Mysterious Changes - Part 7

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"When I woke up this morning, I thought it had all been a nightmare. That's why I screamed. Then when I got up, I noticed everything seemed more... natural for some reason. The way I moved and what I had to do seemed more routine. That's when I really got scared. I felt as if I was losing myself. Oh, I still had all my Lucas memories, but they weren't as, real to me."  She looked at me and I saw there were tears forming in her eyes. "Oh, Steve Sarah, I'm frightened.

I still want to be Lucas, but being Lisa is starting to feel normal and I've only been Lisa for a day. What's happening to us? Are we going to forget who we were just like our parents?"  With that, she threw herself into my arms crying. What a pair we were two former boys changed into girls. I don't know which I was more uncomfortable with the feel of her slim developing body against mine, or the way her head mashed against my new full breasts.

I walked her, my arm still around her, back into her room. "Lisa, I know it was tough for you to tell me all that, but it may help us all. We've got to hang onto who we really are and the hope of getting our real lives back."  "We're never going to get our real lives back," she said softly as she looked down at herself. "Whatever is out there is too smart for us... too powerful."  "Hey, whatever it is kicked our butts in the first and second quarter, but it's just half time.

We've got another half to play."  She actually managed to giggle through the tears. "Football analogies seem a little out of place for you now. I'll bet you even throw like a girl."  She hadn't meant to hurt me, but the comment cut me.

She was probably right; I probably did throw like a girl now. My football days were over unless we could figure out some way to be changed back. I knew she didn't mean to hurt me though, so I let it slide. "Yeah, I probably do," I admitted.  After I got her calmed down and ready for bed, I went back to my own room and thought about what was already happening to me. Like Lisa, I had noticed myself acting in ways I would have never acted as Steve. The way I had comforted her, the way I had not gotten angry at her "throw like a girl" comment, and just the way I moved were all indicative of a new me a female me.  And there was the way I had reacted to Ron.

Ron was my friend, but through female eyes, he was something else as well. I had never considered Ron good-looking or bad looking. He was just Ron. Now though, I was forced to evaluate him from a female perspective. Ron was, handsome. There I said it. Ron was my friend, though. That's all he was just my friend.  I decided there was nothing more to do but go to bed and get a good night's sleep. In the morning, I'd have to go to school like Sarah, but at least I'd have my friends to support me.

Marsha and Lisa had enjoyed the support of their friends, so I was sure I would, too. Then at noon with classes done for the week (so we could attend the fair ha!), Ron and I would go to Lincoln and try to get some help. There had to be someone at the State Historical Society we could get to believe us and help us. Actually, I didn't even really care if they believed us so long as they agreed to help us. Right now we didn't even know what we were fighting, and hopefully, they would be able to help us identify what we were up against.

Getting ready for bed was something of a challenge. There were a few things I either knew or suspected I would have to do. Things I thought might be a problem like going to the bathroom were at the most mild annoyances. Sitting and wiping wasn't all that bad, although I knew my days of taking a pee while standing at the side of the road were over.  And no, I didn't play with or otherwise examine my new equipment.

I wasn't interested in sticking a finger or two inside to see what it felt like. If I found myself stuck with all of it for life, I might do that sometime, but for now not touching it made it seem less real. And I certainly didn't want any of this to be real.  I was pretty sure I had to wash off my makeup.

I did a half-assed job of it, I'm afraid. While I got most of it off especially after I figured out the cold cream would cut it some was just too hard to remove. I found scrubbing at it irritated my smoother, more delicate skin, so I just decided whatever I missed I could get the next morning in the shower.

I figured I'd better do something about my hair, too. It was so long that it would be in my face all night if I didn't do something. A ponytail would have been simplest I supposed, but I found myself strangely willing to experiment. I gathered the hair into two long piles and twisted them like a braid. Of course, it unraveled before I could find anything to hold it together. So much for experimentation. I decided simpler was better and did the best job I could of making a ponytail. Unfortunately, there was so much hair there it looked more like the tail on a Clydesdale.  At least the new reality had provided me with something besides frilly nighties. It was a warm night, so I picked some short pajamas white with little red flowers all over them.

