Chapter 12: Making New Friends
Maybe it was because of the alphabet that Kenny and Jenny (the girl he met in the lecture for Sociology 101) were assigned to the same lab section along with some 20 other students and were assigned to a same Writing class as well. Kenny’s last name was Hansson and Jenny’s was Hanready. Her boy friend was not in those classes, and Jenny seemed to gravitate to Kenny in both classes, probably because they had already met and each was pleased to see a familiar face.

“Kevin seems nice,” Kenny ventured as they left the Thursday lab session together.

“He’s Ok, but sometimes he acts just like a guy. You know how that is,” she replied.

“I suppose so, but I wouldn’t know about that,” Kenny said.

“Why not? You’re a guy.”

Kenny nodded, juggling the book bag on his back and then brushing a stand of hair that came lose from the ponytail tie.

“Yeah, but I never hung around with a lot of guys,” Kenny explained. “I seem to be with girls for some reason. Maybe ‘cause I’m not much of a jock.”

“Well, you’re different, Kenny, I’ll say that,” she said. “But I kinda like that.”

Kenny blushed, noticing that as he walked along next to Jenny, he strode almost in the same hurried short steps.

“I seem to get along better with girls,” he said. “I guess that makes me weird.”

Jenny looked closely at him as they walked. She seemed to be considering how she would answer his comment. Finally, she said:

“Not weird. Different. And special. Yes, that’s it, you’re special.”

They continued talking as they headed for the student union, where Kenny said he was going to find a quiet corner to study before his next class; Jenny said she was to meet some girl friends at the grill in the union. They talked about their families. Jenny was one of six children (the oldest) and works parttime as an aide at a nursing home, which she said spurred her interest in social work, possibly in geriatrics.

“I’m kind of interested in that, too, Jenny,” he said. “I belonged to a social service club in high school, and we visited a nursing home on Saturdays. I had a regular Scrabble game with one woman who was 93. She was a sharp player and I loved it.”

“Wow, that’s incredible,” Jenny said.

“Why?”

“Well, you’re a guy, and I never knew a guy to care about that stuff. I think that’s so cool.”

“Well, she was fun to play,” Kenny said. “I also loved visiting the lady across the hall from us. She used to baby-sit for me and my brother until I got old enough. I still see her.”

Kenny told Jenny about how Harriet talked about her days as an actress and how interesting it was. Jenny continued to ask questions, and Kenny began to share with his new friend how he enjoyed doing what was considered to be feminine activities. What was it about Jenny that prompted him to tell her about this?

“She even taught me to crochet, and I won some awards at State Fair for my work,” he said. “I was so proud I was one of three winners in the junior division. When the guys at school found out . . . oh, Jenny . . . it was so awful.”

Jenny looked at him sympathetically. “You poor boy.”

“I don’t know why I can’t do these things without being teased and bullied,” he said. “I don’t know why a boy can’t enjoy being with older women or knitting and sewing if he wants to.”

“I agree,” she said, “But it seems you’re quite different.”

“I know, but you’d think there’d be some other boys who might like those things, but I’m often the only boy there. I was the only boy who submitted anything in the knitting contest and the only boy in that social service club.”

“I think you’re brave to step up and do these things, Kenny,” she said as that entered the Student Union building.

“I don’t know about that,” he said with an ironic smile. “Usually people call me a sissy or something worse.”

She grabbed his arm, and smiled. “Come along with me and meet my girl friends. You can study anytime.”

There were three girls seated at a round table in the giant pub room of the Student Union; it was a huge room in the basement of the huge Student Union that was built just before World War I and had become a traditional hangout for students. Some of the students seated at the ancient wooden tables scattered among the huge pillars that held up the building were engaged in earnest discussions about philosophy or the future of the world; others were pounding away at laptops, reading books or playing with their cell phones; still others were playing pinochle (a card game that was also a tradition at the University) and a few were just laughing and joking away. At a nearby table, a girl was in tears as she talked with a boy who apparently was making excuses for having been seen talking with another girl.

“I brought along a new friend to join us,” Jenny announced.

“Great and welcome,” said a round-faced girl with straight, short hair and glasses.

Kenny took the chair offered him between Jenny and the round-faced girl, and ran his hand over his bottom as if to smooth out a skirt as he sat down.

“And what’s her name, Jenny?” asked a thin-necked girl with close-cropped light brown hair.

