"So," Miranda asked, grinning, "Is that your doll?"

"Yes," I replied. "Her name is Madison. I named her myself."

"That was very clever of you," she replied, "especially since her name is already Madison when you buy her in the store."
 

---

 

10. Madison And The Half-Cardigan
 

"Victor, are you feeling alright? You look pale."

"Mom, it's just... so much, all at once. It's, like, all out of control. Why did you buy these clothes? I already have all that stuff in the closet."

She sat me down on my bed and took a seat next to me. "I didn't think you'd mind," she said. "Especially after I saw you all dressed up yesterday."

I sighed. "That doesn't count. I just needed to think."

"Ah," she said.

I saw that what I'd said made no sense, but it was too complicated to explain.

She ran her hands through my hair. "Do you know why I bought this for you? You're my only child. I doubt I'll have any more children. I'm glad that you're a boy. I was never sorry about that, but I also never realized how much fun girls' clothes are. Do you know what I mean? I like shopping for myself, but I *love* shopping for a young girl. Girls your age get to wear all sorts of things — colors and styles and combinations — that a woman my age could never get away with.

"That's part of it.

"The other part is that *Macy* picked all the tops and skirts that are hanging in your closet. We just have this tiny window to do all these girly things, and I didn't want to miss the chance to pick something nice for you to wear. Okay?"

"Okay," I said grudgingly. "I just hope you understand that I'm *not* a girl, I don't want to *be* a girl, and I don't want to *dress* like a girl."

"All right, hon."

"After Halloween, it all goes away."

"Fine."

"No more Juliette. Just Victor."

"Okay," Mom agreed. "I get it. But for right now, Miranda's coming, so Juliette had better get ready."

She walked into the hall to give me some privacy, and soon I had the whole business on me. I took a look in the mirror and said, "Mom, I look like a dork."

"Oh, no, I can't believe that," she said, coming back into my room. "What do you mean? You look adorable!"

I sighed. I didn't want to look adorable, but I didn't want to look like an idiot, either. "Look at this crazy sweater! It's made for a baby!" It only came halfway down my back, and the sleeves ended just above my elbows. "This looks ridiculous: it only covers my chest."

"It's not a sweater," Mom replied. "It's called a half cardigan, and it's supposed to be that way. Do you see how the stitching matches the color of the tee shirt? Isn't that nice?"

"Yeah," I grunted.

"Yes," she corrected.

"Yes," I repeated (as if it mattered!). "Mom, I still look like a dork."

"No," she repeated. "You look like a stylish young lady. I just need to do something with your hair."

She gave my head some quick brushstrokes and stuck a barrette on one side. "There! Much better!" she declared, but I wasn't convinced. In the mirror, all I saw was bare legs and bony knees. A dorky boy in a dorky dress with a dorky "half cardigan."

---

When Miranda and her mother arrived, Mom led us to the family room, where she'd put the board games. I noticed that, along along my new Barbie-like doll Madison, she'd picked up a pair of hula hoops and two jump ropes.

The mothers went off to the kitchen and left Miranda and me to our own devices.

"So," Miranda asked, grinning, "Is that your doll?"

"Yes," I replied. "Her name is Madison. I named her myself."

"That was very clever of you," she replied, "especially since her name is already Madison when you buy her in the store."

We both laughed, and she said, "You're better off playing dumb. If you pretend you know, it's not going to work."

I shrugged. "I'm not going to make a career of this." Then I asked her, "Hey, do I look like a dork in these clothes?"

"No," she said, "You look really nice. I wish I had an outfit like that. My mother liked it too."

"How do you know?"

"I know all her looks," Miranda replied, with a cute one-shoulder shrug, as if reading her mother's mind were the easiest thing on earth.

She picked up a hula hoop and said, "Can we play outside, or is that too dangerous for you?"

"Dangerous? Oh, you mean that somebody might see me? No, I think we're fine, as long as we stay in the back yard."

We picked up the hoops and the jump ropes, and started for the kitchen. Miranda stopped me and said, "Here, you forgot this," and slipped the doll into my hand. "I think Madison wants to come with us." She kept giggling and wouldn't let me put it down. "Take it," she laughed. "She wants to go with you!"

