I’m a nerd. I like being a nerd. I never had any other ambition. I’m also a boy. I like being a boy. I never had any other ambition.

Being a nerd is not the same as being a recluse or an outcast. I had many friends. We, the nerds and nerdettes, used to sit at the same table in the cafeteria. Another thing about being a nerd is this is not the only thing that characterizes us. Nerds do have other interests as well. Believe it or not but Amy was a cheerleader. A good cheerleader at that, even if she was shunned by the squad at other times. Mary was a jockette. Or more precisely a netball player. The most atypical one was probably petite and dainty Daisy, a death metal drummer. Yes, at our school there were more nerdettes than nerds. Perhaps 2:1. I on the other hand was a classical original boy nerd v1.0. AP, AV, SF, gaming, above thinking about my appearance and so on and on. I liked being who I was. A tall (noticeably above average male)* lanky nerd.

So far so good. Until the first week of my senior year. This Friday the cafeteria was not as crowded as usual. There was an away football game so the football/cheerleader table was empty.

Oh, I know that you are waiting for a twist or two so you will get them early. Amy, who was a cheerleader was still with us. Her twisted ankle was healed but she was still on the sick list. Amy could have gone and watched the game. That was allowed for those on the sick list. Since Amy was nerdette as well as a cheerleader she preferred to do something meaningful and stayed for classes. To my surprise a similar thinking must have struck “Tiny” Tim, our nose tackle, who also was recuperating from a twisted ankle. Not bad, two twists this early, don’t you agree?

Well, Tiny was there on the cafeteria floor looking like a fish on land, even the mouth mimicked that, when he saw the empty football/cheerleading table. Then he saw Amy at our table and headed over to us. Would he really want to sit at OUR table. A non-nerd football player? I admit that I was prejudiced. I was also wrong. Not always the same thing. Anyway, Tiny was not what I expected. He was fun and brighter than I had expected. Altogether a very satisfactory lunch until things went down the drain. As things went Tiny and I had done most of the talking and I have to admit that I was intrigued by the hidden and unexpected person behind the “Tiny” label. Still, I had not expected what came next.

“Sasha, you are cute, intelligent and fun. Would you go out with me tonight?”

What the hell! Can’t he see that I’m a boy? Hm perhaps not. My French parents named me Sasha which has caused me “some” problems with bullies. My experience with bullies has forced me to develop some defense strategies. When fight is not an option, fight or flee is reduced to one easy answer. Nowadays I’m rather fast and good at dodging. I also keep my hair very short to discourage yanking. On the other hand the absence of curves could have been just hidden by my baggy clothes. And a majority of the people around the nerd table were girls. No, the invitation was not that surprising after all, if you disregard the tiny matter of a football player asking out a quintessential nerd.

“Sorry Tiny. I’m a boy”

The sequence of expressions on Tiny’s face was quite interesting. Surprise, disappointment and then something else.

“Sasha, so what if you’re a boy. You are still cute, intelligent and fun. Would you go out with me tonight?”

Before I could answer the table exploded in a chant of

“Do it. Do it. Do it.”

Group pressure is a terrible thing so that evening I found myself looking into my not exactly overflowing closet. I realized that my rather worn jeans were not suitable. That only left me the black trousers I had been forced to get for my cousin’s wedding. I also found that my two buttoned shirts were both in the laundry hamper. When I tried to retrieve one of those shirts my mother swooped down on me and firmly told me that no son of hers would go on a date, his first date, in a dirty shirt. I ended up borrowing a blouse from my sister. Black, very soft and nice. A little bit girly but not too much. Still, if I had known it was silk I would have balked. At least none of them suggested that I’d wear a dress. Given how much fun they had with my situation that wouldn’t have been beyond them. So, there I was all in black: black short hair, black shirt, black trousers and black shoes (trainers). Actually not a bad impression.

My parents had refrained from trying to get me into a skirt or dress. That didn’t mean that they skipped the “meet the parents” part. To make things more embarrassing I was present. Tiny was not bad at handling parents, not bad at all. I assumed that he had lots of experience.

