Few teenage boys fill the world with brilliant ideas, a rare possibility exponentially diminished with each teenage boy you include in the group. Add alcohol to the mix and the ideas generated can cause a group of crap throwing monkeys to stop and shake their head in amazement at the stupidity. But what makes teenage boys unique and special is their ability, even after determining the stupidity of an idea themselves, to bring those ideas to fruition.

Unfortunately for Dylan Campbell, he is a prototypical member of the species.

Thunderstruck
by Arcie Emm

They had not been completely sober, Alex the Dropout having snuck them a twelve-pack in exchange for a six-pack of his own, when the idea had come up. And though nobody remembered exactly whose idea it was, each remembered that Dylan had drunkenly agreed to it.

The next day, after sobering up, it had not taken him long to realize the idiocy of the idea. Therefore, he spent the next week protesting that there was no way that he was going to follow through. Despite taunts of being a chicken, guilt trips at backing out on a promise, and even the silent treatment for a day, he still would not give in. Then the guys had decided to play dirty, convincing Jennifer, Cody’s sister, to join them in the persuasion game.

Against her Dylan was almost powerless, had been ever since he first went to Cody’s place to play. In the end he had only been strong enough to extract the promise to let him take her to a movie in exchange for his night of humiliation.

Now that night had arrived and he was being rewarded with a questionable bonus, spending the first part of the Friday evening, beginning the Labour Day long weekend, with Jennifer in her grandparent`s fifth wheel trailer. It would have been so much better if she was not helping him get dressed as a girl.

“You look a lot better with your hair clean, instead of your usual straggly mess, Dylan.”

“It makes it all poofy, looks goofy. Umm, what’re you going to do with it?”

“Well, you would look cute if I give you a couple of braids, with pink bows.”

“Jennnn...”

“Well, maybe just a pony tail, but not yet, first you need to get dressed. Head to the bedroom, at the back end of the trailer, where you’ll find your outfit.”

Mumbling the entire way, Dylan moved towards his doom. Mumbling that did not abate when Jennifer pleasantly called out, “You should be grateful, I’m not going to have you wear a bra and I got you boy shorts for panties.”

“Thanks, Jennifer.” He answered, the dripping sarcasm only causing her to laugh.

Closing the door behind him, Dylan leaned backwards, banging his head against it, once, twice, and then three times. “You really are an idiot, Dylan Campbell.”

With that undoubted truth out of the way, he looked at the outfit laying on the bed. Sighing, he gave up the fight and began to undress, kicking off his sandals, before removing his t-shirt, shorts, and boxer briefs. Those last he quickly exchanged for the — inappropriately named in his mind — boy shorts, which had a pattern he admitted was amusing. He then put on the short sleeved, white blouse, its rounded collar and backwards buttons differentiating it from a similar dress shirt he owned. Now the moment of truth, one that he decided not to delay, stepping into the red and black checked skirt, which he pulled it up to his waist, its short length barely hiding the panties. Finding the shirt not long enough to tuck in, he located a zipper at the back and pulled it up.

Thinking he was being quite a good sport about the whole thing, Dylan frowned down at the last package on the bed. Deciding enough was enough, he picked it up and left the bedroom, saying, “I’m not wearing these, Jennifer.”

“Well, then we’ll just have to shave your legs.”

“What?”

“Well, if you’re not willing to wear stockings to hide the hair on your legs, you’ll just have to shave them.”

“But...but...but it’s only for one night.”

“Just kidding, Dylan.” Jennifer laughed. “Will these socks be better?”

“Definitely.”

“Good, and why are you wearing your skirt like that?”

“Uhh? Like what?”

Instead of answering, she stepped towards him, and began to twist the skirt around his waist. “Didn’t you notice the safety pin? It’s supposed to be at the front and the zipper at your side. There, that’s better, now sit down and put on your socks.”

He almost protested, before deciding it was quite okay to not know the proper way to wear a skirt. Taking the white socks, he found them quite thin, like dress socks. Pulling them up, almost to his knees, he noticed Jennifer’s smirk. Guessing that he had somehow been had, he said nothing. Instead, looking at the shoes she held, he asked, “Golf shoes?”

“Of course not, silly. A good girl always wears saddle shoes with her uniform.”

With no answer, he just put them on, then let Jennifer help him with the short plaid tie. Moving him to a bench seat, folding his skirt under his bum as he sat, she wrapped a beach towel around his neck, covering his clothes, she said, “Ready for some make-up?”

