"Madison, you bitch!" I whispered. "I should bury you in the back yard!"

Instead, I found a more humane solution: I hid her and her clothes in my sock drawer.

---

 

11. Madison Betrays Me
 

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

"No," I said, "It isn't like that."

"Then what is it?"

"Okay," I said, wracking my brain. Miranda knows I'm a boy, and it was her idea to keep that fact a secret. Why was it supposed to be a secret?

"Oh-kay," I repeated slowly. It was coming to me now. "Right. See, Mrs. Jameson didn't want Miranda to know, but I was worried about how she — Miranda — would react once she found out. I like her, and I want to be friends, so it wasn't a very good beginning..."

I looked at my audience. Neither Mom nor Dad said anything. They just listened.

I scratched my head. "So... Sunday morning I was at her house, lying in bed, trying to think of how to tell her, and then she came in and told me that she knew."

"You were in bed?" Mom asked. It sounded like she was asking, You were playing with dynamite?

"Nothing happened!" I snapped. Then, remembering that I was talking to my parents, apologized.

"Anyway, we were wondering why her mother wanted to fool Miranda, and we decided to keep it secret, to, uh, to, like, to play a trick on her mother."

My parents sat in silence. It didn't look as though I'd convinced them, so I asked, "Do you see?"

At that, my parents glanced at each other. It was one of those glances that carry information between two people... a look that confirms that they're both on the same page.

But what page were they on?

"I see," Dad said, "but I might not see what you want me to see."

I noticed that his beer sat next to him, untouched since the first sip.

"But you believe me, right?" I asked.

They glanced at each other again, and Mom said, "Of course we believe you, hon. Come here and give me a hug, and then go change out of those clothes."

I went over and hugged her. It was something I don't do as Victor, but I liked doing right now. It sure made me feel better. As we let go of each other, I turned to my father. Not because I wanted a hug, but just because he was there.

But he smiled and said, "How about a hug for me, too?" And we did. It was a shorter hug than my mother's. I smelled my father's scent. It's a lot stronger and (obviously) more manly than my Mom's. He didn't squeeze me the way Mom did, but when I put my hands on his back I was surprised by how muscular he is.

After that, I headed for the stairs, but before I got that far, Dad said, "You forgot your little friend."

"Huh?"

He pointed at Madison, who was lying on the couch.

Blushing, I picked up the doll and the bag of her clothes, and brought them upstairs.

At the door of my room I tossed Madison and her things onto my bed, and — using an old trick of mine — closed my bedroom door from the outside. Quietly, I lay on my stomach at the top of the stairs so I could eavesdrop.

"What do you think?" Dad asked.

"I don't know," Mom answered. "He keeps insisting that he doesn't want to wear these clothes, but... I didn't tell you... Yesterday when I came home, he had on that outfit — you know, the one with the brown skirt–"

"No," Dad interrupted, "I don't know the one with the brown skirt, and I don't want to know. He was home alone and he put on a dress?"

"Yes," Mom replied. "When I asked him why, he said it helped him think."

That's not what I said! I silently protested.

I heard my father exhale loudly. "We have to put a stop to this."

Mom replied, "Let's see how he reacts the day after Halloween, when it all disappears."

Fine by me, I thought, and quietly entered my room, silently shutting the door behind me. I sat on the bed and picked up Madison. "What do you think, Madison?" I asked.

Moving her back and forth as she spoke, I made Madison say, "I think everything's going to be fine!"

Then, realizing what I'd done, I dropped the doll like a hot potato.

---

The next day in math, I sat down next to Diana. "Hey, uh," I said uncertainly. "Can you walk home with me today? I want to talk about something."

"Sure, Chapters!" she said brightly, "any time!" and she smiled.

At lunch I told Lou, "Lou, today after school, I'm going to be walking home with Diana, and–"

He paused mid-chew and put up his hands. "Say no more, Romeo. I get the picture. Three's a crowd."

"It's not exactly that," I replied needlessly. "I just want to talk to her."

He shook his head. "You are so stupid, Chapters. Can't you see that girl is dying for you? And you want to hang around with a ten-year-old. Trade up, man! Trade up!"

I tried to think of a comeback — something, anything to say, but I drew an utter blank.

Then I remembered something: "Hey, Lou, how are things going with that girl you were talking about?"

"Oh," he nodded happily. "Pretty well, I think. We talk, we talk. She's going to be at my party, so you can meet her there." He paused, pretending to remember. "Oh, I'm sorry! *You* won't be there! You'll be at a more exclusive party. Excuse me!"

"Oh, come on, man! Nobody was going to do Halloween–"

"I'm just playing with you, man, no harm," Lou laughed. "Don't get so wound up. But seriously, you should go for Diana. Make a move. Don't get left behind."

---

I was wondering exactly what sort of "move" I could make with Diana, especially when she saw me as some sort of sociology experiment, as a boy who likes to wear dresses.