Jenny looked at Kenny and they both laughed, puzzling the other girls.

“See you’re not the only one,” Kenny said softly to Jenny.

“What’s so funny? Is it her name?” persisted the thin-necked girl.

Jenny leaned over and whispered into Kenny’s ear, “Should I tell them the truth? Or should I invent a name like Kathy or Kerry?”

Kenny answered by announcing to the group that his name was Kenny.

“That’s an odd name for a girl,” replied the girl who was persisting in the name issue.

“That’s because she’s not . . . he’s not a girl,” Jenny said.

“But, she looks . . . I mean . . . he . . . oh . . . gosh . . .” The thin-necked girl stuttered on.

Kenny smiled at her. “That’s OK, everybody makes that mistake,” he said. “I’m used to it. Hope you don’t mind me joining you.”

They all nodded in apparent agreement of welcoming him, then each followed with an introduction. The round-faced girl said her name was Tracy, the thin-neck girl was Beverly and the other girl, an elfin girl with a face that would have been beautiful except for heavy pockmarks was Tricia. Like Jenny, it appeared none of the girls wore makeup or seemed to pay much attention to their hair. They also wore rather plain outfits. Tracy wore a sweat shirt, Beverly a beige blouse and Tricia an oversized tee shirt that seemed to dwarf her already tiny body.

“Kenny’s a social work major, too,” announced Jenny.

“Yes, we’re all in social work, too,” Tracy said. “It’s always nice to see more boys in this work. We need more men.”

“Yeah, ‘specially since all the social problems are caused by men,” Trisha said.

“You’re probably right, but then again I wouldn’t really know,” Kenny said.

The conversation continued, mostly about their impressions of the professors they had in these early classes of the semester.

Jenny soon was engaged in a conversation with Trisha, discussing what appeared to be troubles involving Trisha’s boyfriend. Kenny sat quiet for a minute before Tracy turned to him and said: “Do you like the theater, I mean like plays, Kenny?”

“Oh yes, I’m hoping to minor in drama,” he said.

“You are?” she said, her eyes brightening. “Me too!”

“Wow, that’s great,” Kenny said. “I like both acting and stage management. How about you?”

“Well, I’m not much in the looks department, but I’ve been writing some plays and I’d like to direct or produce.”

Kenny looked at Tracy, recognizing that the girl was overweight but also noticing that she had cheerful, sparkling blue eyes, and an earnest, sincere face. Really, he realized, she was pretty, and, with a little bit of effort could be made beautiful.

“You could be plenty pretty, Tracy, I have no doubts,” he said. “And I’m impressed that you write plays. That takes work and imagination.”

“I try to write humorous plays, and some are pretty good, but some stink,” she said with a laugh. “Have you done any acting?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “I did a couple of plays in high school and then I was in ‘Hamlet’ at a theater camp this summer at St. Albert’s.”

Tracy was impressed. “You were in that Shakespeare Camp? That’s really got a good reputation. That’s cool.”

“Yes, it was intense, I’ll tell you. We had to do everything in six weeks and then come out with a finished show which we performed once for the public.”

Kenny noticed the other girls had stopped their side conversations and we listening in on his words with Tracy.

“What part did you play, Kenny?” Jenny asked.

“Just a part, a small part,” he lied, hoping the conversation would move elsewhere.

“No, really,” Tracy said. “I’m interested.”

“Oh if you must know,” Kenny began. “Well, the producer wanted us follow the tradition of Shakespeare’s time when men played all the parts. And I was Ophelia.”

“Ophelia!” Tracy said. “That’s a big part. And you were her?”

Kenny nodded.

They persisted in the questions and Kenny finally related how it all happened.

“The professor taught method acting,” he said. “And I spent the four weeks of rehearsal living 24/7 as a girl named Karen. I constantly wore girl’s stuff, everything from panties and bras with breast forms to blouses and skirts and shoes. I was expected to walk, talk and act like a girl. I guess I learned all that easily.”

“You got any pictures of you like that?” asked Trisha.

“I guess there’s some online,” he said.

Beverly had her laptop open on the table in front of her and asked Kenny to provide a link, which he did. Soon, she had found the webpage of the Summer Camp, which included pictures of the key actors, both showing stage settings and individual shots of the actors in their costumes.

