The 12-year-old male member of an Irish dance troupe must second for his ill sister to help them win a contest in the St.Patrick's Day Parade in New York.

SHAMrock Stand-in
By Deela Eon

"You're all blarney!" my slighted twelve-year-old male ego balked at Maureen
and my other Celtic Folk Dance Club troupe members; almost all girls from
nine to fourteen save me in our dance studio right then, only the somber
looks of despair and desperation in their faces assuaging my bridle of a major
ego insult.

"Sean--" their pleas chorused.

"No way!!"

"Sean McCullough, you're our only chance!" pleaded Mary, which was
bizarre because the teen was always so pretty and cheerful. "Noreen's out
sick but you know your sister's solo routine perfectly! You practiced with her
at home from the start!"

"Only because mom made me partner her--just like how mom being friends
with Mrs. Mahoney drafted me in this club!" I bitterly snapped. "I'll do your
chores for a month!" Maureen gushed. "Two! Three!!

Sean, we've worked hard all year!"

Despite my ire I had to admit that they--we all--worked damn hard perfecting
our 1976 St. Patrick's Day Parade dance routines, which must've been hard
given the interests other kids had. Still, their basic disregard of my ego and
pride stung to the quick. "I still can't see why I can't do the jig being
myself!" I grudgingly contended.

"Sean, you know why!" eldest teen Aislynn said. "The grand marshal's
expecting someone to perform the traditional solo jig for him!"

"Well maybe it's time to break tradition!"

Fionna added, "We know how hard it is for boys to dance in kilts out in front
of people--"

"Yea, that's why there's only three of us--and now you all want me to look
even worst?"

"Sean, you've always been only a strapping lad to us," Caitlin said like an
assuaging flatter, only its intent fell flat.

I snickered. "Right. Like you all would've asked husky ole' Kevin to take
Kelly's place if she got sick?"

"They're not twins--like you and Noreen," Patricia mildly stated.

"We're not all that twin! She's got hazel eyes, mine's green. She's brunette,
I'm redhead!"

"Faking hair's easy and no one's going to notice eyes except up close."

"You're all nuts! Besides how you gonna explain being a boy short?"

"Simple; you just caught the flu instead of Noreen," Aislynn coolly directed.

"Yea, nobody will ever be able to tell, not even Mrs. Mahoney!!" gushed
Eileen, the nine-year-old then stupidly twittering, "I mean we can barely tell
between you now!"

I shot her a hot look and everyone fell silently sheepish at her gaff, all
knowing that was a very sore point with me. My mind's-eye self-image was
radically different from what others saw, but it didn't mean I wouldn't face
the reality of mirrors.

"Sean--" Maureen said with diplomatic reverse-psychology, "If you backed
out we'd understand, but don't just because you think we'd laugh at you--
which we'd never do!"

I curtly demurred, "Forget my feelings; Don't you all think this whole idea's
sneaky and dishonest??"

"Yes, it is," spoke up Tara, level-headed as her voice. "But so long as the
grownups don't know anything about it, we've honored the Marshal's
special request for a solo dancer for his choosing us as lead dance troupe this
year."

"Look, what's the shame in saying that the dancer's down with a cold, huh?"

"The pity's that all Noreen's talents aren't," Lori sourly uttered and I was
about to stomp out right then but their words rang true; the troupe's colleens
never snickered or giggled at my scrawny frame and delicate features like the
kids at junior high, and they never looked down on me except maybe for
Noreen, but then sisters don't count. Still, I'd my pubescent male pride and a
reputation at school to keep--which wasn't all that great since both Noreen
and I went there.

"Look, I wanna help, I really do," I demurred even though their faces didn't
swallow it, "but if this gets out I gotta face all the guys at school after
tomorrow and after that. I'm real sorry."

"Sure," Aislynn moved up, her pretty face drawn with valiant futility. "Then
right now and all night if need be, show me the routine!"

I snickered. "Took us five months to get our steps right!"

"I'd rather look the fool trying then apart when I could! Well?" she asserted,
boring into my eyes if to shake me to start, and I gnashed my lip before the
grim faces of a dozen desperate determined girls and suddenly, ironically, I
felt like a yellow-spined sissy even worst than the one they wanted me to be.

"Aww, shit..." I muttered, punching my thigh with misgivings. "Man! I
hope the Hibernians don't catch wind of this!"

"Stop crowding behind us like you're hiding!" Kathy admonished me in the
middle of Fifth Avenue over the parade's din of brass bands and bagpipes
and droning thousands lining the sidewalk as our reels trailed behind the
watchful lead of our studio's matronly director, Mrs. Mahoney.

"Not 'hiding'" I sniffed back to Kathleen as I shuttled out among the girls
high kicking and skipping while step-dancing and slip jigs in their full lushly
embroidered velvet dresses and shawls and waist tassels, white gloves, frilly
white anklets and threaded dance slippers.

Just like I was--except for one of Maureen's curly raven wig over my own
auburn shag and wearing boys' briefs instead of panties as a last anchor of
male pride.

It was sobering enough sneaking into Noreen's costume at the studio before
the parade and seeing how snugly it fit my lithe and leggy frame, but as
Aislynn and Maureen briskly did my makeover I had to admit that the raven-
tressed green-eyed 'girl' in my mirror only passingly resembled my raven-
haired hazel-eyed sister, forget any boy or myself much to my male pride's
chagrin.

My sole comfort in all this, if you want to call it that, was how I so totally
and unquestionably passed as one of the girls in public. It was my greatest
nightmare that someone outside the troupe would detect some giveaway male
trait in my disguise and kill my social life forever, but I passed with utterly
invisible ease. It felt awesome and disturbing that even Mahoney seemed
completely blind at recognizing me even with my un-Noreen green eyes and
freckles. That Kevin and Bob in their black jackets and saffron kilts regarded
me with sober sympathy wasn't all that surprising considering, but there was
also a peculiar awe in the shy way they looked at me which felt
uncomfortable and indefinably unbecoming.

