Connor had just moved to Toronto and was not comfortable with the Celsius scale. He took a pencil and pad and quickly wrote down the conversion formula that he remembered:

F = 1.8C + 32°.

He pulled out his programmable calculator and decided just to use the direct conversion instead of calculating it with the formula. So he entered the current temperature and pressed the key for the units conversion. The device displayed:

−31_°F.

Then Connor remembered, that when it’s that cold, Celsius or Fahrenheit hardly matters, since −40°C = −40°F.

Mom had all of Connor’s thermal underwear with her in a rental car. The power lines that supplied electricity to their neighborhood had apparently collapsed under a heavy load of snow and ice. Their own laundry appliances were electric, so she had taken the laundry with her when she left for work that morning. She would stop at a laundromat and do a load or two before coming home. She had left her son only a single pair of blue jeans; two plaid, flannel “lumberjack” shirts; and two changes of underwear. He also had an additional sweater, which he would likely need today. Mom and Sis had offered to take him shopping for new clothes, but he had declined to go with them. Now Connor understood his mistake, since his old clothes had not yet been delivered. His wardrobe was only what he had brought in his luggage nearly two weeks ago.

Of course, with the power out there was no television. Then Connor looked over to his desktop. No Internet either. The only working devices he had for news or entertainment were his battery-powered radio and MP3-player.

Mom had also left for work before the school closings were announced. Apparently such closings were somewhat unusual in Toronto, since the cold wintry weather with its snow and ice were more or less facts of life there. Only the more extreme conditions would shut down schools across the city. The radio announcer apologized for the tardy notices, but reported that the school principals and their superintendents had not cancelled classes until they were certain that it were necessary.

On the other hand, never before did Connor have such an opportunity to experience an idyllic, rugged winter. Just a month ago, Mom, his sister Caitlin, and he were residing in Miami. Toronto, to him, was the home of the Bluejays and the Raptors, sports teams who occasionally showed up to play against the Marlins and the Heat, respectively. But otherwise, Toronto was just a point on a political map of North America, large enough to show the major Canadian cities. Then on Friday, December 30th, Mom came home from her office with the news that her company was promoting and transferring her elsewhere and that they would be moving from Miami within a week. The following Tuesday, January 3rd, her boss told her that her new office would be in Toronto. While they resented the disruption to their lives and lifestyles, this was not only a transfer, but also a promotion with a healthy raise in salary, and with the current exchange rate, the Canadian dollar was even worth a couple cents more than the American. Besides, who wanted to look for a new job in this economy? So, they took a flight out to Toronto the next day, and Thursday, January 5th, Mom enrolled Caitlin and Connor in their new school.

So Connor and his sister had only completed their first full week of school before having classes cancelled in their very first Canadian winter storm. So he thought that he might venture outside, into the elements, learning to take seriously his role as a new son of Canada. But again, he didn’t have any long underwear handy.

Raising his knuckles to rap on the door of his sister’s bedroom, Connor paused, lowering his fist as he thought twice about what he had in mind. Then he shivered when he felt more cold air drafting through the hallway, so he quickly knocked on her door.

“That you, Li’l Bro?” Caitlin answered in her yet so sad voice. She was still broken-hearted, their unplanned, unimagined move having forced her, of course, to break-up with her steady boyfriend, Bobby Jim, quite suddenly.

“Yeah. Can I come in?”

“I guess,” she conceded opening her door. “Whaddya want, Connor?”

He noticed that his sister was wearing a white turtleneck with a fluffy pink pullover and an almost knee-length, pleated skirt in navy blue wool. A pair of 80-denier, opaque gray, cable-knit tights covered her legs and she wore a pair of black ballet flats with satiny black bows up front. Her long, wavy brown hair was gathered into a dropped ponytail, secured with a prominent bow of black velvet and hanging down the front of her right shoulder. Her manner of dress suggested not only a simply elegant, feminine style, but also, perhaps even more important for today, the comfort of warmth, a cozy feeling of protection. And Connor needed some of that.

“Mom took all my long underwear to the laundry this morning, so I don’t have any ’til she gits home,” he explained. “I—I—”

“Yes?” his sister prompted him. She had never seen him blush so badly. She held her own urge to giggle back, because his expression suggested that although he needed her help in earnest, whatever it was, he was embarrassed to ask for it.

“I just wondered if—if—,” he stammered. “Sis, could I wear a pair of your tights? Somethin’ warm?”

Her frown of nearly three-week’s duration slowly morphed, firstly into a demure grin, and then into a sly smile. Connor himself was quite happy to see her flash her first smile on the Great Canadian Shield. Mom and he both were worrying about how their daughter and sister would fare in life on the tundra. After all, her past summer wardrobes had consisted entirely of bikinis, with but one or two maillots for “formal” occasions, all of which could be packed in the outer, zippered accessory pockets of the soft nylon case for her laptop computer. These minimal garments had been complemented most recently by two pairs of cork-soled, wedge sandals and the daintiest pair of espadrilles ever seen or worn in southern Florida.

“You wanna wear ’em under your blue jeans then?”

“Uh—yeah! That’s the idea.”

“Don’t-cha have any longjohns?”

“Mom took ’em all to the laundry with her today.”

He watched his sister hop and skip, dance really, over to her dresser and open a drawer halfway down. She withdrew an unopened package of 80-denier, opaque white, cable-knit tights. She started just to give them to her brother, but then stopped and looked at him just a moment as devious ideas began to form in the twists and turns of her mischievous mind. Her dimples punctuated an absolutely wicked smile. She reached down and opened a bottom drawer. She had kept matching sets of training bras and panties and put them all into her drawer as keepsakes, even though she would never wear them again. But unexpectedly, now was the moment for her to hand down, as if to a sister, a matched set of underthings in powder blue satin. Then she brought the soft garments over to her brother.

“Since they’re my tights,” she began, “you have to follow my rules. You can wear my tights, but only if you wear these, too.”

“But—but—,” her brother stammered.

“Li’l Bro, it’ll be okay,” she reassured him, pulling him into a warm, sisterly hug. “No one but us will know. Not if you don’t tell, anyway,” she said, giggling.

“I—I—,” he stammered again.

“Go now. Put these on. Then I’ll show you how to put your tights on after you’re wearin’ the bra and panties,” promised Sis kindly, also handing him a fluffy pink dressing gown. “You can wear this over ’em until your ready. But do try an’ go along with it, Connor. You might even like this if you give yourself an honest chance at it.”

He sighed as he relaxed and decided it would be all right to do this after all. Somehow, as apprehensive as he was, he felt that he could trust his sister about this. Yet a few minutes later, he returned to her room, hiding himself as warmly in his sister’s fluffy dressing gown as he could. He noticed her laptop open on her desk.

“Computer workin’, Sis?”

“At least I remembered to plug in the charger before bed.” She was unhappy that she had forgotten to do the same with her cellphone. “But I can’t find any Wi-Fi signal I can use to log onto the Web.”

“Mom’s fixin’ to get the house wired for the Internet soon,” remarked Connor. “After all, she really likes that kinda thing.”

Their home in Miami had DSL ports in every room and they each had their own desktops networked into a central home server. Mom had her personal computer in her bedroom and another workstation in the den as well. Even the entertainment center, security, lighting, and kitchen appliances had been networked to the main server.

“So what can we do for fun today?” Connor wondered aloud. “No ’Net, no tee-vee, no videogames. Think I left my console in the car. What I wouldn’t give for school to be open right now!”

Caitlin just smiled at him. “Take off the robe and sit down on the bed next to me.” He did as she instructed, noticing that she had taken her tights off and held them in hand. Then she noticed that his bra was somewhat crooked.

“I see you had some trouble with the bra,” she half-sang in her southern drawl. She was bound and determined against all odds to hold on to her accustomed dialect here in the Great White North.

“Yeah! How do you girls manage?”

“It takes practice,” she said smiling. “Well, just a little, anyway. But there’s a trick you can use that’s really easy, too.” She reached behind him and unfastened the bra. “Now hold it like this…” She demonstrated holding it backwards, with the cups behind her and the hooked ends in front of her, and then gave it back to her brother. “Now hook it that way an’ turn it aroun’ so the cups are in front… That’s right!… Now, just put your arms through the straps as you pull it up… That’s it!… An’ now look in the mirror to make sure it’s even. You might need t’ adjust it a little…“

“Oh!… So that’s how it’s done!” Bro now felt his embarrassment slightly muted by honest pride in getting it right. “And it feels more comf’table now.”

“That’s ’cause y’adjusted it right,” Caitlin assured him. “That color looks good on you, too.”

He felt a slight tingle as he grinned in the mirror, feeling just a little naughty, but then let himself relax. And his sister smiled as she experienced a naughty tingle of her own, having talked her brother into wearing her undergarments.

“Now, to put on your tights, start by gatherin’ each leg into a ball, like this…,” she said demonstrating the technique with her own pair. “Put your toe in an’ slowly work ’em up each leg, a little at a time on each side… That way you don’t stretch or run ’em… Good!… Now stand and pull ’em up over your panties, over your waist… And you’re done!”

She smiled at her brother, about to cover his shoulders with the dressing gown, but then stopped.

“Oh! I know!” she remembered suddenly. “You need one more thing!” She went back to her dresser and retrieved another item, a white satin camisole trimmed in powder blue, with a tiny blue ribbon tied in a bow on the front and matching blue shoulder straps. “This is a cami. It’s like an undershirt but more comfy.”

She slipped the camisole over his head and shoulders.

“So, how does it all feel, Li’l Bro?”

“Okay, I think,” answered Connor. “I could git used to it.”

“Then you should git the rest o’ your clothes on,” she said with a giggle as she kissed his cheek. So Connor ran back to his own room to pull his jeans on and cover the bra up with his shirt.

As he stepped out into the crisp, cold air of the Canadian winter, Connor remembered a simple rule to approximate the temperature conversion. For Celsius to Fahrenheit, double it and add thirty.

But now Connor knew another way to relate temperatures on the Celsius scale. Instead of converting temperatures, he now had an experiential understanding of just how cold −35°C was.

Minus 35 degrees Celsius was cold enough that not having long underwear was a personal crisis.

Minus 35 degrees Celsius was cold enough to envy girls wearing warm, winter-weight tights.

Minus 35 degrees Celsius was cold enough to ask his sister for a pair of warm, winter-weight tights.

Minus 35 degrees Celsius was cold enough for him to wear his sister’s satin training bra, matching panties, and a camisole as a condition of wearing her warm, 80-denier winter-weight tights.

Minus 35 degrees Celsius was cold enough that wearing his sister’s lingerie and tights was not so bad, since he could venture outside into his first Canadian winter storm.

Minus 35 degrees Celsius was cold enough that wearing his sister’s lingerie and tights was all worth it just to see her smile again. This move had been more difficult for Caitlin, perhaps, than himself.

Besides, Caitlin was right. It was fun, more naughty than embarrassing. The garments felt physically comfortable, pleasurable in fact. Thirty minutes ago, Connor had feared wearing his sister’s things. Now he worried more because he was no longer afraid of it. But he also felt like he wanted to run to her, then hug and tell her.

Caitlin decided it was time to make herself presentable and sat at her vanity for the first time since moving north of the border. She really had not set it up properly yet, so she opened her make-up kit with a battery-powered illuminated mirror in the lid.

She couldn’t help but think that her brother was so sweet asking to wear her tights.

A few minutes later, she heard Connor exit the front door of their new home. She slipped her feet into her flats again and danced over to her closet and began sorting through her dresses, skirts, blouses, and sweaters.

“What to wear?” Caitlin asked herself aloud. “What to wear?”

Smiling, she took a short, dark blue turtlenecked sweater-dress from the closet rod by its padded hanger and placed it on a hook behind the door. That would be perfect for the afternoon. After all, his jeans would be cold and wet when Connor came back inside, and he’d need something warm and dry to wear, or so Caitlin thought to herself. And the color of this dress would look so nice with her brother’s beautiful eyes!

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

“Brandon, please!” his mother addressed him. “I think I liked you better in heels yesterday!”

“Sorry, Mom!” he apologized blushing. Yesterday had been “Gender-Bender Day” at school and he had attended wearing a pretty dress and high-heeled shoes. His mother and sister had done a fine job with his makeup and hair, respectively. A couple of girls had loaned him a dress and shoes in his sizes and a matching purse for the day. His sister, Sheila, a year older, had given him a matching set of a panty and a training bra, while Mom bought him a slip for the dress and a package of pantyhose.