In any case, on the way home I unburdened myself. I told her everything I hadn't told her before. Except — after my experience with my parents — I was careful to not mention the fact that Miranda knows I'm a boy. Diana was sure to draw the same wrong conclusion that my father had: that I liked dressing like a girl.

By the time we were sitting in my kitchen and she was ever-so-slowly sipping some iced tea, I'd covered pretty much everything else, up to and including my eavesdropping last night.

She nodded.

"And, uh, that outfit you were wearing yesterday..." she began.

My mouth fell open. "No, come on, Diana," I protested. "I'm in trouble here. My parents think I like to wear girls clothes and you want to ask me what I was wearing? I need your help! I have to figure out what to do!"

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's just that I just never heard of a half-cardigan."

"Oh, jeez!" I said. "It's an idiotic thing! Just imagine you were wearing a sweater that was made for a baby! The sleeves don't even reach your elbows, and the rest of it only comes down to here!" I indicated a point on the side of my chest. "It doesn't even cover your rib cage! It's SO stupid."

"Oh," she said, and I thought the subject was closed. Then she asked, "Can I see it?"

"No," I replied firmly. "The last time I showed you something, I ended up getting caught by mother."

"What are you talking about?" she asked with a frown.

"You wanted to see me in that outfit last time, and then when my mother came home, she caught me wearing it."

Diana looked askance at me. "When I left, I didn't see your mother anywhere."

"No," I said. "She came, like, a half hour later."

"And you still had it on?" she asked. "Why were you still wearing it? Why didn't you just get changed the minute I left?"

I sighed. "Don't ask it like that," I said. "I was kind of overwhelmed. I just sat down to think, and next thing I knew my mother was standing in front of me."

"Oh," Diana said. I realized it was a noncommittal sound; she wasn't agreeing or even saying I see. It was just a meaningless conversational noise.

"Why were you overwhelmed?" she asked. "Nobody's forcing you to wear those clothes, are they?"

"No."

"Or tricking you or blackmailing you?"

"No, it isn't that. Each tiny step was fine in itself, but now I suddenly find myself in this pickle."

She giggled.

"Okay," she said. "I better go home now. But first can I see the half cardigan? And then I'll run."

I took a deep breath and was about to speak, but Diana continued:

"I won't ask you to put it on. I swear."

We went upstairs, and I showed her the half cardigan. To my relief, she thought it was as strange as I did. Then she asked to see the whole outfit. As I gave her the pieces, she laid them out on my bed.

"It's cute!" she said. "I wouldn't mind having an outfit like that myself."

"I looked like a dork in it," I lamented, and I could see she was about to ask me to try it on. She saw that I saw, and she stopped herself. Then her eye fell on something behind me, something on my desk.

"Oh," she cooed in a teasing tone, "does she have a name?"

I turned to where she was pointing and saw Madison lying on my desk.

I reached over and picked the doll up. I *meant* to hand her to Diana, but I never got that far. "My mother bought that," I said. "It's just a prop, like in a play, you know?"

"Oh," she said again, scratching her eyebrow. "I guess. So, does she have a name?"

"Yeah," I said, blushing, "Madison."

"Did you name her after anyone in particular, or did you just like the name?"

I was about to reply, when I heard a sound at the door. It was my mother.

"Hello," Mom said in a cautious voice. "I'm Victor's mother. You're... Diana, aren't you?"

"Yes, hello," Diana replied, smiling and pushing her hair back from her face in that gesture I love so well.

I saw my mother's eyes take everything in: the outfit on the bed, the doll in my hand... "Oh, Mom," I said. "This is not what you think..."

"I wasn't thinking anything," my mother replied. "I would prefer, though, that you two play or do homework, or do whatever it is you're doing, downstairs."

"Chapters was just showing me the half cardigan," Diana ventured, watching my mother's face closely. "I never heard of such a thing before."

"Yes, well," my mother said, walking over to the bed and picking it up, "You don't see them very often. And it's not like I went looking for it."

"It's nice." Diana commented. "I like the whole outfit."

Mom didn't answer. She didn't look very happy.

"Okay," Diana said. "Well, I have to go now, anyway. Nice to meet you again, Mrs. Samson!"

I walked Diana downstairs, helped her with her backpack and said goodbye. It was at that point that I realized I still had Madison in my hand, and rather than risk Dad finding my "little friend" again, I carried her back up to my room, where my mother was waiting.

"Oh, Mom, oh, Mom, you have to believe me..." I said.

"Victor, you're my son and I love you, but what in the world were you thinking?"

I sighed.

"Does Diana know that you like to wear these clothes?"

"Mom I don't like to wear them. Just because you keep catching me with them, doesn't —" I sighed and began again. "Look, Diana has this thing..."