I wanted to be angry and irritated, but Miranda was too infectiously funny, so the two of us were giggling as we passed through the kitchen on our way to the back yard.

"Girls," Mom said, stopping us, "are you going outside?"

"Yes," Miranda replied, "Madison needs some air."

That set the two of us giggling again.

Mrs. Jameson asked who Madison was, so I waggled the doll at her.

Mom said, "I don't know about playing outside, let me just see..." She walked outside, stepping backwards from the house, looking right and left at the houses on either side of us. When she got to end of our patio, where the grass begins, she stopped.

"Okay, girls," she said. "You can play on the patio, but stay off the grass. Do you understand?"

I understood; as long as we stayed on the patio, the neighbors wouldn't see me. Miranda understood this too, but she decided to be a smartass, and asked my mother why.

"Oh," Mom said, at a loss, "there's something wrong with the grass, and you might..."

"We might get our shoes dirty," I finished for her.

"Right!" Mom said, and headed inside. "Remember: stay on the patio."

I looked at Miranda pointedly, and she replied with a soundless, what? who-me? sort of face, so I let it go.

We hula-hooped and jumped rope, and sat and talked, and made Madison talk. It was nice to be with Miranda, although it was weird to sit on the ground, or kneel on the ground, in a dress. I couldn't find a way to get comfortable. I tried to copy the way Miranda was sitting, but but it didn't work for me. My knees were getting a little chafed.

Miranda told me, "Hey, I figured out a way to tell my mother that I know who you are."

"How?"

"In your living room, there are a bunch of family pictures, but Juliette isn't in any of them. Only Victor is. There's one picture of you standing with your parents, so you can see how tall you are. I can tell Mom that I saw it and figured it out.

"The day after Halloween, I can tell her all that, and say that while we were out trick-or-treating I called you Victor and you didn't notice."

"Very clever," I said. "And then we can still be friends."

She smiled and picked up Madison. Miranda made Madison dance and sing and say silly things. I had my eyes down, laughing and watching what she was doing. Out of the blue, Miranda said in a low voice, "Listen, you're my sister. We don't live here. Victor is our cousin. Got it?"

"Huh? Is this some kind of game?"

"Just play along," she replied.

What Miranda had seen — and I'd missed — was the girl who'd appeared at the end of my yard. In one moment there was no one; in the next, she was there, standing in front of the bushes. When she spoke, my heart stopped.

"Hi," she called. "Can I play with you?"

"Oh, sure," I said, in a funny voice. I meant exactly the opposite, but it came out sounding like an invitation.

She walked toward us, but stopped short of the patio.

"Why don't you play on the grass?" she asked. "It's softer."

I almost told her that there was something wrong with the grass, but Miranda answered first. "Our mother says we'll get our clothes dirty."

"Oh," she replied, and came up to join us. "My name is Steffy, and I'm nine. What are your names?" She picked up a hula hoop, and started it going. "I didn't know that any girls lived here."

"We don't live here," Miranda replied. "We're visiting our aunt."

"Are you sisters?"

"Yes."

She studied us for a few moments. I expected her to say that we didn't look like sisters, because we don't. I still didn't understand why Miranda wanted to say we were...

"So who's older?" Steffy asked.

"I am," we both said together. I looked chagrined. Miranda laughed.

"Are you making fun of me?" Steffy asked.

"No," Miranda told her. "I'm older. I'm ten, and Juliette is nine."

My mouth gaped in a silent What!?

"Like me!" the girl exclaimed happily.

Miranda continued, "Juliette likes to *pretend* she's the oldest, but she's my baby sister. I remember the day Mom brought her home from the hospital."

"That's impossible," I countered, but Miranda smiled in a superior, big-sisterly way.

"I'm nine, too," Steffy confided to me, as the hula hoop gyrated around her. "We're the same age," she explained, as if I hadn't understood.

"That makes me feel a lot better," I replied drily, but Steffy missed my sarcasm; she only smiled.

"This is Juliette's doll," Miranda explained. "I'm showing Juliette how to make her dance."

I didn't like this business of playing the little sister, and Miranda seemed to enjoy being the big sister a bit more than I liked, which is to say, not at all.

I tried to communicate this by making shocked and (what I thought were) threatening faces at Miranda. Steffy started laughing. "Juliette, you make the goofiest faces!"