Mom offered him a slice of toast and a plate of scrambled eggs, both of which he accepted with an eager smile as she poured a glass of orange juice for her son.

“Thanks, Mom,” he said, spreading strawberry jam on his toast. “This is a good breakfast.”

“You’re welcome, young man,” she replied. “Uh—we can still apply that phrase to you after yesterday?”

“I hope so!” Brandon acknowledged chuckling. “And I do wanna thank you and Sis for helping me out with it.”

“Yeah! You were almost too convincing,” Sheila said, grinning in mischief. “A couple o’ boys asked me to match ’em up with my little sister!”

“What?” Brandon asked in surprise.

“You didn’t look like a boy in a dress, little brother, but like a real girl,” his sister continued. “I was proud of how nice you looked yesterday.”

Despite eating breakfast Brandon suddenly felt a growing emptiness in the pit of his stomach. That detail of his transformation mostly had been lost on him. But for his sister to be proud of him dressing up like a girl could not possibly be a good thing. Crossdressing was not a hobby that Brandon wished to take up, after all.

“Uh, that’s not quite what I was hoping for, Sis,” he lamented.

“What then?” Sheila probed on.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously!”

“I was hoping Jenny Chang might notice me that way.”

That was news to both Brandon’s mother and sister.

“Son, since when did you start taking an interest in girls?”

“Since Jenny and I had most of our classes scheduled together,” the boy admitted. “She’s too cute not to notice. And she’s my lab partner for both Computer Science and Earth Science.”

Mom flashed a knowing grin to her daughter. But Brandon now simply pushed the scrambled eggs around his plate. Mom noticed this and knew immediately that his breakfast had been spoiled by the revelations of his interest in one girl and then his too successful appearance as another.

“Excuse me, please,” asked Brandon in a decidedly subdued tone as he arose from his chair. “I should go and bring that dress down now. I certainly don’t need it around any longer.” With that, the boy sullenly returned up the stairs to his bedroom.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” apologized Sheila. “I had no idea he’d take it so hard.”

“Now, don’t blame yourself, honey. You couldn’t’ve known,” Mom assured her daughter. “I’m not so sure that even he knows how he feels about it all just yet. He was cheerful enough when he left here yesterday morning.”

“Y’know, even after he came home, I thought he was never gonna take that dress off,” recounted Sheila, smiling as she sipped her coffee. “He was so into it. But still, he really seems embarrassed by it now.”

“Think maybe he might’ve been hurt somehow?”

“Well, most of the boys had dressed up silly or goofy—a few went for the slutty, streetwalker look—but only a handful looked nice like Brandon. Their ‘look’ might’ve crossed a line somehow. I hope we didn’t like push him too far.”

“No, Sheila, not at all! Your brother was quite willing—almost eager to dress up. But his feelings about it are confused right now. He certainly didn’t expect any boys to ask you to fix him up as your sister.”

“I just thought he’d feel happy to know how successful he was at dressing up.”

“I think he might’ve been too successful, maybe—if you know what I mean?”

“I hadn’t thought about that.”

“He looked perfectly like a girl. If you had a sister, that’s how she might’ve looked.”

“I could see that. Everyone at school noticed it, too. Maybe he should just go for the silly look next time.”

“Next time?”

“The school is considering other ‘Gender-Bender Days’ during the year.”

“So he’s gotta go through this how many more times?”

“I don’t know yet,” Sheila admitted. “But as cute as he was, he’ll be under strong pressure to be a cheerleader for the Powder Puff Football Tournament.”

“Your dad might be able to help him out with that,” Mom told her. “He did it in school a few times himself.”

“Omigosh! Are you kidding?”

“I should show you my yearbooks sometime,” her mother said with a smile. “And he was so cute!” Mother and daughter giggled together.

“So Dad really was okay with Brandon dressing up then?”

“Mm-hmm! He thought your brother was cute—almost as pretty as you!” Mom said bending down to kiss her daughter on the crown of her head as she hugged her shoulders from behind. “But he decided to keep quiet about it, so Brandon wouldn’t feel any more pressure for Gender-Bender Day than he already did.”

Sheila glanced back up at her mom with a concerned look on her face. “I hope Brandon will be like alright after all this.”

“He’ll be just fine, sweetie!” Mom reassured her daughter, renewing the hug.

Brandon took the garment bag out of the closet and laid it out on his bed. He zipped it open and made certain that the dress inside was alright before returning it to Debbi Snyder. Since they were the same size and build, he had swapped his navy blue dress suit for her green and blue dress. (She had said it would emphasize his pretty blue eyes and dark curly hair, much like his suit did for him.) Valerie Schmidt had loaned him a very smart, black leather purse and a matching pair of two-inch (5 cm) heeled pumps. Debbi’s garment bag had pockets for shoes, so he put the pumps in those. Since the other accessory pockets weren’t quite large enough for the purse, he stowed it in the main compartment with the dress before zipping it closed. The dress was short enough that he had no worry that the purse might wrinkle or otherwise damage it.

After he returned the borrowed items to Debbi and Valerie, he could declare the whole thing over—well, not quite. He had only noticed in the shower this morning that he had not removed the pink polish from his toenails. He had forgotten about it when Sheila helped remove his fingernail polish before bedtime but there hadn’t been time before breakfast. He’d have to get her help again after school. It was a good thing that his own gym class didn’t meet today. He expected teasing enough just from how he had been dressed yesterday; he didn’t wish to display painted toenails to classmates in the locker room the next day after Gender-Bender Day.

He slipped his backpack on before grabbing the garment bag to take downstairs with him. But this time he walked down the staircase quietly, unlike how he had earlier.

“Brandon, why not go back and finish your breakfast?” his mother suggested. “If you want, I’ll even warm it up again for you.”

“Okay, Mom,” he answered. “Please do that then. I’m sorry I ran from the table like that.”

“I meant to ask if you wanted any hash browns with your eggs?”

Brandon smiled at that. “Yes, please! That’d be great!”

His mother removed his reheated breakfast from the microwave oven then added a well-shaped patty of hash browns to his plate, which she set before him.

“So tell me, what changed between yesterday and today?” Mom asked him. “You were so excited about Gender-Bender Day yesterday and the day before, but earlier at breakfast, you seemed more than a little distraught. What’s up?”

“I don’t know really,” Brandon admitted taking a bite of toast. “But I think I made a big mistake. All the other guys were dressed silly or goofy, so I should’ve, too. I don’t think I was really supposed to look like a pretty girl.”

“Well, if that’s true, it was quite a gutsy move to dress up so completely and convincingly,” Mom assured him. “It makes me even prouder of you than I was!” She bent over, kissing her son on the crown of his head.

“I thought it would be fun, Mom. I really did,” explained Brandon. Then he lamented, “But now I feel foolish and stupid for doing it.”

“Brandon, I want you to think about something,” his mother began. “This was a schoolwide activity, right?”

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled shoving more hash browns into his mouth.

“Even the girls were dressing up like boys?”

“Well, sorta—,” Brandon answered sipping some orange juice. “Debbi Snyder looked even girlier in my suit than she does in her own clothes.”

“She’s who you borrowed the dress from?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Mom smiled at her son. “We girls know how to do that,” she told him. “We can wear men’s clothes and look just as feminine as we do in our own. But now, since this was schoolwide, let’s think of it like an assignment. Why not think about what you’ve learned from it?”

Brandon just looked at his mother’s smiling green eyes as he cleaned his plate of breakfast. “I hadn’t thought about it that way, Mom.”

“That’s what moms—and teachers—are for,” she reminded him. “Try asking a teacher or a counselor or someone. Why did your school have a Gender-Bender Day?”

Brandon pondered his mother’s suggestion for a moment, then emptied his glass of orange juice. “That makes a lotta sense, Mom,” he acknowledged. “I’ll do that.”

Mom drove Brandon and Sheila to school. Their house was close enough that they could walk to school most days. But today both teenagers needed to return clothes that they had swapped with or borrowed from friends to wear for Gender-Bender Day. Their mother drove them so that they wouldn’t need to carry the garment bags the entire distance. They only had to carry their bags from the car to their lockers.

Since Brandon was a freshman, his locker was on the top floor, so he had to take his bag up two flights of stairs from the main floor. It wasn’t too heavy—just awkward to carry up the stairs.

Debbi Snyder, an athletic blonde with blue eyes, was already waiting for Brandon when he arrived at his locker. She was holding his garment bag, which undoubtedly contained the suit that he had swapped for her dress. She had worn it with a pair of shiny black four-inch (10 cm) stiletto pumps and a gray fedora under which her gorgeous blonde curls cascaded all the way down her back to the waist.

“Hi, Brandon!” Debbi greeted him. “Thanks for letting me wear your suit.”

“You looked better in it than me,” he complimented her. “In fact, you looked even prettier than usual wearing it.”

“Why, thank you, Brandon!” she said, bestowing a kiss on his cheek. “And you looked just darling in my dress. You really pulled it off! You looked so sweet, so pretty!”

“Thanks,” answered Brandon, diverting his eyes from Debbi’s cheerful face. His embarrassment grew as he sensed that he was about to get a similar review of his yesterday’s attire from every girl who knew him. “It was fun,” he admitted, “but I don’t think I’d wanna do it again.”

“Aww! Please don’t feel that way!” Debbi begged him, almost whining. “You were so darling!”

As he watched Debbi’s visage fall, Brandon deftly worked the numerical sequence to open his locker and placed the garment bag’s hanger on the door’s inside hook. He unzipped the bag then knelt down to take Valerie’s purse out of it. Checking all the purse’s pockets one more time he verified that it was empty—save for the thank-you card in a small matching envelope in the main pocket. While still kneeling, Brandon also took the matching black pumps from the shoe pockets.

“Here it is, Debbi,” he said, showing her the dress. “Thanks for letting me wear it.” She nodded and Brandon zipped her garment bag up and then they exchanged their bags so that he again had his suit, and she, her dress.

“You were so pretty yesterday,” Debbi reminded her friend once again. “I have another dress and a skirt or two I’d just love to see you try on.”

“Sorry, Debbi, but yesterday was enough,” Brandon declined with a sheepish look.

“Oh, alright!” Debbi sighed. “I guess like it’s just not as important to you.” With that, she smiled at him, turned around, and carried her garment bag down the corridor to her own locker.

It’s not as important to me? wondered Brandon. Of course it isn’t. But then why would it be so important to you?

Next Brandon organized his books for his morning classes and put them inside his backpack. Just as he slipped his backpack over his shoulders, he noticed Valerie Schmidt, a tall, athletic brunette wearing her hair in a pageboy style, the tresses gently caressing her jawline. She was going to her locker, so he grabbed her purse and shoes from his locker and went down the hall to meet her. Valerie stood head and shoulders above Brandon and most everyone else in the freshman class and only a few boys were taller.

“G’morning, Valerie,” he greeted her, holding out the shoes and purse. “Thanks for letting me use these yesterday.”

“You’re welcome, Brandon,” she answered in a chirpy tone. “How didja like the shoes?”

“Uh—I—I can't say,” he admitted, flashing a somewhat embarrassed grin. “I’ve never worn high heels before, so I can’t really compare them to anything else. It was nice being a couple of inches taller for a day, though.”

“Did they pinch or hurt?”

Brandon thought for a moment. He didn’t want to say anything negative about what she’d loaned him. “Not really, but they were a little tight.”

“Heels are often like that. They force your toes down into the shoes and they get pinched,” explained Valerie. “The higher the heels and the longer you wear them, the worse the pinching.”

“Then why do you wear them?”

“Because they make my legs look great,” she answered. “Your legs looked really nice yesterday, too. More than a few girls were like jealous of you.”

“What?”

“Brandon, you may not believe this, but you were turning heads all day yesterday,” continued Valerie, with a smile to avoid intimidating Brandon. “I’d like to see how you’d look in my higher heels. You should come to my house and try on a few more pairs.”

“Uh—thanks, Valerie, but I don’t think so,” he declined, somewhat worried. “It was fun for a day, but that was enough for me.”

“Too bad,” she lamented. “Seeing you all dressed up again would be such fun.”

“Sorry, Valerie, but I’m a boy, after all.”

“Well, if you ever wanna borrow a pair of heels again, you know who to call,” Valerie offered with a smile before closing her locker. She turned to hug Brandon, bent down, and kissed him on the cheek before going off to her homeroom.

