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Too Pretty to Be a Boy -11- by lajien
🕑 Added 2025-06-26 04:48:19 +0000 UTCUncle Ian’s car rumbled to a stop in front of our house; the neon green mountain bike he’d gifted me still strapped to the rack.
My skin glistened with sweat, the sticky heat clinging to my cycling gear—the shorts that hugged my legs with every pedal. I was desperate for a shower, but as I glanced at Nathan, an idea sparked. I had a closet overflowing with clothes I’d never wear, relics of my pre-transition days or bold pieces my mom insisted I try. Why not use them to test Rebecca Queen’s grip on her son?
“Nathan, would you like to come in?” I suggested fixing my emerald green eyes on him, my voice light but deliberate.
“I think I’ll go home, thank you,” Nathan replied, his shoulders hunching. His bright pink cycling gear seemed to weigh him down, and his eyes darted nervously, no doubt picturing his dad—Elias, trapped in that floral dress and heels under Rebecca’s iron rule. I could tell he was worried, but this was my game now, not theirs.
“This wasn’t a request, actually,” Uncle Ian interjected, his gruff voice cutting through Nathan’s hesitation. He leaned forward, his weathered hands still on the steering wheel, and shot Nathan a look that brooked no argument. “Ask your dad—a Davis never takes a no for an answer,” he added, chuckling, his eyes crinkling with the same tenacity I’d seen in Mom and Dad.
He was right. Mom and dad, starting from nothing, had built empires—her boutique, his restaurants—by refusing to back down. That fire ran in my veins too.
Nathan’s confusion deepened, his brow furrowing, but I pressed on, softening my tone to ease his fear. “Look, I’ll call your mom personally and tell her you’re at my house. You won’t get in trouble.”
His gaze flickered, still unconvinced, but then he sighed, a small surrender, and stepped out of the car. Uncle Ian gave me a nod, his engine growling as he pulled away. I could see Angela’s figure near the house, her silhouette framed by the late afternoon sun. I waved, her smile a quick burst of warmth, before leading Nathan toward the front door, my sneakers scuffing the pavement.
“By the way,” I said, tossing a mischievous grin over my shoulder, “if you see a giant, don’t look him in the eyes. He might eat you alive. It’s bad enough you’re a boy and with me.”
Nathan’s face scrunched in bewilderment, clearly lost, and I stifled a laugh. I was half-serious—Johnny, my hulking half-brother, could swallow Nathan whole with one glare. I could only hope they wouldn’t cross paths.
“Is that how you think of me?” Johnny’s voice boomed from the hallway; his smirk practically audible before I even turned. There he was, all six-foot-something of him, jet-black hair tousled, grey eyes glinting with mischief.
He stepped past me, sizing Nathan up like a lion eyeing a gazelle. Nathan froze, his gaze fixed on the floor, not daring to meet Johnny’s eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” Johnny said, clapping a heavy hand on Nathan’s shoulder, “unless you try to date my sister, of course.” Nathan’s face paled, his eyes wide with terror, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing.
“If you’re going to do that, no one will date me until I’m 30,” I teased, folding my arms, amused by the standoff. Nathan wasn’t short for his age, even with a solid build, but next to Johnny and my other brothers, he looked like a sapling beside redwood. They were monsters, all muscle and presence.
“That’s the plan,” Johnny shot back, his smirk widening as I stuck out my tongue, earning a deep laugh from him. He softened, extending his hand to Nathan. “Anyway, I’m Johnny, this little one’s older brother,” he said, his tone warm now, almost disarming. Nathan hesitated, then shook his hand, his shoulders easing just a fraction.
“I’m Nathan Queens,” he introduced himself, his voice steadier. I caught the glint in his eyes, a flicker of envy as he took in Johnny’s broad shoulders and effortless confidence. Nathan probably dreamed of a physique like that, but Johnny was a freak of nature—UCLA basketball star, regional director, and still my overprotective goof.
“I’m not little, thank you very much,” I huffed, planting my hands on my hips. Johnny chuckled, and Nathan cracked a rare smile, the tension breaking like a snapped twig. “Anyway, where’s Mom?” I asked, glancing around. Mom was usually there when I got back from Uncle Ian’s rides, her maternal radar on high alert. She’d been dead set against them at first, worried I’d crash or worse, but Dad’s smooth talking had won her over.
