I grew up in a smallish town in one of the Prairie states. The town has about 50 000 inhabitants. It was quite a straight town. The straws in the surrounding wheat fields were straight. The plough furrows were straight. The edges of the fields were straight as were the roads separating them. The roads just kept on going straight on until they disappeared beyond a horizon unobscured by hills, mountains or forests. In town the streets were straight and the blocks square. To be honest the people were straight and square as well. Even my sister’s flushes were straight. I soon stopped playing poker with her. Don’t get me wrong. I love the town. It was a great place for a kid to grow up. Lots of love and caring. But I have to admit it wasn’t exactly exciting.

As I said I hadn’t expected my sophomore year to be exciting.

Everyone called me CC. Some thought it was funny to pronounce it like sissy. I didn’t like it but I still preferred it to my official name: Cornelius Cornelius IV. The care I took about my skin, nails and hair wasn’t regarded as very manly. To make matters worse there was my week-end job and I’m not exactly built like a football player. I may not be bulky but there is nothing wrong with my wiry muscles. I had been bumped up to the A baseball team. No surprise there since the main newspaper in the state had included me in the list of the state’s ten best high school pitchers. That made me the team’s star. Too bad that didn’t mean that much. The team had won ONE game last year. Not that the opposing team didn’t have the runs. It was only that they were due to the lousy hygiene in their school cafeteria. They forfeited. I was rather frustrated. Some of the other in the team had the potential but had stopped caring. So had coach. I had no great expectations for my time in the A team. I’ll tell you a secret. No matter how great your pitching is you can’t win a game exclusively by that. You can minimize losses but you can’t win without at least ONE good hit. Too bad my fielding and batting was on par with the rest of the team. I had to sneak away to the other side of town and practice with my cousins in the other High School’s team. Of course I kept that very secret.

I liked girls. I liked them very much. Most girls liked me as well. Unfortunately they didn’t like to be my girlfriend. Oh, I had had many girlfriends. Never for long though. I was very awkward around my girlfriends. I didn’t really know how to act. Most girls broke up with me because I was too vanilla. They kept waiting for me “to take things to the next level”. Right! Feed-back is valuable and you should act on it. Right! That resulted in smacks on my face and the girls storming out because I was pushing too hard. A lose – lose situation. And the word got around that I was hopeless as a boyfriend. However, the girls liked me well enough as long as I was a friend and not a BOYfriend. So I had many girl friends.

Thus. there was no surprise that I was between girlfriends when a new girl started in school my sophomore year. Mary had lost her parents in a traffic accident and apparently the only relative was our town’s police chief. We pitied her. The police chief was a “character”. He was also called CC but no one even thought of calling him sissy. There was an argument as to why he was called CC. Was it for Chief Carlsson or was it for “Count” Carlsson? His real name was Basil it was whispered. Apparently one guy had called him Count Basil once. Sure, the guy was drunk but NOT disorderly. He still spent the night in jail. The count part actually was true. Or rather would have been if his grandfather hadn’t renounced the title when becoming a US citizen. Apparently he was a descendant in the direct male line from an old Swedish king. Unfortunately the queen wasn’t one of his ancestors.

Anyway, there was Mary at the beginning of sophomore year. Shy, insecure and most likely traumatized by the loss of her parents. She didn’t make a big splash. Actually, she might just as well haven’t been there. I decided to do my civic duty and asked her for a date. I strongly deny that the fact that I was between girlfriends and that she didn’t know my reputation had anything to do with it! Surprisingly we hit it off. She was nice. Much more clever and fun that she had let herself show in school. She also appreciated my lack of assertiveness. We just enjoyed each other’s company. No pressure. Just nice evenings spent together.

I was always welcome at the popular girls’ table at lunch, the only boy so favored. Too bad it was more in the way of “one of the girls”. Many of them were clients of mine. Anyway, I finally brought Mary there as well to met them. The first time wasn’t exactly a success but on the other side it wasn’t a catastrophe either. I collected a few favors and tried again. This time Mary dared to reveal her inner self in a much better way. She soon became one of the popular girls. Only thing she was hopeless when it came to fashion and make-up so the table unanimously decided to do something about that. Anne was seconded to get Mary a new wardrobe. As for the make-up there was no discussion since there was a specialist- Me!