Checking the time, Brandon noted that he also needed to get to his own homeroom, which was around the corner, down the main corridor and around the next corner and all the way to the end of the opposite wing of the building. He didn’t run, but walked at a faster than usual pace. Yesterday, he had taken very short, dainty steps in his feminine attire. As he continued on his way, he found himself puzzling over why both Debbi and Valerie had thought that somehow he wanted to do more crossdressing. What Debbi had said, that it weren’t as important to him, had especially bothered Brandon. She’d said it as if dressing like a girl ought to be more important to him, for some reason, although why it should be was certainly not something he had thought about.

Just as Brandon arrived at the door of his homeroom, it opened and the petite Kelly Harrigan, irrepressibly and proudly Irish, with long, curly red hair, green eyes, and fair, freckled complection, emerged with a hall pass attached to her identification lanyard.

“Good morning, Brandon!” Kelly beamed.

“Good morn—!”

Kelly had pulled him immediately into an embrace and kissed him right on the mouth before he could even return her greeting. She also eyed Brandon up and down as she stepped away.

“You were so cute yesterday,” she said. “Are we gonna get to see ‘Brandi’ again soon? You were just so adorable!”

“Not planning on it, Kelly.”

“Aww!” she whined, then distended her lips into her altogether-too-cute patented pout before pressing them against his cheek. Next, Kelly sputtered into giggles, pirouetted around, and finger-waved to him. “I’ll see you at lunch!” she announced then continued on her way, the box pleats of her gray tweed miniskirt naughtily bouncing as she skipped along rather than walked. Brandon continued watching Kelly as he backed through the doorway, nearly colliding with the teacher.

“Did Miss Harrigan whoosh by you, Mister MacDonald?” Ernest Markham, Ed.S., his homeroom teacher asked.

“Something like that, sir,” the boy answered. “More of a whirl than a whoosh, though.” His classmates laughed in response to their brief exchange.

“Son, you also might wish to check your face,” the teacher continued. “You’re wearing more lip color than yesterday but not so neatly applied.”

Brandon immediately raised his fingers to his lips expecting to feel the waxy texture of lipstick, but Alice Johansson sitting across the left aisle held out a compact to him with its mirror open. “Your cheeks, Brandon.” He looked in the mirror and saw three lipstick marks, two on his right cheek, one on his left. Debbi, Valerie, and Kelly had set him up!

“Here, take this,” Mr. Markham sympathetically offered Brandon a hall pass, which the boy clipped to his lanyard. “Go take care of it.”

Brandon dashed to the Men’s Room to clean his face. Most of his classmates laughed as he left, but Mr. Markham pulled the door shut with a loud slam. He glanced across the classroom before raising his voice. “Quiet!” the teacher addressed the students. “Give ’im a break, will ya? The next one of you who so much as giggles gets five days of detention.”

The teacher had stunned his homeroom into silence, which now continued from a collective sense of guilt. He sat up on the front edge of his desk and continued talking.

“I know that quite a few of you like to have fun at Mister MacDonald’s expense. But not one of you guys had the courage, or the fortitude, to dress the full monte like he did yesterday. You just tried a skirt here or there, or maybe tights with a pair of shorts or maybe a pair of pantyhose under your jeans. And you, Mister Danziger, must think yourself too cool to dress up at all.”

“Yeah, Billy! Yeah!” exclaimed a few other students razzing him and bouncing balls of crumpled paper off his head. Billy Danziger leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out on an empty chair next to him.

“But hey, man! What difference does it make?” he protested. “It’s just clothes. I’ll wear what I want to.”

“The rest of us guys all wore something of a girl’s,” complained Dave Hamill. “I think you were trying to embarrass us by refusing to participate.”

“That’s a boldly serious claim, Mister Hamill,” opined Mr. Markham. “Mister Danziger, did you intend to embarrass your classmates by not taking part in Gender-Bender Day?”

“No! Not at all!” Billy denied. “And I’m offended that anyone would think so!”

“Then why didn’t you—dress up, I mean?” Teri Hamilton asked him.

“Because I didn’t feel like it,” the besieged student maintained. Billy was beginning to feel his coolly aloof attitude threatened. “Anyway, I like my blue jeans.”

“We girls wear blue jeans, too,” Alice pointed out. “One of the slightly taller girls could’ve loaned you a pair of hers, but I think you’d be cuter in a denim miniskirt or maybe a pair of bib-shorts.”

Laughter filled the room again as another salvo of crumpled paper missiles rained down on Billy. Alice had called his bluff, leaving him without an easy riposte. He looked angry for a moment, although no one, not even Billy, understood that his anger was aimed mostly at himself. So he just continued to fume silently, unsure with whom he needed to even the score: Dave? Alice? Teri? Brandon? Mr. Markham?

“How ’bout it, Mister Danziger?” asked the homeroom teacher. “Can we expect Miss Danziger to grace us with her presence?”

Billy decided he might try something just a little more diplomatic. “No, my sister’s away at college during the week.”

Ernie Markham tightened his lips, keeping his next thought to himself, as he didn’t like to compare students publicly with their siblings. Nancy Danziger had been a joy to teach in his American History and World History courses, but he was glad that his responsibility for Billy ended with the daily attendance roster. Hmm? Ernie mused. If Billy wore any of his big sister’s clothes, might some of her lovely personality rub off on him? Well, I can hope—

Stop! Ernie blocked his thoughts. Am I so upset with this student that I’m wishing for some kind of magical intervention? Ernest, get a grip!

The classroom door opened and Brandon quietly entered and unclipped the hall pass from his lanyard to hand back to Mr. Markham. “Thank you, sir. I’m sorry, sir,” the boy apologized to his teacher.

“Sorry?” Mr. Markham asked him. “What for?”

“The lipstick marks,” Brandon answered. “Y’know? From the kisses?”

“You don’t have to apologize for kisses, Mister MacDonald,” the teacher joked, “unless you’re married and they’re not hers!”

The class laughed at their teacher’s joke and two of Brandon’s classmates in neighboring seats offered him high-fives, which he accepted with cheerful slaps, along with a fist bump from Alice, as he gave her compact back with thanks. And then Brandon felt some of the joy from the previous day return. After all, he had gone all out when he dressed up like a girl yesterday. It had been fun, but more than that, he had done it well. And although he wasn’t sure why, he felt that he might have done something important. Even if he couldn’t tell anyone now, Brandon had enjoyed it, although just for that day.

Kelly met up with Debbi and Valerie on the main staircase on their way down to the Guidance Office. Each year’s class had it’s own academic counselor who shepherded them through all four years of high school. The three girls had arranged an early morning appointment with the freshman class guidance counselor. The office assistant, Marla Peterson, greeted them as they filed into the Guidance Office.

“Good morning girls,” she said. “Doctor Van de Meer is expecting you.”

The door was already ajar as the girls read its engraved brass nameplate:

Xenia van de Meer EdD
Guidance Counselor

Marla waved the girls into the counselor’s office. Kelly and Debbi sat together on the short sofa, while Valerie, the tallest of them, took the armchair, stretching her long legs out.

“Alright, my fine young ladies, how may I help you?” Dr. Van de Meer asked, smiling over a mug of coffee.

“Well,” began Valerie, “you said at your presentation Monday afternoon that high school girls can be too cliquish at times. So, we wanna do something about that. Like, we wanna recruit more girls to belong to our Circle. We wanna be more accepting. We really do, but we don’t quite know how.”

“You might start by asking them,” Dr. Van de Meer suggested. “It’s an effective technique, but often underused.”

Kelly and Debbi giggled but Valerie apologized. “I guess we sorta had that coming,” she conceded. “But we’re afraid to ask because they might say no.”

“Listen to yourselves, ladies,” said the guidance counselor. “You and your group of friends are the most popular girls in the freshman class. If you’re worried about rejection, how do you think other girls might feel?”

Valerie, Debbi, and Kelly all looked at one another. “Doctor Van de Meer, we were hoping you might know them well enough to help us figure out, like, if they’d be okay to ask?” Valerie admitted. “I mean, d’you think they’d wanna be in our group?”

Xenia just grinned to herself and sighed. The girls’ anxiety was fresh and honest. They were just as afraid to approach new friends as were the ones they were seeking. She asked them, “So what do you have to offer new candidates?”

“Well,” began Kelly, “we always eat lunch together—”

“We like to coordinate days we all dress up,” added Debbi, “so we also go shopping together—”

“And we swap clothes with each other, too,” Valerie interjected. “And that’s not all, either—”

“We help each other with our homework and projects,” continued Debbi. “Someone might be better than others at a subject so we try to put them together in study groups.”

“And we have like our own pep squad at football games,” added Kelly, “and participate in other school-sponsored activities.”

“You girls have apparently already been thinking about it,” Dr. Van de Meer noted. “So who do you have in mind to ask?”

“Well, we want to try asking three girls at first,” explained Valerie. “If they join us, we’ll ask others. If not we’ll hafta try something else.”

“That’s a good scientific approach,” the counselor encouraged them. “Continue, please.”

“Our first candidate is Mindy Baxter,” disclosed Kelly. “She hasn’t fit in too well and we don’t think going Goth would be like good for her.”

“And it’s our fault she might go Goth,” admitted Debbi. “We didn’t get off to the best start with her when she transferred in and we need to apologize to her whether she joins us or not.”

“So you think her going Goth is your fault, then?” the counselor sought to clarify.

“In a word, yes,” confirmed Kelly. “Our attitudes propelled her toward a lifestyle of disaffection.”

“Did you consider that maybe she’s going Goth because she may like it?” Dr. Van de Meer posited. “You claim that it’s your fault like it’s a crime or something. When you apologize to Melinda and invite her into your club, don’t disparage Goth style nor her Goth friends.”

Valerie spoke up again. “Next, there’s Jenny Chang.”

“As bright and friendly as she is, I’m surprised she’s not already one of your associates, anyway,” remarked the counselor.

“Her parents are so conservative, like, and her mom makes her dress really frumpy,” reported Debbi. “She’s not allowed to attend school mixers or other activities, either.”

“And that’s really too bad,” Valerie concurred. “As nice and capable as she is, she could be a real asset to the school if she got to do things with us.”

Dr. Van de Meer wondered about Jenny Chang for a moment. She had noticed the girl’s absence from any extracurricular activities. Maybe she needed to talk with her about participating in a few school-sponsored events—or if Debbi’s report were true, maybe with Jenny’s parents instead. After all, the best colleges and universities now included such achievements as part of their admission criteria. For such an excellent student to miss out on a promising future because her parents held so limited a perception of education would be a shame, but within her ability as a guidance counselor to address and perhaps to change.

“Girls, I agree that you should ask Jenny,” Dr. Van de Meer told them, “and I may talk to her as well.”

“Oh, would you?” Valerie almost begged their counselor. “I know like I’m not as smart as she is. I’m afraid of making a fool of myself.”

“Are you asking her to debate with you or asking her to lunch?” Kelly inquired of her friend.

“Lunch,” admitted Valerie.

“So what’s the worst answer she could give?” Debbi followed up.

“No?” Valerie guessed.

“Val, would Jenny saying no make a fool of you?” Dr. Van de Meer asked.

“Not really,” answered Valerie quite sheepishly. “I’ve been scared over nothing haven’t I?”

“You young ladies need to go and invite her,” the guidance counselor confirmed. “And I still have my own reasons for wanting to talk to her. So, who else gets an invitation to your girls’ club?”

The three girls all looked around at one another before Kelly opened the bidding. “She will be like the most challenging girl to bring into our Circle.”

“We’ve hardly been able to think about anyone else since we found out how she’d fit in yesterday,” explained Debbi. “And it’s not just us three—everyone in the Circle was unanimous about it—we gotta try to help her become one of us—”

“Because until yesterday, she had no idea that she’s really a girl!” Valerie declared. “She thinks she’s a boy!”

“But Brandon MacDonald doesn’t know he’s a girl yet,” announced Kelly, raising the stakes of the discussion. “He needs to become Brandi MacDonald and we’re gonna help him do it.”

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

Dr. Van de Meer saw that Brandon’s courses began with Jeanette Becker’s German 1. She remembered helping him enroll in the course. Foreign languages had interested him greatly, but he had to secure special permission to enroll in not just one but two foreign languages.

Xenia opened the instant messaging screen for the campus and entered the course code for German 1 and Jeanette Becker’s room number.

Brandon usually enjoyed his first class of the day, German 1. He felt excited hearing himself think in other languages. Not only did his morning begin with German, but his afternoon began with French. He’d have enrolled in Spanish as well, but Spanish 1 was only taught the same time as French 1.