“In the kitchen, sweetie. I have a guest,” Mom’s voice called from deeper in the house, warm but distracted. A guest in the kitchen, not the formal reception room? That meant someone close, someone she trusted like family.
Johnny leaned in, his voice dropping to a grumble. “She’s this weird woman, kept asking about weird measurements—shoulders, shoe size, saying male models are rare these days.” He rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed. I knew exactly who it was. Johnny hated the spotlight, but it chased him like a moth to flame. He was Johnny—charisma incarnate, even when he tried to dodge it.
“Keep an eye on Nathan, don’t let him leave,” I told Johnny, who nodded, his gaze flicking to Nathan with a mix of amusement and warning. I headed for the kitchen, my sneakers squeaking on the hardwood, and sure enough, there she was—Linda, in all her glory.
She stood by the counter, commanding the room in a navy-blue pantsuit that shimmered faintly under the kitchen lights, its tailored fit accentuating her sharp confidence. The fabric looked smooth, almost liquid, and I could imagine its cool touch against her skin. She was rocking it, to say the least.
“Well, look who it is!” Linda exclaimed, her observant eyes lighting up as they landed on me, a smile curling her lips.
“It’s nice to see you again, Linda,” I said, a grin spreading across my face. It had been ages since that plane ride from New York, when she’d mistaken me for a girl, back when I was still Carl. Her sharp eye hadn’t been dulled, and that pantsuit screamed she was here on business.
“I came over to offer you a job, Carla,” Linda said, leaning forward, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. “A model for my agency.”
I raised my eyebrow, caught off guard. Me, a model? “You’re kidding,” I said, crossing my arms, my sweaty cycling gear suddenly feeling out of place next to her polished look.
Linda laughed, a warm, confident sound. “Finding a girl like you isn’t easy, darling. I thought I’d found the perfect male model,” she said, glancing toward the hallway where Johnny was, “but your brother’s not interested.”
I giggled, picturing Johnny squirming under her scrutiny. “Yeah, good luck with that. He’d rather wrestle a bear than pose for a camera.”
Linda sighed, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Scouting male models is harder than it was five years ago. The firm I’m contracted with needs someone to model feminine clothes for men—skirts, dresses, the whole deal.”
She gestured broadly, as if conjuring racks of flowing fabrics. “It’s not unheard of to see a boy in a dress or skirt these days, but not everyone wants to model those clothes. Male models can easily find other gigs—runway, sportswear, you name it. This one’s a tough sell.”
An idea hit me like a bolt, my mind racing back to Nathan—his pink cycling gear, his fear of Rebecca’s control, the way he’d softened on the bike ride. What if I could help him gain confidence, model clothes Rebecca would approve of, and maybe loosen her grip? It was perfect. “I have the right model for you, Linda,” I said, my voice steady with conviction.
Mom, standing by the stove, turned and shot me a confused look, her eyebrow arching. “Carla, what are you up to?” she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and caution.
I didn’t answer, already spinning on my heel and heading out of the kitchen. My heart raced with the thrill of the plan. I checked the living room empty. The hallway? No Nathan. Then I heard Johnny’s voice outside, low and animated. Peering through the window, I spotted them in the garage.
Johnny was showing Nathan his sleek black motorcycle, its chrome gleaming in the fading sunlight. Nathan’s eyes sparkled, wide with awe, his earlier fear replaced by boyish fascination. I mumbled under my breath, “Boys will be boys,” a smile tugging at my lips.
I stepped outside, the warm air brushing my sweaty skin, and strode over. “Nathan, come with me,” I said, grabbing his arm gently but firmly. “I’ve got a job for you, dream boy.” His head snapped up, confusion clouding his face, but I was already pulling him back toward the house, my sneakers crunching on the gravel.
“A job?” he managed, stumbling slightly as I led him inside. Johnny trailed behind, chuckling, clearly intrigued by my sudden mission.
I marched Nathan into the kitchen, where Mom and Linda stood. Mom’s eyebrow shot up again when she saw Nathan, her maternal radar pinging. “Carla…” she started, but I cut in, turning to Linda.