At least they were soft and comfortable on my skin. It had taken me three times as long to get ready for bed as a girl, but I felt proud that I had managed at all.  In bed, I thought more about the new reality. Maybe I should have capitalized it in my mind: The New Reality. It was strange how it worked, but I was sure there was a logic to it somewhere. Adults seemed to think we had always been girls.

Even Doc Winter couldn't seem to remember ever being a man. But everyone about my age remembered the way things were supposed to be. The only effect with us seemed to be that we accepted our new identities and those of our friends much more readily than I would have expected.

Maybe, I thought, it was the influence of stuff like the Harry Potter novels and Dungeons and Dragons. Maybe the older you get, the less accepting your mind is of magic and magical changes. Or maybe it was just something physical about younger people. I remember learning in biology class that the human skull is designed to grow to allow for the maturing of the brain. Maybe there are other changes, too, that we just don't understand yet.  I found myself drifting off to sleep with those thoughts. I really didn't want to sleep at all.

I was afraid of what mental changes might be forced on me during the night. Would I wake up wanting to discuss lipsticks with Judy and really like the Backstreet Boys? Would I think the feel of satin and silk was just heavenly? Would I want to go to Gweneth Paltrow movies? Would I like boys? Would I like one boy in particular? But as much as I fought sleep, it eventually claimed me.  I awoke the next morning feeling refreshed and alive. As Lisa had the morning before, I nearly screamed when I realized I was lying on my back staring down at substantial breasts.

But once I overcame that momentary shock, I actually felt good. That didn't mean I had any less desire to return to my male form, and I was relieved about that. What it did mean was that I was no longer under a dark cloud of depression from my transformation. I had the resolve to go on with my life, even if it meant being a girl for the rest of it. Maybe there was hope for me yet.  I read somewhere that the mind uses sleep as a time to file everything away and resolve issues that the conscious mind has trouble with.

I was pretty sure that was what had happened to me. I didn't actually remember any of my dreams, but they seemed to leave pleasant signatures in my mind.  "Knock, knock!" It was Judy's voice outside my door. It had been hearing her carry on a hallway conversation with my mother that had awakened me. I looked at the clock. It was an hour before I was usually up. Gee, up early two mornings in a row. That had to be a new record.  "Come in, Judy," I called.  "Oh, my God!" Judy exclaimed when she saw me sitting there on the side of the bed.  "What's wrong?" Had I changed further? Was there something new and different about me?

"Your hair!" she said as if that explained it all.  "What's wrong with my hair?"  "It's a mess. Why didn't you do something with it before you sent it to bed?"  "I thought I did."  "Come on." She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the bathroom. "And why didn't you get all your makeup off?"  Lisa thought it was funny as Judy sat me on the side of the tub and scrubbed my face as if I were a three-year-old. She had managed just fine the previous morning without anyone's help.

Maybe I was just fighting this whole process more. Or more likely, being older than my new sister, my makeup had been a little more pronounced than hers and thus harder to remove.  I showered and Judy even insisted that I wash my hair to work out the kinks I had created with my carelessness she had said. Taking a shower even proved to be something of a challenge. Is it voyeuristic to ogle one's own body? But what else could I do? I couldn't ignore it; I had to wash it.

But it seemed so strange to see all the female parts from such a personal angle. With Judy and Lisa right outside the shower, I had to resist the temptation to let my hands linger over the more sensitive parts. As it was Lisa was pissed at me for spending so much time in the shower. I could see that two girls sharing that one bathroom was going to be much more difficult than it had been when we were boys.  I stepped out of the shower with my hair feeling as if it weighed fifty pounds.

Judy muttered something about my not having sense enough to wring out my hair well in the shower, but she made do by squeezing the water out into the sink.  After she had wrapped my hair in a towel, she handed me a pink razor. "Here. Shave."  "But I don't have a beard oh. You mean under my arms."  "And your legs," she added. "You'll be wearing pantyhose today."  "To school? Why can't I wear jeans or something?"  "I'm not talking about school," she explained. "I'm wearing jeans to school and so can you. But this afternoon, you and Ron are going to Lincoln.

If you want the people at the Historical Society to take you seriously, you need to look sharp. Tell Ron he needs to wear a sport coat. I'll come by after classes and help you pick the right outfit for Lincoln."  This being a girl business was getting to be a pain in my now ample ass. Muttering I managed to shave under Judy's tutelage and prepare for the further indignities of being a young woman. She helped me dry and style my hair, picked out a bra and panties for me, and found a white T-shirt with a scalloped neckline with little pink flowers embroidered on it.

