To Be A Different Someone

By Sean McKissack

James Kane could be summed up in one word: loser. He silently lived as a ghost amongst his parents and he had zero friends at school...unless you count his cousin who had to defend him against the abusive Matt Tracker. When his parents divorce, James moves to Montana and stays with his grandmother, where he makes an extreme adjustment to his life-becoming a different someone named Jennifer. The transition comes with frightening issues Jennifer never thought of. After two years of recovery, she returns to her old high school to start over but she meets up with her past tormenter and gets caught in a web of secrets as she finds herself falling in love. Her conscience gets the best of her as she tries to be truthful to Matt about who she once was, but will he accept her as his girlfriend when she tells him about their past?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sean McKissack
• Release date: Feb 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370676897

Sean McKissack

I like to read and write about unique situations and take the road less traveled with my characters. A lot of my stories are based on real life situations, skewed just a bit to protect the innocent as well as the guilty parties involved. I devote a lot of my time to characters, usually fleshing out everything that could possible be said about them so they are almost like friends (or close acquaintances).

Book preview

To Be a Different Someone

by Sean McKissack

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

To Be a Different Someone

by Sean McKissack

Copyright 2016

Cover by Kris Norris

When I was a guy

There was a sorrow to my eyes... an echo of her reflection that prevailed so deep inside.

When I was a boy

I employed it as a ploy... amplifying the false perception, so, the truth, all could avoid.

While I was man,

She couldn't understand... the reason of her isolation and the shackles 'round her hands.

And so I broke her free

Now in the mirror I can see...the twinkle in her eyes, and the dimples at her cheeks as she smiles so sweetly towards me.

She brings crystal clear epiphany to that which once was he could not conceive:

A joy to be believed.

Special Thanks to:

Deelylah Mullin,

Emma Marie

Madeline Epps

Skylar Kirby

Casey Matt

Tiffany Ording

Jessica Vogel

Kristelle Claire Watkins

Chapter One

Where to begin?

I suppose I could start with my family—of what it was…which was nothing, really. We were like three roommates that talked a little bit as we lived separate lives. I suppose that’s a bit blunt, but that’s how it is, or was.

I don’t want to think that I intruded on the lives of two people on the day I was born…but I kind of felt that way.

My—I guess I should still call him—dad, Daniel Kane. I can best describe him as the one who takes the happiness out of the room without saying a word, cold and bitter. He was tall and foreboding; with dark brown hair and a face that was usually locked in a scowl. I used to wonder if he sucked on lemons for breakfast every morning.

He wasn’t a drunk, didn’t do lines of coke, and he never hit me or Mom. Sometimes, I kind of wished he had because any physical contact—let alone a nice word now and then—would have been great. Was he there on the day I was born? Probably...and he probably was in the billing office the whole time trying to see how much he could save if Mom pushed harder on her own. Perhaps instead of any drugs the doctors should have gone with whiskey and a bullet as I made my way into the world on September sixth, 1982.

He was a realtor, dealing with business locations and high stakes markets…but I didn’t really care what he did,

I just wanted to—maybe once—have him be at a ballgame or a movie or see me in a kindergarten concert. Many times I remember reaching out to him, wanting him to pick me up or tell me a story and he’d simply stand there, like a sadistic stone statue, pretty much ignoring the small one in front of him. He was able to make me feel he was nowhere to be found even if he was standing next to me.

My mom, Rachel, was submissive to him—even though she tried not to be. I do not mean submissive as she let him be the man of the house or fell in-rank to the king of the castle...I mean she was the cobblestone beneath his feet.

No, she was the dirt beneath the stones he walked. I don’t know what occurred on the day they first met, but it was like Mom was destined to be a real life Stepford Wife and thought nothing more of it.

She once had light blonde hair, a thin face and was known as the fun-loving sister in her family who would never turn down a good time. I never met that person. I think my dad might have murdered her and replaced her with a shell of her former self.

And that leaves me.

My parents named me James Fitzgerald Kane—a distinguished name of presidential caliber that looked great on a tombstone but not so much on a scraggily, freckle- faced little kid with mousy hair and glasses. I hated the name, along with any shortened version of it. It bothered me the most in junior high as I cringed whenever a teacher would call it out. There were days where I wanted to scream out to everybody that I wasn’t a boy and the doctors got it all wrong.