As the parade went on I felt ever more chagrined as my fake long curls
bounced about my shoulders and my full pleated skirt flounced high from my
open breezy legs, almost flashing my boys' briefs to the world with every
kick and swirl. For the first time I really appreciated why kilts were woven of
twill instead of light velvet skirts were! By parade's end though I was too
tired to care, but I still had one more thing to do, and that was the solo
performance that drafted me into this mess in the first place. So before a
grandstand packed with dignitaries and politicians and white-tufted parade
Grand Marshal Jim O'Donnell's chubby ruddy face, I came forward from the
bated-breaths of my troupe and performed the solo slip jig I honed alongside
Noreen. It was complex and very vigorous, but I wanted Noreen to look
good very badly and though I didn't have her innate grace and fluid motion,
the more muscular power of my tap toes rapping asphalt made an
overwhelming impression. When I finished in near exhaustion my troupe
broke out into an applause higher than the spectators. Jim O'Donnell stepped
his way to us. "Mrs. Mahoney!" he greeted our beaming director, "What a
handsome bevy of colleens and lads you've brought! Your club's won the
Judges Choice!"

Our troupe squealed and hugged in relief and disbelief, but my breathlessness
was startled as O'Donnell turned to me. "And you were one most spirited
hoofer there, lassie!"

I blinked aback. "Huh?"

"Not to mention being one lovely emerald-eyed bonnie!"

"Huh?" I blurted, smirking at the other girls muffing their giggles before
being caught in surprise as O'Donnell pinned a live shamrock on my lapel.
"Er, thank you, sir."

"My pleasure! What's your name, my flame-tressed lass?"

"Name? Er--"

"He's--She's--She's Sheila!" Aislynn blurted over my--and Mrs.
Mahoney's--surprise. "Sheila O'Riley! He--she's just a little shy."

He chuckled. "Well then, Sheila, my coy colleen; We want you and your
group to dance at our lingus charity reception for the Irish Archbishop.
Promise us you'll make that date, okay?"

"Promise??" I blurted in shell-shocked bewilderment.

Later on in private with Ms. Mahoney, Aislynn explained what happened.
"...So that's why I called Sean 'Sheila', so's not to make you and Noreen
liars about not knowing about it."

Mrs. Mahoney huffed in exasperation. "Saints preserve us, you kids! Now
that I know about your little shenanigans, if I don't come clean to O'Donnell
I'm as guilty as you are!"

"Mrs. Mahoney, if Sean wasn't passing as Noreen to O'Donnell but as
another girl altogether like he thinks, there's no lie, right?" Maureen reasoned
to our musive matron. "It's not lying if we simply don't say that Sheila's
really a boy and that she won't be back, right? So Sean can still dance at the
reception."

"Wrong!" I snorted.

"You have to!" Aislynn said. "O'Donnell asked specifically for you to come
along."

"Mean your 'Sheila', not me!"

"Sean, Sheila O'Riley can't just suddenly disappear!"

"Yeah? Just watch me throw on my jeans!"

When I got home Noreen was strangely quiet in her sick bed, so I figured it
might be the best time to tell her since she'd be too weak to chase me around
the house. At first she was surprised then shocked then angry when I told
then she did something really shocking; she kissed my cheek.

"I saw it all on TV," she sly said, using her remote to replay her VCR of our
troupe in the parade. It was so weird, just like watching Noreen herself
dancing. In a funny way, "she" felt somehow more than my sister, but
almost a whole different girl whose looks I could shamelessly awe and pine.
It was a strange unsettling feeling.

"Sorry you'll have to dance for the bishop," I apologized.

"Why sorry? You'll be there."

"Sure I will," I said before her meaning sunk in. "Mean, not I'm not--not like
that!"

"You agreed to it and that's made O'Donnell promise the bishop he'd see you
dance."

"I didn't agree; everyone else did!"

"And what happens to our name when O'Donnell has no 'coy colleen' to
show the bishop?" she pressed. "Mrs. Mahoney will be embarrassed and
forced to admit a lie she's innocent to. We could forget about being invited
next year's parade."

Grim and reluctant I nodded. "But why can't you do it?"

"Because I want to meet the bishop myself. Besides I don't have that force
and style you showed. You ought be flattered."

"Noreen, I can't pose as you again! They'll think we're twins--real twins!"

"Not twins, because Sheila O'Riley's going to look a little different when she
jigs again!"

"What do you mean? I asked but she only coyly smiled.

I balked through the day about it, but in the end my fate seemed preordained.
Though I wasn't particularly devout, I was raised to respect authority and
religion, and the one thing I didn't want to slur was any promise O'Donnell
might've made to the bishop because of me. In one funny way I felt smug
and flattered that my performance was that good, but on the other I'd have to
assume the person of my own sister. At least it was for charity.

"I didn't know we'd be dancing for him later instead of this!" my humiliation
muttered.

"It's protocol, Sean--and stop squirming!" Noreen chided on the receiving
line at St. Pat's, like the other troupe girls wearing green dresses and dress
pumps waiting to pass bouquets of roses to New York's cardinal and Irish
bishop along with a sissy curtsy--just like the now chestnut-tressed Sheila
had to do.

"Can't believe I'm wearing green tights and girls' shoes!" I ruefully
muttered, grimacing. "They're so tight!"

"Just be glad you're going flat-chested!" Noreen quipped.