That evening was not bad. To be honest I had quite fun. NO! There was no goodnight kiss. Tiny was the perfect gentleman. He even accepted my statement that this was a once off with good grace. Just for the record I never felt any firework go off my head. Not even a party popper. I had fun with Tiny but there was no spark. Still, I didn’t feel quite comfortable with my feelings.

As a consequence I avoided Tiny. On the surface this should have been easy. We had no classes together. We moved in different social circles. No such luck. To everybody’s surprise Tiny joined the nerd table every now and then. Why? He claimed it was because he had realized that he was too much of a one-track mind and needed to broaden his views.

Then it was the gap between classes and my tutoring the Loewinski brothers. Three of them. Each more stupid than the other (if you lined them up in that order). To be honest, they weren’t hopeless cases and improved slowly with my help. And their parents were rich. Anyway there I was in the library the Monday after the date, doing homework waiting for the Loewinski brothers to finish their classes when Tiny sat down at the same table to work on his homework waiting for the football practice to begin. Awkward.

Tuesday I joined Mary to watch her netball practice. No way a football player would turn up there. Totally beneath them. I was right but still it was a BAD idea. Sure, I could sit there and get some studying done while watching them. Mary even claimed the team appreciated that at least one boy showed some interest in the netball team. To be honest, watching them was quite interesting. I started to do some pattern recognition when they were moving around. I even went to their first game for the season. I couldn’t help but feel a bit proud when they won the game. In my opinion the other team had the better players, as individuals, but “my” team used the “patterns” better. I got interested and started to learn some of the theory of the game. Too bad I was caught reading one of those books. Not that it seemed to be such a catastrophe at the time but the next week the team was a player short for a practice match. I was dragged in to substitute. Even if I was completely useless it would stop them from having to forfeit. I think I mentioned that I’m good sprinter and an excellent dodger? Who knew that this could be such a help on the field?

Well, as it turned out, the absent player was off the game for the rest of the season. We learnt that the reason for her absence was that she was in ER at the time. We all signed her cast. Yes, I as well. Don’t ask me how it happened but suddenly I was a team member. I had tried to decline the offer. The “but I’m a boy” argument fell flat. After coach Badass (not her real name but no one in school knew what that was) had laid out the text about how I was needed, how important school spirit was and so on … Title IX was mentioned once or ten times.

Yup, there I was next week. In my brand new dress. The official team dress. Just for the record that was the first time EVER that I wore a dress or a skirt. To my and everybody else’s surprise I took to the game like a duck to water (quack!). When one day I sat down at the jockette table I caused quite a stir. I hadn’t thought about that. I just joined some good friends for lunch. My straying off the straight and narrow path of a true nerd had until that moment been ignored by the school. No longer. I started to get invitations to jock social events. After declining a few times Coach Badass really reamed me out. Yup, there I was like a good girl, eh boy, at one of the jock parties. Not surprisingly Tiny was there as well. He asked me out again. Perhaps he thought that fact that I played in a girls’ team had changed things. It had. Not in the way he thought though. By then I was more self-confident. I nixed the date thing but told him I was OK with spending time with him as a friend.

“If we go Dutch, does that mean I can French you?”

Said with a smile. We started to hang out together. Just two jocks enjoying each other’s company. Tiny never tried to change that. Still, we did many of the things people on a date would do. Had meals together, watched movies, even went to the theatre. Always Dutch and no Frenching. Since we didn’t date there was no reason to involve any parents, mine or Tiny’s.

By October I was known as the Artful Dodger on the netball field. In October I also got unemployed. The Loewinskis moved away. I did get a very generous redundancy settlement though. Still, I had more time available. As a good nerd I should have spent my time studying or researching things or at least play video games. Nope, I had strayed from the straight and narrow path of the true nerd. After netball practice I started to watch the football team train. Once more I was fascinated by the intricate patterns.

What? No twist? You demand that I provide you with another of your twist fixes? Oh, botheration. Well, here it is. A wide receiver twisted, not his ankle but his wrist. And then I was a member of the football team. I tried to argue that I was already on a GIRLS’ team. That got no traction (I had no shoes with cleats yet).

I was totally dishonored. I was expelled from the nerd table. Why you may ask. As seen above a nerd was allowed to be a member of a school team. True. We allowed some eccentricities. However, being on one team may be regarded as a misfortune; to be on two looks like carelessness.