The girls and Kenny all gathered around Beverly to look at Kenny’s pictures.

“That’s you?” Jenny said, forming it as an exclamation. “Wow, you’re so beautiful.”

“And so feminine,” added Tracy. “No one could tell you’re a boy.”

Kenny smiled, truly enjoying hearing the compliments.

“And look at this picture,” said Beverly, drawing their attention to a studio-type photo taken of Kenny, showing only his face and shoulders, with free-flowing long hair flowing gracefully. He was wearing a top with spaghetti straps, exposing his slender, pretty shoulders and arms.

“What a glamour-puss!” Tracy said.

Beverly clicked the mouse and a picture of Mark Hamilton in his Hamlet costume popped up. “What a hunk that guy is? And you kissed him?” she asked.

Seeing the picture — and hearing the girls gush over him — brought tears to Kenny’s eyes as he thought back over the warm embraces the two shared, the sweet caresses and delicious kisses. What a heavenly time that was?

“Yes, he was a good actor,” he said. “I kissed him.”

Kenny couldn’t hold back his feelings, and burst out crying. Turning from the girls, he headed for the bathroom, running in short quick steps and grasping a tissue to his face. He charged into a stall, seated himself on a commode without taking his pants down and cried.

When he returned, the girls looked at him, wondering what had brought on this sudden show of effeminate emotion.

“Did we offend you, Kenny?” Jenny asked.

“No,” he said. “You were all fine. I adore you all.”

“I’m sure we all feel the same about you,” Tracy said. “We’re sorry you got so sad.”

“Not your problem, Tracy,” he said, his voice thick. “It’s something I thought of when we looked at the pictures. Just a personal thing.”

“Ok, dear,” Tracy said. “Time for our classes, and Kenny you’re welcome to join us anytime. We’re here most mornings about this time.”

Jenny left with Kenny and the two headed back toward their classrooms. “The girls really liked you, Kenny,” she said.

“I liked them,” he said. He meant it, too. They had made him welcome and he enjoyed the conversation.

“It’s like you’re one of us.”

Kenny giggled. “One of the girls, eh?”

“Yes, you are.”

*****
Despite his androgynous appearance — and constant confusions by casual acquaintances as to his gender — Kenny sensed he received little attention from others on the campus. After all, students wore all sorts of weird outfits — many of them purposefully gender-bending — just to make a statement of some sort, political or otherwise. The State University campus was renowned for its openness to weirdness, and a girlish-looking boy certainly fit right in. It was comforting.

It was only in his own dorm that he faced derision, often accompanied by an assortment of crude comments, usually demeaning as much to the female gender as it was to him personally. “Hi, pussy,” was a favorite one by some of the boys on the first floor, most of whom had heard of the one-night encounter in the room across his halls. “Let me see your cunt, dear,” was another. To counter these attacks, which sometimes drew him to tears, he tried mightily to dress in a more masculine fashion, but a combination of his pretty face, long hair and dainty mannerisms betrayed him. Repeatedly, items were pinned to his door, including poop-stained pink panties, a black lace bra and a lady’s garter.

Kenny knew he should have reported the incident in which he had been attacked by the boys in the room across the hall, particularly naming that big oaf, Randy, who might have raped him if not restrained by one of the boys named Robert, who had rescued Kenny from the beer-stained, sweaty pig Randy. The truth was the whole event humiliated him, and now he felt he understood how women felt when they failed to report being assaulted by men. He felt powerless, too weak to fight back with his fists (just like many girls were) and too afraid of future retaliations. Then, too, he wanted to be liked by the boys in the dorm. Didn’t most people want to be liked by others, even the boorish boys who seemed to populate his floor in the dorm?

Randy continued to frighten him, always hanging around Tom, the boy who lived across the hall.

“I only wanted to kiss you, pretty girl,” he whispered one time when Kenny left his room.

Kenny refused to look at him, just shut his door and scurried away down the hall and out the door, heading to the Student Union to meet Angela. He was wearing girl jeans, a man’s dress shirt, and a gray hoodie to protect against the chill of the early evening, already growing dark. His ponytail bobbed as a he hurried down the path into the woods, his hips swaying by his manner of moving in short, quick steps.

“Hey wait up, little girl,” pleaded a voice behind him that he recognized as Randy’s, already growing breathless as he lumbered behind.

