©2025 SammyC

Tom and I watched Artie attack his double scoop Rocky Road ice cream waffle cone with unbridled glee. It was a messy spectacle, not helped by the giggling fits caused by Tom’s silly knock-knock jokes. The other patrons in Baskin-Robbins looked on. Half of them thought Artie was having a fit; the other half thought we were insane.

“Stop it, Tom. You’ll make Artie choke.”

“I guess my jokes aren’t as funny as that bit you put that guy Grant Moorefield up to. I’m not falling for it, Gigi. Is he one of Richie’s kooky friends?”

“You can choose to believe it or not, but it wasn’t a put-on. I’m from another universe.”

Tom laughed, choking on his own double scoop Chocolate Cherry Bark cone. It was the Flavor of the Month.

“You’re out of this world beautiful,” Tom spluttered. “I’ll admit that much.”

I became self-conscious about the way I was licking my Very Berry Strawberry cone and stopped. Getting back to what we were discussing, I took a napkin and wiped Artie’s face somewhat clean of all the excess ice cream.

“I’ve never been asked to a dance—”

“Now I know you’re gaslighting me. You’re already one of the most popular girls in school. I won’t be the only guy to ask you to the Homecoming dance. But I’m the first and I’m holding you to your acceptance.”

“You’re the one gaslighting me. I doubt I’m all that popular. Most everyone seems to ignore me in class and in the hallways.”

“They’re too gob smacked to approach you. You’re beautiful and a genius! A woman of mystery too—”

“Sometimes people aren’t necessarily who they seem.” I unconsciously fluttered my eyelashes. Tom smiled and took a big bite out of his ice cream cone.

When I told Regina that Tom had asked me to be his date for the Homecoming Dance, she congratulated and hugged me. But then a dark cloud seemed to pass over her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m happy for you, sis. Tom’s a really nice boy and he’s sort of dreamy if you squint your eyes—"

I playfully slapped Regina’s shoulder.

“But I’m probably not going to the dance. I mean, I have to have someone ask me, no?”

“Maybe George will ask you. After all, Winnie can’t even walk, not to mention dance.”

“I think George just thinks of me as his math tutor these days—”

“Well, I can’t believe the school’s best cheerleader won’t be asked to the dance. Anyway, you don’t have to have a date to attend the dance.”

“Oh, that’d be so embarrassing, Gigi! Going to the Homecoming Dance stag!”

“Stag is a male term, sis. I think you’d be going doe? Whatever. You can go as a single and I betcha a bunch of boys will ask to dance with you.”

“I wonder if all the other girls on the cheer squad have already been asked…”

“Poor Winnie. I don’t think she’ll be the belle of the ball this year,” I mused. Regina screwed up her face at that remark and threw herself back into her homework. I lay back on the bed and, instead of continuing my reading assignment, pictured myself in a party dress and heels, my hair done up, nails perfect, slow dancing with Tom in the school gym. I wonder if they’ll use a DJ or actually hire a band.

That week was a hectic one. It was an exhausting five days of classes, band practice, escorting Artie back and forth from school, helping mom to prepare dinner, three hours of homework nightly, and my weekly session with Doctors Navidad and Loving. An added bonus was the call from my attorney Bernie Frishberg that he was making progress in settling the estate of my adoptive parents, the LeClercs. One of the major items in the estate was our house in Summit. So, Bernie had arranged for me to inspect the house (to assure everything was intact). Of course, there was no way I could do that, not having actually lived there myself. I reminded Bernie of my amnesia. He just told me to do the best I can.

I don’t know why I did but, in the middle of my session with my shrinks, Felice and Per, I blurted out that I was going to inspect my parental abode in Summit. They got really excited and insisted they come along. It would be in lieu of our regularly scheduled session. They assured me that visiting my old home could precipitate a veritable avalanche of remembrance. It might cure my amnesia! Felice even hugged me. There were tears in her eyes.

