With friends like these, who needs enemies?

My friends from middle school took advantage of my absence from high school the first days.

My family had spent most of the summer in Italy. It was great travelling around and see all those interesting things from old times. The real reason we were there that my sister was going to start at a very good fashion school. My parents wanted to make sure that she was settled in before leaving so they had got permission for me to miss the first few days of high school. The principal had said I was only to go to my scheduled classes. No introduction necessary. Especially since the principal would be away on the day I started.

My first day would be the first Friday. My friends had told me that the first Friday of the Fall semester was turnaround day when boys dressed as girls and girls as boys. My sister thought that was a great idea so she quickly made a skirt for me. I suppose you noticed that she was going to start a fancy fashion school? Actually the skirt was not extreme in any way. Just above knee length but the thing was that it was quite obvious it was made for me. Mary had taken every aspect of me into consideration when making it. It fit me perfectly in every sense. You noticed it. I was quite proud of it and liked it. Besides it was only for one day.

Is anyone of you so dense that you haven’ t realized that I was the only one crossdressed on that Friday? I hadn’t gone over the top but the rest of my clothing was appropriate for the skirt.

When I saw everyone else I realized that
a) I had been had.
b) I had three options:
1. Turn around, go home and change. This would mean that I’d be late my first day of high school. Not a good start of high school.
2. Be the butt of the joke. Skulking around all day. Not a good start of high school. Besides I felt bad about denying my sister’s skirt and indirectly her. A bit like St Peter did Jesus.
3. Own it. High risk but what else could I do?

“Hey, you are wearing a skirt!”

I looked down at my skirt.

“So I am! Great power of observation.”
“Why are you wearing a skirt?”
“Why not?”
“But you are a boy”

I felt my chest with both hands.

“You know, you are absolutely right. I said you have great power of observation.”
“So why are you wearing a skirt?”
“Why not?”
“Boys don’t wear skirts!”
“They don’t? You are a victim of being caught in a bubble in the time-space continuum.”
“Eh?”
“It’s only by an accident of place and history that you have got the impression that boys don’t wear skirts. Many, many of my male ancestors wore skirts and dresses. My uncle has told me he has seen Greek guard soldiers in skirts, very short skirts with heavy leggings. The guard at the presidential residence in Suva wore a skirt with a jagged hem, schoolboys from what appeared to be an exclusive boys’ school in Suva wore skirts and so on and so on.”
“That’s unnatural!”
“Why?”
“My priest says so!”
“You are a catholic?”
“I certainly am! I go to mass every Sunday.”
“So you think it’s perfectly logical to be told by a man wearing a dress that boys shouldn’t wear skirts?”

I left a very confused boy. Similar conversations repeated for a while until an obvious alpha male came up to me.

“Nice skirt. Not something you see in the usual stores. You made it yourself?”
“No, my sister made it for me. She is fantastic when it comes to making clothes.”
“Cool! Your first day here?”
“Yes.”
“In that case let me give you the ten-cent tour.”
“Isn’t it supposed to be the fifty-cent tour?”
“Not the way I do it. By the way, I’m David Donatello. Don’t blame me. Blame my parents.”
“Wyatt Knotter”

In ten minutes David managed to show me the entire school leaving me at the door of my first class. At the same time he showed me the school, the school was shown me - in David’s presence. What I didn’t know at the time was that David was the swim team captain. The swim team was quite successful and in public opinion only ranked after the basketball team. After David’s implicit seal of approval things settled down. The only exception was in shop. The place could do with some cleaning and I didn’t want my skirt to get dirty. That was quite obvious, together with the skirt itself, brought scorn and ridicule upon me from the teacher. I don’t really appreciate when my teachers ridicule me but I managed to keep my temper, barely.

Over the weekend I kept thinking about the Friday. I quite obviously had lost my friends from middle school. Not only had they set me up. They had also been (almost) the only ones to tease me for my skirt. No sign of them wanting to be my friend even if I had wanted to. I had told my sister about the Friday and she had been touched by my loyalty to her. Perhaps I had slanted things a little bit. My parents? They laughed.

The question was what I was going to do on Monday. Blend in or not? To be honest, I had quite liked the attention I had got. And nothing really bad happened to me, had it ?

Monday morning I had an unexpected meeting with the principal. I was surprised since he had told my parents no introduction was necessary.