“Stay away from me,” Kenny yelled back, his voice reaching a tense high pitch. He hurried his steps.

“Wait, I won’t hurt you,” the boy’s voice came again, sounding closer.

Despite his bigness, Randy seemed to be moving fast, gaining on Kenny as they entered the dark path, tunneled through the forest. Kenny tried to pick up his pace, but he never was much of a runner and realized that Randy would soon be upon him. He panicked, wondering about diving into the trees to escape the lumbering boy, when he took a quick look back to see how close Randy was. Suddenly he hit into something which stopped him cold.

“Karen,” the voice said, emanating from the body in front of him. “I’ll protect you, dear.”

Kenny stopped short. He realized he had run smack into the waiting arms of Gabe, the boy she had met on her first days at the campus.

“Karen, was he chasing you? That guy?”

Kenny nodded, too out of breath to answer.

“Well, when he saw me, he took off,” Gabe said.

“Oh Gabe, thank you, I was so afraid of him,” he said, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

Kenny clung to the huge boy, engulfed in Gabe’s heavy arms and feeling so comforted by his cushiony body. Gabe’s arms surrounded him in a gentle hug.

“Did you know him, Karen?” Gabe asked, using his girl’s name even though he was aware of Kenny’s gender.

“Yes, he’s from the dorm and he’s been tormenting me almost since I got here,” he said, feeling he was about to cry.

“Oh, you poor dear. Why didn’t you let me know? I’d handle him, easily.”

“I thought you were mad at me for lying to you,” Kenny said. “I didn’t think I should bother you.”

Gabe opened his arms to release Kenny and took Kenny’s hand and began to lead him toward the Student Union. Kenny’s dainty hand felt so tiny in the big mitt of Gabe.

“I take it you’re going to the Union, right?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you. I am meeting my friend Angela,” he said. “By the way what are you doing here tonight?”

The two walked hand-in-hand for a while and eventually broke into the open as they left the wooded area. Gabe remained silent, and Kenny decided not to pursue the question.

“The truth,” Gabe said finally and with hesitation, “is that . . . ah . . . I was hoping to see you again.”

“To see me again? Why? After I lied to you?”

Gabe pulled Kenny to an empty bench and the two sat down, their thighs touching. Gabe continued to hold Kenny’s hand and looked directly at Kenny. Gabe’s voice was soft and Kenny had trouble hearing his words.

“Karen, and I only really known you as Karen, I felt so good being with you,” he began. “I’ve never been good with girls, you know, and you’re so pretty. Oh, it’s more than that. You’re so sweet and kind. Oh, I don’t know what to say. I just loved being with you, even for that short time. Oh Karen, I missed you so and I’m so sorry that I left you that night.”

Kenny looked up at Gabe, whose face even in the gathering dark of dusk was brightened by the faint light of the nearby street lamp. The boy’s eyes had grown watery as if he were about to cry and Kenny — in the mindset of a loving girlfriend — felt an urge to throw his arms about this big bear of a boy and hug him with all his might.

“I cried that night when you left me, Gabe,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yes, Gabe, my sweet boy, I ran into my dorm crying and still had tears in my eyes when I was attacked the first time by that bully Randy. Oh, Gabe, it was the worst night of my life, first to lose you and then to be raped.”

“You poor girl,” he said, wrapping his arms around Kenny and drawing him into his soft body. Kenny’s face nestled comfortably against Gabe’s chest.

Other students walked by the couple as they sat on the bench; the sight of a boy and girl hugging along the path was commonplace and few paid any attention as they passed. Kenny relaxed next to Gabe and neither spoke; Kenny felt the boy’s heart pounding and felt the boy’s large hands gently caress him. Even though the hug was awkward, it was welcoming.

“Oh my God, Angela,” Kenny said, breaking from Gabe’s hug. “I’m late and she’ll be mad. I gotta go, Gabe.”

“Don’t Karen,” he pleaded.

“I gotta run, Gabe, really. Angela can get so mad. You know her; you met her the first night.”

“Yes,” he nodded. It was apparent he wasn’t impressed with Angela.

The two got up from the bench began heading to the Union, with Kenny breaking away from Gabe just as they approached the building. Kenny knew that Angela would get jealous if she saw Kenny being escorted a second time by this large boy.

“When can I see you again, Karen?” Gabe asked as they parted.