Out of the blue, on Friday morning, I was summoned to my guidance counselor’s office. At first, I was happy to miss at least part of my Calculus class. Then it occurred to me that they’d found out something about me, the real me, or about the real Genevieve LeClerc, and I was about to be expelled from school. Dark, troubling thoughts swirled in my mind as I settled into a chair across from Mrs. Geldof’s desk, albeit she was smiling broadly at me.

“Gigi, how nice to see you again. Of course, you’re wondering why I’ve asked you to drop by.”

“Yes, Mrs. Geldof. Am I being expelled?”

“What? Gigi, you’re quite the wit. I called you in to ask you if you need any help with your Early Decision applications. I’m guessing you’re applying to Ivy League schools—”

“I am?”

“A young lady with your academic resume and being a majorette in our marching band to boot is the exact profile places like Harvard and Yale target. I ask because the deadline for applying for Early Decision is November 1st, only a couple of weeks away. You’ll need letters of recommendation from one or more of your teachers—”

“I didn’t realize—”

“I took the liberty of talking to your AP teachers to see if you’ve discussed soliciting letters from them and they all said they haven’t. That’s odd but what was alarming to me was that they all said you were behind in classwork—”

“Well, I did start late, Mrs. Geldof.”

“And your test grades have been barely passing, Gigi. Is there something distracting you from your schoolwork? Schools will heavily weigh your most recent grades in making a final decision.”

“I’m doing the best I can.”

“I find that hard to believe, Gigi. Your GPA from Summit High was a 5! It would seem you could take these tests blindfolded and get A’s. Are you sure there’s not some issue? Maybe at home?”

Flustered, I rose from my seat and generated the necessary dudgeon in my tone.

“Mrs. Geldof! Is there an issue? I was in a horrendous helicopter crash that killed everyone on board except me. Including my parents! I lost my memory and wandered around for three months before providentially showing up in my biological mother’s hometown. I still have no idea of who I am now or who I was before the accident. Yet, I’m still trying to resume my life as best I can, in a new school, making new friends, and fitting in with a virtually new family. Yeah, I’m distracted. Wouldn’t you be?” I walked quickly to her office door, turned the knob, and spit out, “I’ve decided to stay in-state and go to Rutgers. My new parents can afford that a lot better than they can an Ivy League school. Thanks for your concern, Mrs. Geldof.”

I closed the door behind me and exhaled loudly. A second or two later, I was walking slowly back to my Calculus class. I heard someone whistling a familiar tune. After looking around me in the hallway, I realized I was the someone whistling.

Friday night, we played Oradell High at home and demolished them, 51 to 9. George threw 5 touchdowns and ran for another. Regina was the star cheerleader as she had convinced Coach Mason to re-instate “the pyramid.” Atop the pyramid, her pom-poms waving, Regina shouted herself hoarse, belting out the school chant:

“White and Gold
That’s our colors
Hot and Bold
White and Gold
We’re gonna rock you
We’re gonna roll you
Go Rossington Go!”

Regina wrote that herself.

I thought the halftime performance by our pocket-sized marching band was our best so far. I know the majorette was a lot better. Hours of practice around the house and in our backyard (with Mrs. Gillespie rooting me on) honed my twirling and tossing skills to the point I only dropped my baton one time. Fortunately, it was at a point in the program where we were all standing at midfield rather than marching. That would have been a slapstick scene! We ran off the field at the end, hearing hearty cheers and applause from the capacity crowd. Tom twirled me around and planted a big wet kiss right on my lips as the other band members rushed by. Another round of applause ensued. Tom waved to the crowd. Regina blew kisses to us from the sideline. Mom and Dad had serious looks on their faces. I was red with embarrassment. Or was I flush with arousal?

After the game, at the IHOP in Fair Lawn, Regina took me aside and told me Billy Bacigalupo, our star wide receiver, had just asked her to go to the Homecoming Dance. She was in shock but the smile on her face signaled her excitement and relief.

“But,” I noted, “I thought he was definitely not a fan. Isn’t he the one who’s insulted you forever? He can’t stop thinking of you as a guy—”

“Yeah, well, he told me he’s always been attracted to cheerleaders.”

