Pete's Vagina -69- Swing

“Seeing you. Dressed…. Like that…!”

The whole day went by in a dream. This wasn’t my life, this wasn’t me prancing around the hallways in my short skirt, giggling at everyone’s jokes. I disrupted every class I went into; the girls had to compliment me, and the boys had to ogle. I never got these reactions when I attended class in a football uniform.

“Looking good, Pete!”

“Legs! She’s got ‘em!”

“No one’s going to mistake you for a boy in that!”

Some of the remarks I didn’t quite hear were likely ruder, but I kept smiling. Coach Debbie had made us practice. “You’re not in your uniform if you’re not wearing a smile,” she told us, more than once. So I smiled at everyone, and everyone smiled back.

Second period. Senior Civics, I and most of my friends had the same class. Megan winked at me from across the room, where she sat with Gogo at the table she and I used to share. Didn’t we? Lee flumped into the other chair at my table, looking at me and smiling like he’d won a prize. I smiled back and put my hand under the table where his hand could find it. It felt like the right thing to do, since couples weren’t allowed to visibly hold hands in class. Did I want to hold hands with Lee? Yes, yes, I did.

All the seats were filled now, and everyone I glanced at seemed to be smiling at me, and I kept on smiling back. It was a little eerie if I tried to think about it.

Even Mr. Jensen, our Civics teacher, smiled at me, and he was a well-known sourpuss. “You look very nice today, Miss Petersen,” he said. “But I’m glad you don’t wear your cheer uniform every day. I get the feeling some of the young men are being distracted.” Yes, he was making a joke about my appearance, and the whole class tittered, chuckled or giggled. Including me.

This was my fourth year playing football on the boys’ team…wasn’t it? Was I the only one confused by people’s reactions? Nope. Jake, Megan and Joanna all had odd expressions, too. Joanna seemed pumped and excited, Megan was bemused, and Jake…Jake looked worried and angry.

Why would he be upset?

Joanna (wearing her cheerleader togs, too) saw me looking at Jake and seemed to find this funny. She huddled with him to discuss something, pointed toward me, and laughed in his face when Jake made some reply. They were too far away for me to make out what they were saying, and I didn’t enjoy the mystery.

Class had more or less continued. Gogo and Jake had on their gray practice jerseys with their numbers, and Lee wore the number 138 stenciled onto a sweatshirt that he’d been awarded by the team last year for his service as photographer; so half the class had on game-related gear.

In addition, several other students wore costumes or partial costumes. It made a colorful classroom out of what was generally regarded as the most boring subject at school. Or maybe just the most boring lecturer. In order to keep from falling asleep in Civics and other previous classes that I’d had with Mr. Jensen, I’d developed the habit of asking dumb questions to cause him to go off on tangents that were often more entertaining than his lesson plans.

The topic this morning was the Constitution, and since local elections in Friendly were less than a week away, Jensen had briefly discussed the franchise: that is, who had the right to vote. This was controlled by the states, but it turned out there was a long list of who wasn’t allowed to vote. In fact, the list of who was allowed was absurdly short. Just white men over the age of 21 who owned property.

This wasn’t really so boring, but my hand went up.

“Miss Petersen,” said Mr. Jensen in a flat tone. The class rippled with quiet giggles, and I hadn’t even said anything yet.

I didn’t care. I actually wanted to ask this question. “How would they stop them?”

Mr. Jensen blinked.

I continued. “I mean, if someone showed up ready to vote, how would they keep them from casting a ballot? What if I showed up to vote? Or Megan?” Megan would have been barred from voting for multiple reasons: too young, too female, too poor, and not white enough.

The laughter was louder. Mr. Jensen nodded thoughtfully, considering.

Someone said, “That’s how she got on the football team. She just showed up, ready to play.”

“Darn right,” I agreed. More laughter and probably loud enough to be heard in other classrooms.

Someone, it may have been Megan, whispered, “Petey, Pete, Pete.”

Mr. Jensen blinked again and finally answered my question. “They would likely have simply refused to record your vote.”

“Hmph!” I said, to more laughter.

The rest of the hour went back to being boring, but at least no one went to sleep.

*

At the end of class, Mr. Jensen spoke to me while Lee and I were organizing to leave. “Miss Petersen,” he said, “I don’t doubt that you would have managed to vote. Historically, a few women did.”

“Really?” I said, pleased. “That’s—that’s good to know!”

He nodded and turned away with what might nearly have been another smile.

*

On our way across the quad to our next class, Jake and Joanna caught up with us. Lee walks more quickly than you would think, but anyone who hurries can go faster.

“Pete!” Jake said sharply.

I stopped and turned to look at him. Lee stopped, too, and turned a bit. Joanna, right beside Jake, snorted but didn’t say anything.

“What’s got you upset?” I demanded. “You looked mean at the team meeting this morning, and now you look meaner.” A stream of other students flowed around the little knot we made.

I knew that face Jake was showing: frustration. Something had his tail in a twist.

“Pete! Pete!” said Jake. “You can’t play tonight!” He said it loud enough that other students stopped to stare.

“This again?” I snapped back. “Are you going to break the other hand to try to stop me?”

Jake put his hands above his head and snarled, “Seeing you. Dressed…. Like that…!” He waved his arms, his face turning red. “You can’t play football! You’ll get hurt!”

Joanna added in a stage whisper. “He thinks you’re his little sister….”

Lee started to step between us, but I put out an arm to hold him back. Jake wasn’t angry with me — just with what I wanted to do. I wasn’t mad at Jake, either.

I gritted my teeth and tried to sound calm. “Jake, if you love me, you’ll know you can’t stop me.”

His arms fell back to his sides, and his face fell too. “I know,” he said miserably.

Joanna pointed from me to Jake and back. “If you don’t give him a hug right now, a big tough football player is going to cry.”

I wasn’t sure which of us she meant, so I gave him the hug. He whispered into my hair, “I do love you.”

I guess I was already crying.