My mother frowned. "She doesn't like boys who dress like girls, does she?"

"Oh," I said, taken aback. "I hadn't thought of that." So I thought about it. "Maybe she does." Seeing the look of alarm on my mother's face, I hastily added, "Maybe she wishes that I was like that. I don't know. Maybe. See, she had this friend who used to dress up–"

Mom sighed. "I don't think I want to know, Victor. I'm sorry. This is not the world I grew up in. I'm trying to adjust. But you can't go around telling people about this. They're going to think there's —" she stopped, unsure of which way to go.

I knew what she was going to say: she was going to say They're going to think there's something wrong with you, but then she stopped. She stopped because she was afraid that there really *was* something wrong with me, and she was afraid of hurting my feelings, or something like that.

"I didn't tell her," I said. "She figured it out. She remembered me from the thrift store."

"I see," Mom replied, and suddenly she looked very tired. "This is getting out of hand, Victor. It is just so, so far out of hand."

She left the room, shaking her head, and I realized that I'd been holding Madison the whole time.

"Madison, you bitch!" I whispered. "I should bury you in the back yard!"

Instead, I found a more humane solution: I hid her and her clothes in my sock drawer.

---

Nothing was going right. The only reason I wanted to talk to Diana was to figure a way OUT of my mess. Instead I'd dug myself in deeper. Now Mom thought I had a girlfriend who liked me to dress up, and that *I* liked showing off my girl clothes.

... and my doll, of course!

After a moment of panic, I realized there was only one thing to do: call the whole thing off.

At this point, I'd rather miss Halloween entirely than have everyone think I wanted to be a girl. It seemed that each day another person learned about my, uh, my new hobby. I had to quit before everyone in school knew.

We could get rid of the clothes.

I could wear my old costume from last year.

We could still go to Boston. I could still hang with Miranda, but as Victor, not as Juliette.

I took the half-cardigan and the other clothes off my bed and put them all away. I looked around the room and didn't see any other girl stuff lying around, except the Clarkina glasses. I shoved those into my bedside table.

Then I went downstairs, to give my mother the news.

I heard the phone ring when I was halfway down.

Mom picked it up in the kitchen. I could hear her talking, and although I couldn't make out the words, I knew she was talking to Dad. She didn't sound happy. She sounded upset.

I sat down on the stairs to wait out the call. There was no point walking into a fire. Wait till the fire stops, then go.

After a minute or two I heard Mom say, "Fine, then! Fine! No, I said it's fine!" and she hung up the phone, a bit forcefully.

She walked out of the kitchen and looked up at me. "Are you hiding?" she asked.

"Sort of," I said. "Was that Dad?"

"Yes," she said. "He's not going to be home tonight, or tomorrow night, either."

"So is the Boston trip off?" I asked.

"No," Mom said tersely. She seemed quite angry. "You and I will drive in after school tomorrow, and your father will meet us in the city Saturday."

"Why?" I asked. "Is because of all this stuff with the girl-clothes?"

"No," she said, drawing a tight breath. "It's because of his god-damned job."

I was shocked because Mom never swore.

"That stupid job!" she said. "His stupid boss! He can never plan beyond a day! These idiotic trips that come out of nowhere, that could have been scheduled weeks ago, for some reason must always be a complete surprise!" She let out an angry huff of air and said, "I am SO angry! I'm just beside myself!"

"Oh, ah, Mom?" I asked, with that incredible naive bad timing of youth. "I have to tell you something."

"What?" she asked, trying to contain herself.

"I don't want to do all this girl stuff this weekend. I just want to be Victor, and wear my costume from last year. We can tell Miranda's mother that Miranda knows that I'm a boy."

"Oh!" she shouted. "I've had enough of this back and forth! I don't want to hear it any more! You want to wear a dress, then you don't want to wear a dress! I've had enough! After Halloween, it's over!"

"But I don't," I whispered. I was actually frightened of her, and I gripped the bars that held the handrail. "I really don't."

She caught the look on my face and stopped herself. She drew in a long breath, held it in a moment, then let it go.

In a calmer, quieter voice, she said, "Come here, Victor. Come here to me. Don't be afraid. Come on. Come to your mother. Come here."

I slowly walked down the stairs and into her open arms. "Oh, Victor," she said. "I'm not mad at you. I'm not even mad at your father. I'm mad about that idiotic job of his that takes him away from us.

"Listen to me: you and I will go into Boston tomorrow, right after school. Maybe I'll even come and pick you up early. Would you like that?

"We'll have dinner in town, and stay in our nice hotel. And then on Saturday morning your father will come, and we'll all be together. We'll have a good time. Okay?

"And you'll have your three-day Halloween, just like we planned, alright?"

"Okay," I said. I wasn't sure where we stood on the girl-clothes issue, but it clearly was not the time to ask.

© 2007, 2008 by Kaleigh Way