Kenny paused, bringing his hands up to his mouth in a coy gesture. He cocked his head so that his a few strands of his hair dropped into his face, feeling very much like the girl he was.

“You’re so cute, Karen. Please I want to see you again.”

“Ok,” Kenny said. “You free for coffee at the same place about 4 p.m. tomorrow?”

“Sure, shall I meet you there?”

“Yes, Gabe, my last class is near there.”

“Great.” He leaned over and gave Kenny a quick kiss, and Kenny reacted by returning a longer kiss to him.

And Kenny was off to meet Angela. Oh how marvelous it was to be a pretty girl!

*****
He spent the evening with Angela and several of her lesbian girl friends; they had all accepted Kenny as Karen, Angela’s “femme” girl friend. Although it was obvious several of the girls were the “femme” girls, Kenny realized that he may indeed have been the most girlish of them all. Certainly, he was the prettiest and daintiest.

There were eight girls all told and they lounged around the sitting area of the house in which Angela had a room. Kenny was aware that several of the “butch” girls eyed him closely, and he worried that perhaps they had read him as a boy. That fear ended, when one of the girls, Doreen, a tall angular girl with heavily tanned skin and muscular legs protruding from her athletic shorts, sat next to Kenny on the couch at a spot where Angela had been seated before she left along with the others to go out to get drinks, leaving Doreen and Kenny alone.

Kenny felt the girl’s calloused hand grab his own hand. She caressed his hand and looked at it; the nails were rounded and covered with a natural gloss.

“You have the prettiest hands, Karen and so soft,” she whispered into his ear, moving in so that her body rubbed against his.

Kenny said nothing, and tried to move away, knowing how angry Angela would be if she saw Doreen’s advances, but he was trapped by the couch’s side arms.

“How I’d love to have your hands all over me,” she continued almost inaudibly. “You’re so dainty.”

“Please, Doreen, don’t,” Kenny pleaded. “Get up. Angela will be so mad.”

Doreen was not to be stopped and moved her face toward Kenny as if to kiss while wrapping her arm around Kenny. She grabbed his soft upper arm in her strong hands. Kenny attempted to squirm free and avert his head, but he was powerless against Doreen’s superior strength.

Soon the girl’s lips were upon him in a clumsy kiss as Kenny tried vainly to turn his head; by then, the girl held his head firmly, restricting his movements. Her lips firm and hard were upon his.

“Doreen,” it was Angela, screaming loudly. “Get off of her. She’s mine.”

Doreen froze, Kenny still entrapped in her arms, as Angela was upon them. She grabbed Doreen’s hair and dragged her off Kenny and onto the floor.

Kenny shook in terror, but Angela’s rage was turned onto Doreen. She had surprised Doreen, who was lost in her lust for Kenny’s girlish body and his luscious lips, and wrestled the girl to the carpet, straddling her and punching Doreen vigorously toward the head. Fortunately the blows missed the girl’s head or grazed her shoulders as they struggled together on the ground.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” screamed a couple of the girls, all of whom had re-entered the room with their drinks. One of them removed a coffee table to give the two fighting girls more room to fight. No one tried to intervene and several cheered the two on.

Kenny stayed seated on the couch, too horrified by the scene to move. He watched as the agile, athletic Doreen finally raised a leg to catch Angela and toppled her onto the floor. The two wrestled, accompanied by grunts of “bitch,” “dyke’ and “asshole” thrown at loosely between the two. He watched as their sinewy legs and arms became entangled and their skins beaded up in sweat.

“Stop. Stop Angela,” Kenny pleaded, his voice coming out in a faint squeak.

They kept fighting and Kenny began to cry helplessly. He had caused this, and he feared Angela would blame him for encouraging Doreen’s advances. He had merely smiled at the girl a couple of times, just as a friendly gesture.

One of the girls, obviously a “femme” partner, sat down next to Kenny as the two continued to wrestle.

“Here, take this, dear,” she said, handing Kenny a tissue and putting her arm gently about Kenny, obviously to comfort him.

“Thanks,” he looked at the girl. She had a pretty, round face and a short, doughy figure with smooth pinkish skin.

“Look honey,” she said. “You’re such a beauty I can see why those two would fight over you.”

“I guess,” he said. “My name’s Karen, and thank you.”

“Heather,” she replied. “And you seem like a nice girl, Karen.”