Despite my chagrin and misgivings it went rather well, and I even felt a swell
of delight as the cardinal received my roses and pert curtsy with an effusive
smile and praise. O'Donnell didn't seem to notice Sheila's change of hair
color or a semblance to Noreen and that was okay with me. Later after
changing our troupe danced for him and I performed my solo instead of
Noreen and everyone applauded at my second curtsy of the day.

"Great, I'm through with drag!!" I gushed to my troupe later at a refreshment
table sipping punch when a man with a bunch of cameras slung his neck
sauntered over and beamed at me.

"Hi! Sheila, right? Look dove, I'd like to take some pictures of Irish spots
around New York for our lingus brochure, and between that lovely red hair
and those big green eyes, I can do with a pretty colleen modeling for me!"

"Model??" I nearly coughed up punch over my dress.

"Er, she has to talk it over with mom--her mom first," Noreen chirped,
quietly stepping on my foot to keep my balk quiet.

"You're all nuts!" I scolded mom at home.

"It's also a hundred a day we can use," Noreen put in. "Besides, who's
going to recognize you except for some armchair travelers on the other side of
the ocean?"

Despite my severe qualms and misgivings, it turned out to be rather fun
traveling around New York City to pose for Irish brochure pictures. I went to
fascinating places, met semi-famous people and did lots of interesting things I
doubted Sean McCullough could've or would've done.

Because Sheila was suddenly the troupe's star attraction she just couldn't just
disappear, but neither was I about to trade-in my kilts for anymore skirts so
Mahoney made Sheila a 'guest dancer' for special occasions. Thanks to
Mahoney's generosity and patience coaching my grudging cooperation
feminine traits and mannerisms, Sheila's poise and grace modeling reaped
nice checks and after six months even doing a few ads in girls' magazines.
Mahoney's beautician friend gamefully volunteered to be my personal
hairdresser and makeup lady which helped keep my wigged secret from my
modeling agency.

Still it took awhile getting used to donning dresses and jumpers and tights
and smirking through makeovers into Sheila, though my male pride always
wore boys' briefs instead of panties even when some modeling specs said I
wasn't supposed to (like the camera could tell anyway!), but after a while the
humiliation and self-consciousness faded and it became simply part-time
acting work. In a way, since Sheila proved to be such a public plus to the
troupe, I regarded her role as almost honored duty than humiliation. I was
encouraged by the way my club peers took the same nonchalant attitude as a
children's theater company about my occasional girl role, and Mahoney with
her stage background also saw no difference in my playing a girl or a clown
so long as I was getting paid, and the same view infected mom too.

Maybe too much, especially when I'd bitter fights with her about Sheila
taking offers to do commercials, which was one public exposure leap my
male ego was dreadfully skittish to dare. Mom badly hid her charm with
Sheila's looks and manner at my modeling locations, and I wasn't amused at
all about her not-so-subtle fanciful teases about "bringing Sheila home" for
awhile. So I spent most my spare time at football and basketball at the "Y"
asserting and reinforcing my malehood before mom cut down my activities in
fear of bruising my valuable complexion.

Despite these drawbacks I had to admit that Sheila O'Riley's lot was a fun
and exciting experience and certainly more than Little League; not too many
guys spend each weekend dancing or modeling at amusement parks and
cruise liners and Times Square and Catskill resorts and getting nice free
treats, eats, and gifts--even if some were meant for girls. I still felt as macho
a boy as I was before and so far being honed with passable girl-traits for
money hadn't too much warped my self-image, and I felt quite self-possessed
at keeping my "stage sister" as only a job separate my real-self until the good
times came to an end once puberty mutilated my lucrative and accursed
comeliness.

"Er, Sean..." murmured Kevin almost like a sheepish child asking mom an
absurd request sure to be denied. "Can I ask a--a favor?"

"Sure. We're pals, aren't we?"

"Well...it's--it's kinda a big favor."

"Mom keeps my modeling money," I wearily warned in general.

"Huh? No, I don't wanna borrow any money, but yeah...it--it's kinda about
you modeling," he admitted, pausing, and suddenly I was aware that he had
yet looked me eye to eye.

"What about it? Another autograph?" I assumed. While Sheila was hardly a
starlette--at least not yet, many junior high girls knew 'her' face from kid
cosmetics and fashion newspaper ads and their brothers showed their friends
tear-outs to ogle in school locker rooms. Though I turned a blind eye about
the fate of Sheila's image after it was snapped--mostly to shy the sissy trap of
vanity and disconnect from any part of a supposedly "stunning" subteen girl,
Kevin and Bob couldn't keep from clucking at school that they 'personally'
knew Sheila and often asked me for 'her' signed publicity shots. Mostly it
was who mom obliged them a glossy "glamour" photo which I loathed with
chagrin and not a little uneasiness, that being touched-up similar to those
Scavullo shots of subteen Brooke Shields and Nastassia Kinski all guzzied
up into sexy coed nymphettes. It portrayed Sheila as a teen siren whom you
literally couldn't tell was even related to me with side-by-side photos, though
I at best recall that photo session as five hours of facial pancake and goo, wig
swapping and tight padded gowns. It was a photo that jarred my sense of
malehood and maleness and kindled my first culpable wet dreams and a
serious bout with masturbation all week which seriously warped my sense of
directed desire.

It also sparked my habit of shying mirrors as Sheila, to even shutting my
eyes tight during my Sheila makeovers before my studio dresser's looking
glass.

Fortunately, my model agency killed any further spread of that photo before it
corrupted Sheila's wholesome image as a normal fashionable eleven-year-old
girl in jumpers, party dresses, tights, Mary Janes and scrunchies and fluffy
full skirted dresses girls hardly wore anymore except for grandma's visits.
But I couldn't forget the way that a "souped-up" Sheila could race one's heart
and fantasies...and no only my own.