Due to the structure of the language lab, enrollment was limited to 24 students in German 1. The twelve desks, each accommodating two students, were arranged in four rows of three. At each desk was an audio-visual digital interface with inputs for two microphones, outputs for two sets of earphones, and USB ports for two laptop, notebook, or tablet computers. The instructor’s console had a comprehensive digital interface that allowed it to link any set of users, from each individual student to the whole class with the teacher. The default configuration was the same three-way network for everyone: the two partners at each desk were linked with one another and the instructor.

So Frau Becker hit the button that allowed her to listen in on the conversation between Brandon and his lab partner, who happened to be Alice Johansson from his homeroom.

„Du warst das schönste Mädchen gestern, Brandi“, said Alice.

„Nein, Alice!“ Frau Becker interrupted their dialogue. “Remember that in conversation, German prefers the present perfect tense even though English uses the simple past tense in the same circumstance. So that’s: ‚Brandi—oder Brandon—du bist gestern das schönste Mädchen gewesen‘.” Brandon could hear Frau Becker and Alice giggling in his earphones.

„Brandi, du bist gestern das schönste Mädchen gewesen“, repeated Alice, still giggling.

Brandon put his face down on the desktop, covering his head in shame under his hands. “No! Not that again!” he wailed.

„Brandon, auf Deutsch, bitte!“ his teacher insisted.

„Nein! Nicht dieses wieder!“ repeated Brandon in German.

Frau Becker pushed another button so that only Brandon could hear her. He noticed that his own privacy light had lit up on the console.

„Fräulein Doktor Van de Meer will dich sofort in ihrem Büro sprechen“.

„Ja, sie hat sofort gesagt. Nimm deinen Bücher mit! Vielleicht kannst du heute nicht mehr zurückkommen“.

Brandon sighed as he pushed a button on the digital interface. He turned to address his lab partner.

„Ich muss Fräulein Doktor Van de Meer jetzt sehen, Alice“.

„Ich will mit dir am Mittagessen sitzen“, she suggested.

„Kelly Harrigan will auch mit mir am Mittagessen sitzen“, he told her, but with a look of exasperation on his face. He’d rather have lunch with Alice than Kelly any day. Besides, Brandon could chat in German with Alice. He didn’t want to get it wrong, so he switched to English.

“If you can get to the cafeteria before Kelly, please join me for lunch! She invited herself, after all.”

Alice nodded with a grin and giggled.

„Tschüß, Brandon!“

„Tschüß, Alice!“

Stowing his book and materials in his backpack, Brandon slung it over his shoulder and started toward the door. Frau Becker arose and quietly addressed him in English as they each stepped through the door of the classroom. “You must realize that Alice is right,” she said. “You made such a charming girl yesterday.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I’d like to forget that now.”

“Oh?”

“I really don’t like how I feel about it today, so I just wanna put it behind me.”

“Alright, Brandon,” conceded his teacher. “But you’d better hurry along to talk to Doctor Van de Meer.”

„Bis Morgen, Frau Becker!“

„Bis Morgen, Brandon!“

Brandon stepped and leapt his way downstairs to the Guidance Office. Marla Peterson glanced up as the boy crossed the threshold with an impetuosity befitting a teenager.

“Good morning, Miss Peterson!”

“Good morning to you, too, Brandon!” Marla addressed him. “Doctor Van de Meer is expecting you.” The office assistant arose from her chair and escorted him to the guidance counselor’s office.

“Brandon MacDonald to see you, Doctor,” she introduced the student.

“Would you get the door, Marla?”

“Of course, Doctor,” she affirmed, closing the door until she heard the bolt engage.

“Take a seat, Brandon,” ordered Dr. Van de Meer. “We need to talk.”

The boy anxiously seated himself in the vinyl armchair. “What did I do wrong now?”

“Why d’you think you did anything wrong?”

“Because whenever someone tells me, ‘we need to talk,’ it’s so they can tell me what I did wrong.”

“Young man, when I say, ‘we need to talk,’ I mean we have important information to discuss. It might be upsetting, but it also might be uplifting, exciting, or even fun.”

“But whenever I hear it, I just know I’m in trouble.”

“Well, this time I can guarantee that you did nothing wrong,” she tried to assure him. “Anyway, what I wanted to discuss is if you liked yesterday? I mean, Gender-Bender Day?”

Brandon’s body language tensed up. Did she know already? Maybe she’d called Mom and they’ve talked? Or did Sheila talk to her? Sis knew how much fun he’d had dressing up, but he couldn’t let anyone else know—not even Dr. Van de Meer. He didn’t know how to answer. Even worse, he didn’t know how not to answer.

“So, how did you feel dressing up like a girl?” Dr. Van de Meer rephrased her question.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know,” answered Brandon, the frustration visibly showing on his face. “I mean, it was really fun yesterday, and I liked the clothes and spending more time with girls. But today, I feel foolish and ashamed, like it’s the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“You dressed up all the way yesterday, I bet,” the counselor guessed, continuing to smile. “You even wore lingerie under the dress, didn’t you?”

“Yeah…”

“You said it was fun yesterday,” Dr. Van de Meer followed up Brandon’s previous statement. “How was it fun?”

“Well, Mom and Sis helped me get dressed up yesterday. Mom styled my hair and Sheila did my makeup. I know part of the fun was just seeing how much they liked it.”

“What else?”

“I liked the feeling of being just a little naughty,” admitted Brandon. “Boys aren’t supposed to dress like girls, so I think that’s where most of the fun came from. At least it did for me. But what surprised me is that now, girls are telling me I really looked like a girl. And they spent a whole lot more time around me than usual. I think a few want me to dress up for them again.”

“Why do you think that?”

“They told me.”

“Who told you, if you can tell me?”

“Well, both Debbi Snyder and Valerie Schmidt did when I gave them their things back this morning, and—”

“What things?”

“I had swapped my suit for Debbi’s dress to wear and borrowed shoes and a matching purse from Valerie. Mom and Sis gave me everything else.”

“Okay,” acknowledged Dr. Van de Meer discreetly jotting notes down on a pad unnoticed by Brandon. “Anyone else express a desire to see you dressed up again?”

“Kelly Harrigan did on her way out of homeroom this morning,” he reported, then paused a moment, wondering if he should tell her about the unwanted kiss, but then continued. “After that she invited herself to lunch with me again. And I’m fairly certain what she wants to talk about—getting me into another dress!”

“Where are you eating lunch today?”

“Nowhere fancy—just the cafeteria.”

“Any others interested in seeing more of your feminine side?”

“Well, in German class, Alice complimented me on how I dressed yesterday.”

“Alice Johansson?” guessed Dr. Van de Meer. She knew that the girl was in the same circle of friends with Valerie, Debbi, and Kelly.

“Yeah, but she didn’t talk about me doing it again,” recalled Brandon. “Even Frau Becker brought it up as I was coming to see you. I just wish everyone would forget it.”

“You seem to have made a strong impression en femme.”

“But I didn’t mean to,” Brandon dismissed her observation. “I just dressed up pretty because I thought I was supposed to.”

Dr. Van de Meer noted that remark especially. Then she let her intuition take over. “Brandon, what are you afraid of?”

“I don’t want everyone thinking I’m something I’m not. I don’t want people thinking I’m gay or—.” Tears began welling up in Brandon's eyes. “What’s that word for a boy who thinks he’s really a girl?”

“Do you mean transgendered?” Xenia extended a box of facial tissue to her young client.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he affirmed, accepting a few tissues.

“Have you had feelings that might make you wonder if you’re gay or transgendered?”

“No.” Brandon wiped his face dry.

“Then why are you worried about it now?”

“Because Sheila said that two guys asked her to fix them up on dates with her ‘little sister.’ So, they either think I’m a girl or they think I’m gay,” he related as tears flowed again. “But I’m neither of those.”

“Have you ever felt like you really should’ve been a girl or wanted to be a girl?”

“No, but it’s kinda worried me that I looked so much like one yesterday.” Again, he dried his face of tears.

“Brandon, do you know the word androgyny? ”

“Yeah,” he answered, relaxing with a deep breath. “It’s like when you wear unisex clothes?”

The guidance counselor grinned at him. “Well, there’s more involved than just unisex clothes,” she said as she wrote androgyny on a small notepad. She tore the page off and gave it to Brandon. “Go look it up online and think about it for a day or two. Now, you’ve never had any attraction to boys?”

“No, I like girls and just girls. To be specific, I like Jenny Chang and I was hoping that wearing a pretty dress yesterday might get her attention.”

“Did she say anything about it to you in class?”

“No, but she smiled at me and giggled a lot more than usual.” Brandon grinned slightly and blushed.

“So you’d like Jenny to compliment you on how you looked yesterday, but not really anyone else?”

“Is that okay, if I do?”

Xenia flashed a smile at him. “Brandon, you sound to me like a boy who likes girls and you already have one special girl in mind,” she assured her worried student. “So let me give you some advice. First, go after what you want. You can make it happen. Don’t ask if? but how? Next, stand firm for your own choices. Don’t let anyone push you into anything that’s not right for you, or that you’re not ready for.

“Already, you’ve had girls telling you they want you dressing up like them again. Do you want to?”

“No.”

“Then don’t! It’s that simple.”

“I do have a question about Gender-Bender Day and all that, Doctor Van de Meer,” continued Brandon.

“Was there a specific lesson I was supposed to learn from dressing up like a girl?”

Dr. Van de Meer set her elbows on the desk and clasped her hands together against her forehead. He would ask her that, wouldn’t he? And it was a good question, but one that she could not answer. She jotted down yet another note to raise it as an issue at the next faculty meeting.

“I don’t know quite how to answer your question,” admitted Xenia. “But I think that what you’ve learned—and may yet learn—about yourself is a lot more important. That’s one reason I gave you that word to look up.”

The bell ending the first period classes rang.

“Did we discuss everything you wanted to talk about with me?” Brandon asked as he picked his backpack up and put the word that Dr. Van de Meer had given him into the watch pocket of his blue jeans.

“Yes. Yes, we did,” the counselor replied. She felt relieved that she had managed to give Brandon a subtle message without revealing other confidences, but she would liked to have followed up more about why crossdressing had been fun for him. “You go have a nice day now.”

Xenia slowly followed him out as he dashed from her office into the corridor. She paused before Marla’s desk and turned to her. “Marla, you okay with lunch in the cafeteria today?”

“Sure. Can I ask why?”

“Something’s gonna happen there today at lunchtime and I have this feeling I need to watch that boy’s back.”

Marla nodded and on her computer, pulled down a menu to request their preferred entrees for two faculty/staff lunches.

On his way out, Brandon wondered if he ought to have mentioned the kiss that Kelly had stolen from him earlier in the morning. She’d had a crush on him for a long time, back to at least the fourth grade. And he liked her well enough. She was cute, like cinnamon-flavored eye candy.

But Brandon had always been frightened of Kelly. She was fun-loving but always pushing the envelope. She tended to be very aggressive, going after whatever (and whomever) she wanted. But most of all, Brandon feared Kelly’s Irish temper. She fully realized the stereotype—he’d seen it enough that he would never consider anything beyond a casual friendship with her.

He climbed the stairs to the top floor for his Earth Science course. All of the science and mathematics classrooms were on that floor with Mr. Markham’s classroom for history and Mrs. Holly Lloyd’s for economics and civics. Since his locker was close to his next class, Brandon went to it and left his textbook for German. Then he decided to leave everything but his text for Earth Science and his three-ring binder. The Men’s Room was close by, so he decided to go in and clean his face.

Jennifer Chang was already at her seat. She and Brandon shared a lab station and sat together.

“G’morning, Jenny!”

“Good morning, Brandon. I see you’re back in your own clothes today.”

“And none too soon!” Brandon had worn his usual blue jeans and sneakers, a royal blue polo shirt and his khaki windbreaker.

“I wanted to tell you this yesterday,” whispered Jenny, “but I couldn’t believe how cute you looked. It’s not fair that a boy gets to dress like that and I don’t!”

“Why not?”

“Mom won’t let me,” pouted Jenny. “She makes me wear these frumpy clothes all the time.” She was attired in a brown corduroy skirt that came to her knees, a plain white cotton blouse and an olive green pullover. Her long black hair was controlled by a white hairband. She wore plain white kneesocks with penny loafers. At least her small glasses, wire rims with octagonal lenses, complimented her delicate facial structure instead of dominating it.

“Well, I know how pretty you really are, anyway.”

“Thanks, Brandon. It’s just wrong that you get to wear prettier dresses than I do,” she complained but still giggled.