While still a nerd at heart I drifted into the weird and dark world of jocks and jockettes. In my despair I didn’t even put up a fight when my fellow netball players wanted me dress up as sexy bimbo for the Halloween (jock) party. The joke being that I was a football player dressed as a girl. I think something went wrong. I was supposed to be a joke. However, after foolishly placing me in my twin sister’s knowledgeable hands something went astray. It took the people at the party TWO HOURS to find out who I was. And that after receiving SIX offers for a date. To add injury to insult those six invitations all came from the sleeziest boys. Oh, that’s not right. Only five of them. One came from the sleeziest lesbian girl, a wrestler. At least Tiny wasn’t among them.

I decided that I’d never put myself in a similar situation again. However, my decent continued in other ways. The field and track coach heard about the “Artful Dodger”. I was surprised to learn how fast I really was. Already on two teams? No problem. Personally adapted training program. Special offer, just for you. Not have time enough? If anyone can do it it’s you. Who said that flattery will get you nowhere? Strike Three and Out (and I wasn’t even on the baseball team). I was definitely and permanently banned from the nerd table. They might have forgiven me, eventually, for being on two school teams. Three? NO WAY!

Even if I was banned from the nerd table I was still a nerd. A nerd is a nerd even if in a football uniform (or a netball dress - or running togs). I kept getting excellent grades. I applied to several good universities. Many teachers, including all my three coaches sent recommendation letters. To be honest I’d have preferred coach Badass not to do that but I couldn’t decline when she offered. Still, coach Badass has a “unique” sense of humor. Add to that I usually wore a dress when we interacted.

Well, despite or because coach Badass’ letter. I got accepted at my first-choice university. They even hinted, but carefully avoided promising, a scholarship if I could prove that I didn’t have just a two-track mind. Being a more rounded person. Well, as the bimbo I sure was more “rounded” but I was certainly not bringing up THAT. In particular they stressed that they wanted to see more social skills in me. So what if I had stopped going to most parties after the Halloween debacle. I NEEDED that time to study and train.

Spring was, mostly, uneventful. We won significantly more than we lost (all three teams). I was a valuable team member but not a star in any of my teams. That suited me quite well. Remember, I still was the quintessential nerd. I wanted to do my nerd things undisturbed, even if I had been ostracized by my peers. And amazingly, by April I was welcome back in their fold. I was happy!

I said mostly, didn’t I? There was the little “incident” of course. Coach Vladislav Dreever, a.k.a. Vlad the impaler, a.k.a. the Slav driver, was a practice fanatic, season or no season. On practice days he kept us until after the school closed up so we had to get our stuff to the field and then change and shower at home. Since I lived very close to school and Tiny very far from school he usually changed at my place. After one particularly tough training session Tiny showered, came out with his towel around his waist and laid down ON my bed to rest for a minute. Please note ON my bed not IN my bed. By the time I had showered Tiny had fallen asleep. I was too tired to bother so I just got into my usual sleeping gear, i.e. nothing, and got INTO my bed. As in UNDER the duvet as opposed to ON the duvet.

In the morning I was woken up by my mother’s perky voice.

“Did you have fun last night boys? It looks like you did.”

To my horror I discovered that I during the night had thrown off my duvet and Tiny’s towel had slipped off and thus my mother saw two naked boys in one bed. She didn’t notice that the duvet formed a barrier between us and that Tiny was ON the duvet. Then she had seen what I still was too sleepy to notice. On the floor there were carelessly discarded various pieces of clothing. A frilly bra, frilly panties, equally frilly garter belt of course with appropriate stockings and to top it up the ridiculously short skirt that my parents had forbidden my sister to wear. I later found out that my sister had seen me and Tiny before my mother did and had added some artistic detail. Too bad I had to find that out from the pictures she spread around school. You know two naked boys on/in one bed, sexy girly underwear, sexy skirt. Add two and two and get five.

I tried to set things straight in school. It didn’t help that Tiny stuck to a “No comment” policy.