“This is your model,” I said, gesturing to Nathan like I was presenting a prize. “Nathan can do it, and I’ll personally convince his mom.”
Nathan’s jaw dropped, his voice barely a whisper. “What?”
Linda stepped forward, her sharp eyes scanning Nathan from head to toe, taking in his tall frame and nervous posture. She tilted her head, a slow smile spreading. “He’d definitely pull it off,” she said, nodding. “The look, the build—it’s perfect for what the firm needs.”
I beamed, my plan clicking into place. Linda excused herself, pulling out her phone. “I must tell the firm the good news,” she said, her voice buzzing with excitement. Then she turned to me, her eyes gleaming. “I’ll still need you, Carla. A girl like you on the runway? We’d be unstoppable.”
I crossed my arms, a playful smirk tugging at my lips. “You’ll have me, Linda, but only if Nathan’s in.”
She laughed, giving me a Knowing nod before stepping out to make her call, leaving the kitchen buzzing with possibility.
Linda’s heels clicked out of the kitchen; her phone had already pressed to her ear as she relayed the news about Nathan to her firm. The air still buzzed with the thrill of my plan—Nathan modeling for her, a chance to boost his confidence and maybe chip away at Rebecca Queens’ control.
I stood by the counter, my cycling gear still clinging to my sweaty skin, the shorts’ snug grip a reminder of the bike ride that started this whole scheme. Mom watched me, her arms crossed, one eyebrow arched in that way that said she was piecing together a puzzle. Nathan hovered nearby, his pink cycling gear rumpled, his nervous energy practically vibrating.
“Carla, what’s going on?” Mom asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and maternal radar. She stepped closer, her dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Since when are you and Nathan so close?
I opened my mouth to explain—how I’d seen Nathan’s fear on the bike ride, his softening under my encouragement, my idea to use Linda’s modeling gig to help him—but before I could get a word out, Nathan blurted, “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Romano.” His voice cracked, and he looked down, his hands twisting together. “I was awful to Carla before, bullying her, and I—I didn’t mean it. She’s a wonderful friend, and I don’t want to lose her.”
I froze, caught off guard by his sudden sincerity. Mom’s eyebrow shot up higher, her lips twitching like she was fighting a smile. “Have you been replaced by an alien or something, Nathan?” she teased, her tone light but probing, sizing him up the way she always did with anyone who got close to me.
Nathan’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t back down, his eyes flicking to me with quiet gratitude. Mom’s expression softened, and she nodded. “Alright, Nathan. I accept your apology. My daughter’s got a big heart, and I trust her judgment. If she sees something in you, that’s enough for me.”
I grinned, warmth spreading through me at her words. But Nathan still looked like he’d just run a marathon, his shoulders tense, his gear probably as sticky as mine. An idea sparked. “Mom, can Nathan shower here?” I asked, tilting my head. “And maybe I can give him some of my old clothes. You know, the ones from before. I’m not gonna use them anymore.”
Mom’s eyebrow arched again, sharper this time, and she crossed her arms tighter. “Carla, you know Rebecca will be furious. From what I’ve heard, Nathan only wears dresses and skirts at home. Pants or shorts are rare for him.”
Nathan’s gaze dropped to the floor, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s true. My mom… she only lets me wear pants or shorts sometimes. Mostly it’s dresses.” His fingers tugged at the hem of his cycling shirt, like he was trying to hide.
I waved a hand, undeterred, my mind already spinning with the plan I’d hatched earlier. “It’s okay, Mom. I’ve got this. I’ll make it work with Rebecca.” I leaned forward, my voice brimming with confidence. “Can I go with Nathan to his house later to explain? So, he doesn’t get in trouble?”
Mom sighed, a long, exasperated sound, but her eyes softened with that mix of pride and worry she always had when I got like this. “Fine, Carla,” she said, nodding. “But don’t be late. Your Nonna’s coming over tonight, and you know how she gets.”
“Non sarò in ritardo, Mamma,” I replied in Italian, flashing a cheeky grin as I channeled Nonna’s flair. The words felt warm on my tongue, a nod to the lasagna-fueled evenings we’d shared.
Mom’s eyebrow shot up yet again, and she switched to Italian, her tone half-scolding, half-amused. “Se Nonna arriva e non ti trova, sarà triste, Carla.” Her warning carried the weight of Nonna’s stern hugs and the inevitable lecture I’d get if I kept her waiting.