Brandon felt a little weird that Jenny of all people was jealous of him wearing a dress. But he could understand. She likely had no pretty dresses of her own. Her home life had to be horribly repressive. Brandon had wanted to ask Jenny to the Homecoming Dance, but she had mentioned that her mother had already forbidden her to attend.

“I only did it because I thought I was supposed to,” he tried to explain. “Now everyone seems to want me in drag.”

Their teacher, Robert Danvers, Ed.S., approached them as he examined a document on his clipboard. “I see that it’s your turn to take observations at our weather station.” The two lab partners glanced up at the ceiling for a moment. Mr. Danvers placed a key on their lab station.

“I forgot my coat!” Jenny said.

“That’s okay,” Brandon assured her, shedding his windbreaker. “You can wear mine. It shouldn’t be too chilly up there.”

She donned the extra garment and took their notebook from the lab station while Brandon took the key. Mr. Danvers led them towards a spiral steel staircase in the rear corner of the lab. Brandon climbed up through the ceiling first and Jenny followed him up into a small shack-like structure opening onto the roof. The weather station was housed a few yards (metres) away in a cabinet with slatted walls that protected the instruments from the weather while measuring it.

The wind vane pointed into a fresh breeze, while the cups of the anemometer danced vigorously, both testifying to the wind’s velocity across the roof. Brandon wasted no time unlocking and opening the slatted door to the cabinet protecting the weather instruments. He began by reading the wind speed and direction, then reading the regular list of data that they and their classmates recorded daily. Brandon was especially adept at handling and using the sling psychrometer and reading the meniscus on the barometer, the thermometers, and the rain gauge. Jenny would usually record the measurements as he called them out. But she handled the paper strips from the heliometer better, and Mr. Danvers had recommended that she retrieve the previous day’s strip and replace it with the new one.

“Jenny, is that everything?” Brandon asked one more time before he locked the weather station up. Another pair would be up later in the day to take more readings.

“We’ve got all the data,” she answered, dropping their lab notebook in her shoulder bag. “Let’s go.”

Brandon turned to start back toward the stairs when he felt two hands reach around behind his neck and pull him forward. A soft pair of lips pressed against his own.

“Jenny!” he whispered, nearly out of breath. She smiled, took him by the hand, and led him back to the roof door. Brandon then stopped, pulled her closer to himself and returned the kiss, lingering a moment longer than their first one. “I like you,” he confessed.

“I know,” she confirmed. “How you looked at me yesterday—like you so needed my approval—was almost as if you wore that dress just for me.”

“In a way, I think I did,” he agreed, although it seemed almost like a new discovery to him. Strangely, Brandon felt a huge anxiety quelled within himself. Jenny smiled at him and passed the door to start down the winding stairs.

“What took so long?” Mr. Danvers asked when Jenny stepped onto the floor. She was concealing a smile with her hand as she continued back to her seat. But as Brandon came down the stairs, the teacher winked to acknowledge his students’ new achievement.

“Jenny, would you read the new data you’ve recorded to the class, please?” Mr. Danvers asked.

Brandon listened to the melodic lilt of Jenny’s voice as she seemed to sing the observed data. Well, it sounded that way to him. And no one else noticed when Mr. Danvers awarded him a congratulatory pat on the shoulder.

Brandon’s course in Geometry & Mathematical Reasoning met the period just before lunchtime and today there was a quiz at the end of class. While most of his classmates whined at the prospect, for him it meant that he might leave for lunch fifteen minutes early or thereabouts. Mathematics had always been easy for Brandon. His only real problem was that his fingers couldn’t move his pen as fast as he could figure the solution out. Indeed, his teacher, Savannah Lang, Ed.S., Ph.D., even had remarked that he skirted the boundaries of arrogance by using pen instead of pencil to write his assignments and tests. In his defense, Brandon had pointed out to her that ink was neater, and also that so far, he hadn’t needed to erase anything that he had submitted.

Dr. Lang had allowed half an hour for the quiz, which Brandon still completed in only ten minutes. Jenny, Alice, and Kelly were also in the same class. Jenny would likely finish before the other two girls, but the chance of who would finish next between Alice and Kelly he adjudged as even.

So as soon as he finished his quiz, Brandon handed it to Dr. Lang and dashed down the stairs and into the cafeteria, housed in an adjoining structure to the main building. He saw that his best friends, Jeff and Mark, were already sitting at a table with their lunches. They waved at him and catching his eye, they signaled that they’d saved him a seat with them. So Brandon took a tray and stepped in line for lunch. He quickly decided on the veggie lasagna—not so much that he were a vegetarian, but that neither the appearance nor the aroma of the other entrees seemed appetizing. Somehow, the cooks always got the pasta al dente, and whenever they overcooked the sauce, it seemed to taste roasted rather than burnt. Only Italian cuisine seemed apparently immune to their culinary crimes.

He approached the cashier whom he presented his smartcard from the School District. She swiped it through a point-of-sale card reader and her screen registered the purchase of one subsidized lunch. Usually, Brandon’s mother packed his and Sheila’s lunches, but since they had additional items to carry with them this morning, they had decided to get theirs from the cafeteria.

Approaching the rectangular table where his friends were sitting, Brandon moved to the end and placed his lunch tray there. “Here’s the deal,” he began, pulling a chair to the end of the table. “You guys are on each side of me. If Kelly Harrigan shows, hold your positions and freeze her out. Alice Johansson is welcome. And if Jenny Chang comes over, she sits next to me.”

“Yeah, I kinda thought you might be into her,” answered Jeff as Mark nodded in agreement, munching on a sandwich.

“Well, I found out this morning that she’s into me, too,” Brandon confirmed. “We kissed—twice!”

“Alright, bro!” Mark praised Brandon as the friends all high-fived one another. They all had grown up in the same row of houses, dwelling in three adjacent homes. The “Three Musketeers,” as they were known to their neighbors and classmates, had been together since kindergarten and from even before.

Brandon bit into his lasagna and ascertained that it was palatable, even somewhat better than usual. That he had it fresh from the oven helped, as no doubt did his mood of friendship with his buddies and his giddy feelings over Jenny. And it was a larger portion than expected as well.

“Tell us,” said Jeff. “How’d it happen?”

“We were on the roof at the weather station and just finished the readings,” recounted Brandon. “When I turned around to go, she threw her arms around me and she kissed me right on the lips. We took a breath, went back to the stairs, and then I kissed her. We held that one a moment before going back downstairs. I think Mr. Danvers knew what we were doing, because he winked and gave me a pat on the back.”

“That’s cool, Brandon!” Jeff congratulated him. “The race is on ’tween me and you now, Mark.”

“Race?” wondered Mark.

“To see which of you gets the next girlfriend,” Brandon reminded him, teasing him a little with his own success. “I just hope it’s easier for you guys than it was for me.”

“Oh, what did it take you?” Jeff inquired.

“I’m not entirely certain,” explained Brandon, “but from what Jenny said, I’m afraid what clinched it was how I dressed up yesterday.”

“Oh, no!” Mark objected. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll stay a bachelor.”

“Me, too,” agreed Jeff. “Yesterday was more than enough gender-bending for me. I’ll keep my blue jeans, thank you.”

Mark and Jeff had participated by replacing their blue jeans with denim skirts, but otherwise wore their usual clothes. It had been the second most common method of compliance. Most boys had simply worn pantyhose under their trousers. It was the least intrusive technique and compliance was easily checked by rolling up a pant leg. Mark and Jeff had planned to go with that, but when Brandon said that he would dress up all the way, they felt as if they were wimping out, so obtained skirts from neighbors.

“At least I had something positive to result from all that yesterday,” Brandon concluded. “The downside is that the other girls I know have expressed a desire to get me in drag again. Apparently, I overdid it yesterday—I looked too nice.”

“Well, Brandon, the truth is you were one hot-looking babe!” Mark assessed his friend with unwelcome praise. “I’m just glad I know you’re a guy and yesterday was not for real.”

“Yeah, you looked as good as any of the princess-types around here and prob’ly even better than most,” added Jeff. “Maybe they want to make you one of them.”

“Now don’t even think anything like that!” gasped Brandon shuddering in mock fear. “They might pick it up by telepathy.”

They all laughed at the idea, then Brandon noticed Jenny coming into the cafeteria and waved her over to their table. Her face lit up and she half-ran to greet them. Jeff, sitting to Brandon’s right, moved over one seat so that the yet bonding couple could sit together.

“Thanks for loaning me your windbreaker this morning, Brandon,” offered Jenny, returning it. “That was kind.”

“You’re most welcome to it anytime, Jenny,” Brandon accepted the garment from her. “Allow me to introduce you to my best friends. This is Jeffrey Padgett and Mark Albertson. Jeff, Mark, this is Jennifer Chang.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” she said. “And just call me ‘Jenny.’ Besides, ‘Jennifer’ is what Mom calls me, especially when I’m in trouble.”

“Yeah, that’s when Mom includes my middle name,” Jeffrey concurred with a laugh. “But please, just call me ‘Jeff.’ ”

Brandon waited until Jenny sat before reseating himself. She removed two covered plastic bowls, a small thermos, and a pair of chopsticks from a nylon bag. She looked around for a moment and realized that she had forgotten something.

“I need some hot water for my tea,” Jenny told Brandon.

“I’ll get it,” he said and went right to the large cylinders of hot water and coffee, grabbed a styrofoam cup, and filled it up. He carried the cup, of steaming hot water back to the table carefully.

As he arrived, Brandon noticed a Goth-looking girl standing next to Mark and chatting with him. She was dressed mostly in black, wearing a calf-length black velvet skirt hemmed in lace and black boots with three-inch (8 cm) heels. She wore a black corset over a white peasant blouse. Her fingernails were painted black and her lips were colored black as well.

“Brandon, have you met Melinda?” Mark asked him. “She’s in the Art Club.”

“No, I haven’t,” Brandon answered. “Just a moment, please.” He put the cup of hot water down in front of Jenny. He offered Melinda his hand. “Nice to meet you, Melinda. I’m Brandon MacDonald and this is Jenny Chang.” Jenny extended her hand after she dropped a teabag in the hot water.

“Nice to meet you, too, Melinda,” Jenny added.

“We were just talking about class projects we’re working on,” Mark explained. “She’s got a couple of ideas I might be able to use for mine.”

“I like your skirt, Melinda,” Jenny remarked.

“Thanks, Jenny,” said Melinda. “This one’s prob’ly my favorite.”

“I wish I could wear something like that,” dreamed Jenny aloud.

“Go for it, girl!” Melinda suggested. “I think you’d look good in Goth fashion.”

“How ’bout Brandon?” Jeff injected with a chuckle. “He might want a new wardrobe now.”

“Jeff!” Brandon reproved his friend as everyone at the table but Melinda laughed. Then she bent down and Mark whispered in her ear.

“Omigosh!” blurted Melinda. “That was you?” This time everyone laughed, even Brandon in spite of himself, as Melinda’s surprise was complete. “Someone told me that was Sheila’s little sister.”

“I’m Sheila’s younger brother.”

“That explains it then,” concluded the Goth girl, seeming to relax as it all now made sense to her. “You were so pretty yesterday!”

“Must everyone remind me of that?” complained Brandon.

“Yes,” said Jenny, turning to whisper in his ear, “but only because it’s true.” She planted a kiss on his cheek. Then looking up, she noticed a number of girls in line picking up lunch trays and starting towards their table. “Here comes the ‘Swarm’!” Jenny announced.

“The Swarm?” Brandon asked.

Melinda made eye contact with Jenny. “You mean the ‘Queen Bee’ and her ‘Wannabes,’ don’t you?”

Jenny nodded.

“Queen Bee and Wannabes?” Mark wondered, thinking out loud.

“The alpha-female and her betas,” explained Brandon.

“Or the Queen and her Court?” Jeff offered an alternative idea.

“You got it, bro,” Brandon confirmed.

“But who’s the alpha?” Mark followed up.

“Prob’ly the tallest one,” guessed Jenny.

“That’s Valerie,” Brandon remarked. “She loaned me her purse and high heels for yesterday.”

“Sorry, but I gotta go,” announced Melinda. “I just can’t deal with all the princesses right now.” She kissed Mark’s cheek and finger-waved to everyone else. “Bye bye! Nice to meet all of you! See ya later!”

With that, Melinda quickly vanished from the cafeteria, no one certain whither she went. No sooner than she had left, the foursome at the table were approached by the group of well-dressed girls that Jenny had designated as “the Swarm.”

