Hi everybody! It's good to be back. I've decided to take a little break from Kayleigh's Story for the time being, but I will be posting a few short stories. Enjoy!

Charles and Philip were biting their nails, wringing their hands, deep in thought, anxiously awaiting the most important moment of their lives.

The eighth grade talent show marched on for what seemed like an eternity. Act after act after act came and went, some good, all prolonging the two boys’ suffering.

The last day of eighth grade was supposed to be a happy occasion. And it would be, hopefully, for Charles and Philip, although that would come much, much later.

But for now it was all tension, even moreso when the two boys were tapped on the shoulder by one of the coordinators and told they needed to start getting ready.

“This is it,” Charles breathed, and, after making sure no one was watching, he squeezed his his best friend’s hand.

The duo ducked into the room that had been designated just for them to change in, a room lacking windows with a single light that flooded the room with just the right amount of illumination. A mirror would give the girls a chance to see themselves before their performance.

Charles and Philip opened their garment bags and gulped. Wearing girls’ clothes was not new for them. Wearing ballet leotards and tutus was second nature. Bras and panties only made them yawn.

The hard part was doing so in public. Charles and Philip had only told one person their true identities before, and that was Mr. Wakefield, the talent show director, who’d been a lifesaver in making sure the two ballerinas were as ready for the show as possible.

Other than that - well, let’s just say both the boys’ families and all of the boys’ friends were sitting in the audience completely unaware of the fact that the “Mystery Act” being performed by “Charles and Philip” as advertised on the program was in fact a mini-ballet recital being performed by the girls soon to be known as “Charlene and Rachel.”

As the girls began getting dressed their nerves calmed somewhat, and they began to reminisce about their remarkable ride.

“You know, you started this,” Rachel jokingly scolded Charlene as the two adjusted their breast and butt pads to be worn with their bra and panties.

“What do you mean? The whole dressing up thing? Or this?” She gestured around the room.

“Both, actually,” laughed Rachel. She fit her panties effortlessly up her clean-shaven legs and rummaged in her bag for her makeup kit.

“You’re right,” Charlene’s face glowed. “I remember now, it was in third grade. I suggested we wear my cousins’ first communion dresses...”

“And in a way, we never really took them off,” Rachel exclaimed, as she blissfully heaped eyeshadow on her lids.

“Hey, you know what?” Charlene thought of another memory the girls had shared. “We decided to do this shortly after the first time we wore makeup.”

Rachel confirmed Charlene’s story. The girls had read that not a lot of girls wore makeup until eighth grade, so they swore off the stuff until after school on the first day.

“It was that day, looking at me and you in the mirror with our faces covered and our t-shirts and leggings, that I knew we had to come out.”

“And I’m glad we’re doing it,” Charlene added. The makeup portion of the preparations was done, and now came the part that never ceased to enthrall the girls: dressing like ballerinas.

“Hey, Rachel,” Charlene said to her girlfriend. “How many times you wear ballet tights to school under your jeans?”

“Oh, I’ve lost count,” Charlene responded, making sure the tights covered her butt-pads nicely. “They’re the bomb, honestly. They feel so good, and they make me feel like a real girl. That’s enough for me.”

“You may have worn tights to school,” Rachel said with a grin crossing her face. “But can you claim to have worn a leotard under an outfit?”

“No, I cannot.” Charlene sighed as she zipped herself into the baby pink leotard. She looked herself over in the mirror and Rachel did likewise.

“I can kind of, sort of, still see a boy in there,” Rachel said to no one in particular. “But not for much longer.”

Carefully, apprehensively, the two girls stepped into their matching pink tutus. They let the skirts rest on their waists, adjusted the waistbands a little bit, and went through the whole smoothing ritual.

“Holy cow!” Charlene said as she gave a practice twirl. “We look hot.”

“Yeah,” Rachel allowed, “but this boyish haircut isn’t doing much for me.” And the girls set to work getting each other’s wigs just right...

There were now five minutes til curtain. Any moment Mr. Wakefield would come into their room and escort them to the stage.

“This is it,” Rachel said, realizing just what they were doing. “We can never go back after this. We’re gonna be girls now.”

“Nervous?” Charlene asked.

“A little. But the more I think about it, we’re not just now becoming girls. We’ve always been girls. Now we’re just telling people.”

The girls were sitting on the floor, and Rachel leaned her head on Charlene’s shoulder as Charlene set to stroking her hair, careful not to mess up the pretty bun.

“You know what?” Charlene said. “Now we can be ballerinas and cheerleaders. Now we can wear our hair in buns and put on makeup every day. Whatever we have to take from the haters will be more than worth it.”

Charlene kissed Rachel on the cheek and readied the outfits the girls would change into after their performance - Charlene would keep her leotard on and slip some leggings over the bottom while Rachel donned a springy skirt to go with a striped top. And then the knock came.

The doorknob turned and Mr. Wakefield’s voice was unmistakable. “You girls ready?”

“As we’ll ever be,” Rachel chirped, pimping in the mirror one last time as Mr. W succinctly told the girls they looked very pretty.

“I have daughters,” he laughed while escorting the girls backstage, “and if only they were as put together as you two are.” Charlene and Rachel chuckled. The tension was eased a little bit.

Mr. Wakefield whispered instructions quickly as they arrived backstage. “The minute I announce you, just step on through that door, curtsy or something, and launch right into that routine. Don’t think about it. You’ll be alright.”

He added, “As someone who has seen more ballet recitals than Tchaikovsky, I was blown away when you practiced your routine for me the other day. Everyone else will be too.

“What I’m trying to say is, dance now, ask questions later. Good luck.”

Motivated by their teacher’s little speech, the girls were ready to introduce themselves to the world. And then the announcement came from Mr. Wakefield. And then the girls clutched each other’s hands. And then the ballerinas stepped through the door. And then Charlene and Rachel dipped identical curtsies. And then...