I couldn’t duck. I desperately wanted to but I couldn’t. I finally had to give in to my mother’s pressure and take her test that would take me from being an “assistant” in her salon (it was my father that owned the saloon) to one of her “artists”. I could do without that embarrassment, but I couldn’t really afford a full makeover for Mary. As the guineapig for my exam she’d get it for free. I had hoped to do it when the salon was closed but mother insisted that I had to do it “under normal pressure”. And pressure there was. All the girls had gathered to watch us, well me. Full frontal audience. Knowledgeable and fierce critics as well. I really gave it my all. I applied everything I knew and gave Mary a running commentary so she’d be able replicate most of it later. She was smart and recorded everything. Sure, it took longer than for the more experienced of the girls in the salon but at the end I was quite proud of my work. My mother gave me a B+. Yay! Now I’ll have the honor to wear the pink smock when I work the salon. On the other hand my mother upped my pay.

Anne did at least as good a job. Mary had turned cute. Wrong! She had become a beauty with the combined efforts of Anne and me. No matter how grateful Mary to me, she absolutely refused to watch the baseball team practice. It was just too painful she claimed. An exaggerated claim for a girl who didn’t know or care about baseball, I thought, but I couldn’t really argue. I was a bit disappointed that she didn’t even bother to turn up at our games. But on the other hand, why should she? No one else did.

Instead she started hanging around Anne and the other cheerleaders when practicing. Soon they dragged her into joining their practice whenever there was someone missing. Actually she became quite good and Coach Schmidt tried to convince her to join the squad. To Coach Schmidt’s despair Mary kept refusing. She seriously dented Coach’s reputation for always getting her way through sheer persistence (i.e. bullheadedness). For some reason Mary absolutely refused to disclose why she absolutely refused. Cheerleader or not the newly popular girl caught the attention of the boys in school. Surprisingly she kept telling them that I was her boyfriend. I was surprised. Sure, we got along nicely but, I mean, football players and all that. Sure, I was the school baseball star which meant my status was only slightly lower than a benched C team football player. Still, she insisted that I was the only boy for her! Mary was really an amazing girl.

I grew more and more fond of her. I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself, but I had fallen hopelessly in love with her. By December we spent many evenings at each other’s homes. I even had stopped being terrified by Chief Carlsson. I couldn’t call him CC, could I? He just called me “kid” which in my opinion was a big step up from “that sissy” or even the later “wimp”. One winter evening Mary and I were sitting in front of the fireplace with its lovely fire, hot cocoa and cookies. We sat close together without saying anything. Without thinking about it I slowly turned my head and moved towards Mary’s lips. Then something I hadn’t expected happened. She started crying! That was a first for me. I mean, when I had tried with other girls before I had been slapped but never had the girl cry. I thought Mary and I had had something special. I was crushed. I pulled back and, damn it, started crying too. That got Mary to start comforting ME. And then she started telling me a story. A story about a boy who had had his parents murdered in front of him. A boy who had been placed in witness protection. A boy who was notorious for hitting on girls and thus to be more deeply covered presented as a girl.

I got angry. I had had girls reject me before. More than once. OK, many times. But at least they had been honest and straight (remember, I lived in a straight town) and not told me ridiculous stories to slither out of a relationship.

Then there was a booming.

MARY! WHAT WERE THE THREE THINGS YOU WERE TOLD?

A very small Mary recited:
• Always stay in character no matter how safe I think I am.
• Never contact anyone from my old life in any way.
• Never, ever, reveal that I’m in the witness protection program.

Mary was sent up to her room and Chief Carlsson dragged me into his office. I can tell you that the way he looked I was really scared. I even briefly thought he’d kill me to protect Mary’s secret. I wasn’t far off. Surprisingly he had gained a rather high opinion about me. Probably the only male in town who really respected me. Surprise!