“Quite a striking skirt you are wearing. Do you consider yourself to be a girl?”
“No, not at all. Why should I?”
“You are wearing a skirt.”
“Yes, I’m wearing a skirt. Why not?”
With a smile on his lips “Why not, indeed. I assume that you are eager to get back to your class. However, before that. Have you had any problems here in school?”
“Oh, not at all. Except for the shop teacher.”
I explained what had happened on Friday.
“How are at sewing?”

No one who has grown up in the same family as my sister could possibly have escaped learning at least the fundamentals. While not in any way an expert I wasn’t that bad

“Not bad.”
“To be honest it would be easiest for me if you switched the class to fashion.”
“Why not.”

Two minutes later I found myself outside the office door with a note from the principal to the fashion teacher. A note I handed over later in the day. While a rare bird in the class I was not the only boy there. There were also Donald and Ducky.

Ducky got his nickname from his habit of always trying to duck things. Work in particular. Fashion had turned out to be one of his rare mistakes. No slacking in this class. The thing about Ducky is that when thwarted he takes it well. In fashion class he was always diligent, He was always cheerful. Almost as diligent and cheerful as he was incompetent. When asked why he had stayed in fashion and not tried to switch to shop he answered.

“Oh, better a disaster than a catastrophe.”

He had a got a point there. Hopelessly all thumbs. Fortunately for him the girls thought him terminally cute and always helped him.

No need for that with Donald. He was scarily competent and focused on his future in the fashion industry. As soon as he saw my skirt the questions began. Not why I was wearing it. That was irrelevant and of no interesta at all. All about how it had been made, in detail. Miss Watson, the teacher enthusiastically joined in. Fortunately I had been there when Mary made it and she had kept up a running commentary. While it was obvious that I was no expert I could provide enough information for the inquisitors-in-training. That was how my first fashion class was spent. The rest of the semester was spent making a dress. For me. Miss Watson explained that the term project was to make a dress for ourselves. She added that the boys could make it for someone else in the class. I decided to make one for myself. Why not?

I wound up with three dresses. My own mauve soft shortish dress with short sleeves fit perfectly and was great for everyday use. I loved it when I had finished it and I was extremely proud of what I had achieved. Donald provided me with a gorgeous ball gown. I was touched. Not that I’d ever wear it but I was honored that he made it for me. Of course, he claimed that I was the biggest challenge. Ducky’s dress? Well, it was Ducky’s dress. It fit me, sort of. The rest of the imperfections were not THAT bad. The girls had given Ducky LOTS of help. I did wear it to school, if only for one day. It was worth it to see how happy Ducky was. I went all gooey when I saw his smile. I had grown quite fond of sweet, cheerful, funny and, yes, cute Ducky by then.

But all that was still in the future that Monday. However, the day was not over yet. There was still PE to survive. I had had a choice there. Either (ball)games or gymnastics/athletics. Easy choice. I have only limited depth perception which makes fast moving balls a distinct health hazard for me. Besides I had been on the gymnastics team in middle school. The replacement, but still, I had been on the team.

You think that dodging those dangerous fastmoving balls made me non-suicidal? Then you haven’t seen what I brought to wear for PE. In my defense I had forgotten about the “athletics” part so that sprint exercises was on schedule was not what I had planned for. Given the reaction in school on Friday and cheered on by Mary and my parents I had decided to go all out. Besides, Mary had given me full access to all clothes she had left when she moved to her fashion school in Italy. I had got into my head that we’d be indoors, in the gym. You know, where only the rest of the class and Coach could see me. Doing gymnastics. I had brought Mary’s neon pink leotard. And no shoes. After class my sole consolation was not my aching soles nor the fun people had had watching me running in the neon pink leotard. I have to give it to Coach that he almost kept a straight face. Only a little bit of twitching at the corner of his mouth. As for the rest of the many, many people that watched me… Passers-by stopped passing by when seeing me. Well, I spread quite a lot of joy that day. No, the consolation was that the reactions were mostly positive. At least after David and Gus Rodin, the basketball captain, came by showed their approval. To be honest I was a bit unsettled by that. The big brother attitude of David was OK but I was not sure about the way Gus looked at me. Did I mention that I was the fastest kid in class? Perhaps I felt like Forrest Gump. You know, Run Wyatt, run!

Tuesday was uneventful. That felt strange.

Wednesday was a bit more lively. I had had a look at the school rules and noticed that the length of skirts worn by boys wasn’t regulated. I found one from Mary’s rebellious period. Mother had taken that fight with Mary so she just sighed when she saw me leave for school.

I had another talk with the principal. No unnecessary talk there.