“Hi there!” Valerie greeted them as she set her tray at the end of the table opposite Brandon. “Mind if we join you for lunch?” Without waiting for an answer, Debbi and Alice sat down on the same side of the table next to Jeff, while Kelly and Teri sat across from them, leaving an empty seat next to Mark.

Jeff and Mark sat there silently as they realized they were acting as the first line of defense between their friends and the Swarm. Brandon reached for Jenny’s hand under the table, grasping each other’s firmly and warmly.

“Bees only sting when the hive is threatened,” advised Jenny sotto voce.

“That’s true enough for honeybees,” Brandon whispered back to her. “But might these belong to a more aggressive species?”

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

“You ready for lunch yet, Xee?” asked Marla.

“Omigosh! The time got away from me again,” noted Xenia, speaking more perhaps to herself than to her friend and coworker. “Where does it go?” She got up from her desk and grabbed her purse as she looked Marla in the eye. “Yes,” she replied with a somewhat frantic tremor in her voice, “and I should’ve already been there.”

“Is it about the MacDonald boy who came in today?” Marla asked as they stepped into the hallway.

“Yes, it is,” said Xenia quickening her pace, “and the three girls who came in before him as well.”

“Is there some conflict between them?”

“I’m hoping there won’t be, but that’s why I need to be there, Marla. If he’s not self-confident enough, Brandon may find himself overwhelmed by what those girls have in mind for him.”

“But if he is?”

“If Brandon asserts his own will with those girls, we’ll get that classic conundrum from physics about an irresistible force meeting an immovable object.”

“Now that’s conflict!”

“Oh, you’re tellin’ me!”

The two women turned a corner in the hallway to enter the cafeteria and bookstore annex. Xenia’s gait remained quick, steady, and powerful. Marla said nothing about her pace, but was happy to have worn ballet flats.

“What’s going on, anyway?” Marla inquired.

“Well, I don’t like to betray what students confide in me if I can avoid it,” explained Xenia. “So instead of doing that, I sometimes act on it myself.”

“Like now?”

“Especially now! I’ll just say that we have some unexpected fallout from yesterday’s gender-bending.”

“Someone’s gender was bent too far?”

“Like a pretzel!” exclaimed Xenia as she and Marla stepped up to the cafeteria window reserved for faculty and staff at lunchtime.

“Xee, I don’t think we made it in time,” said Marla, pointing out the group of students at a table across the cafeteria.

Xenia just shook her head. “I do hope he remembers my advice.”

“We hope it’s okay, Brandon, Jenny,” said Debbi. “We wanna talk to you about a friendly proposal.”

Brandon looked at Jenny but she simply shrugged her shoulders. “What’s this about?” he asked.

“Well—it’s kind of about girls’ stuff,” said Valerie. “So the two boys there might wanna go. They might find it—um—embarrassing.”

“I’m a boy,” declared Brandon. “So I should go, too, then.”

“No, we especially need to talk to you,” advised Kelly.

“About girls’ stuff?” Brandon asked skeptically.

“Uh-huh,” affirmed Kelly. “Especially you.”

“So you especially need to talk to me ‘kind of about girls’ stuff’ because…? ” Brandon drew out the conjunction in an ironic tone.

Apparently, neither Valerie nor Kelly (nor any of the other girls in their Circle) were quite expecting such a challenge from Brandon. Meanwhile, he took another bite of lasagna and Jenny popped a few morsels of the Buddha’s Delight into her mouth, as Jeff and Mark continued eating their sandwiches.

Since no one else seemed ready to field his question, Debbi answered. “Because you’re one of us—you just don’t know it yet.”

“What do you mean by ‘one of you’?”

“Deep inside, you’re really a girl,” Kelly told him.

“That’s crazy!”

“No, it’s not,” Valerie defended their position. “You showed us that yesterday.”

“Wait a minute!” Jenny interrupted the discussion. “Brandon comes in costume for one day and now you know who he is inside? Do any of you even know who you yourselves are inside?”

Brandon nodded in agreement with Jenny as he continued eating, knowing that his best move would be to finish lunch and then to leave. Jeff and Mark also glanced back to their buddy, incredulous of what they’d just heard. “I’ve known Brandon since—gosh!—since pre-school,” Jeff vouched for his friend. “And I’ve never known him to be the least bit girly.”

“I haven’t, either, and I’ve known him almost as long,” Mark added his own opinion. “Jenny’s right. What you girls are saying doesn’t make any sense—not to me.”

“Of course it wouldn’t,” conceded Teri, “because you don’t see him as a girl does.”

“But I do!” Jenny injected. “And he was just dressed up like a pretty girl for a day because he was supposed to be. Otherwise, he’s like any other boy.”

“Look, if your friendly proposal involves me wearing dresses again, I’m not gonna do it,” resolved Brandon. “End of discussion.”

“But Brandon,” pled Teri, “you were too pretty, too natural as a girl to ignore.”

“You have no idea how much fun you’re missing,” added Kelly. “I just can’t understand why you wanna be so boring.”

“I’m not boring, Kelly,” Brandon denied, the umbrage audible in his voice. “You’re just irresponsibly wild.”

“I’m with Brandon on this, Kelly,” said Alice, the first of the Circle to support him. “You’ve pushed the boundaries too far and too often.”

About then, another member of the Circle, Holly Thompson, showed up with her lunch. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I needed the full time for the quiz.” She took the empty seat between Mark and Kelly. “So what did I miss?”

“We’re inviting Jenny and Brandi to join our Circle,” Teri updated their newly arrived friend. “But Brandi seems reluctant.”

“No kidding!” retorted Brandon with a strong undertone of sarcasm. “By the way, the name’s Brandon.”

“But that doesn’t sound right for a girl,” asserted Kelly.

“That’s because he’s not one,” Mark reminded them.

“And he doesn’t wanna be one,” Jeff added.

“Nor do I even care to pretend to be a girl,” confirmed Brandon.

“I like Brandon just the way he is,” Jenny told them. “And if you really want him—and me—in your group, you’ll accept him that way, too.”

“But we’d need him to dress up along with the rest of us,” argued Valerie.

“You’d need Brandon to dress like a girl?” Jenny challenged Valerie’s remark, emphasizing its absurdity by her vocal inflection.

“But you oughta see our pictures and video first,” said Debbi. “They show he’s more of a girl than he knows.”

“Even if I were, you’d still have no right to interfere with how I might deal with it,” Brandon told them off as forcefully as he could. “All I did was dress up for one day. It was supposed to be all in fun, a tradition for Homecoming Week. And it was fun—until now. So now I wish I hadn’t done it at all. You’ve really ruined it for me.” He looked to Jenny and spoke sotto voce. “Put your food on my tray. We’ll find another table to finish eating.” He then glanced to Jeff and Mark. “Come on, guys. They had no right to bust up our lunch.”

“Let’s get one of the square tables to keep the uninvited guests away,” Jenny suggested. So Mark went over and staked their claim to a new table before anyone else could. The others followed him and a moment later, they were all seated again, enjoying their lunches.

Xenia and Marla had watched Jenny, Brandon, and their friends leave their table for another. The two administrators had not been close enough to listen to the discussion, but they could hear that it was an animated, an almost heated dialogue.

“That can’t be a good sign, Xee,” Marla remarked.

“Well, maybe it’s better than it looks,” the counselor hoped aloud. “Perhaps Brandon stood up to those girls for himself.”

“But then why give up their table?” wondered Marla. “After all, they were there first.”

“Remember that old adage?” Xenia then quoted, “Discretion is the better part of valor. He really can’t deal with all of them together, so a tactical retreat makes sense for him.”

“Looks like he has at least a few friends with him,” observed Marla.

“Yes. That’s good, too. If he and his friends can figure their own way around the problem, I prefer not to intervene. Any solution they arrive at on their own is likely better than any I could impose.”

“You’re not gonna do anything, then?”

“I didn’t say that,” Xenia cautioned her. “I just need to be careful about what, when, and how. Right now, I need to monitor both sides’ actions. It looks like Brandon moved to de-escalate the situation. I can ask them for details later.” She cut a bite of her veggie lasagna. Even though they weren’t vegetarians, Xenia and Marla most often selected the veggie lasagna because it was one of the few entrees that the school cooks consistently got right.

“Do we have two opposing groups staking out their positions?” Marla wondered.

“It’s not quite so simple as that,” Xenia cautioned. “The girls of that circle see themselves as offering help and friendship to Brandon and Jenny. But that help may be unwanted and that friendship may be too contingent on conformity.”

“So what you’re saying, Xee, is that not everyone wants to be one of the popular girls?”

“Exactly!—and that’s especially so for a boy.”

Marla couldn’t help but giggle at the idea.

“Girls, we really blew it!” complained Alice to her friends. “He’ll be even harder to bring on board now. Did it occur to any of you to try sympathy or sensitivity?”

“He seemed so enthusiastic when he borrowed our stuff Tuesday,” testified Debbi.

“And he looked so into it all day yesterday,” Teri recounted.

“And he seemed really grateful for what he borrowed from us,” Valerie added. “When I looked in the purse he gave back this morning, he’d left a nice thank you note inside.”

“I found one with my dress, too,” Debbi added to the discussion. “But when I asked him if he wanted to try on other dresses or skirts, he seemed upset.”

“I got the same reaction when I talked to him about shoes,” agreed Valerie.

“When I asked if we’d see Brandi again soon, he told me that he wasn’t planning on it,” added Kelly. “I think he may feel embarrassed by it now. He’s always been so easy to embarrass.”

“You’ve always been so ready to embarrass him,” observed Alice. “Like with that little dance this morning.”

“No, I haven’t,” denied Kelly. “Besides no one but you could see it.”

“I saw it, Kelly,” said Teri. “And if I could see it from my seat, everyone in homeroom could see it. And we saw all of the lipstick you girls left on his face, too.”

“It sounds like we need to try a softer approach to encourage him,” Holly interjected. “We need to remember that wearing dresses and skirts and high heels isn’t natural for a boy.”

“But have you seen the video that we got yesterday?” Debbi asked her. “He moves just like a girl. I couldn’t see anything ‘boy’ about him.”

“You should post that online so we all can view it,” suggested Valerie.

“I don’t wanna do that unless it’s alright with Brandon,” objected Debbi. “If we were, like, to post a video or pictures of him from yesterday, we would only make it harder for him to trust us.”

“Is the video that embarrassing?” Teri inquired. “I haven’t seen it, myself.”

“You can’t even tell he’s a boy,” denied Debbi. “Here! Lemme show you!” She took her laptop computer from her shoulder bag, opened it on the lunch table, and powered it up. She plugged a key drive into its port, accessed the folder containing all of the videofiles downloaded from her digital camera, selected one, and clicked on it. The screen filled with a picture appearing to be a girl about the same build as Debbi wearing a blue and green dress and shiny black pumps. She was standing next to a metal-framed chair with a molded blue plastic seat and gray laminated desk folded down at its side.

“That’s Brandon in our third period English class yesterday,” narrated Debbi. She clicked a virtual button in the corner of the screen and the image came to life. “Now, watch! He smooths the back of his dress as he sits…, sets the purse down…, look how he crosses his legs at the knees… smooths the skirt out, and straightens the hem before swinging the desk up…”

The girls gathered more closely around Debbi’s laptop as the video continued to run. “He curls his hair around his pen…, then, his finger…,” Valerie noted as she watched, “and now, he’s swinging his leg from the knee.”

“Wait! Oh, I don’t believe that move! Now, he’s dangling a shoe from his toes,” observed Teri. “I can hardly think of a girlier move than that.”

“And now, he brushes his hair back behind his ear,” continued Debbi.

“He does that so cute,” remarked Holly. “It’s so hard to believe he’s not a girl.”

“Then why’s he so resistant?” Kelly wondered.

“That’s a good question,” mused Alice, glancing around at the others. “Maybe we should ask him?”

Debbi spoke up, “I’m the first to admit that I’m as excited as any of us to get Brandon all ‘girled-up’ again, but maybe Alice does have a point. It’d be much easier with his cooperation,” she reminded them. “And he was so into it yesterday. Can we find out what’s changed since then?”

“Again, I think the best way is to ask him,” Alice reiterated.

“But we’ve run him off,” Kelly pointed out. “None of us will get near him today.”

“I can at least try,” resolved Alice.

“But why would he talk to you and not any of us?” Kelly objected.

“Because unlike you, he invited me to join him for lunch,” Alice refuted her. “Debbi, can I take your key drive? Brandon really needs to see this.”