When I was ten, I wrote a letter to my parents, telling them I was their daughter, Jennifer, and I needed their help. I was trapped in a monstrous body and couldn’t get out. I never gave them the letter. The only person who ever saw it was my cousin, Krys.

Krystal Laberdee lived two blocks away. We were born five months apart, and since Krys was older, she appointed herself guardian over me. I trusted her with my life. Most kids idolized their parents, Michael Jordan, or Curt Cobain but I looked up to my cousin. I wanted to look like her. She had long blond hair for as far back as I could remember, and everyone always complimented her.

When I felt bad for myself, I usually walked down the block to the park and sat on the swing set. In time, Krystal would usually find me, sit in the next swing, and listen to my diatribe.

What happened? Krys whispered.

Dad found one of my dresses, I replied as I looked blankly ahead.

What did you tell him?

That it was for you.

He didn’t believe you?

Since I was in sixth grade and learned how to work a sewing machine, I designed various outfits. Often times, I would create a design, stare at it for hours on end, and then decide to embellish it—or throw the sketch away. Krystal would give me her opinion on fabric and style. There were a few she liked and others she swore she’d never be found dead wearing—and those were the ones I preferred. Only a few actually ever made it to the final product.

No, I replied. I was wearing it.

He just walked in?

I forgot to lock the door and— It was really stupid of me to not lock it. After I got home from school, I ran upstairs to my room, closed the door, and turned up the radio. I went into my closet and pulled out a red and white sundress, hidden in a sea of sweaters my Grans had sent me over the years. It had taken me several months to complete it; so many false starts and ripped seams. I took off my drab polo shirt and Dockers and tried it on for the first time.

The radio pulsed a fast dance number and I moved back and forth with the beat while looking back at the mirror. I still looked a little awkward, but it felt right, if a little loose in some areas And I could just about see the person I had been looking for.

I put my hands behind my back to unbutton the outfit when the door opened and my father walked in.

We had a large house with a lot of wood in the architecture, so sounds—like yelling and footsteps—were amplified. I couldn’t believe I didn’t hear him come up.

What did he do?

He didn’t do anything, I replied. He just shook his head, turned around and walked out the door.

He did yell something—I couldn’t make it out over the music—but it was probably for the best I didn’t.

I’m sorry.

It looked very cute.

Going to wear it to school? Blend in with the crowd?

One day, maybe, I replied. "After Hell freezes over.

There’s no way I’ll blend in wearing a skirt."

We went to one of the biggest schools in Spokane, Washington. The campus sprawled out over several buildings. It was so large Waldo himself could hide in it forever, unless he had something dark in his past—then it was like a one room schoolhouse.

You should just do it. Wear what you want. Be who you are.

Seriously? I asked.

Well, maybe not tomorrow, but on the first day of school next year.

I can think of a million reasons why that would be a bad idea.

Name one, besides your dad.

Everyone.

Not necessarily, I’m sure there are a few guys out there who you would love to see a new you.

I wanted to smile at that, but couldn’t. There were scores of guys at Ferris High School I wanted to talk to but I was afraid they would do more than just simply reject me—and wearing a skirt with a matching blouse was not going to change their minds. Living as a girl trapped inside the shell of a boy was one thing. Stepping out and showing it to the entire student body was another.

Krys got off the swing and walked a few feet away. We need to start with your clothes. Get rid of the unicolor polos and the pants Grandpa was buried in. Get a nice shirt and some denim that hugs you, she said and then spun around on her heels

You’re having way too much fun with this. Krys grabbed my arm and pulled me off the swing.

Then, let’s pierce your ears. I felt the lobes.

We need to do something with your hair. I had near- shoulder length hair—much to the consternation of my father—and I usually left the house without doing anything with it. Krys would attempt to fix the rat’s nest, as she called it, on my head before we’d leave for school. We’ll each get makeovers, how about that?

Like, redo everything?

Yeah. You also need to make something new, for both of us, to wear on the first day of school so we can walk in. I’ll introduce you as my cousin, Jennifer.

I can’t do that. Not yet.