“More than anything in my life, Jennifer.”

“Funny boy. Don’t worry, you’ll be a doll.”

A doll may have been a bit of a stretch, but she did a good enough job that only a close-up examination would give away the truth. A pony-tail of his long hair, tied high on his head with a red ribbon, only made the disguise better. Deflated, Dylan limply sat there, letting Jennifer paint his finger nails pink, when the door of the trailer opened and his four idiot friends entered. Their stares causing him to blush.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe you went through with it, Dylan.” Anthony, the group’s leader, laughed.

“You’re a miracle worker, Jennifer.” Cody said, while Jon and Kevin satisfied themselves with Beavis and Butthead laughs.

“What the fuck do you mean, you can’t believe I went through with it? I thought you were expecting me to be dressed like this.”

“Well, we all thought you would chicken out, or come to your senses.”

“Shiiit. You didn’t expect me to do it?”

“Nope!”

“You guys are assholes. Okay, I’m changing back, how do I get this make-up off?”

“Don’t you want me to go on a date with me, Dylan?”

“Wha...of course, Jennifer.”

“Well, the deal was only if you do this.”

“Buuut...”

“Come on, Dylan, you’ve already gone this far and it will only be for thirty minutes. It’ll be a laugh.” Cody said.

“For you guys, maybe.”

“Definitely, but I’m sure you will look back on it and laugh with us.”

“Ah, fuuuuuuu....I can’t believe I’m actually considering this. Screw it, okay, but if I get beat up, you all got to let me kick you in the balls.”

“You’re not going to get beat up and no fuckin’ way.” Anthony said.

“Bah, you all suck.”

“You offering, cutie. Heh heh.”

“Heh heh.”

“You’re a pervert, Kevin.”

“Like I didn’t know that, so you going to do it?”

“I guess. But I’m probably going to regret it.”

“Without doubt.”

“For sure.”

“Absolutely!”

“Heh heh.”

“Heh heh.”

“Come on, Dylan. We already went to all this work and I’m really looking forward to the movie tomorrow.”

“Okay, let’s do this.”

“Load up the stuff, guys.” Jennifer said, “Dylan, needs a few finishing touches.”

Looking at her warily, he was somewhat relieved when she took a red girl’s blazer from the closet, which she helped him into, pulling his ponytail out of the way. Doing up the shiny, gold button, he shook his head at what she next removed from the closet. “No way, no friggen way.”

“Come on, Dylan. You agreed that I get to decide what you’re going to wear.”

“It’ll get in the way.”

“You idiots force me to watch all those YouTubes. You know that’s not true.”

“But it’s so pink.”

“Of course, it’s Hello Kitty, what do you expect?”

“Something not pink.”

“Sometimes we don’t get what we want, here let me help you.”

“No, I need to hang the strap over my right shoulder.” Deciding, it was best to do it himself, Dylan took the Hello Kitty schoolbag from Jennifer, made sure the strap was extended to its full length, and hung it so it fell to his lower back. “Is that all?”

“Just about, I only have this left.”

“A beret? Really, Jennifer, a beret?”

“It will be the perfect topper to the outfit.”

“That’s bad, Jennifer. I think you just leave the bad puns to Cody, it’s the only purpose he serves in your family.”

“Hey, I heard that.” Cody yelled.

“Good. Okay, pass it over. How’s that look?”

Jennifer said, “Cute.”

“Ain’t that just ducky. Hey, idiot, give me that before you drop it.”

This last was said to Jon, from whom he took his prized possession. It was his Gibson electric guitar, an Angus Young Signature SG that had cost him most of the money he had received from his grandfather’s will. The guitar was his hobby, his escape, and also part of the reason he found himself in this situation, although the guitar would be the thing that got the least amount of blame. Checking that it was, he strapped it over his left shoulder, flipping the Hello Kitty schoolbag out of the way to let the guitar’s strap rest comfortably against his back. By this time the band had loaded the rest of their equipment on a trailer hooked to Cody’s quad.

“You guys ready?”

“Yep, why don’t you wait here, while we set up, then come over in about fifteen minutes.” Anthony offered.

“No friggen way, I’m not wandering about by myself. There’s safety in numbers.”

“Okay, but it will give people more chance to see you.”

“If they stare, I’ll just tell them I’m your girlfriend.”

“Funny, Dylan, real funny. Then let’s go.”