"Thanks," I said.

I stood up. If I could have gone back into the house, I would have, but it would have been rude. My eye fell on my rusty old swing set. I hadn't used it since I was little, but now seemed like a good time to go for a swing. I didn't really want to leave Miranda; I just wanted to be a little bit alone, without going away.

Miranda waited until I was at the end of the patio. Just before my foot hit the grass, she said in a sing-song voice, "Juliette, Mom told us to stay off the grass."

I sighed. Miranda looked over Steffy's head at me, and gave me a smile and wink. I rolled my eyes, but I smiled back.

We played with Steffy for about a half hour, when Mrs. Jameson signalled Miranda that she was leaving. "We've got to go inside, Steffy," Miranda told her. "It was fun playing with you."

---

Apart from the embarrassment of being the "little sister," I discovered something interesting while playing with Steffy. Even though she and Miranda were only a year apart in age, they were a world apart as people.

Steffy was still a little girl. She didn't (at least as far as I could see) have the inner life or maturity that Miranda has. Miranda has opinions. Miranda is self-aware. Steffy just played, and lost herself in play.

---

Mrs. Jameson left. Miranda and I played Scrabble and talked. Since Mom had gotten Madison a few changes of clothes, we took turns dressing her, an activity Miranda seemed to like, but I found rather mechanical. I only did it because I was supposed to.

We had dinner, and played Uno until Mrs. Jameson picked up Miranda and left me and my mother alone.

"I saw you two playing with a little blonde girl," Mom commented.

"Yeah — yes, her name's Steffy. I guess she lives in the house behind us."

"Hmm. Aren't you concerned that she might come over again, looking to play with you? And what do I tell her mother, when she asks who Steffy was playing with today?"

"Tell her I'm Miranda's sister, and I don't live here."

"Oh! Is that what you told her?"

"Yes," I said. "It won't be a problem."

"If you say so," she said. "But you realize: things get more complicated if more people see you as Juliette."

"Yes, I get that," I said.

"I hope you do," she replied. She looked at me for a bit, and ran her fingers through my hair. "Do you still think you look like a dork?"

"No, I guess not," I said.

"You sound surprised."

"I guess I forgot what I was wearing."

"Yeah," she said, with a smile. "You better go change before your father comes home. And put those things in the wash. You were sitting on the ground in them."

"Oh, yeah," I replied. "I better get Madison out of sight, too."

I ran to the family room. The Uno cards were lying where we'd left them. I didn't bother with those; I could clean them up later. For now, I had to gather all of Madison's little shoes and clothes and shove them into the clear plastic bag Mom had left for just that purpose.

As soon as I was done — and doubled checked to be sure I got it all — I had to use the bathroom. When I came out, I grabbed Madison and her bag, and ran to the living room, so I could get upstairs before Dad came home.

I knew he didn't like the whole Juliette business. I couldn't blame him. His brain seemed to short-circuit every time he saw me in a skirt, and it took him hours to recover.

Unfortunately, he was due for another short-circuit.

If I hadn't made my detour to the bathroom, I'd be walking into my bedroom when Dad arrived home. Instead, precisely when he was halfway through the front door, I came bursting into the living room, directly in front of him.

"Wha–" he said. "I thought I was supposed to have missed all this."

"Sorry, Dad," I apologized, growing very red. I could see his eyes scan me and come to rest on Madison, clutched in my left hand.

"Oh, this," I said. "It's just... it's just a prop."

He spread his open palms toward me, as if to say, I don't want to know.

I moved toward the stairs, and would have gone up, but Mom came in from the kitchen. She looked from my father to me and back to my father. I looked at both of them. Dad stood still as a statue, one foot in the house and one foot out.

Mom asked, "Aren't you going to come in?" When he didn't reply, she walked over, gently pulled him by the arm until he was all the way inside, then shut the door behind him.

"Is there something I should know?" Dad asked.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"What do I mean?" he repeated. "Here you are, dressed like a ten-year-old girl, with a barrette in your hair, holding a doll."

"Miranda just left," I told him, stretching the truth just a tad. "I'm sorry." I lifted my foot toward the stairs, but he gestured for me to stop.