Nathan’s head tilted, his brow furrowing as he looked between us. “What are you guys speaking?” he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and curiosity.
Mom and I burst out laughing, the sound filling the kitchen like a sudden burst of sunlight. “It’s Italian, Nathan,” Mom said, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
I grinned, leaning toward him. “My mom’s family has deep Italian heritage, and we still maintain our language. I learned Italian from a really young age—Nonna made sure of it, with her stories and cooking lessons.” The memory of Nonna’s kitchen, fragrant with basil and simmering sauce, warmed me as much as Mom’s proud nod.
Before Nathan could respond, I held out my hand. “Nathan, can I borrow your phone? I need to call your mom.” My tone was gentle but firm, my plan to smooth things over with Rebecca already taking shape.
Nathan hesitated, his eyes flickering with unease, but he reached into the small fanny pack strapped to his waist—the one he’d worn to hold his stuff during the bike ride. His fingers fumbled as he pulled out a sleek phone, its screen glinting under the kitchen lights. He handed it to me, and I dialed Rebecca’s number, my heart thudding with anticipation. Nathan’s gaze dropped, his hands clenching as the call connected.
“Nathan, where are you?” Rebecca’s voice crackled through the speaker, harsh and unforgiving, like a whip snapping. “You know you’re supposed to be home by now.”
Nathan’s eyes welled up, tears shimmering as he bit his lip, his shoulders hunching further. My chest tightened at the sight, but I wasn’t about to let her scare him like that. I took the phone, pressing it to my ear. “Mrs. Queens, it’s Carla Davis,” I said, keeping my voice steady and warm.
The change was instant. Rebecca’s tone softened, turning calm and sweet, like honey over velvet. “Oh, Carla, hello! I didn’t realize Nathan was with you.” Her voice carried a warmth I knew was reserved for me, not him.
“I promise Nathan won’t be very late,” I said, glancing at him with a reassuring nod. “Once he showers, we’ll ride our bikes over to your house. I just wanted to make sure it’s okay with you.”
Rebecca paused, then chuckled softly. “I understand, dear. If you want Nathan to stay longer, that’s perfectly fine too.”
I smiled, seizing the opportunity. “He can come back tomorrow if that’s okay. I’d love to hang out more.”
“Actually, Carla, you should come over,” Rebecca said, her voice almost too eager. “We’d love to have you.”
“Deal,” I agreed, my mind already mapping out how I’d handle her in person. I hung up, handing the phone back to Nathan, who wiped his eyes quickly, trying to hide his tears. “Come on,” I said, gesturing toward the hallway. “You can use the guest bathroom to shower. Leave your clothes outside—I’ll have them washed and bring them tomorrow.”
Nathan nodded, still quiet, and followed me to the guest bathroom. I pointed out the towels and soap, then stepped back as he closed the door. A moment later, the door cracked open just enough for him to slide his rumpled pink cycling gear out, a small bundle that hit the floor with a soft thud.
As I bent to pick it up, something caught my eye—a pair of delicate, lacy panties tucked among the shorts and shirt. My breath hitched. Rebecca’s control ran deeper than I’d realized, and Nathan’s admission about dresses suddenly felt heavier.
I carried the bundle to the laundry room, my mind racing, then headed to my room to pick out clothes for him. Opening my closet, I sifted through the shelves of my old, pre-transition wardrobe—clothes I’d never wear again. I pulled out a pair of navy boxers, soft and broken-in, a pair of denim shorts with a slightly frayed hem, and a short-sleeved T-shirt with a bold “G” on the chest, the logo of Gravity, my favorite superhero from those old comic books Johnny used to read to me.
I added a pair of black socks, the cotton cool against my fingers, and stacked the outfit neatly. I carried it back to the bathroom, knocked on the door, and called, “Nathan, I left clothes for you in front of the door.”
Back in my room, I turned to my own wardrobe, the familiar ritual of choosing clothes grounding me. I picked out a matching bra and panties set, the fabric smooth and light, then grabbed white denim shorts that hugged my hips and a sleeveless tunic top, its flowy hem swaying as I held it up.