Why not? Whatever happens I will be right there for you.

Krys was always there for me and it was a good thing because I was the weird, short kid with a bullseye on my back and forehead. No one who was bigger, taller, and stronger could resist trying to hit them. I spent a lot of time trying to avoid everyone like the plague, keeping to myself, ’cause if you don’t stick out, you’re ignored. However, there was someone who I could never avoid—Matthew Tracker

I knew Matthew from sixth grade. I kind of liked him.

He was nice to people and was the class clown. We were never really friends, just classroom acquaintances. He left me alone until eighth grade. One day he came up, sneered, and slammed me against the wall.

Afraid, Jimmy?

I didn’t say a word as my dilated pupils said it all. You’re such a wuss.

A variation of this occurred each day, and with it Krys threatened to knock Matt’s block off. Sometimes she said it to his face, other times she said it to me.

What’s your problem?Krys yelled at him one time during lunch. He wouldn’t look straight at her nor would he ever answer her. He simply waved her off and walked down the hall. Asshole.

This royal treatment went on throughout my freshman year. In the past, Krys and I were always in the same classes but then she got involved in cheerleading and we had different schedules that kept her from me.

You need to tell the principal if he gets even a mile near you, she advised me on the first day of high school. It took a few days of trips, shoves and passing remarks before I told the office I was being harassed. They sent me to see Mrs. Cole, the school counselor, who wanted me to talk about what had happened. I gave vague answers because I knew if I said too much it would all be out in the open— the staff would want to bring in some program to prevent bullying in the halls. Those programs work if people care, but Matthew wasn’t one of those who did—and I had no desire to be the anti-bullying movement poster child on campus.

I told Mrs. Cole it would be okay, that we could talk it out and everything would be fine.

We never did talk. It did come to tears a few times, mine, as I cowered against the wall.

Look at this, Kane’s a little crybaby!

I couldn’t block out the stares by the girls and the laughing faces from the guys who passed by and saw my face all red and streaked. I didn’t really care at that point. I knew I wanted to get out of Ferris, out of Washington State, to any other damn place where nobody knew me.

I didn’t get to even enjoy the last day of school. When the final bell rang. I walked out...and fell to the ground, courtesy of a large boot.

You ought to watch where you’re going. Chris Carlson jeered. Matt gained some followers in ninth grade. Chris stood the tallest of the bunch and had to brush his blonde hair out of his face whenever he loomed over me.

Looks like you made it through the year, pussy, the second of Matt’s minions, Damon Mercer, chimed in. Damon was only a few inches taller than me but he compensated with his mouth, making sure there was a put down in everything he said.

I tried to get up but another foot kicked me down again. And he hasn’t been thrown into the crapper this year, Tyler Jensen, stated. Tyler was the most stoic of the group—or at least he gave the impression—as he hardly ever smiled or looked my way as he talked about me.

Yeah, you lucked out, didn’t you, Kane? The king of them all, Matt, asked the rhetorical question. What’s your plans for summer? Gonna finally score big with the ladies? Matt usually came to school wearing a long black jacket and had his brown hair cut short. He recently had braces put on his top teeth—and while I would have loved to say something about them, I didn’t. I may have looked pathetic, but I wasn’t stupid.

I stood up and faced the four of them. Meanwhile, the sea of students continued to flow around us like fish. I prayed for someone to come to my rescue, but no one wanted to get involved. Either fear or indifference, I couldn’t tell at the time, prevented the collective student body from throwing a life preserver.

Oh, so we’re sticking up for ourselves now, are we?

It wasn’t that I was sticking up for myself—but if I didn’t get off the pavement, the stampede would trample me. Matt took the chance, grabbed me by the neck, and shoved me back to the ground.

C’mon, wuss, get up and let’s see you take your best shot.

Goddammit, Matt! Let him go!

Krystal and her friend, Lindsey Nichols, stood behind Matt and company. She was pissed and wasn’t afraid to let them know it.

You’re so lucky your cousin’s stacked. Matt commented on Krystal’s rack as he lifted his boot.

Shove it, Matt! Krys shouted as she stepped through the group to help me up. The gang simply stood by and watched two cheerleaders save my sorry ass. Lindsey picked up my backpack as Krystal led