“As you apparently are aware that skirt is not against school rules. However, could you please wear something else? As a personal favor to me?
“Why not?”

The principal had shown himself to be one of the good guys so I didn’t want to damage my relationship with him. I had brought my rather voluminous gym shorts today so I wore those instead.

Later that Wednesday Miss von Blutschweiss und Tränen (from uradel, old German nobility), the girls’ coach collared me. I wasn’t even wearing a skirt or a dress any longer!

“Wyatt, did you sign up for cheerleading try-out?”
“No, why?
“You are on the list. I can delete your name. Of course, you COULD participate if you want. You ARE on the list.” She said smirking.

What the hell! Couldn’t my old “friends” let me be! Oh, whatthehell…

“Why not?”
“Good, I’ll del … WHAT did you say?”
“Why not. It’s not like I’ll make the squad and it could be interesting.”
“You are aware that the cheerleading team is a girls’ team. You’d have to come dressed for the tryouts dressed appropriately. And IF selected follow ALL the rules, Boy or not.”

Apparently there WAS someone in school who hadn’t heard about my pink leotard. (That still was in my bag, just in case).

“Oh, why not. As I said it could be interesting. As long as you DO remember that I am a boy. Since I’m not going to selected: Lets have some fun.”

Miss von Blutschweiss und Tränen walked away shaking her head but with a broad smile as well.

I had no intention of actually becoming a cheerleader but I didn’t want to make a joke out of it as well. So, I had 48 hours to do something about it. This meant two evenings of cheerleading 101 with my mother.

Strangely I was the only boy in the locker room changing for cheerleading try-outs. Mary had got involved as well and persuaded me to wear her show outfit. Sparkly high-cut thong leotard and shiny tights. Or should it be called leggings since they left my feet bare, better to dance out there? I had butterflies in my stomach waiting for my turn. Butterflies that fluttered away as soon I got out there. At that moment I realized that I really am an exhibitionist. Not the creepy way but I love when people look at ME. Watch ME do something. Even if I wasn’t to be a cheerleader, I gave it my all. Technically I was awful. Do you think you can learn all that in only two sessions? Get real! I really entered into it. I had a great time out there. For a moment I almost regretted NOT becoming a cheerleader. Silly me!

After my performance I covered up and waited for the results. I had to go through the movements after all. After the last girl had done her routine coach v BuT took me asides.

“Wyatt, technically you were bad. Not as bad as I had expected but still bad. Gymnast?”
“Uhm”
“To be honest I discriminated in your case. I shouldn’t have but I gave you passing grade on the technical part. As for appearance and poise you got an A. I could see that you are a gymnast and that outfit… I saw more than one boy with his tongue out during your routine. Effort, involvement and dedication: You outclassed the rest of the field. The bottom line is that you is in if you want to. But remember you have to follow ALL the rules. All the GIRLY rules!”

“Why not? I admit. I liked it out there. I have no problems with the uniform and wearing skirts or dresses when required. I’m already the school excentric. So, why not? As long as you remember that I really am a boy.”

Boy, was I wrong! I really should think before jumping. That flippant answer caused me sooo much trouble.

To begin with the attention. I like attention but you CAN get too much of it. With the principal, Miss Watson, David, Gus, … and not least Miss v BuT covering my butt I was good, apart from some gentle teasing. Even the boys’ coach was supportive. He wished me good luck when saying goodbye to me.

Goodbye? That was another consequence. You see the principal called me into his office again.

“Are you really sure you want to be a cheerleader?”
“Why not? I qualified. So why should I back out now?”
“The girly thing?”
“Could I get a more girly reputation than I already have?”
“Good, Good. I just wanted to make sure. I like what you are doing. It’s fun. And it shakes people up. I like it. AND I like the support you have in the student body. I’d never have expected that. Either I’m very lucky or I must have done something right.”

The wisest thing is to remain silent when a principal goes off the tracks like that.

“Right, now to your schedule. As a cheerleader you have practice in the afternoon and thus are exempt from usual PE. I know a coach who will be happy for a distraction less. You could spend the gap hour in the library studying. Or we could add a class.”
“Why not?”
“Let’s see what’s available for you. You are a freshman so those classes or a class available for everyone. Oh, botheration. There is only one possibility. Gender studies. This will give you extra credit though. What about it?”
“Why not?”

The following Moday was another interesting day. For one thing I had discovered another inconvenience with being a cheerleader. All cheerleaders are required to wear a bra. Always. Well, at least in school. Miss von Blutschweiss und Tränen was not to be moved on this point. NO exceptions. And wasn’t there a little bit too much glee in her “I did warn you”?