I thought it just drew attention to my cleavage, but Judy thought it looked good on me. When I had asked to wear jeans, I never thought about the fact that unlike the comfortable variety guys wore, girls seemed to pick jeans that clung to the skin like wallpaper. I even had to suck in my practically non-existent tummy to get them snapped.

Then came what I hoped would be the final indignity of the morning process makeup. Judy carefully applied fresh makeup to my face, explaining as she did the purpose of the foundation, eye shadow, eyeliner, blush, mascara, lipstick, and so on. Lisa watched with rapt attention as Judy explained what she was doing and why. My new sister seemed to be accepting the whole experience much better than I was. Maybe it was just because she had an additional day to adjust to it. In any case, she tried a couple of Judy's instructions on her own face without any trepidation. I, on the other hand, resented every bit of it, especially the lipstick. I didn't know if I would ever get used to the taste of lipstick.  I had to admit, though, that the final result was pretty sensational. Once the finishing touches of earrings and a necklace and a bracelet were made, I looked as if I had been an attractive girl all my life.

I supposed as I admired myself in the mirror that as long as I had to be a girl, it was better to look like this than to be on the hefty side like Marsha.  Ron had caught a ride with some of the guys on the football team that morning. I found myself more than a little sad that the camaraderie of the team was no longer available to me. So it would just be "us girls" in my aging Tempo that morning. If I had to be a girl, I wondered, why couldn't my parents have been more doting and provided me with a sexier car? It seemed unfair that I had my sex changed and still had to drive the old Tempo.

At least it was neater inside with a new set of seat covers and no junk in the seats. Apparently, given the condition of both my car and my room, Sarah was much neater than Steve had been.  At least I didn't have any trouble driving. Well, that's not quite true. I was much shorter now and I found that the Tempo's power steering was a little weak. As Steve, I had the arm muscles to handle the car, but as Sarah, I found it a bit of a chore. I expected my arms to be sore if I had to drive very much. But at least since I was wearing tennis shoes albeit small little feminine ones with pink shoelaces I had no problem with the brake and gas pedals. I didn't know how I was ever going to be able to drive in heels.

At least school wasn't as bad as it could have been. Enough of us had been changed now that it wasn't quite the novelty it had been the day before. It's amazing how quickly people can adapt to changes. By the middle of the morning, I was accepted as just one of the girls. I was part of a clique of popular, attractive girls such as Becky Marshall and Judy. The new Andy now Alicia was part of that group as well.

Unfortunately, Marsha seemed to be falling in with a less popular crowd. I wanted to reach out to her, but I was quickly finding that girls are even more clannish than boys not that I hadn't always suspected that. I just kept thinking that Marsha had a nice personality and would be as attractive as any of us if she lost a few pounds. Well, maybe someday.  Dan or Gabby now had been quickly accepted by another group. That group was a little more conscious of their social standing. It included most of the cheerleaders and the girls for whom the logo on one's blouse was more important than the heart behind it.

It figured I supposed. Dan had always been a friend, but he had always been a little pompous. Now with Dan's underlying pomposity, the family's money, and Gabby's somewhat slutty good looks, she'd be a real hit around the Leeds Country Club. In spite of the fact that she looked a little like a bimbo, I was pleased to note she had retained her sharp mind.  As the morning went on, I became more settled in my new role. Even though my fellow students knew I had been Steve, it was hard for them to treat anyone who looked like I did as a boy. So I was treated like the girl I appeared to be, and I soon found myself reacting accordingly.

Boys would come up to me and try to impress me. I'd give them a sweet little smile but keep them at a distance. Girls would come up and compliment me on my hair and makeup, and I'd actually flush with no little pride. The breaks between classes would find me in the restroom, touching up my lipstick or teasing my hair with my friends. In short, I was becoming what I appeared to be an attractive teenage girl.  I realized I was falling into a pattern that would have seemed very alien to me less than a day before. It seemed further confirmation that not all of the changes were physical.