First he broke his own rules and made me promise two things.
1. I’d do my damned best to keep the whole thing secret, even from my parents.
2. Since I’m only human (well, he used the words “fucked up silly sissy boy”, and still he respected me) there was a risk I’d inadvertently slip and reveal something and thus I had to promise if I did that I’d have to inform the Chief IMMEDIATELY.
There would be no punishment for me but he absolutely HAD to be warned and then whisk away “Mary”. He really should do that there and then, but “Mary” had really been a mess when he’d had taken care “her” but had improved a lot since then and he hated to dislocate “her” again. Besides, I was really to blame for much that improvement.

I promised.

Next he asked me how I felt about “Mary”. I had to think about that for some time. Finally, I realized that while I couldn’t consider “her” as my girlfriend any longer “Mary” still was a very good friend. I also realized if I carried on as before that day, i.e. without any kisses, no one would suspect anything. I told the Chief that.

The Chief was very relieved. Both as a policeman and as a foster father. He really cared for “Mary”. He surprised me by asking to call him just “Count”. He’d be damned if his foster daughter’s very good friend and official boyfriend would keep calling him Chief Carlsson. It turned out that at home he was called “Count” and not CC. Of course he would be (Okay you know the word) if he called ME CC. He then proceeded to tell me a little bit more about Mary. Nothing about her real identity of course. If you noticed I dropped the quotation marks there, Somehow I still thought about Mary as a girl. Also, safer that way for everyone concerned. She was a year older than me but had had a year knocked off to keep her safer. Hey, I had dated an older woman! Oh, that’s right, I hadn’t. As for the baseball thing our team really did cause her physical pain since she’d been a star batter and fielder. That’s why she couldn’t be let near a baseball team, even a lousy team like ours, since just possibly it could appear in media. Just as a cheerleader could. Besides, even a team like ours wouldn’t stoop so low as to accept a girl on the team.

And that was how I wound up in prison.

Did you read my description of the landscape? Not very easy to practice baseball without anyone seeing you. However, just outside of town there was an old closed down prison that was Count’s responsibility and he had the keys. Within those walls Mary and I, and sometimes Count could safely practice. Mary really was a great batsman, I couldn’t say “Batgirl”, could I? We both improved immensely from practicing with each other.

After a few awkward weeks we fell back into the old pattern. We dated as usual. Mary hung out with the popular girls. Sometimes including me and sometimes not. To Coach Schmidt’s despair she kept refusing a spot on the cheerleader team even if she by then was better than half the squad. To Coach Smith’s indifference the baseball team kept losing – every game. It looked like we’d beat last year’s record. Things thus became almost as uneventful as I had expected my sophomore year to be. The problem was that I started having genuine feelings for Mary. I also saw signs, many signs, that Mary started to have genuine feeling for me. Awkward. Not that we let that change anything. I mean, no kissing or anything gay like that. I even got used to Count calling me Cornelius (As you already know he’d be *!”# if he called me CC).

Then late in May Count came driving in his work car with screaming wheels. I was outside and he and Mary got out. He hurriedly told me Mary’s cover had been blown by a person at witness protection. Mary was being taken away but they made this brief stop to tell me goodbye. Mary embraced me and KISSED me. All this took thirty seconds. In that time a car drove up and a guy jumped out and started shooting. First he shot the Chief. Then he moved the gun towards Mary. With Count out of the count I jumped the guy. Well, tried. At least I caught the bullet. I was later told that my wound was surprisingly harmless. Yeah, they told me that. It still HURT LIKE HELL and I blacked out. I later learnt that my “attack” gave my mother just enough time to whack the guy with a hair dryer. Don’t ask me what she was doing with a hair dryer outside our house. I’ll NEVER tell you.

When I woke up Mary had already left town. I’d have been happier if I hadn’t shared a room with Count. It was all his fault the nurses called me Cornelius. I briefly, just briefly, considered telling them Count’s real name in revenge.

My wound pretty much spoiled my entire summer. Like the loss Mary wouldn’t have. Since Mary had left I had no contact with the Chief any longer. That’s why I was surprised why he stopped his car where I and some friends were hanging out. He told to get into the car. I wondered why. He just growled:

“Just get into the fucking car damned punk.”