Gender studies class was less exclusively female than I had expected. Still a majority but only 60-40. Possibly because of the strong swim team contingent led by David. Gender studies was also where I got to know David better. Much of the work was in groups and David and I was in the same group. David was bright but not very flexible. Mentally I mean. He could learn things but he had problems getting to grips with new concepts and why things are like they are and not just are like they are. This meant that I often wound up in the library after classes after all. We both had a gap before our respective practices.

That in turn turned into paid tutoring in History and Social studies. One day after practice he asked me if I was willing and then dragged me off to get his parents’ approval. I was taken unawares. Good thing I was wearing Mary’s skirt that day so I made a good impression. His parents have a reputation for being conservative. I was approved. I earned some welcome money and David became much more mentally agile.

For example, he had regarded dates as sacrosanct in history. As having a value of their own. I taught him that they are tools. Very nice tools but only tools. What happened in 1776 could have happened another year. In this case it was important that it happened after what happened in 1763 and before what happened in 1789. And 1812, besides being the name for an impressive piece of music, is interesting as a reference to what happened at the same time in the rest of the world and not only as the opening piece for a burning of the nation’s capitol. And by Christmas he had learnt to ask that most important question of all: Why. Why are institutions the way they are? Why have we changed them, or not changed as the case may be?

I think I got a bit off track here. Where was I? Yes, my first Monday as a cheerleader. Gender studies was interesting. Changing for cheerleading was also “interesting”. Despite Miss vBuT’s insistence that I be one of the girls I still was a boy. Which meant I changed in the boys’s locker room. The locker room also used by the basketball team that just had ended ther practice and the swimming team that was about to start their practice.

No surprise I was stared at. I expected that. They were curious if I had any revealing tan lines and if my body had any secrets to reveal. I had expected that. I had revealing tan lines. From my baggy swim trunks. Otherwise I had the expected one head, two arms, two legs, ten toes, ten fingers, zero breasts and one penis. They stared at me so of course I stared back. The basketball team was tall and thin and probably mean but not without a little bit of excess fat. Tsk, tsk. No unnecessary fat on the swimming team though. David Donatello really looked like the statue. No, not the Donatello bronze (that was more me). The Michelangelo marble. Quite a distinct likeness. Did I tell you that I had spent the summer in Italy? And that my parents are culture nerds?

Hm thinking about the Donatello bronze (and I’m not talking about David’s quite attractive tan), coming dressed as the statue would cement my reputation as the school excentric. A hat and boots. Nothing else. On the other hand that would make the principal sad. I didn’t want that. On yet another hand, getting a hat like that ….

I’m prevaricating. What I really meant to say was that I had not expected to be hit on. And by THE alpha male in school, Gus. He did in a way that he deluded himself wasn’t noticed. He was visibly bothered with his feelings for me but couldn’t help himself. I dodged as best as I could. Good thing it was only before my practice that I shared the locker room with Gus. I was grateful that Coach v BuT coached the boys’ basketball team and had our practice after that.

The next time I hid among the swim team. You know, the guys in small swimwear and glistening with water drops …

The third time I firmly told Gus that I wasn’t interested. To be honest he unsettled me. When the other boys in the locker room saw me the saw me as undressed. Gus saw me as naked. Even if he claimed that I was mistaken and he wasn’t interested in me at all.

There wasn’t a fourth time. Not in the locker room. Much as I appreciated looking at the swim team (glistening wet after practice and all that) I had no problem to find an answer when Coach v BuT a bit embarrassed approached after the third practice.

“The girls brought up something. They think there is a problem that you change separately. Group cohesion, team spirit and all that. They want you to change with them. They have promised to respect you in every way. What do you say?”
“Why not?”

The other girls eh … the girls in the squad and I had hit it off, as you can gather, so I had no problems with THEM.

They kept their word as well. They hadn’t bothered to get a corresponding promise from me. I don’t know whether it was because they thought I was such good boy none was necessary or if it was because they knew I wouldn’t be so stupid. I was not the smallest in the squad, even if I was the only frehsh”man” (their way of expressing it) but I was far from the strongest and meanest one. Three of them could be really scary. Not to me though but why chance it? I just staked out a corner, noticed that like the boys they had (each) one head, two legs, two arms, ten toes, ten fingers and unlike them two breasts and no penis. Check. Next item. Not that I really had any excess energy left after practice. Those sessions were grueling and Coach spent extra time with me to get me up to standard.