"Er, no...not another picture."

"So what is then? Boy, you and Bob been really acting weird!" I chaffed his
odd sudden blush, another sign of acting peculiar ever since the parade a
month ago, just like our once buddies-in-kilts camaraderie now subtly
changed. We were still pals, but there was now some reserve in their regard
of me, and sometimes I caught them staring at me with perplexed faces as
though wondering a wild nameless wistfulness that somehow felt.

"See..." Kevin gingerly began if mustering layers of courage to, "See, it's to
do with--with Sheila. See, I...I told some of the guys on my block that I--I
know her, you know?"

"Already know that," I sighed.

"Er, yeah...well, see...yesterday the guys were talking about going to Carl's
birthday party Saturday and who's gonna show up...and, they started talking
about the girls who'll show up, and they sorta asked me if I knew Sheila so
well, how come I won't ask her to come, you know?"

"You know why, Kevin," I sourly reminded, surprised that he even brought
it up.

"Er, yea, I know; Sheila only models, that's all," he sheepishly
acknowledged then drew a sober breath. "Sean, I--I did a real stupid thing.

I--I told them I'd bring Sheila to the party."

I startled. "You what??"

"They dared me!" he gushed, hanging it all out. "They didn't believe I really
knew Sheila! Only that I just got a bunch of pictures of her, that's all! So I
said I'd show them!"

"Well, you're just gonna have to take it back!" I snorted. "'Sheila' doesn't do
special appearances!"

"I know, but--can't you just this one time?" Kevin soft-pleaded.

"Look, Kevin. I just can't, alright? I mean, I'm glad you kept my secret all
this time, but I just can't. Sorry."

"I'll give you my dad's 1956 Mickey Mantle card!"

"I don't collect."

"Okay, my motorbike!"

"Kevin, I'm just not doing it--period, okay?"

"But all you gotta do's just wear her clothes for an hour--"

"Kevin, it's not like Halloween! It's hard playing Sheila because I gotta
psyche myself up into the mood to think and act like a prissy girl whenever I
wear girls clothes to pass like a natural girl. That's how come I'm so good at
it, but pretending it so hard wears you down from being a boy. Sometimes I
do prissy things or say dainty words only girls do without even knowing it.
It's scary. I can't explain it but it's true.

That's why I can't help you; I'm trying to keep myself together as a normal
boy, not half boy half girl, understand?"

Kevin looked sober as a grave. "I--I just don't want to look like a liar or a
loser in front the guys, that's all."

"Sorry, Kevin. I wish I could help, but I can't. Sorry."

I turned away and heard a sniffle behind me. "I was wrong to invite Sheila, I
know..." Kevin resignedly apologized and a pathos tweaked my heart.

"Look--" I offered, hating for feeling guilty for someone's depression, even
if stupidly self-inflicted. "Maybe--maybe if I asked Noreen if she wouldn't
mind passing as Sheila. She loves parties too."

Kevin shook his head. "She can never be Sheila. Sheila's--Sheila.

Besides, she only has brown eyes." He sighed in surrender and despair. "I
guess--I kinda forgot who Sheila was really was. Even Bobby does
sometimes. Sheila's totally awesome to everyone. That's why we brag about
knowing her, 'cause you know what it's like when guys don't believe you're
the kinda stud you say you are, you know?"

I momentarily glared back at him, assuming a snide quip, but his innocent
hangdog face only boomeranged his lament into the quick of my heart and
mellowed it with sympathy and regret because I knew what it was like for
your manhood to be questioned in spades. Thanks to Sheila's lingering
mollifying character traits I was already being called a sissy behind my back
at school, and as good as I was at besting some boys at sports, people were
calling me a pretty tomboy.

My second biggest dread was that maybe being Sheila was just a little too
pleasurable.

"Kevin better REALLY appreciate this!" I muttered at home as Noreen helped
me into her old training bra over her tight spandex bodysuit.

"Man, do I have to wear all this shit?"

"My dress will fit better and you'll look a little older for him since he's
thirteen."

"Don't have to look THAT old!"

"Well, Sheila O'Riley's supposed to be stylish and sassy, isn't that her
reputation?"

I grudgingly nodded at her reasoning and reflected how I would've felt about
so casually donning a training bra months ago before steeling myself with the
view of an actor or clown climbing into silly costumes and acting apart
yourself. Except Sheila O'Riley was no mere silly costume, especially in
mirrors which I consciously avoided during modeling gigs. It used to be
simply a do-and-forget play acting thing, but now I found myself comparing
Sheila to the foxes at school and leaving myself at once smug and awed and
not a little troubled that Sheila seemed a lot prettier than most girls at school.

At first I reasoned it was probably because "her" appearing in fashionable
dresses was a lot more attractive than the ubiquitous unisex jeans and scruffy
sneakers most girls wore, but lately I began to sense some indefinable turn
coat teasing my male ego whenever I saw Sheila's reflection. It was crazy
that seeing yourself could sprung such a weird perplexing feeling which was
vague, disturbingly delicious and teased me to the male core.

"Think I'm getting sissy, don't you?" I soberly asked and Noreen smiled.

"I think it's sweet that you're helping out a friend."

"Mean a real ass."

"Still, he's in a jam and you care."

"I'm only doing it because I know how it feels having guys ranking on you,
that's the only reason!" I sourly retorted. "I wouldn't be doing this at all if I
weren't half-sissy already!"

"Or maybe stuck method acting?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're a lot more sensitive to peoples' feelings than you used to be
and even take time helping people out."

"That's--just being polite."

"Even so you weren't always like that. Always so surly about being teased
about your looks and trying so hard acting macho that you were turning hard
and mean. But now, because you had to learn how to act different to pass as
Sheila, like acting gentle and speaking softly, you're feeling more tender then
boys do."