Following the rest of them out of the fifth wheeler, Dylan was glad it was dark and that nobody else was around. Jennifer claimed the quad, while the rest of band, all taller than him, unconsciously surrounded their friend in the school girl outfit with rather pourous protection. Walking across the dimly lit parking lot toward the city park stage, they heard the sound of poorly-played ZZ-Top.

“She’s got legs, she knows how to use them.
She never begs. she knows how to choose them.”

Hearing those lines, Kevin looked down at Dylan’s legs, sticking out from his short skirt, and burst out in laughter. Dylan could not help it, he joined in and soon after everyone was laughing. With the mood lightened as the entered the lit area behind the stage, Anthony headed off to get instructions. Meanwhile Dylan sat on the trailer trying to blend in with the drum set. That, or Jennifer’s skill, seemed to work as nobody looked too closely at them before Anthony returned.

“Okay, we’re on next. Red Roadster will soon be finishing up, then they`ll have five minutes to get their crap off the stage, after which we have five minutes to set up. Everybody feeling it?”

“Yeah.” They mumbled.

“I said, is everybody feeling it?” Anthony asked, with more force, just as if they were his Triple-A Midget hockey team, of which he was the captain.

“We mumbled, yeah.” Jon said with a grin.

“You guys suck.”

“You offering, cutie. Heh heh.”

“Damn it, Kevin. It wasn’t funny the first time, either. And the rest of you, quit laughing.”

Ignoring their lead singer, who always got edgy before a performance, the rest chatted until the music came to a conclusion, followed by half-hearted applause. Guessing their time was close, they drifted towards the stage, which caused the small group of support staff to look their way in curiosity. Most noticed Dylan, but despite rolling their eyes at the school girl’s outfit, nobody seemed to realize he not the girl he appeared to be. Soon they were able to start lugging their gear to the curtained off stage, after the rather sad looking members of Red Roadster left.

With sound equipment provided and the minimal amount of gear they owned, setup did not require the full five minutes. Instead each took the time to perform a few warm up exercises, before Anthony confirmed everybody`s readiness and informed the guy running the stage.

Not long after, they all heard Rick Judson, the morning show host announcing them on the other side of the curtain. “How’s everybody doing? I said, how’s everybody doing? That’s better. You all ready for the next band in Rock 82.7’s Battle of the Cover Bands, presented by Miller’s Autobody Shop? Let’s hear it for High Voltage.”

With that the curtain rose and the members of High Voltage were greeted by weak clapping from the fifteen hundred or so spectators, a much larger crowd than they had played before at the Youth Hall. Fortunately some of their fans, mostly friends, were there providing as much noise as they could. But it was also from this group of hooters and howelers that Dylan heard someone shout, “What the fuck?”

That was as good a cue as Dylan had ever received. Without another thought about his idiotic appearance, he began the introduction to Thunderstruck. Within a few chords he had the bob going, tapping his left foot twice while banging his head down, then twice with his right foot as he brought his head up. Gently at first, but then as he got further into the intro, heavier and heavier. And when Jon joined in with the drums, hard enough that the beret went flying, intentionally. He had spent enough time on YouTube rewatching the AC/DC videos available, particularly those from Donnington. And though he had never worn the schoolboy outfit of his idol, Angus Young, he always mimicked his movements when performing. Tonight he planned to hide even further in his morphed version of that character.

Soon after Anthony began to sing, he found himself strutting and running about the small stage, dipping down into the duck walk as it struck him. The band did not care, Dylan was the best musician and performer amongst the five, they all knew it and were happy to ride along while they played at being a band during the final years of high school.

After Thunderstruck, it was onto Shoot to Thrill, through which the red ribbon in his hair did not survive. Loosened by multiple bobs, it joined the beret on the stage during a duck walk. Still, many in the crowd remained unaware of his true status, distance, the stage’s lighting, and his constant antics providing camouflage. However, the information had begun to flow from their knot of friends and by the time they finished Back and Black the truth had spread throughout the crowd. Its mood changed, not yet negative, but less responsive than it had been at the end of the first two songs. Noticing this and deciding to get things into the open, he motioned for the band’s attention when the song finished.

Seeing them all looking at him, he mouthed, “Jail Break, like Donnington.”

Anthony’s eyes open questioningly, but he only nodded his head at which point Cody, on rhythm guitar, began playing the intro, not leaving anything for Anthony but to start singing. Soon the rest of the band had joined in. Not quite three minutes into the song, after Anthony finished the chorus, Dylan stepped forward and ripped out the appropriate riffs. However, Anthony did not start the next verse, instead Jon and Kevin (on bass guitar) started playing a repetitive hypnotic beat, Dylan throwing riffs in once in awhile.