The very fact that I could accept this new body without going nuts seemed proof of that.  That wasn't to say I was becoming happy and content being a girl quite the contrary. It seemed like I was being constantly reminded of what I had lost. I listened as my male friends discussed the fact that Dick Marshall, my backup quarterback was now apparently thought by the coach to have always been the starting quarterback. I felt a little sick when they noted that a game with our rival, Blair High School, had gone against us in this reality. In my own reality, I had won that game with a last-minute pass to Ron that put us up by four points.

I think that was the worst of it watching old male friends and not being able to be "one of the boys" anymore. Even some of my best friends gazed at me with looks that made me uncomfortable. I felt as if most of them would have gladly forgotten who I had been and treated me as they would have treated any other girl they lusted after. I don't think there was a single one of them who would have turned down the opportunity to take me to bed. Well, maybe it wasn't really as bad as all that, but I was definitely starting to have a colored opinion of my former sex.

But in spite of that colored opinion, I would have gladly rejoined my former sex no matter what the cost. I would have given my very soul to be one of them again, discussing football and quietly pointing out the sweet ass and fine tits on some girl (probably one who looked like I did now).  But I had to know even then that the odds of my returning to my former sex were very slim. Even if we got help in Lincoln, it was no guarantee that we would be able to force whatever had changed us into restoring our male sex.

So far whatever it was had shown no interest in changing any of us back into guys.  "You did great this morning," Judy praised me as we drove back to my house after classes.  "Thanks, I think," I replied. I suppose she meant it as a compliment, but to me, it just signaled that I had acted just like a girl all morning. At least I wasn't as far gone as Lisa. She and Dave had gone off on their own after school. They were going to have lunch with our father and "hang around" downtown. I worried about my little sister. It didn't seem natural for her to be interested in boys. Two days earlier, she had been one and had been as interested in girls as I was.

Judy and I ate a quick pickup lunch with my mother. Mom acted as if I had always been Sarah.  She didn't seem surprised that Ron and I were going to Lincoln together. We had told her it was part of a class project and that was enough for her. The unsettling thing was that it appeared in her mind that Ron and I were an item. I didn't want to be the female half of an item not with Ron or any other guy.  "Let's get you ready," Judy finally said, and I knew in that moment how condemned prisoners feel when the warden says, "It's time." I had been transformed into a girl wearing very short shorts. I had gone to bed in feminine pajamas.

And I had spent the morning in very tight feminine jeans. But this would be the first time I would find myself wearing a skirt and heels. I was not looking forward to the experience.  "You've got some neat stuff," Judy commented as she riffed through my closet. "I think we're about the same size.

I see a couple of things I wouldn't mind borrowing."  The thought of sharing clothing was a little strange for me, but I was aware that girls did it regularly. "Be my guest," I said, plopping down most unladylike on the bed.  "Except you're a little bigger in the boobs" Judy mused.  Oh great. I needed to hear that.  "This would look nice on you," Judy muttered, and I forced myself to look up to see what sort of feminine embarrassment she had chosen for me to wear. "What do you think?"  I saw her holding out the hem of a dress. "It's yellow," I remarked uneasily.

Yellow?  "Actually it's called 'butter,'" Judy explained. "I tried this outfit on at Victoria's Secret the last time Mom and I went to Omaha."  "Victoria's Secret?" There was real concern in my voice.  "Now don't be that way," she admonished me as she pulled the dress and matching jacket out of the closet. "Victoria's Secret sells stuff beside slinky lingerie. This is a very professional-looking outfit."  "Yeah, and feminine enough that I'm bound to be asked into some horny historian's office, right?"  If she realized I was being sarcastic, she didn't admit it. "Well, a girl needs to use every weapon at her disposal, don't you think?"  She had a point. "Okay," I sighed, getting up from the bed. "Let's get this over with."  I had to admit, the outfit looked pretty good on me. It consisted of a dress and a matching jacket.

The dress was a pale yellow or "butter" as Judy deemed it that was short and sleeveless and showed just enough cleavage to be interesting without being provocative. The jacket was of a feminine cut with a single button. The short skirt of the dress had a slit which made movement easier than I had thought. I had always just believed that the slits were there to make a woman's legs look sexier.