"You mean sissy," I sourly snorted and she smiled.

"Remember our dance at the burn center children's ward? I don't think a boy
would've hugged that little girl like Sheila did. I mean, a boy might care, but
he wouldn't show how much."

I reflected that day, that poor mummy-like little girl's tinker in my arms and
doing my own jig for her. That felt so--satisfying and humbling.

Here I was having private qualms over wearing girls' clothes and she barely
had any skin left.

"It's only things like that that make this whole drag shit worth it," I asserted
even as my inner self prayed it was so.

I hotly wished Kevin controlled himself as I gingerly flounced downstairs to
meet his picking me up for the dance, yet I felt a weird tingling teasing me
giggle instead of chiding him for looking up my legs and full skirt's chiffon
bouffant slips, even if his vantage up from down the living room couldn't
help it.

"Hi," I said, feeling my voice somehow too shy and soft for polite greetings.

"Wow--mean, Hi!" Kevin blurted, pricking my blushing ego.

"Stop gawking! Acting like you never saw me in drag before!"

"Not like this! Not without a costume!" he apologized, looking over my
peach satin dress whose full shirred skirt's ruffled rim of Irish lace and
shamrocks hovered about my pink silk-filmed knees and calves and my
bowed pale salmon pumps. I shrugged my pouf sleeves which were
blanketed by roiling chestnut curls that went with my own real bangs and ear
ringlets.

Noreen really went all out.

"Well, I'm the same old Sean underneath all this, okay?"

"Wish, Sheila! Man, you almost look thirteen--even fourteen now!" he
gushed, mostly over my snug mounded bodice and its breezy scalloped
neckline. My coral-glossed lips smirked.

"Better not let him forget he's supposed be a lady!" Noreen lightly chaffed
him just as mom walked in, looking nice in a cocktail dress herself as she
beamed at me.

"So lovely! You could be sisters!"

"Oh Mom!..." I sighed in exasperation and abashment before my friend
who'd no idea of my domestic identity crises.

Noreen chuckled. "Let's get Cinderella to the ball before she turns back into a
dude, okay?"

During Mom's short drive we heard nothing but Kevin's gushing admiration
of Sheila. Not about *my* modeling work posing as Sheila, but *to* Sheila
about 'her' work and career.

It dawned me that this was actually the first time Kevin spent more than a few
social moments with Sheila, what the hustle and bustle of our dance
engagements, and he never saw me modeling. So he was doing a great job
showing me just how much he forget who he was really sitting next to and it
was an eerie experience; on one hand I was flattered as heck but on the other
dismayed by how intense his fascination in Sheila was. I didn't want to be
curt and hurt his feelings and remind him who he really talking to, so rather
than pop his happy fantasy's bubble, I just sat quietly, my folded manicured
hands nestled on my spread fluffy skirts and politely smiled.

When we got to John's house Kevin bounced out of the car to again run
around to open the door on my side, during which I leaned to mom.

"Mom, he's crazy about me--about Sheila!" I whispered in dismay of my
seriously deluded friend.

"He's not the only one!" she slyly said to my quizzical frown.

Carl's house was packed with spiffy kids and entering, suddenly I felt a cold
flush rush me stiff into a statute in an attack of shy anxiety.

It was one thing to briefly meet my male peers while step-dancing or
modeling, but I never went social with them, at least not my Sheila persona. I
was especially petrified at being around so many boys so close. One or two
boys I could handle, but a mob coming after me threatened to shatter my
feminine pose as my gagged male ego lashed out at my girl effect with
chagrin and disdain. I got away with playing Sheila so well only because I
was able to suspend my sense of self and reality at doing it, but seeing guys
being attracted to me, feting me, it was like being courted in a schoolyard as
my true self. It was totally weird and ego shattering. It was like watching all
your assumptions and hopes of how macho and manly you were and looked
were dashed into splinters. I actually couldn't walk or talk.

My stomach churned--

I felt a gentle prod at my elbow. "It's okay, Sheila," Kevin gently said. "Just
follow along with me, okay?"

Like a mute docile doll I weakly nodded and let him tow me to a less packed
corner by an aquarium. I held my flat satin tummy as he took out his kerchief
and dabbed my forehead of wet makeup.

"Take it easy, Sheila. No one's going to bite you."

"I--I was about to throw up," I sheepishly admitted, still trembling.

"I--I almost lost my Sheila pose."

"Mean that mood acting thing?" he said to my shaky nod.

"Method acting. It--It's what keeps Sean and Sheila apart. It lets me act a girl
without feeling like a guy in drag."

"And being frightened by lots of people upsets it?"

"No...just--boys."

"What about the guys in the troupe?"

"You're all in on my act and who I really am. I don't have to strain to pass
you. When I model I only meet one boy at a time usually, and he's just there
to model like I am. Not--not chase after me with those eyes like I'm a--a..."

"Girl?" he answered to my feeble nod. "Maybe it's because you can't be like
them right now; can't meet and dance with the other girls like you want to
deep inside."

"I--I don't know. Maybe."

"In a way, maybe it's a good thing you feel so bad. I mean, if you weren't so
worried sick about boys taking you for a pretty chick, your head would really
be in trouble, right?"

I had to giggle at that! That I was maybe turning sissy or gay from my Sheila
role was a long lingering dread ever since I began, especially since I'd no
gauge or benchmark of how much my masculinity was changing from her
side-effects. Kevin hit my fear--and relief--on the head.

"Thanks Kevin. I mean it, thank you." I weakly thanked, grateful for his
keen sense. He warmly smiled and lead me to the refreshment table for some
cold punch. I felt eyes following me and glimpsed at a dozen boys stealing
looks my way.