To add insult to injury my mother insisted that I buy condoms. I tried to explain that there was no need. That she had got it all wrong. She didn’t buy that. Even if what I said was true, which she doubted and expressed regret that I didn’t trust her with the truth, I should get the condoms “just in case”. Condoms fit for Tiny that is. Tiny isn’t tiny in any part of his body so when I asked for extra large condoms everyone in the shop knew. Embarrassing.

One thing I been smart enough to do was to stay out of school politics. I also carefully avoided the school alfa bitch. Not a problem since I was both a nerd and a jockette I was too far below her to be noticed. Eh? Jockette? Yeah, for some reason the netball label stuck more than the football one. Or for that matter the track and field one though that was not surprising given the status of that in school. But why not football?

I haven’t mentioned it but I have a contrarian streak. As a petty revenge my sister never got back her clothing. She couldn’t make an issue of it since then she would have to confess. I didn’t wear the underwear but I did wear the skirt, once. I was tired of the taunts so I decided to go with the flow to shut them up.

I firmly deny that I was the first boy in school to be sent home to change out of a too short skirt. Just as I wasn’t the first football player to be sent home to change out of a too short skirt. The same applied to me as a nerd as well.

For once “but I’m a boy” defense worked. The Principal acknowledged that in principle the letter of the law is paramount. However, personally he was more of an adherent to the spirit of the law school. The end result was that I was ASKED to go home and change. I was not SENT home. Contrary to popular belief I was NOT punished in any way. Still, no one could deny that my legs were awesome.

This move took the wind out of sails for the taunts though. There was no fun in taunting someone that was prone to outdo the taunts. Still the school assumed that Tiny and I were a couple. We settled on “let’s not, and tell everyone we did”. The end of the school year was in sight and then our ways would part. However, I was still commonly referred to as a jockette for no real reason at all. That was the origin of my final downfall.

What does all this have to do with my final and utter humiliation? Easy, Alfa bitch enters competition to be prom queen. While she has quite a following she is widely detested, or even hated, by many. Four girls enter to stop her. Four girls can’t agree on a common cause and let one of the others win. All stay in the race even if that means that the alfa bitch will win facing a divided opposition. An unsuspecting poor boy gets nominated. Four girls withdraw since they can do so without losing face. Poor guy tries to get out of the nomination by claiming “but I’m a boy”. Argument dismissed by Principal citing the skirt incident. Bummer.

The campaign was fierce. Still, given the support given to that poor defenseless boy by the football team, the netball team, the nerds (by then I had been forgiven for my apostasy), even the cheerleaders (alfa bitch was condescending to cheerleaders and Amy nudged them in my favor). There was even a death metal concert in my support (Daisy’s contribution). To my surprise I discovered that I was quite well liked as well.

There was no way I could lose, was there? I meant that sarcastically. I mean, even students at Jimmy Carter High School couldn’t be nuts enough to elect a boy prom queen. Wait, am I talking about the school who has a football team, that I was a member of, called the peanuts? Oh dear.

Still, I had to be prepared. This time I was wise enough NOT to use the aid of my sister. The four very popular and fashionable girls combined their skills. On the night of the prom I was stunning. Beauty industry 1, nature 0. I’m still amazed that my parents were prepared to fork out so much money for a dress I’d only wear once. Besides I had no room for it in my overflowing closet. The girlier clothes were there because I didn’t want to stand out too much when with the netball team, the more classy clothes because Tiny and I often went to the theatre and things like that and so on. The very generous redundancy payment from the Loewinskis was but a faint memory. Luckily, once I was off to university all this silliness would be forgotten. Of course Tiny was my date. A very handsome date in his brand new tux.

I never found out if I won by one vote or if it was landslide. I was crowned prom queen and Tiny prom king. As I was crowned Tiny whispered to me

“I do have a hotel room reserved.”
“Let’s not, and pretend that we did”

I whispered back as I gave him the obligatory kiss. My first ever, believe it or not.

As I looked out over the screaming crowd I realized that there was no way I’d be able to keep this secret at university. I was cursed. I never wanted this. At heart I was still a boy nerd devoted to AP, AV, SF and gaming (not that I had any time for that lately). On the other hand I was now sure to get that scholarship. What could be more social than to be crowned prom queen?

.

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*As opposed to that shrimp Bru who is an inch below average height (for women).