As I set them on my bed, my eyes caught the bottle of medicine on my nightstand, its amber plastic glinting under the lamp. Above it, on the small screen connected to the house’s AI system, a message from Mom glowed: “Carla, these are your booster tablets. Take one in the morning and evening. – Mom.”
I nodded, the routine new since my GCS diagnosis. I popped open the bottle, shook out a small white tablet, and swallowed it with a sip from the water cup on my nightstand, the cool liquid soothing my throat. The house AI chimed softly, registering the action, a quiet hum of technology woven into our lives.
With my clothes tucked under my arm, I headed to my private bathroom, the one connected to my room. The door clicked shut behind me, and I finally stepped into the shower, the hot water washing away the sweat and the weight of the day, leaving only the spark of my plan to face Rebecca tomorrow.
The shower’s hot water cleaned off my sweat and stress, leaving my skin cool and my mind set to deal with Rebecca. I stepped out of my bathroom, the floor cold under my feet, and dried off with a soft towel that smelled like flowers. In my room, I put on a bra and panties that felt light, white denim shorts that fit tight, and a sleeveless tunic top that moved when I walked. The clothes felt strong, like they helped me feel brave. I opened my closet and took out the white high-top sneakers. Mom got me, with baby blue flowers sewn on them.
I tied them tight; the canvas was hard but comfy and looked in the mirror—I was ready.
I went downstairs, the wood floor squeaking, and saw Nathan through the back door in the yard. He was with Johnny, the sun bright on Johnny’s black hair as he threw a basketball. Nathan wore navy boxers, denim shorts, and a Gravity T-shirt I gave him, trying to copy Johnny’s moves, looking eager but a bit awkward.
Johnny showed him how to hold the ball, kind and patient, and I thought Johnny was like a big brother to him. Nathan’s shoulders were loose, his smile wide—he looked so happy in those clothes, not nervous like usual.
I opened the door, warm air touching my skin, and called, “Nathan, we gotta go!” Nathan turned and nodded.
“Thanks, Johnny,” he said, his voice loud and glad. He ran over, the denim shorts fitting perfect, the Gravity T-shirt’s big “G” shining in the sun. I saw how comfy he was in my clothes, standing tall, not scared like he is at home.
We went to the front of the house, where Uncle Ian left our bikes by the porch. My neon green bike glowed next to Nathan’s black one, both a bit dirty from our ride. I grabbed mine, the handles cool in my hands, and Nathan did the same. We rode down the street, the breeze pulling my tunic and cooling my neck. Nathan rode next to me, looking free in the shorts and T-shirt, not stiff like in his pink bike clothes.
Nathan’s house looked a lot like mine—big, fancy, with a nice lawn—but it felt heavy, like something was wrong. We parked our bikes by the front door. Nathan took his phone from his denim shorts’ pocket and tapped it. The door clicked open, unlocked by the phone. It was cool, like our house, but not warm.
“Mommy, I’m home!” Nathan called, but his voice shook on “Mommy.” His eyes looked upset, and I knew he hated saying it. My heart hurt for him.
Rebecca’s voice came from the living room, smooth and bossy. “In here, sweetie.”
We walked down a shiny hallway and into the living room. Rebecca sat on a white sofa, looking pretty for her age. She wore jeans that fit well and a green floral blouse, its soft fabric catching the light. She was strong, her sharp eyes watching everything.
Elias, Nathan’s dad, came over with a tray of cold drinks, moving slowly in a floral dress that hit his knees, opaque pantyhose on his legs, and high heels that clicked loudly. His clothes showed Rebecca’s power, and my stomach felt sick.
Elias gave Rebecca a glass, his hands shaking a little, and she took it without looking. Her eyes saw Nathan’s denim shorts and Gravity T-shirt, and she frowned. “Sweetie, did you ask me to wear those?” she asked, her voice sweet but mean.
Nathan looked down, his hands twisting, but I stepped up, my voice steady. “I thought he could borrow my old clothes, Mrs. Queens. I don’t need them anymore, and they fit him.”
Elias tried to talk, but Rebecca stopped him. “Quiet, Elias. The ladies are talking.” He flinched, his face white, and acted like he wasn’t there, standing in his dress, opaque pantyhose, and high heels, like he was invisible.