“You, too, Heather.”

Angela finally pinned Doreen to the carpet. She gave Doreen one last violent push into the ground, and stood up, breathing heavily.

“You bitch Doreen, keep your filthy hands off her,” Angela said.

Doreen rose quickly, sweating profusely, her short hair all tangled and her tank top hanging askew. She moved toward Angela as if to throw a punch, but one of the other girls grabbed her from behind.

“Just let it go, Doreen. You know Angela brought Karen. You should have known better than to put a move on Karen,” the girl said.

Doreen gave Kenny a quick look, accompanied by a slight pucker of her lips. Kenny was thankful Angela didn’t see it.

“Come on Karen,” Angela said, grabbing Kenny by the arm and pulling him off the couch. “Let’s blow this joint.”

*****
“Ow, you’re hurting me Angela,” Kenny pleaded. The girl held Kenny’s left wrist firmly and dragged him out of the house and down the steps, along the sidewalks to her car.

“You’re such a crybaby,” she said cruelly.

She wrenched his wrist violently pulling him along the sidewalk, and he tried vainly with his other hand to force her to release her hold, but she only strengthened her grasp to the point that Kenny felt she would snap his slender wrist.

“Why are you hurting me?” he sobbed, tears filling his eyes.

“Quit your crying and get in the car,” she said.

She opened the door and rudely pushed Kenny into the right front seat. When she had settled in her seat in front of the wheel, she held her car keys in her hand for a moment, staring straight ahead saying nothing.

Kenny cowered in the seat, his body tight against the door, as if trying to stay far away from Angela whose anger appeared to be mounting. He was scared of the girl; in her rage, he feared, she’d get violent and he knew she was strong enough to hurt him badly. He knew he was too weak to fight back, and he wondered what girls did in these situations when their boyfriends — or in this case girlfriend — attacked them. Should he bite her, he wondered?

“You flirted with Doreen, you slut,” Angela said finally, the words coming out of her mouth almost as a hiss.

“I did not, Angela,” Kenny said, his voice weak and hesitant.

“Don’t lie to me, I saw you smile at her, Karen,” Angela said, moving her body to face Kenny.

She grabbed onto his shoulders, her strong hands seeming to crush slender bones, and looked squarely into his face. Angela’s eyes blazed wildly.

“I . . . I . . . was just . . . trying to be nice. I wasn’t flir . . .”

“Karen, you’re mine. Mine,” she said, her spittle spraying onto his face.

Suddenly, she kissed him violently, her lips pressing hard upon his, as he tried to avert her face. With one hand, she held his head firmly from behind, and the two began kissing. Kenny’s fear dissipated as Angela’s hard kiss soon turned to passion. Her hands roamed his body as they kissed, no longer feeling rough but affectionate in their firmness. Kenny surrendered himself totally to this domineering, loving woman, relinquishing his own soft, puny self to Angela’s hard, muscular body.

Kenny’s penis grew hard and he heard Angela’s breathing grow heavy and he feared they both would soon orgasm right there in the car, moistening the seat. But the strong embrace which had frightened him now turned to sweet affection.

Angela released him and returned to her seat, panting.

“I love you so, Karen,” she said. “Don’t ever flirt again.”

“But, I didn’t . . .”

“Well it looked like it, Karen. Oh, but it’s not your fault you’re so pretty. And that damn Doreen. She knew you were mine.”

“I’m sorry,” was all Kenny could say.

“Don’t you love me, Karen?” Angela asked.

Kenny hesitated, worrying about his answer.

“I don’t know about love, Angela,” he said, summoning up courage to answer honestly. “That’s pretty serious word and I don’t know yet. I like being with you and I like what we do together. You’ve always been so kind.”

“But not love, darling?” she said, her voice now gentle and warm.

“Not yet, but I don’t want to lose you as a friend, Angela.”

“Fair enough,” she said, turning the key to start the car.

They decided not to return to Angela’s room since her roommates would be there. She drove Kenny back to his dorm, escorting him to the door, where they kissed briefly in full sight of several other boys who were smoking.

As Kenny headed for his room, he could hear one of the boys say to the other:

“Figure that. Our faggot has a girlfriend and what a fox, too!”

Kenny smiled, hoping this display for affection with a handsome girl might bring him respite from the teasing and bullying he was suffering from many of the boys in the dorm.