Now I realized they had a practical value as well.  Judy had helped with the pantyhose and the shoes (a sling she called it in an off-white), matching purse, and of course the jewelry. With the bracelets and necklace and earrings, I wondered if I could walk through a metal detector without setting off an alarm.  "I hope you realize a lot of girls would sell their souls to look the way you do in that dress," Judy told me a little wistfully, I thought. That was strange because I personally thought she was every bit as attractive as I was.  "And I'd probably sell my soul not to look like this," I replied. But I did look good very, very good.

I wasn't the only one who thought so. Ron showed up just as Judy and I descended the stairs. Mom had let him in. I thought he was going to break a toe when his jaw dropped to his feet as he saw me. "St. Sarah?"  I smiled as demurely as I could. I found myself actually enjoying that moment. "In the flesh."  "You look sensational."  That rated him another smile. "You look nice, too." He really did look nice in his dark blue blazer and tan slacks and red rep tie. Ron always did clean up well.

It was funny how I had never really noticed how nice Ron looked. No, nice wasn't the word, I had to admit to myself. What I meant was I had never noticed how attractive he was. And why should I have noticed? Steve certainly wouldn't have found him attractive.  That thought shook me. Not the one about Ron being attractive. What shook me was the way I thought of Steve. It was almost as if I had begun to think of him as another person.

I am Steve I tried to tell myself. Deep down under all this fresh makeup and perfume and sexy girl's clothing, I was still Steve wasn't I?  As we walked to the car, Judy whispered something to Ron. It only took another moment for me to realize what she was whispering about. I had already handed him the keys to drive, and he used them to unlock the passenger door and open it for me.

I knew how to get in without Judy's coaching. I had watched enough women negotiate a car seat in a skirt to know I had to slide my bottom in first and bring my legs around together. In spite of my best efforts, my skirt hiked up more than I expected and Ron got a very nice view of my thighs. I blushed a little and so did he, but neither of us said anything. Ron got in as I waived a timid goodbye to Judy and we were off.  We said nothing to each other as we drove out of town.

Apparently gone were the days when Ron and I could chat easily like the old friends we had been for so long. Things had changed. I was a girl in everything but my mind and Ron was... well, Ron was often dumbstruck in the presence of an attractive girl.  Ten miles out of town, I couldn't take it anymore. "Look, Ron, let's get something settled.

I may not look like it, but it's still me Steve inside here. I still like football and cars and my favorite movie of all time is still The Matrix. I'm still good in history and math and so, so in physics and I like dogs better than cats."  He glanced over at me before returning to face the road. "I know you are. I'm sorry, pal.

It's just when I look at you, it's hard to see Steve."  "Yeah, but it's really me. Take my word for it."  He shook his head. "It is and it isn't. Don't take this the wrong way, but you look incredible. Last night you looked good, but today..."  As his voice trailed off, I found myself strangely pleased with his compliment. I knew I looked great, but for some reason, it felt good to hear Ron say it. But the male part of my mind had to resist. "Well don't get too used to it, buddy.

I don't plan to stay this way if I can help it."  "You know I'll do everything I can to help you get back to being Steve," he said solemnly.  "I know you will. But until then, try to remember I still am Steve even though you have to call me Sarah. Try to treat me as if I were still Steve though."  "I'll do my best."  And he did, too. We spent the rest of the drive talking as if I were still in my male body. We discussed how the Huskers were doing, and that led to a general discussion of football.

I think it did us both good to be talking about a subject that interested us so much that we could overcome the breach my transformation had caused.  Before we knew it, we were in Lincoln. It was a town I had always liked. Both the University of Nebraska and the State Capitol were there, so it was a vibrant city. With only a couple of hundred thousand residents, it was small enough to be clean and friendly without the slums and crime of larger cities. Yet it was large enough to have the attractions like shopping and entertainment that made cities a fun place to live.

I had always looked forward to moving to Lincoln for college. I just hoped that when I did it would be as Steve and not as Sarah.  The State Historical Society was housed in a building on R Street just off the Capitol Mall and not far from the University. It's in an odd-looking building that looks as if the architect was influenced by Frank Lloyd Wright. I just hoped someone in the impressive building could help us figure out why we had been transformed and how we could get our real lives back.  I was understandably nervous as we approached the reception desk. The sound of my heels clicking on the marble floor and the tug of my tight skirt as I walked and the obvious bouncing of my breasts were all not-so-subtle reminders of my new identity. But I could see the receptionist was attractive enough to tongue-tie Ron, so I knew I'd have to explain what we needed.