“And you accepted?”

“I didn’t want to go to the dance by myself.”

“You would’ve gotten other invitations, I’m sure, Regina.”

“But Billy’s the second most popular guy on the team. All the other girls will be so jealous!”

“I just hope Billy changes his views on trans girls. He is sort of cute if you squint your eyes—”

Regina playfully slapped my arm.

“Tomorrow morning, we have to go to Miss Julie’s and pick out something to wear to the dance.”

“The dance isn’t formal. Not like the prom.”

“No, but we still have to get nice party dresses. And shoes! Do you think we can dance with high heels on and not fall all over the place?”

I tried to inject some sense of reality into the conversation. “But, dear sister of mine, who’s going to pay for all this. Not just for one daughter but two? Our parents are working overtime just to make ends meet. Where will they get the money to pay for all of this?”

Regina waved my logic away with a flick of her wrist. “Dad has a credit card, doesn’t he? Look, every father of daughters wants their darlings to look beautiful. He’ll drive us to the mall in Paramus, you’ll see.”

“If you say so. At least it beats taking the bus.”

Nick reluctantly handed us his credit card as Regina and I stood before the entrance to Miss Julie’s Bridal Shop. He grumbled a bit before walking away, reminding us to text him when he needed to pick us up.

“I’m going to go and price some snow-blowers while you girls make me a pauper.”

Miss Julie herself, a statuesque beauty even now in her fifties, who was once Miss Northern New Jersey in her beauty pageant days, greeted us as we entered the shop.

“Good morning, ladies. How can I help you?”

“We’re looking for the perfect Homecoming Dance dress!”

“Are you twins?”

“Yes, yes, we are. I’m Regina and this is Gigi. We’re seniors at Rossington High.”

“You’re not thinking of wearing the same dress to the dance, are you?”

I jumped in. “We’re not into that. In fact, we probably have very different taste in fashion.”

Miss Julie placed her thumb and index finger on her chin and nodded. “Do you want something classic or trendy? Sequins are always in style but a lot of girls these days like skater and flare skirts. Short or long?”

Regina and I both answered, “Short or long what?”

Miss Julie laughed. “Why the length of the dress, of course. Mini, micro-mini, or just above knee-length?”

We looked at each other and both shrugged our shoulders. Miss Julie moved closer and gave us a long once over before declaring judgment.

“You’re rather tall. I think you should show off those long legs. Here, those racks have a wide variety of short party dresses. Take your time and see which ones you want to try on. Size 4 should fit you perfectly.”

While Regina gravitated to the body-con dresses, some with sequins, some with two straps, a few that were one-shoulder, I was drawn to the more conservative but cute skater dresses. We held up dresses in front of ourselves and turned to show each other. We were having a great time when a loud, piercing voice interrupted our fun.

“Hey you two. Stop clogging up the aisles. Real women can’t get through to look at the dresses.”

It was Winnie Schlitter. Her mother was pushing her through the store in a wheelchair. Regina and I made room for her, but she stopped right between us.

“I can understand Gigi here picking out a dress for the dance but you, girly-boy? Come on, you might be a temporary substitution on the cheer squad, but who in their right mind would ask you to the dance?”

“Well, Fred,” Regina emphasized, “for your information, Billy Bacigalupo, the best high school wide receiver in New Jersey, asked me.”

“That loser? There’s a reason he doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

“Why? He’s very good looking, isn’t he?” asked Regina matter-of-factly.

“Everyone knows he’s gay as a two-dollar bill. He doesn’t like girls. But I guess he does like girly-boys.”

“You take that back! He’s as straight as George is and, you know, George likes me more than you—”

Angrily, I threw a nasty grenade at Winnie’s feet. “Yeah, George told me you guys are just casual friends. He emphasized casual.”

With a growl of frustration, Winnie spun the wheels of her chair and slipped from her mother’s grasp, rumbling down the aisle.