Debbi shut down the video and unmounted the key drive. “Here,” she said, handing it to Alice. “All my homework’s on there. Let him download the video and bring the drive right back.”

“I’ll bring it back,” affirmed Alice, accepting the key drive from her friend, then carefully placing it inside a small, hidden pocket in her purse. “This shouldn’t take too long.” With that, she started toward the table where Brandon and his friends were sitting.

Xenia and Marla continued their lunch as they also watched the group dynamics of teenagers unfold around them. They watched Brandon and his friends settle down to continue lunch, while the girls at their old table had an animated discussion around a laptop computer.

“Looks like the other boys at Brandon’s table finished lunch and are leaving, Xee,” observed Marla, smiling as she sipped her iced tea. “They’re high-fiving him again.”

Xenia smiled. “I’m hoping that he will be able to enjoy some time with the girl,” she told her coworker. “Personally, I think he and Jenny are a good match, at least so far as maturity and intellect are concerned.”

“Are they going to become a ‘couple’?”

“I don’t know,” Xenia admitted. “Jenny’s parents are traditional Chinese, quite conservative. They seem to keep a tight rein on her.”

“That’s too bad,” opined Marla. “Is that why she dresses in such dark clothes all the time?”

“Likely,” concluded the counselor. “Yet I’ve noticed that all in all, she seems happier than most other girls in her class.”

“Interesting. Why would that be?”

“Good question. My guess is that she mostly shares her parents values.”

“How would they feel about their daughter dating a white American boy?”

“Maybe we’ll find out?” Xenia mused smiling.

Behind the high school and just off the campus, aloof and leaning against a brick wall, an anxious freshman dangled an unlit cigarette from the corner of his mouth. Due to the increasing price of smoking, he didn’t light up unless someone were actually present to see him. He looked at his smartphone. The signal strength was fine. He couldn’t believe, firstly, that he’d been thinking about it as an issue all morning and that he was about to call his big sister for help. But this kind of problem was her forte. So he keyed his sister’s number up on his speed dial. It rang twice.

“Hello! Nancy Danziger speaking…”

“Hey, Sis! It’s me!”

“Why, Billy! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Are you driving back for Homecoming?”

“Yes, I am. I’ll be leaving as soon as my classes are done tomorrow afternoon. I wanna be there in time for the game.”

“I’m hoping we can have some time to talk.”

“Why? Is something wrong?”

Billy inhaled deeply and sighed. “I’m losing my coolness,” he confessed. “I can tell it’s slipping away from me. I think I’ve been turning people off and I’m not sure why. The old gang’s not hanging out with me like they did. And I’ve gotten the cold shoulder all morning just because I didn’t do ‘Gender-Bender’ yesterday.”

“Wait a minute! My little brother didn’t do Gender-Bender Day?” she pretended to gasp. “No wonder! You’re not upholding the family legacy—what a scandal!”

“Seriously, you’ve always been good at understanding this kind of thing. I’m hoping you can help me out while you’re here.”

Nancy smiled into the phone. Billy still looked up to his big sister. “Okay, Billy,” she assured him. “We’ll take some time to deal with this over the weekend. I’ve gotta get ready for my next class. I love you, Billy!”

“Love you, too! G’bye!”

“G’bye!”

Some distance away on a California state university campus, a spry college freshman kissed the image of her younger brother displayed on her smartphone.

Billy glanced about again. None of his gang had come around. So he slid his unsmoked cigarette back into its pack and walked back to school.

Alice slowly approached Brandon’s table holding her hands up to shoulder level, palms out, in the universal sign of a truce. “Brandon, Jenny, can I please talk to you for just a moment,” she petitioned. “I promise just to say what I came for and go. If you have questions, I’ll answer them if I can.”

“I wish you girls would just leave me alone,” Brandon complained. “Why is getting me into another dress so important to you, anyway? I don’t get it.”

“Well first, please accept my own apology for all my other friends inviting themselves to join you for lunch. That wasn’t my idea.”

“Alright,” he accepted her apology. “And I did ask you to join me.”

Alice took the key drive from her purse. “Debbi took this video of you yesterday,” she explained. “Watch it with Jenny or your sister or mom—or anyone else whose opinion you trust to know you dressed up. Let them see and judge how you look in it. You move so gracefully and naturally that it seems like Brandi’s the real you.”

“Alice, did anyone consider that maybe—just maybe—I like being a boy?” Brandon rebutted her explanation. “Yesterday was only one day—one day—and it’s like somehow its events should override every other day in my life? That’s unfair!”

“Please, Brandon, just download the video and I’ll go.”

Jenny squeezed Brandon’s hand. “Download it. I’ll watch it with you if you want.” She flashed a demure grin at him.

“Okay,” he conceded and accepted the key drive from Alice. He plugged it into the port of his laptop and mounted it. “Download it, then,” Brandon said, offering her control of his own computer.

With a few point-and-click moves, she completed the download. “There!” Alice confirmed. “I need the drive back.”

“Sure,” acknowledged Brandon. He quickly unmounted the key drive, unplugged it, and returned it to Alice. „Danke!“ he said, grinning at her.

Caching the key drive in her purse’s hidden pocket, Alice smiled back with a finger wave and said: „Tschüß, Brandon, Jenny!“

„Tschüß, Alice!“ replied Brandon, he and Jenny returning the finger wave as Alice made her way back to her own table.

The Ladies’ Room on the main floor of the high school was somewhat more deluxe than others on campus. It was large enough to have a nice lounge area with couches and armchairs apart from the usual bathroom area of sinks and stalls.

Kelly Harrigan passed the sinks and stalls by to go directly into the lounge, where she fell onto a couch rather than sat down on it. From her purse, she withdrew a small, flat 375 ml bottle of a single-malt Scotch whisky. She opened it and drank some down, screwed its cap back on, then put it back in her purse. She curled up on the couch, clutching her purse to her chest, as if it were all that she had in the world.

She just cried.

Since the sixth grade, Kelly had felt a little tingle whenever Brandon came by, butterflies fluttering in her tummy. Yet he had never noticed her attraction to him. Now, though, Kelly’s life had just become very complicated. Brandon had feelings for Jenny, which she apparently reciprocated. And even though Kelly still had feelings for Brandon, she had begun to feel the same tingle, the same fluttering butterflies, anytime that Holly Thompson appeared.

Kelly was upset, very confused, and quite disappointed. Brandon didn’t care that she was in love with him. He never had; somehow, he never even knew. And now, she was getting feelings for a girl? But she couldn’t be a lesbian—just couldn’t! Her family would send her to a Catholic school, or worse, disown her, kick her out into the streets. And was Holly even attracted to girls? She might not even care that Kelly had feelings for her.

Soon, Kelly had cried herself to sleep.

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

Kelly Harrigan. She was the catalyst among these girls. Valerie Schmidt was their apparent leader; Debbi Snyder, their moderating influence; but Kelly provided the motivating force.

Opening the student database, Xenia quickly found that Kelly should be in Consuelo Menéndez’ Spanish 1 just then. Again, she was fortunate that the student sought was scheduled in a language lab, since the teacher’s computer was likely up and running. So the guidance counselor sent an instant message.

Xenia had been worried about what Kelly had said that morning:

“But Brandon MacDonald doesn’t know he’s a girl yet. He needs to become Brandi MacDonald and we’re gonna help him do it.”

That was a very strange goal for a girl to announce.

The bell ending fifth period rang. Brandon smiled to Rhonda Davies, his lab partner for French 1.

« Au revoir, Rhonda! »

« Au revoir, Brandon! »

He was happy with how this class had gone. Hey! Not once had Rhonda mentioned Brandon’s dressing up as a girl the previous day, neither to tease him nor to compliment him. Apparently in Rhonda’s mind, it was old news. And he was okay with that.

Brandon met up with Jenny at the door. They both took French 1, but had been assigned different lab partners. She shared a lab station with David Hamill.

They dashed for the main stairs. Their next class, American History 1, was from Mr. Markham, in Brandon’s homeroom at the far end of the opposite wing of the building on the top floor. He and Jenny started up together, but Holly Thompson hurried along after them.

“Hey there, guys!” Holly greeted them. Can I ask you two a personal question?”

“What?” Brandon exclaimed in surprise.

“You don’t hafta answer, if you’re not comfortable with it,” Holly assured them. “But are you two a couple, now?”

Neither Brandon nor Jenny were expecting such a question. They just looked at one another a moment.

“Uh—we’re working on it,” replied Brandon, blushing. Jenny held her hand over her mouth as she sputtered into a fit of giggles. She nodded in agreement with Brandon.

“We just started—uh—exploring the prospects this morning,” Jenny confessed. “Please don’t go telling everyone, though.”

“Mum’s the word!” Holly promised with the gesture of zipping her lips and ran off to wherever.

Brandon smiled at Jenny and warned her, “Holly’s the biggest gossip at school. Once she tells, we are a couple.”

“Then I guess I’d better tell Mom when I get home,” concluded Jenny. “It was my first kiss, after all. How ’bout you?”

“Mine was with Kelly Harrigan in the sixth grade. She kinda sprung it on me like you did on the roof today. And she did it to me again on the way into homeroom this morning. I’ve never understood why she does that, though.”

“Maybe she likes you,” speculated Jenny. “Do you have feelings for her?”

“No.”

“How ’bout in the sixth grade?”

“Not then, either. Besides, she’s too wild for me.”

“Well, I knew you liked me, but I wasn’t sure if you could tell I felt the same about you.”

“No, I couldn’t. But I hoped so.”

Jenny simply smiled back at Brandon. “That’s why I had to kiss you first.”

“Makes sense to me,” Brandon agreed as they continued to climb the stairs. They reached the top floor and turned directly towards Mr. Markham’s classroom at the extreme end of the south wing.

“Who did you vote for on your ballot for Freshman Homecoming Princess?” Jenny asked.

“What?” Brandon asked, not knowing about the issue.

“In homeroom, we were given ballots to vote for our class’s Homecoming Princess. Didn’t you vote?”

“I was held up going to homeroom this morning,” recalled Brandon. “They must’ve voted before I even got there.”

“So you didn’t vote for anyone at all?

“I didn’t even know,” he apologized. “No one ever tells me about things like that.”

“I wonder why that is?” Jenny mused.

“I guess I’m just as clueless as everyone says I am.”

“You’re not clueless, Brandon,” she tried to reassure him. “You just save your attention for the more important things.” She smiled at the new boyfriend with whom she was rapidly bonding. Actually, she figured that they’d already been bonding since the school year began. Now they were adding more intimacy to that. She thought about her mother’s advice and hoped that Mom would approve not only her choice of partner but also how she had cultivated Brandon’s attraction to her slowly and carefully.

They arrived at Mr. Markham’s classroom together, entered, and took their usual, adjacent seats.

“Mister MacDonald, did you not cast a ballot for Homecoming Princess during homeroom this morning?” Mr. Markham asked Brandon.

“No, you never mentioned it, sir,” he confirmed. “In fact, Jenny had just brought it up on the way to class.”

“I’m sorry about that,” the teacher apologized, handing him a machine-scorable card with a list of names. “Here’s a ballot for you. Please use a number two pencil. Give it to me before you leave.”

Brandon looked down at the list of names:

Ballot for Homecoming Princess
Freshman Class

1. Vote for one candidate
◯ (A) Rhonda DAVIES
◯ (B) Kelly HARRIGAN
◯ (C) Katrina SZASZ
◯ (D) Sarah TAYLOR
◯ (E) Write-in:

Brandon had no idea that his lab partner from his French class was a nominee for Homecoming Princess. On the other hand, Sarah and Kelly were campaigning for it actively. As for Katrina, he wasn’t even sure how to pronounce her family name. But Brandon knew where his heart was. He filled in the circle next to 1. (E) and wrote in:

Jenny Chang

Immediately, Brandon gave his ballot back to Mr. Markham. “Thank you, Mister MacDonald,” the teacher said somewhat sheepishly. “I can’t believe I forgot that this morning, as much as I go on about the importance of voting.”

“It was hardly your fault, Mister Markham,” Brandon absolved him. “I had numerous distractions, both before and after I arrived.”

The teacher chuckled. “Were those perhaps a few of Miss Harrigan’s campaign tactics?”

Brandon laughed, and so did Jenny as she drew a connection between a salvo of kisses and the Homecoming ballot. “So, Kelly was buying your vote?” Jenny asked him.

“I hope that’s why she kissed me,” he answered, perhaps more than just a little perturbed. “How can I tell?”