I asked to see an expert on Indian lore and got a raised eyebrow from the woman. "Why do you need to see someone regarding that?" she asked. She was pleasant enough in her question, but I could see she felt that part of her job was to protect the staff from unwanted interruptions, and drop-in requests from two well-dressed teens qualified as an unwanted interruption.

Again, I was glad I had chosen to talk to her. Ron would have been stopped as if he had been hit by a six-foot-five defensive end.  "We believe we may have found some Indian religious artifacts," I lied glibly. "We'd like to know if the Historical Society has any interest in them."  "You could leave them with us," she suggested.  This wasn't going where I wanted it to go. "Well... we don't have them with us"  "Religious artifacts?" a friendly voice called out from down the hall. I turned and saw a very attractive (yes, I was starting to notice) man. He looked to be only a few years older than Ron and I.

His jeans and striped sport shirt gave him a casual air. His hair was black and a little on the long, shaggy side, and his skin was dark, his features pronounced. He was obviously mostly Indian. He gave us a warm smile and rushed up to take my hand. To his credit, he was subtle as he checked out my legs and breasts, letting his eyes quickly focus on my eyes. I wonder in retrospect how many men realize that one of the best ways to get women to like you is to look them in the eye when you meet them.  "George Brown," he said. His handshake was firm but friendly and his smile was pleasant.  "St...Sarah Hall," I replied. "And this is Ron Cook."  His handshake with Ron was no less friendly. "Let's step into a conference room and you can tell me what you've found."  On the way to the conference room, George explained that he was working on his doctorate in history. He had a deep personal interest in Indian religions and myths. "So few were well documented," he lamented, showing us to our seats. "And those that were often mistranslated or heavily edited.

They were studied in a prudish time and some of them were pretty risque. We didn't even start studying them until well into the nineteenth century."  "Mr. Brown" I began when we were seated.  "Call me George."  "George," I started over, "do the words Wakan and Tanka mean anything to you?"  George smiled. "Sure. The words are used in the dialects of the Sioux Nation.

Wakan refers to magical or mystical things and Tanka can be defined as a journey. The languages were fairly simple, so the words used together can mean several things. Commonly, it referred to the journey of the soul after death, but it could also be used as summoning a magical event. Where have you heard the words?"  I sighed. We would have to tell him everything. "George," I began, "we're going to tell you a story. I don't really expect you to believe it, but here goes"  To George's credit, he listened to our story.

I told him everything I could, from the night Lisa appeared replacing Lucas through my own transformation. I could tell he was torn. Part of him the part that was fascinated with Indian lore wanted to believe me. But the other part of him was anchored in modern life in a society that was technologically grounded and often questioned its own spiritual heritage, totally dismissing magic.

"You're telling me you used to be male a high school quarterback no less," he said as I finished.  "I know how incredible it sounds"  "Who won the Super Bowl last year?"  Reflexively I answered, "St Louis."  "And the year before that?"  "Denver."  "What's your favorite team?"  "The Kansas City Chiefs."  "What Super Bowl did they win?"  "Four."  "Who was their quarterback?"  "Len Dawson."

"Who did they beat and who was their quarterback?"  "The Minnesota Vikings and Joe Kapp."  His eyes were dancing. "Damn, girl, you're good!"  "What was all that supposed to prove?" I said just a little angrily.  He shrugged. "Nothing really. But it verifies that you like football and you like it the way men like it, complete with the statistics. Most women even the ones who enjoy football tend to not have a memory of its history and statistics.

Of course it doesn't prove anything, but I have to ask myself why you would make up such an incredible story."  "Then you'll help us?" I asked hopefully.  "I don't really know what I could do," he replied, dashing my hopes. "Like I said, we don't really know a lot about how Native American magic worked. So even if I believed you, I'm not sure what I could do."  "There must be something" I could feel tears welling up in my eyes and a tremor in my voice.  If someone had told me a day earlier that I would find myself as a young woman dressed in a short skirt crying as my best friend put a comforting arm around my narrow shoulders, I would never have believed him.