Mrs. Schlitter ran after Winnie’s runaway wheelchair. “Excuse Winnie, girls, she’s been really depressed because of—”

Winnie’s wheelchair had veered to the right and crashed into a rack of dresses.

“Oh, Winnie! Are you hurt?” Everyone, including Miss Julie and her assistant, had rushed over to the over-turned wheelchair. As they helped Winnie back into her chair, the cast on her leg seemed to be pointing at us.

“I’m alright! I’m fine!,” she shouted. “It’s that girly-boy. He pushed me.”

“Winnie! You did this yourself. Nobody pushed you. Thank you, ladies. We’ll come back when she’s calmed down. Sorry, sorry.” Mrs. Schlitter pushed Winnie out of the shop like a musher in the Iditarod.

In the tranquil aftermath, Regina and I picked out our party dresses. Regina settled on a sage-colored sequin drape-hem body-con mini-dress that needed a few alterations. She could pick it up mid-week next. As for me, the draped-top skater dress I selected in scarlet stopped a prim two inches above my knees. It fit perfectly. No alterations necessary. We bludgeoned Nick’s credit card and marched off to look for some ridiculously cruel high heels to dance in.

We had returned home barely an hour before I had to take Artie to his roller hockey game at 3 o’clock. When I asked Mom why she couldn’t take Artie herself, she said something about trying to save gas. That had me scratching my head until I heard the doorbell ring. I opened the door to see George standing there, a grin on his face.

“George! Did you schedule a tutoring schedule for today with Regina? She’s not home. All the cheerleaders went to visit Dolores. Poor kid, she got the worst of that pyramid accident. She might not be back in school until January—”

“Gigi, I’m not here to see Regina. Can I come in? It’s a little chilly.” I stepped aside as he entered the house.

“I called earlier today, and your mom said you and Regina were out shopping. But she said you’d be back in time to take Artie to his hockey game. So, I volunteered to drive you and Artie to the rink. Your mom said it’d be okay.”

“Mom!” She came down the stairs and waved to George. “Did you tell George it was okay for him to take me and Artie to the rink?”

“I thought it was very nice of him to offer. Would you rather take the bus instead?”

“Well, if you put it that way. Okay, George, I’ll be a minute. I’ve got to rustle up Artie and grab my coat.”

An hour later, George and I were sitting on those cold, hard benches, watching Artie skating around the rink, crashing into the other 5- and 6-year-olds, trying to resemble hockey players. There was palpable tension in the air between us. I tried to avoid his eyes. I’d concluded that whatever relationship I’d had with the George in my universe did not carry over to this one. Essentially, George was a stranger to me now, as Gigi LeClerc. From what I’ve observed, this George wouldn’t even be a good match for this universe’s Regina. My George was a bit of a dim bulb, but this George was a cock-of-the-walk football hero with a player’s mentality. Not my cup of tea.

“Homecoming is just two weeks away.”

“That data point hasn’t evaded me. It’s all Regina talks about. Especially now that Billy asked her to the dance.”

“I know. Kind of weird, that. Say, you’re planning to go to the dance, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I’ll be there. The band might be asked to play.”

“I mean, has anybody asked you yet?”

“Have you asked Winnie yet? She’ll be on crutches by then, her mom told us.”

“Winnie? Nah, I can’t see myself dancing with a girl on crutches. How would you even be able to do that?”

“Far be it for me to give Winnie a break after all the mean things she’s said to and about my sister, but you could just sit with her, let her enjoy being there, wearing a beautiful party dress, having her friends around her.”

“Let’s not discuss Winnie, okay? I wanted to ask you something last night after the game, but you were like the social butterfly at IHOP, flitting from table to table, but mostly hanging with that Verlaine guy.”

“Well, I’m in the band, duh.”

“Tom’s a loser. With a big L. Listen, enough about other people. You and me. I’m asking you to go to the dance with me. As my date.”

“George…”

“Come on, I’m odds-on favorite to be voted Homecoming King. You’ll look really good on my arm when they place the crown on my head.”

“George…”