To be honest the team spirit thing was great and I enjoyed the company of my fellow cheerleaders. I even was welcome at the cheerleading and jock (male and female) table in the cafeteria. That was where Gus kept hitting on me. “Jokingly” of course. Until it really became jokingly. And I kept shooting him down. To the great amusement of those eating lunch with us. Fortunately Gus was as resentless as he was relentless.

And thus the semester proceeded. Gruelling practice. Being one of the cheerleaders. Making dresses (OK, ONE! Satisfied?!). Ducky became my BFF. The girls in fashion were right. He really was too cute. You couldn’t resist him any more than you could resist a puppy.

In general I was the school excentric. I could do more or less as I wanted. Oh, it’s only Wyatt being Wyatt. With the massive support infrastructure I had in the form of the principal down to Ducky nothing could touch me. I didn’t wear skirts or dresses all the time. Not even most of the time. I got involved in school politics. Once more I worked closely with David. David was convinced that he and only he could save the school. I never figured out from what but there was doubting his sincerity. David was always sincere. Including the way he acted as a big brother to me, always protecting me from real and imaginary dangers.

When asked if I wanted to be on the school paper my answer was (if you aren’t exceptionally dense you know it):

“Why not?”

I was exceptionally dense. At that time I started hearing people refer to me as, what I thought, Wyatt Knott. I couldn’t understand why. My name is Wyatt Knotter.

Surprisingly it was the not very bright Ducky that clued me in.

“Why not!”
“Yeah, that’s what I said, Wyatt Knott and not Wyatt Knotter.”
“Not Knott. NOT!”

OK for while the conversation got a bit confused there. Finally I got it. Apparently I was named after my catch phrase. So I had a catch phrase? Why not? Hmm, perhaps I should go easier on that one.

As I said the days flowed slowlyby. I evolved. I learnt so much when I was allowed to do laps outside the box. I found so many interesting people around me. The principal, on whom I started to drop in just for chats. The amazing Miss v BuT, Donald who beyond his deadly serious surface wasn’t all about fashion. Ducky? Hopelessly impossible Ducky who was so “possible”.

Gus and the basketball team scored an almost uninterrupted series of wins. Gus was by now openly declared gay and comfortable with that. Once he had become more secure in his sexual identity he became a nice person (though he kept hitting on me). Ducky flourished under my wing. He even was invited to “The Table” because he was so cheerful and fun. David loosened up. A bit more the David I had met that first day in school. Always the big brother to me. Even his parents expressed their gratitude when I met them a second time to settle the tutoring thing. Not that I had anything to do with that but I was too smart to argue. Especially, since they were nice enough to compliment me on my mauve dress that I only the day before had finished in fashion class.

Too bad David still was so stiff when dating. He couldn’t shake his nickname “One-date Dave”. Yup, never a second date. By now it was more like “No-date Dave”. They had no idea what they missed out on. Together with me David was really fun.

In December everyone started talking about the big Christmas dance. Of course Gus kept asking me. Of course I kept saying no. Not that I had a date already. The cheerleaders all had their boyfriends and finally the school excentric thing came back to bite me. Every girl I asked declined. Very politely but “sorry, you are just a bit too weird”.

A chance word that Ducky let slip led me to think about asking him to the dance. Why not? He certainly was cute enough and besides, a dance is just a dance, isn’t it? I had finally come to the decision that I’d ask him. After lunch.

At lunch Gus was his usual self. With a twist.

“Since the unattainable Wyatt in his inexplicable wisdom has committed to making me a desperate boy I have decided to renounce. Yes! I renounce! Hereby, I declare that I will abandon all hope of ever to woo the fair Wyatt, oh woe. Henceforth I will devote myself to the incomparable Ducky, though he soars far beyond my ken.”
“Yes, I will go to dance with you!”

I think that if anyone was more surprised than Ducky himself when he blurted that out it was Gus. Gus rose to the occasion. He swept up Gus in an embrace and kissed him. The third boy in fashion class, Donald, stopped when passing by to look.

“I am most honored indeed that the fair Ducky has condescended to be my lady for the dance. Now it only behoves me to right a hideous wrong. The fair Wyatt is inexplicably deprived of companionship at the dance. So is our brave and gallant knight errant. So, David, you moron why don’t you ask him?”

All eyes turned on David. Expectant eyes. Donald had a “I told you so” smile on his face, probably thinking about the ball gown. A wide smile spread over David’s face. It lit up his face. It shone. Epiphany!

Then he said the magical words

“Why not?”