"Can we all sit down?" he asked, and to my mother, "Will you get me a beer? We need to talk about this."

I sat in the loveseat near the fireplace. He lowered himself into his chair, and put his feet on the ottoman. He regarded me in silence, then said, "Could you put that thing behind you? Or at least put it down?"

I hid Madison behind my back. Mom came in with the beer, set it on a coaster, and eased Dad's shoes off. He took a deep sip and sighed.

"That's better," he said, and looked at me. "Victor, all I want to know is this: all this dressing up, playing with dolls, and everything else — it's going to stop at Halloween. Am I right? Is that the idea? Or is some lifestyle change going on this house?" He fixed his gaze on Mom's face, then mine, and continued, "If there is, I need to know. I don't want to be blindsided later on. I've got to make adjustments."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "What lifestyle changes?" I also wondered what "adjustments" he meant.

Mom said, "He means, are you going to be dressing this way from now on? He wants to know if you–"

"Oh, no," I said. "No, no. I don't want to be a girl."

"But you keep dressing up," Dad said.

"It wasn't my idea," I said, glancing at Mom.

Mom raised her eyebrows at that. "Don't go blaming me. You agreed. If you want to be friends with Miranda..."

"That's another thing," Dad interrupted. "I don't understand why she can't know that Victor is a boy."

"She can," Mom said.

"She will," I said. "The day after Halloween, I'll tell her."

"Why not tell her now?"

"Her mother thinks Miranda would think that it's weird for a boy my age to dress like this for Halloween."

Dad nodded. "Miranda would be right on the money with that one," he said. "But the day after, she won't think it's weird? Explain that one to me. Isn't it going to be even weirder when she finds out she was deceived?"

He looked me in the eye and added, "What kind of boy is she going to think you are?"

I thought about what he said. One thing was clear: This was all Mrs. Jameson's fault. She was the one who didn't want Miranda to know. Maybe she figured we wouldn't end up being friends; that it would end with Halloween.

Still, it wasn't going to be a problem. Miranda already knew. It was our secret — mine and Miranda's — but it was probably best to let my parents know. So I asked, "If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell Miranda's mother?"

Both parents tensed, and took on a guarded look.

"It's nothing bad," I said. "It's just a secret. Do you promise? You can't let Miranda know that you know, either."

Grudgingly, they promised.

"Miranda knows that I'm Victor. She figured it out."

They glanced at each other.

"When did she figure it out? Today?" Mom asked.

"No, um, the night I stayed over her house," I replied.

Both faces blanched at the same time. "Why? What happened?" Mom asked in a fearful tone.

"Nothing," I said. "Oh, it wasn't then, it was before, that night we ate at the pizzeria."

"A week ago?" Mom asked.

"I guess. Anyway, you mentioned 'Victor', so she googled it and found pictures of me."

"On the internet?"

"Yes."

They both took deep breaths, so I added, "They were from the costume contest last year. Anyway, she recognized me. Plus, the family pictures." I gestured around the room.

"Oh, I should have thought–" Mom began.

Dad cut her off. "So, for a week, she's known who you are."

"Yes."

He stopped for a moment, as though lining the ideas up in his head. Then: "Okay. Let me get this straight. She knows you're a boy. She's known for a week. Her mother knows you're a boy. Your mother and I know you're a boy. And you, I hope to God! I hope that you know you're a boy."

"Yes," I said, "of course." It was obvious, wasn't it?

"It was my understanding that you were dressing like this to fool Miranda."

"Right."

"... who knows you're a girl. I mean boy."

"Right." Didn't we just go over this?

"So who are you fooling now, by dressing this way?"

I felt a weird tingling all over my body. Everything was right, wasn't it? But somehow it was all turning wrong. It was like mud sliding down a hill. All at once it started, and you didn't know it was sliding until it was too late.

"Her mother," I replied.

"... who knows you're a girl. Argh! A boy!"

"Yes," I agreed.

I still didn't get it, so Dad spelled it out. "If everyone knows you're a boy, why do you have to dress up?"

Now I got it.

Dad continued, "You and Miranda kept this secret so you could keep wearing a dress. Isn't that it?"

"Oh, no," I protested. "No, no, no, no, no."

© 2007, 2008 by Kaleigh Way