Rebecca smiled at me. “Sit here, Carla,” she said, pointing to a chair across from her, like I was her equal. I sat, my denim shorts sticking to the leather, and Elias gave me a cold drink, the glass wet in my hand. He put the tray on a glass table, then sat next to Rebecca, fixing his dress carefully, his legs tucked tight, his high heels close to the floor.
“I like strong girls,” Rebecca said, leaning back, her blouse moving soft. “You’re like your mom, Carla. Lilian never gives up.” Her voice was warm, but it felt like a trick.
I smiled politely, my fingers tight on the cold glass. “Thanks, Mrs. Queens,” I said, but her stare made my skin feel funny.
She started talking about her beliefs, like she wanted me to agree with her. “The world needs order, Carla,” she said, her voice sure.
“People are weak if they don’t follow rules. Women like us, we’re strong because we make others do what’s right. Men, like Elias, need to be guided, kept in their place—dresses, heels, whatever it takes. It’s not cruel; it’s fixing chaos. Nathan’s learning his role too, to be soft, obedient, pretty. You could be part of this, Carla, helping make things right, leading with me.”
Her eyes locked on mine, like she was trying to pull me in, and I felt cold, my stomach turning. Her ideas were awful, making Nathan and Elias live in her cage, and I wanted to run.
Nathan came down the stairs, wearing a light blue dress, white tights, and kitten-heeled shoes that clicked soft. His face was tight, his happy look gone, and my heart felt heavy for him.
Rebecca smiled, looking proud. “Nathan, show Carla your violin. Play for her.”
My eyes got big, excited. “You play violin?” I asked, leaning forward.
Nathan nodded, a tiny smile showing, and Elias said, “He’s really good.” His voice was quiet but happy. Rebecca glared at him, her eyes sharp, and he stopped, his hands folding tight.
“I play too,” I said to Nathan, smiling. “I was in a youth orchestra in New York, taking lessons since I was little. My old teacher picked Ms. Caldwell at the Colburn School for me to keep going here.”
Rebecca’s smile got bigger, and I could tell she liked me more, her eyes bright. “That’s great, Carla,” she said, but I shook my head, laughing a bit.
“If I watch Nathan play, I’ll stay all day and forget the time,” I said, meaning it. I switched to my plan. “Mrs. Queens, I want to talk about a modeling job for Nathan. My mom’s friend Linda has an agency, and they need someone to model girly clothes—skirts, dresses, stuff like that. Nathan would be great.”
Rebecca raised an eyebrow, looking at Nathan, then me. I thought she’d say no, but when I said girly clothes, her smile came back, like she was thinking hard. “That sounds okay,” she said, nodding. “I agree.”
I let out a breath, glad. Nathan’s eyes got wide, but he didn’t talk, his tights making a soft sound as he moved in his kitten heels. I stood, putting my glass on the table. “We’ll talk more tomorrow,” I said, ready to go before Nonna got to my house.
Nathan walked me to the door, his kitten heels clicking on the floor. He held the Gravity T-shirt, denim shorts, and boxers I gave him, trying to hand them back. “Here,” he said, his voice low, looking down.
“You like them, Nathan,” I said, pushing them back. “Keep them.”
He shook his head, his eyes scared. “I’ll get in trouble if Mommy finds out.”
I sighed, taking the clothes, their soft fabric warm in my hands. “Okay, but I’ll keep all my old clothes for you. You can wear them when you come over, no trouble.”
Nathan nodded, a small smile showing. I leaned closer, my voice quiet. “Tell your mom I agreed to date you. I’ll decide when and where, okay? It’ll help with her.”
His eyes got big, but he nodded again, trusting me. I smiled, my high-tops squeaking as I stepped outside. I grabbed my bike, the neon green frame cool under my hands, and looked back. Nathan stood in the doorway, his dress and tights looking wrong after the Gravity T-shirt.
I knew I was right to help him, but Rebecca’s ideas were scary, and I had to be smart to beat her.
Comments
The Goddess
Nice chapter Rebecca definitely isn't right in the head Great plan by Carla Hopefully Rebecca won't accompany Nathan to the shoots At least Nathan and Johnny are getting along
Teri Ann
Ooh - a Cunning Plan! Let's see if it can get around Rebecca's awful control and help Nathan to have a life, even part time.