But that's what I did. This was my last chance to get my rightful life back, and I had just been told that there was nothing that could be done. I was going to be condemned to a life in skirts. The only time I would ever be on a football field again was if I went out as a cheerleader in college.  The strange thing was that I knew as I cried that I was being overly emotional.

I think I may have even been more emotional than I would have been if I had been born a girl. Girls learn to live with their emotions whereas boys learn to suppress them. I had no experience in controlling the new emotions that had come with my sex. But knowing all that didn't make it any easier.

The strange thing was the effect my outburst seemed to have on George and Ron. Ron had moved in immediately to comfort me almost as if he sought to protect me. George just looked stricken, as if this was somehow all his fault. Even through the tears, I understood what a strange power women's tears have over a man. It was as if all bets were off the minute the tears began.

"Well, maybe we can at least look through the record of Carver County," George suggested carefully. "I can't promise anything, but we may find something that tells us if anything else ever happened there"  "Oh yes, please," I told him, my tears miraculously ceasing. "Anything you can do to help, we'd appreciate."  My eyes dried and my makeup repaired after a quick trip to the lady's room, George led us to a large room with sturdy shelves loaded nearly to the ceiling with boxes.

"There's stuff here from all ninety-three counties in Nebraska," George explained. "Most of it hasn't been cataloged or studied yet."  "Why not?" Ron asked.  "Mostly due to lack of money," George answered. "We tend to study the big stuff from the larger counties first. That's because local historical societies have the funding to help us with our research, and the information we uncover has been used in local museums and so on. I doubt if much has been done in Carver County though.

It's just a small agricultural county. Nothing ever happened there to make a historian curious."  "Until now," I added.  He nodded. "That's right, Sarah. Until now."  The box containing Carver County's records wasn't very large, but it was very dusty. "It looks like nobody's done much research on Carver County in a while," George said, dropping the cardboard box of documents on a sorting table. He pulled a few dusty notebooks out and looked at the titles. "Looks like the standard stuff. Mostly, it's old minutes of the Leeds City Council and a few journals."  "Journals?" I asked.  "Yeah, stuff written by the early settlers. Mostly it's pretty dull stuff.

I think the pioneers wrote journals just to keep themselves from going nuts due to the isolation and such. Nothing specifically on any Native American activity though unless there's something in some of the journals."  "Maybe whatever we're searching for came in with the carnival," Ron suggested.  I had been thinking the same thing.

It had taken over two of the carnival employees after all. Our original assumption was that it was the fortuneteller part of the carnival. "Or maybe it has nothing to do with Carver County," I offered. "There were Indians all over the state."  "True," George agreed. "And if it is tied to the carnival, we'll have a hard time tracking it down. But most Native American magic is tied to a place.

Carver County is where you claim to have been transformed, so Carver County is the place to start looking. Hello."  "What is it?" I asked hopefully.  "Just one of those journals I was talking about," George muttered. "But the name on it is Amelia Carver. I wonder if she was part of the Carver family."  "She was," I told him. "We studied the origins of the county back in junior high. Amelia was Jebediah's daughter.

He was the original settler in the county. She inherited it from her brother."  "That's right," Ron chimed in. "The brother  Jasper died in an accident on the farm. He had never married, so Amelia and her husband inherited the land."  "I think I have two budding historians in my midst," George said with a smile. We smiled back at the compliment.  "Maybe Amelia wrote down something that might be helpful," I suggested.  "Well, it's possible," George said, opening the book. He read a few sentences as we waited silently. Suddenly he looked up at us, his mouth open.  "What is it?" both Ron and I asked at once.  "Let's take this back to the conference room," George proposed. "We might as well get comfortable. This might take a while."

I tried not to get my hopes up again as we walked back to the conference room. When we got there, George had already thumbed through several pages of the journal. He looked up at me when we were all seated. "Sarah, I want to apologize. I was just humoring you before. Now I believe everything you told me."  "You do?" It was almost too good to be true!  "Yes," he said with a serious nod. "Take a look at this and you'll see what I mean."  Ron and I sat next to each other and opened the dusty little leather-bound journal. The handwriting was neat and feminine and would have been easy to read were it not for the poor quality of the fading ink. Still, it was legible, so we read from the beginning.