Kevin chuckled. "You remind me of the frightened does grandpa traps
upstate with their big trembling brown eyes--'cept yours are a nice bright
green."

My male ego wanted to snort at his cute simile, but I dismissed it because the
truth of it was was that I _was_ nervous. "I--I'm just not used to seeing so
many boys staring at me so close."

"Yeah isn't it neat??" Kevin clucked like a top rooster in a barnyard.

"They didn't believe me, and now they're all sorry!"

"Sorry?"

"That they weren't so lucky!" he said in a way that made me giggle and feel
warm and buddy-buddy cozy. Mom came over and noticed something
because she broke out her compact and powder-puffed my face.

"There! Belle of the ball again! Having fun?"

"I wish Noreen was here to hide behind!" I joked, my pine suddenly
sensitive of my reason being there. "Sorry, Kevin."

"That's okay. Just make it up twisting--and no reels here!"

I chuckled even as butterflies returned to my stomach as he towed me out to
the jostling throng of dancers twisting to Chubby Checker and The Pointer
Sisters. But as soon as the song finished a boy, a husky junior jock jumped
in front of Kevin. "Next dance!"

I was startled but recovered quick enough to see Kevin's glare. "It's okay,
Kevin--you're my date--always," I asserted to his glower, meaning less to
dissuade my claim-jumping dance partner than reassuring Kevin that I was
alright. Suddenly, my self-conscious qualms vanished as I worried more
about Kevin causing a scene trying to bail me out of an uncomfortable
situation. I didn't need him sparring with some stupid jock out to spin his jive
and shallow suave around me.

Kevin's simmering eyes read the calming promise in mine and he grumbled
off to the side.

Nine songs and partners later, Kevin managed to jump back in.

"See you're feeling a lot better now!" he chaffed.

"Just tired," I wearily confessed through a propped model's smile.

"Feels like I've done twenty jigs!"

"Wanna rest?"

"Please!" I chuckled and to the smirks of junior jocks and their sighing babes
Kevin lead me to the kitchen then out the back door to the cool starry
backyard.

"Ah, great!" I sighed, taking my pumps off to stand on soft cool grass and
smiled at his puzzled frown. "I don't really model this way dressed up," I
explained, looking at my long pearly Lees' fingernails. "I mean, I'm
supposed to pose a twelve-year-old kid, not some teenager!"

"Well, you sure look like one!" he said, pausing a thoughtful moment.
"You're gonna kill me saying this...but you're the prettiest girl here."

"So I've heard!" I twittered, totally missing his suave pitch. "Those boys!
You should've heard the lines they were giving me, asking me out to movies
and Coney Island and baseball! They kept asking me to sneak out here all
alone for air!"

"Oh," Kevin said in a low sheepish tone. "You were out here already?"

"Ten times! Like I didn't know why!" I slyly chuckled even as I snorted at
their ill-concealed innocent attempts for a smooch.

"Maybe just to cool off."

"I don't think cool was on their minds!" I twittered to his frown. "In fact,
some of them even tried to--to, well, kiss me!" I laughed the confession off
but he looked more nonplused.

"Er, did they?"

"Did they what?"

"Er, you know...kiss you?"

"No, of course not! I mean, they tried but I didn't let them, sure!"

"Good," he muttered if in vexed relief.

I twittered. "I just hope they don't get any weird ideas what's going on out
here this time!"

"Er, well, what's so weird about being with a beautiful girl?" Kevin
defensively rebuked, suddenly shying at my frown. "Mean, you're--look like
a very beautiful girl, so if a guy did want to--to be alone with you, it's only--
natural, you know?"

"Mahoney only taught me how to act like one, not be one," I thickly quipped,
falling sober. "Maybe act too good."

"What do you mean?"

"At first it was only like posing and pretending, but now a lot of Sheila's
rubbing off me I didn't expect."

"Yea, I know; you're kinder, gentler, and happier than you were before," he
remarked to my soft ambiguous grumble.

"Well, I don't know 'bout 'happier'. Mean, I'm a boy."

"That doesn't mean you can't like being happier if being a girl's more fun."

"In some ways it is, in some ways not."

"But don't you ever get curious what it's like?"

"What's like?"

"You know, finding out what it's like feeling all the way like a real girl since
you're so close looking and acting it?"

"I'm really as close as I want to be."

"Afraid?"

I smirked. "Afraid?"

"Of seeing how nice it might be?" he asked like an innocent challenge, a
contorted macho pride welling from my lie, retorting; "No, I'm not afraid.
Why should I be?"

"Are you sure? Really sure?"

"Yes."

Kevin paused and looked at for a few moments as though unsure to dare
something and weighing mortal consequences. "Will you let me forget who
you are right now? For a couple of moments?"

Puzzled, I shrugged, and suddenly he stepped up and laid his hands on my
puffy short shoulders, and before I could wonder his face dropped upon
mine and alien lips pecked my sharp suck of startled surprise. I jumped back,
flouncing like a fluffy buoy, at once appalled and nonplused, my gagged
male ego erupting.

"Shit!!" I sputtered, wiping coral gloss off on the back of my hand.

"Hell's the matter with you??"

"I had to," Kevin confessed almost proudly though sheepishly. "I've been
dreaming about it so long, I--I just couldn't miss the chance."

"Dreaming about it? You queer?"

"No. You're so beautiful--Sheila."

"Sean!"

"No, you're Sheila. You wouldn't want me liking Sean so hard."

"Same thing! Kissing me! Another guy! You a fairy or faggot or
something??"

"Then Bob's one too, because when we talk about Sheila we talked about
kissing her too, no matter who she is."

