me on HRT right away — no blockers. I spent my second term of grade 9 homeschooled, started hormones back in January, then changed my name this summer.

Classes start next week. I'll be in a new school where, hopefully, no one should know me. Most of all, I hope no one associates my last name with my family. That could spell the end of this whole journey of learning to be myself. I'm to meet with the school guidance counsellor half an hour before classes start. The school needs to set up some ground rules with me. Something I was hoping to avoid, but I guess I can't just be one of the girls like I want to be... not with this 'thing' in my panties.

I pass by two people staring at me, pull my hoodie over my head, and keep walking. I extend my senses and relax when I feel they're not following me. One trick I've learned as a Bard is I can sense feelings and intentions if I focus hard enough. Daddy says that it'll get stronger if I practice it more. I'll likely never be the Mage he is, but I’ll make a wonderful Bard — something that follows on some side of the family that I never met. I've only ever met the Goodson side of my family. I've only ever known one set of grandparents. Your mind is wandering again... I remind myself and focus on the lights I'm approaching.

An hour later, I'm sitting on my new couch, in my new living room, surrounded by boxes. I call my parents as they asked me to. “Hi Mom!” I chime happily.

“Hey honey! How's the new apartment?” she returns.

“Bigger than I expected, the landlord is worried I can’t afford it,” I frown.

“Worry not your pretty little head over that, Dear. You should have an email from the bank with your new account details, and they said your bank card will be arriving next week in the mail.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I smile.

“Just because you're living on your own now, Sunflower, doesn't mean you need to struggle. We’ll cover your rent and bills. No after school jobs, now. You need to focus on your school work.”

“Yes, Mom,” I roll my eyes.

“Don’t ’yes, mom’ me, young lady,” she scolds me. “I don't need to be an Empath to catch that tone of voice.”

“Sorry,” I pout.

“Do you need anything, Dear?” she queries.

“No, there's a small grocery store between here and school,” I smile. “I picked up a few days worth of food on the way home.”

“How's the neighbourhood?” she continues to probe.

“Didn't you see it?” I argue.

“Yes, but I want your point of view of what it's like,” she retorts.

“The building is off the main road, but along a bus route. School is a little over a 15 minute walk at my slower pace, but I don't have to walk in bad weather if I don't want to. There's a park with a lot of kids nearby. Most of the units in the surrounding buildings feature families. I was only a little worried passing two guys at a convenience store, but they climbed into their car and drove off. Relatively it's pretty quiet, despite the traffic nearby.”

“Do you have everything you need for school?” she worries.

“Yes, and enough art supplies to last me a decade,” I giggle.

“I know you've been fiddling with that guitar lately, but you shouldn't slack off on your artwork, Dear. Keep up both, and you'll get into that Art School...”

“Mom, I already told you I want more than Art School,” I groan. “I'm smart, what if I want to go into Engineering or Computer Science?”

“Just because I couldn't make it as a professional artist doesn't mean you should give up on that dream...” she argues. You mean your dream…

“I'll think about it,” I concede. I'll never win this argument when she's like this. Bloody Irish and their stubbornness. “Is Daddy home yet?” I ask, changing the topic.

“He’s attending a meeting with the board of directors, he'll be coming home late,” she reminds me.

“Okay,” I sigh. Daddy's been more and more busy lately. Board meeting my ass, he’s likely meeting with uncle Adam. Half of the reason I wanted to live on my own and not surrounded by servants, guards, and nannies all my life. If Lyric hadn't agreed, they would never have let me do this.

“I'll let him know you called,” she reassures me.

“Thanks, Mom. I'm going to see about making supper...” I remark.

“I hope you picked up something sensible from the grocery store,” she returns in a motherly tone.

“Yes, Mom. I didn't buy any frozen dinners, honest. I took cooking in Home Ec last year,” I remind her.

“Yes, and the cook was quite impressed you didn't burn down the kitchen,” my brother remarks in the background. I've been on speaker phone this whole time?

“Like you did?” I retort.

“Hey! We have cooks and servants for a reason. I don't need to learn how to cook!” he snaps back.

“Admit it, big brother, I finally found something you can't do and that annoys you!” I dig.

“If you weren't on the other end of the phone...” he threatens me.

“Ooo, big words!” I challenge.

“Children!” our mother cuts us off before the witty banter gets excessive.

“Sorry, Mom,” we chime together.

“Now, you have fencing practice in 10 minutes, young man; off you go,” she remarks.

“Yes, Mom,” he returns.

“I'm going to go too, Mom,” I state.

“Don't you want to wait until your father gets home?” I hear the worry in her tone.

“He'll be tired. I can call him tomorrow,” I reassure her.

“All right, Dear. Try not to stay up too late, now. You need to maintain a schedule for when school starts...”

“I won’t," I smile. “Goodnight, Love you!”

“Love you too!” I hear the smile in her voice.

“Don't die on us now,” my brother calls out cheekily.

“Clark!” Mom gasps as we exchange raspberry sounds and then laugh. “You two never stop,” I hear her mumble as the line goes dead.

I lay back on the couch and sigh. I'm surrounded by boxes, where do I start? I stand and stretch. Maybe the bedding is a good start, so I have a comfortable bed to sleep in tonight.