He had to work up his courage, but he could not take the minutes used by the AC/DC to build up tension. High Voltage could never hold their audience’s attention like their heroes. One more crazy riff and he was beside the drums, removing his guitar and the stupid Hello Kitty bag.

Moving towards the front of the stage, he unbuttoned the blazer, raised his hands above his head and thrust his hips back and forth. Then continuing his strut around the stage, back and forth, he slowly removed his jacket, twirling it beside himself, before swinging it around his head, Jon upping the beat on his symbols in accompaniment. Lowering it again as Dylan brought the jacket down between his legs, scissoring it back and forth before flinging it aside.

Many of the crowd were confused at his act, but there were enough metal heads to know what he was doing. They began to shout and he fed off their energy.

Untying the tie, he turned away from them, writhing as he slid it back and forth, down his back, until it too was dropped. Turning back to the crowd and undoing a button of his blouse, he paused, looking out questioningly.

“Take it off! Take it off!”

Only a small group of shouters, but he began to slowly unbutton the shirt, in a flirtatious parody. More people joined the shouting, almost in tune with the throbbing beat played by his band mates. Turning away from the crowd as he finished unbuttoning the shirt, he looked over his shoulder questioningly, and receiving an even louder, “Take it off!”

Turning back to them, he ran to one side of the stage, flinging the shirt wide open, showing his skinny chest. Then he repeated it, running to the other side of the stage, before letting the shirt fall to the ground. Turning again away from the crowd, he bent over, and suggestively grasped the top of his skirt, swaying his bum. Pretending he did not receive the proper response, Dylan ran over and repeated his actions on the other side of the stage, then in the middle. Drawing it out, the drum and bass pounding away, the crowd shouting for him to take it off, Dylan waited. Finally, he reached downwards, grabbed the hem of the skirt and yanked it up, showing the Union Jack panties.

As the crowd roared their laughter, he pranced over to his guitar and strapped it on, letting Anthony retake the stage, once more it was time for a Jaiiiilbreak. One that ended with Dylan laying on his back, spinning about, kicking and shaking as he performed Angus Young’s spasm.

The crowd was again on their side, as they moved into Money Talks and the band was grinning and enjoying themselves while Dylan continued to run and jump about the stage, the sweat turning his hair into its usual stringy mop and making his make-up run messily. He did not care, he was in the zone, and was more than ready to start Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap at the end of the song, if not for the stage manager cutting their sound and Rick Judson coming onto the stage.

“Let’s hear it for High Voltage, ladies and gentlemen.” Waiting for the cheers to die down, the host moved towards Dylan to ask, “And what’s your name, young lady?”

Hardly able to be mad at this joke, Dylan raised his hands to his head, used his index fingers to make the devil’s horns, and said, “Dylan Campbell.”

“Well, Dylan, if you’re one of Hell’s belles, I think they need to do some more recruiting.”

Dylan just grinned, too amped up on the energy of the performance to not enjoy the terrible joke. Judson just smiled at the crowd and shouted, “Well what do you think, do you want High Voltage back for tomorrow’s finals? DO YOU?”

Listening to the applause, gesturing for more with his hand, he finally turned to look at the band and said, “High Voltage, see you tomorrow.”

With this, the curtain dropped upon their performance. Continuing to look at them, Rick said, “Well, you fellows took a chance, but it worked out for you.”

“It was just stupidity, actually.” Anthony admitted. “We came up with it when we were drunk, then pestered Dylan into doing it, and he was too dumb to back down.”

“Hey, a good gimmick’s a good gimmick. Of course you’re now stuck with it, people will expect it to be part of your act now.”

“Fuck!”

“Now, Belle, is that the way for a young lady to speak?”

Dylan, not taking offense, just looked at the sky in question while everybody laughed. He only looked down when Jennifer, who had joined them on stage, grabbed his arm and said, “Don’t worry, since we’ll be together tomorrow afternoon, there will be lots of time for me to help you get ready.”

The End

Afterward

A silly little story. I have often thought about a story with someone imitating Angus Young's school boy as a school girl, tonight this idea coalesced into this story. However, the main benefit of its existance, from a personal standpoint, is to get me back into the saddle. I have hardly written anything since November and I just needed to remind myself that I can create a story, no matter how minor. And it also gave me an opportunity to spend a good chunk of my writing time with AC/DC YouTubes on monitor #2.