"You really mean that? Boy, this is too sicko weird! All this time I though
you were a buddy guy, not some--some fag! Is this why you tricked me to
this party, to try to make it on me on the sly?"

"I didn't trick you, Sheila, honest! I would never hurt you, and if I did I'm
sorry. Real sorry."

"Yea, well, so am I!" I gushed, holding a lawn chair as I slipped Noreen's
tight pumps back over my silken toes. "Man, I thought you were my friend!"

"I am your friend, Sheila--!"

"Stop calling me Sheila! I'm Sean!" I scolded, bouncing out of the backyard
to the front sidewalk and jumping in our car's front seat with slam of the
door, containing my anger and bewilderment and confusion as my backhand
wiped my damp eyes. I didn't need this assault to my malehood.

I was a normal red-blooded boy play acting a girl, period. Being Sheila was
like a part in a theater or movie, no more. Why didn't Kevin understand that?
But even more upsetting, why was I fighting so hard TO believe it? I must've
sulked for ten minutes before I heard a soft rap at the door.

"Go away!"

"Sean--" he said as though my name were reluctantly forced "--I want to talk
to you."

"Go the hell away!"

"I'm quitting the troupe," he said, pausing if I didn't believe it. "Hear me?
I'm quitting?"

I feigned callousness but his assertion perked my attention and dismay. Boys
in the troupe put in extra effort and devotion just being there that couldn't be
compared to the camaraderie of a ball team. You simply went through too
much teasing and ribbing in school to just lightly indulge in Irish dancing in
kilts, sort of like boys in ballet. You put up with the insults and taunts from
other guys because you loved it to the marrow, like being a special and
honored link in a thread twining your troupe and winding back into distant
lands and time. There was a vehement fire and love that kept you there
dancing, like with me. I couldn't quit. It was in my blood and I knew it was
in Kevin's too. For him to even consider backing out was a very serious
decision indeed.

"I mean it, Sheila. I am!"

"That's stupid!" I snapped back.

"I'm not going back if I have to hurt you seeing me."

"That's even more stupid!" I scolded, guilt piling on. "Go home and sleep it
off, okay?"

"I can't; your pictures are all over my wall."

"So take them down, stupid! Gee whiz! I can't believe this! Quitting because
you like another guy too much!"

"I don't like a guy; I like Sheila!"

"There IS no Sheila!"

"Yes there is--if you let her come out!"

"Come out of where??"

"Your heart! The same Sheila I danced with! Let her say whether I was
wrong."

"That's nuts! I'm me--Sean, all of me!"

"Alright, then I'll wait till she comes out!" he fumed then slumped back
against the car door sitting on the curb, arms crossed.

"You're nuts, Kevin!" I shouted, angry at the whole tangled mess. I couldn't
believe all this!

A sudden drizzle spotted the windshield. "Kevin, go inside, you'll get wet!"

"Only if you open the door."

"Don't be assy!" I said and the rain got heavier.

"Kevin, go inside! You'll get soaked!"

"No!"

It was the start of a summer downpour.

"Kevin, you're catch pneumonia, fool!" I yelled and when he didn't answer I
unlocked and pushed open the back door and he jumped in, somewhat
soggy. "You're nuts, Kevin!" I chided.

I gasped as he suddenly reached over the front seat and turned the rear view
mirror at me. "Look at it! Look hard!" he snapped. "That's what you do to a
guy, okay??"

He flopped back in the seat while the afterglow of fright held my eyes at the
mirror, at the girl nestled in peach satin and lace and curls on the front seat.
"You're gonna blame me for liking that??"

I wanted to retort, to deny, but flypaper held me as I was totally taken aback.
I always shied Sheila in a mirror whenever possible, partly from slighting my
virility and from a fear of seeing my maleness whittled down to a totally
contrary incarnation which most shined the best of me. My heart and soul
were very much a boy's with the same perked horms gawking and drooling
over pretty girls at school as any boy my age. Yet, ironically, my male ego
worked against me whenever I caught Sheila in my mirror. She could've
been my fourteen-year-old cousin; pouty glossy coral lips and wide emerald-
green eyes fringed by lush feathery lashes on a creamy oval face framed by
curly wisps of coppery curls--

Yes, I could see why Kevin called me beautiful because Sheila really was.
There was just no relationship to the boy I was or used to be, God help my
bruised struggling male ego! And if a thirteen-year-old boy like Kevin
responded to that awesome effect as I did, who was I to really blame his
reactions? To behold Sheila by herself, apart myself, by myself, was beyond
flattering. It was...was...

I swallowed a queer pounding sheepishness. "I...I suppose I asked for it,
letting you ask me to let you--forget what I am."

"I always forget that looking at you, Sheila."

"But--I'm not Sheila!" I cried, starting at the brush of the back of his hand
against my velvetized cheek, stroking it, my male ego's impulse to recoil
from a boy's tender touch suddenly disarmed and silenced by some
infathomable compelling.

"Keep looking the mirror!" he snapped and my chagrin docilely complied.
"Say that's not Sheila O'Riley looking back! Say that that's Sean a boy!"

Boy? That was absurd.

There may've been a boy somewhere, but he was obviously far away, his
stalwart ego safe from slander and emasculation even while beguiling and
betraying me while I gazed back Sheila's angelic face in awe as wonder grew
breathless and fascinating and pounded with his every brush of my cheek as a
weird tingle seeped up my spine and a throbbing tightness swelled beneath
my fluffy lacy lap as though my boys briefs were straining against my snug
satin envelope and suddenly I admitted what Kevin must've felt, what he
must be feeling, what my faraway truth should be just like other men and
boys smiling and winking at Sheila the coy colleen model and sassy Irish
dancer which attention my male ego dismissed as blind annoying insults, but
which I now couldn't deny the effect of the lass just the same of the angel my
mirror.