I did. I had just gone from Cornelius to damned punk. Was that an improvement or not? What I didn’t think about until later was that my friends had just seen me taken away by the police and hostile police at that. Combined with the fact that we had kept everything about Mary very secret and only confirmed that I had been shot without further explanations that started rumors flying. When it happened again the next week, this time deliberately from the Chief’s side, rumors became certainty. CC was a juvenile delinquent who had been shot in a gang shooting. I became the bad boy. Nice boys and girls started avoiding me. Some girls were attracted by my bad boy image. I was between girlfriends again so of course - I ignored them. They weren’t Mary.

The real reason Count (yes, we were back at that again) picked me up was to update me about Mary. The reason I hadn’t been called to testify was that the guy pleaded guilty to everything. He had been sentenced to life without parole. It turned out that he had acted completely alone. Apparently he was such a nasty person that he had no friends and acted alone including when murdering Mary’s parents. All his money had been located and confiscated (for other crimes) so he wouldn’t be able to bribe anyone again. Mary was thus deemed to be safe. Mary really didn’t have any relatives. The closest thing she had to parents was Count and his wife. They had grown found of her so they welcomed her back. The second time it was to tell me that Mary wouldn’t come back.

When my junior year started there was a new student. Ryan, the adopted son of the police chief. Since he now was considered to be safe they had decided to revert to his real name and gender. They also decided to tell the town everything. They had got my approval first. All this had four consequences for me:
1. I became the town hero. Luckily that faded after a while.
2. I lost my position as MVP in the baseball team.
3. I lost my “Bad Boy” aura. Good riddance
4. Instead I got confirmed as the “Gay Boy in Town”

Who could blame them? I still looked a bit girly since I had to keep my appearance to the standard my mother required for my (well-paid) job as an artist in her salon. I still had lunch at the popular girls’ table, And: I had dated a boy for a year.

I have to confess that it was a bit awkward to meet Ryan. Especially in the locker room. I mean, seeing my ex-girlfriend naked with that extra thing. Euh. We were both too embarrassed and kept our distance, for a while.

On the other hand I was truly happy to lose my place as MVP on the baseball team. Together Ryan and I could make a difference. By a fluke and some excellent play from both of us we just barely won the first game of the season. That prodded the rest of the team to take practice seriously and some of them developed some respectable skills. Well, we had already moved away from last year’s record of zero wins, so the only way was up. That meant that Ryan and I were thrust into each other’s arms again, metaphorically. We started hanging out again. What I hadn’t expected was that Ryan had kept some girly habits. Only at home at first but as he got more and more comfortable he started to affirm his feminine side more and more in school as well. He was welcomed back to our table the day he wore a skirt to school. He still confirmed that he was a boy named Ryan but the last year had enlarged his view of himself. A boy who was more than just a boy. To Coach Schmidt’s exasperation Ryan the boy accepted the spot on the cheerleading squad (excluding baseball games) that Mary the girl had always refused.

Ryan and I drifted together again. We no longer denied what we felt for each other. Is Ryan really a girly boy or perhaps a girl or maybe not? Am I really “The Gay Boy in Town”. Who cared? We loved each other and surprisingly (most) people just accepted us as nice people and good friends (and baseball stars).

Ryan has this amazing gown picked out for junior prom tonight and I have him in my chair in the salon where I’m truly excelling in giving him a full makeover under the critical gaze of Anne and the other girls waiting. Let them wait. A genuine Genius can’t forced or hurried. Today I will excel. My extraordinary talent will finally be revealed to the world. I will create a true masterpiece that will take their breath away. I’d better, Ryan will be on the podium tonight. Prom King would have been ridiculous. Prom Queen … just not right. However, this year the school had decided to add a third royal: Royal Other. No guess who’s going to win that crown.

I had been completely wrong. The sophomore, and junior, year that I had expected to be boring was anything but. Those two years completely changed my life. The town that I had believed to be absolutely straight had thrown me a curveball.

Addendum the next day:
I had NOT expected them to elect “The Gay Boy in Town” Prom King. Good thing Prom Queen Anne is a good sport.
Sex? Don't be silly. Both Ryan and I are very traditional. Sex is for Senior Prom.