My remote real-self envied and imagined I was Kevin back there, anxiously
and breathlessly watching Sheila revolve in her billowy rustling crinoline
slips to sit up kneeling backwards on the front seat, looking back at me, a lost
wistful expression on her lovely round face, her large timid green eyes
widening as Kevin-me leaned forward and her feathery lashes shyly fluttered
and knit shut, her coral lips slightly parting in the seconds of anticipation
before Kevin-me's lips pressed their soft trembling sigh and gently closed
them with awesome kneading osculation.

"Oh, there they are in the car!!" a far away voice twittered like a hammer on
glass, jarring us apart in a wild instinctive flurry of alarm and rustling skirts
to flop back into our seats, unassuming and realizing the rain had stopped.

Mom sauntered up to the car. "What you two doing in there?"

"We were getting some air and got caught in the downpour," Kevin explained
ahead of my gnashed lower lip. "We ducked in here. It --was closer."

"Well, come on back to the party!"

"I...my stomach's a little queasy, mom," I said.

"I thought you went a little pale when you first walked in. Just as well. The
girls hate you and the boys are scheming for you!" Mom chuckled, climbing
in and driving home, first stopping by Kevin's.

"Er, we gotta use the side door," Kevin said, looking at me hintingly.

"I got that baseball card I owe you, Sean."

"Okay," I quietly said, my mildly padded bodice pounding as I followed him
up his driveway and out of eyeshot from the street when he turned and
clasped my slim hands and gently drew my wild anxieties close, and though I
felt skittish and feardul and unsure I closed my eyes and basked the press of
his lips on mine again until the tips of my pumps felt so tight the pain
momentarily derailed my heady daze, the break just long enough to give my
floundering male ego a chance to flail out and grab my wits and wrest me
away from the sweet stormy tempest, almost physically so because I nearly
flounced aback, gasping.

"Sheila--"

"Ke--Ke--Kevin! Wait--!" I panted, struggling to tap my tattered male ego to
keep afloat, to not fall into the inviting abyss of awesome warm snug
affinities that he brought me to the edge of. "Kevin, don't! Please! I--I'm a--a
guy! A boy!"

"No, you're not. Not now," He stepped up and I drew back.

"No, Kevin--"

"You like me a lot, Sheila. I know you do!"

"Yes--I mean--no! I like you for a--a friend! Not like--like this!"

"Yes you do, because you're Sheila now, so it's okay."

"Stop, please! Oh, my head's so--so--scrambled! I'm--Sean!"

"You're Sheila! Look at yourself! Feel yourself! You're a girl now, Sheila!"

"No--!" My lips gasped for air and reason inside a tight satin mold still
trapping inside me the pounding taste of my first peck kiss and the crazed
butterflies fluttering deep my stomach and the drums pounding deep my
padded bosom. I was dizzy with confusion and clashing feelings I didn't
want hurt or spoil. I was midway a swaying bridge where Sean's very being
was being insulted the very worst way while Sheila's was being
complimented with the highest homage.

"Kevin, I--I--please, give me--time to--to think! O Gee God, I--I'm so...so
confused!..."

"Don't be," he said, gently brushing a wayward coppery lock from my
cheek, "You're Sheila and Sean's Sean, and I won't mix that up any which
way, promise, okay?"

Gazing into his smiling eyes I feebly nodded as my docile daze let him steal
another juicy peck before a car horn beeped. My tattered male instinct pulled
me away and waved as I flounced on clicking heels back down the driveway.

"Nice to see that Kevin had such a nice time with you. So, got your card?"
Mom asked with sly funny voice.

I blushed. "I--I guess I forgot--it..."

"You're red as a berry! Is there something you'd like to tell me, Sheila?"

Mom never called me Sheila alone because she knew it pricked my male ego
to hit the roof, but suddenly it was on vacation, leaving my identity and soul
floundering without an anchor or label. I sat there quiet in a heady haze,
totally muddled in a sea of strange confusing sensations and sentiments and
selves. The only thing I was sure of was that my natural but forbidden boys'
curiosity of another boy's kiss conspired with my Sheila persona in a fantasy
atmosphere to perk my blind whimsical hormones to nip the forbidden fruit
by the excuse of seducing Sheila through an imagined proxy of Kevin.

No.

Can't make-believe how it didn't happened. I can't deny I invited it.

Can't deny I feel deep affections for another boy--

No!

If I'm to stay myself--stay Sean--and remain proud and true as a boy, if I'm
to preserve my birthright and ego's honor and genetic heritage and allegiance
as a male, then it was Sheila whom Kevin kissed, not Sean...

Nibbling my slick coral-glossed lower lip and steeling down the drums
fading deep inside my bosom, I quietly and prissily spread my rumpled skirts
and huddled my silken knees and heels together and folded my hands upon
my billowy lap just as I was properly taught.

There.

I'm steady and ready now, I calmly compromised inside my settled selves.
I'm a-okay. So a-okay that on my next modeling call or girls' dance I'll wear
panties like I'm supposed to, just like all proper girls should.

Because I'm Sheila now and was ever since I first dressed so today and until
I undress and go to bed. Tomorrow morning my brother Sean will wake up
afresh and macho without any need to felt weird or guilty from what his other
sister wears or did tonight with his best friend. My boyfriend.

No need at all.

Mom smiled at me and patted my folded hands and teased my curls.

"Sometimes a flower seed takes just a little longer to sprout in perfect soil.

We'll have a nice mom to daughter chat about dealing with boys, alright,
Sheila?"

"Yes, mother," I softly chimed in a world suddenly changed with dangerous
delicious wonders and nothing was as black and white as I thought or wished
they'd be.

***