“You really can’t tell, can you?” Jenny asked, somewhat surprised. He probably didn’t know that she was interested in him. Indeed, he had hoped she might have feelings.

The bell rang and Mr. Markham called the class to order.

The bell signaling the end of fifth period had roused Kelly from her sorrow-induced siesta. Her blouse was thoroughly wrinkled, as was her skirt. She’d need to iron the box pleats outs before wearing the skirt again. Her face felt chapped from the mixture of tears and running makeup having dried while she slept.

A hideous sight greeted Kelly in the mirror over the sink. Very quickly she ran some water and splashed it on her face and grabbed a handful of paper towels to blot her face dry. She was uncertain whether to repair her makeup or just clean it off. The damage was bad enough it needed to be reapplied from the foundation up. She really didn’t have time to do that.

A few girls came into the restroom. Teri Hamilton was the only one she knew. The others were probably seniors. “Hi, Teri!” Kelly addressed her friend.

“Hey there, Kelly!” she replied. “I didn’t see you in Spanish.”

“Didn’t feel like going, so I skipped class.”

“Anything wrong?”

“It’s Brandon,” lamented Kelly. “He doesn’t even know I exist.”

“Kelly, you’ve been crushing on him since middle school,” Teri reminded her. “Let him go. If he can’t see that you like him by now, he never will. And at lunch, I thought it was obvious that Brandon’s with Jenny Chang now.”

“Think so?”

“Mm-hmm,” affirmed Teri as she used a scrunchie to re-secure her ponytail. “He’s been starry-eyed over her since school started.”

Kelly’s heart sank as Teri confirmed what she had already feared. It hurt that Brandon had not responded to her offers of affection, but he hadn’t even read her signals. She had always seen him as cute. Seeing him dressed as a girl yesterday had only underscored how strongly attracted she was to him. But now he was attracted to someone else.

Taking a tiny jar of cold cream from her purse, Kelly decided just to clean off the makeup. Redoing it didn’t make sense, as she might start crying again, so why bother?

“Y’know, Teri, I think I may cut the rest of the day and just go home,” she told her. “I don’t wanna deal with this right now and I certainly don’t wanna run into Brandon MacDonald or Jenny Chang again today.”

“I’m sorry, Kelly,” Teri tried to console her friend. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No. Not right now, anyway. This is something I gotta figure out for myself.”

“Well, I hope you feel better tomorrow. They’ll announce the Homecoming Court during homeroom. I think your chances of winning are really good.”

“Thanks, Teri. Guess I’ll see you in homeroom tomorrow morning, then.”

“G’bye!”

“Bye-bye!”

After Teri stepped out of the Ladies’ Room, Kelly finished cleaning off her face as the bell rang to begin sixth period. She took her cellphone from her purse and called for a taxi. Peeking out the restroom door, she verified that no hall monitor was currently present on the floor and made for the main entrance.

Out the door and down the front steps of the school, Kelly hurried through the school’s plaza to the curb, where she waited with her back to a lamppost. She opened her purse, got the bottle of single-malt out, and drank a swig of it before she saw the taxi coming down the street to meet her. She opened the door and sat down in the backseat.

“Where to?” asked the driver.

“Number Sixteen, Beechwood Terrace, please,” instructed Kelly.

“Are you okay, miss?” the driver asked, noting the smell of alcohol on her breath.

“I’m not feeling too good,” she told him. “The school nurse sent me home.”

The cabby suspected she were lying, but even so, getting her home safely was likely the best thing he could do. The address she named was in a residential neighborhood for this school and her clothing looked typical of a teenager living there, so she was probably telling the truth about her address. So he proceeded to drive his new passenger to her destination.

Xenia heard the bell at the end of fifth period ringing and noted that Señora Menéndez had not responded about Kelly.

Dr. Van de Meer looked at Kelly’s schedule again. Her sixth period class was Earth Science with Robert Danvers. Maybe she could catch her there. Again, Xenia used instant messaging to expedite matters.

The guidance counselor's worries were strengthened. She wondered, what was wrong with Kelly?

“Class dismissed,” announced Mr. Markham as the bell rang. Brandon appreciated that he always did so immediately. Students had but a few minutes to get to their next classes and holding them past the bell cut into into that precious time.

Jenny and Brandon ran out the door and took the small staircase across the hall. It was not crowded too often, so they scampered right down the stairs. At the bottom, they took the choice door that opened outside to get to the new Laboratory Annex. All of the Computer Science courses and the new vocational-technical programs in Electronics and Digital Electronics were taught in that building. Going outside was a shorter path on a nice day, but they worried about making it to class on time once the inclement weather would begin.

“Are you gonna look at it in lab?” Jenny asked as they hurried to the Lab Annex.

“Look at what?” Brandon wondered.

“The video—the one Alice downloaded at lunch,” clarified Jenny. “I thought you might wanna look at it. She did suggest you should look at it with someone.”

“You’ll look at it with me, then?”

“Of course I will.”

They entered through the backdoor of the building. All the Computer Science courses were on the ground floor, so they went into their computer lab and sat down at their shared lab station.

“Now you do know I’m scared of what I might see on this video?” Brandon asked Jenny as he opened his laptop and plugged it into the port on their station server.

“Yes. That’s why Alice suggested you should watch it with someone.”

“Here goes!” announced Brandon as he booted his computer up. Jenny also connected hers to the station server as well.

“There it is,” Jenny pointed the file out on Brandon’s screen. “Are you ready to open it?”

“Not really,” he denied. Yet Brandon clicked on the filename and the screen filled with a still picture of him entering his English class yesterday morning. He clicked a button in the lower left corner of the screen and the image sprang to life.

As he watched, Brandon recalled the tactile sensations of each moment in the dress, the lingerie, the pantyhose, and the shoes. Unconsciously, he copied certain actions, brushing his hair behind his ear as his image did so on screen. But then he felt something that he had not anticipated. A sense of loss overcame him as he understood that the day which he so enjoyed had already receded into the past. He became wistful, hoping that once again, he might clothe himself as a girl.

“Oh, Brandon! I can see why the girls think you belong with them,” admitted Jenny. “You move just so naturally as a girl would. Were you trying to be that feminine?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did your mom or sister coach you in how girls move?”

“No. Not really,” Brandon told her, “although Sheila tried to help me learn to walk in high heels. But I still wasn’t very comfortable in those.”

“Then how did you learn those moves? You move so gracefully, as if you grew up as a girl.”

“I don’t know—unless it was just by observation. Or maybe some of the moves just follow naturally from the situation.”

“Brandon, your girly moves are better than mine.”

He just sat silently for a moment.

“You really enjoyed yesterday, didn’t you?” Jenny asked sotto voce.

Brandon nodded, imperceptively except to Jenny. She looked him in the eye.

“You wanna dress up again, too, don’t you?” she followed up, still speaking as quietly as she could.

“I think I do,” whispered Brandon. “I felt so relaxed yesterday, so—so normal.”

“In a dress?”

“Yeah,” he maintained his whisper. “That’s why I’ve been so upset. I’m a boy. I’m not supposed to wear dresses. And if I have to wear one, I’m not supposed to like it.”

“But you did like it, and I think that’s okay.”

“Really?”

“Really!” Jenny assured him with a smile.

The taxi pulled up to one of the nicer homes in a very nice neighborhood. Without even waiting for him to announce the fare, Kelly tossed the driver a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change,” she said, trying but unable to force a smile.

“Thank you, miss!” offered the driver as he finished making the required entry in his log. He was grateful that her gratuity had exceeded the fare. Of course, living in such a neighborhood, she could afford to tip generously. Of that he had no doubt. Yet the girl seemed sad. She had tried to smile at him but couldn’t quite manage it. As he drove off for his next fare, he was bothered by three facts with this girl: that she had left school in the early afternoon, that she had smelled of alcohol, and her failed smile. He said a little prayer for her.

The girls were in the locker room changing into their tights and leotards for their Aerobic & Modern Dance class.

“I’m kinda worried about Kelly,” Teri reported to her friends. “She skipped Spanish today and I saw her after class in the restroom. Her face looked awful, like she’d been crying and I could smell booze, too.”

“Did she say what was wrong?” Valerie inquired.

“She’s been crushing on Brandon since the sixth grade,” Teri informed them, pulling a leotard up over a pair of tights. “Seeing Jenny Chang with him was very upsetting for her.”

“So she’s not over him?” Debbi asked their friend as she pulled a pair of elastic braces up to her knees. She then took a pair of similar braces for her ankles out of her gym bag.

“No, not at all,” confirmed Teri.

“Is she jealous of Jenny?” Valerie asked.

“She didn’t really seem jealous or even angry,” Teri recounted. “She’s more, like, resigned to it. I kinda feel sorry for her. She’s had feelings for him for such a long time, but it’s like he’s never noticed.”

“I wonder if it’s, like, why Brandon didn’t seem to understand what we were trying to tell him at lunch?” Debbi thought aloud.

“I thought he was more in denial,” opined Valerie. “He doesn’t wanna believe he’s transgendered.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know he’s transgendered,” asserted Debbi.

“But how could you not know if you’re transgendered?” Teri objected. “Wouldn’t you have to have some kind of feeling before you could even be in denial?”

“Y’know, he might not even be transgendered,” observed Holly. “We’re hardly experts on it.”

“Maybe Alice knows more about it,” suggested Valerie. “She usually does—know more about things, I mean.”

“What does Kelly think about it?” Holly inquired of the others. “She seemed especially eager to get him to join up with us as a regular girl.”

“Well, I think it’s fair to say that Kelly might not have the most objective views where Brandon’s concerned,” remarked Debbi. “Now, I can’t help but think she might have been pushing this to get him closer to her. Who knows what her ‘ginger gene’ is capable of?”

“Ginger gene?” Holly wondered.

“Red hair and freckles, wild streak, hot Irish temper…,” Debbi described.

Just then, Brenda San-Giacomo, the girls’ coach and their instructor popped into the locker room. “That’s enough chatter, ladies!” she announced. “Let’s get moving! Right now! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!”

“Right away, Miss San-Giacomo!” Valerie spoke for her friends as she finished securing the laces on her athletic shoes. “We’re coming right away!”

Kelly climbed the stairs to the second floor of her home and trudged sullenly to her bedroom at the other end of the hallway. She opened the door and noted that the housekeeper had straightened her room up and made her bed. Kelly’s favorite stuffed animal, Benny the Bear, sat up against the pillows. Her daddy had won Benny for her a few years ago at an arcade.

She dropped her purse on the vanity and kicked her shoes off going into her bathroom. Seeing the redness of her own eyes in the mirror triggered yet another fit of crying. She went back out to her bedroom and took the bottle of whisky out of her purse and drank from it again. Securing its cap, Kelly kept the bottle with her and crawled onto her bed. Discreetly, she tucked the small bottle of Scotch under a pillow before cuddling up with Benny the Bear in a fetal position and, for the second time that afternoon, sobbing herself asleep.

Xenia heard the chime indicating an incoming instant message. Glancing at the monitor, she noted that it was from Robbie Danvers. She opened up the IM (instant message) window.

Dr. Van de Meer looked up contact information for Kelly. She could call the girl’s parents herself, or refer the matter to the vice-principal. But so far, Kelly had no disciplinary record. Xenia did not like to be the one to send a student down that path. She jotted the Harrigans’ telephone number down.

The Honorable Catherine “Cat” Riley-Harrigan entered her family residence at No. 16 Beechwood Terrace and closed the door behind her. She wasn’t sure why, nor which, but she could feel that one of her children was home early—too early in fact. But then, Catherine had also arrived home a couple of hours earlier than she had expected. A key witness for the plaintiff had suddenly fallen ill in the courtroom, so she had to call a recess until the next morning.

She slowly ascended the stairs, then continued to the end of the hallway. Cat saw that Kelly’s door was open and that her daughter was curled up asleep on her bed, holding on dearly to Benny the Bear. So she went into the room and sat down on the side of Kelly’s bed. Cat looked lovingly at her daughter’s disheveled hair and wrinkled clothes, knowing that the girl had experienced some event and was now enduring one of those hard, but necessary, lessons in life.

“Kelly,” she spoke quietly to her daughter. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Oh, Mom!” Kelly cried embracing her mother. “He doesn’t even know I exist!”

“Are we talking about Brandon again?” Cat asked her, hugging the girl close. Kelly nodded, tears streaming down her face. The mother’s eyes looked kindly into her daughter’s.

“Oh, honey!” Kelly’s mom held her even closer. “You’ve been sweet on that boy for so long.”

“But I really like him, Mom,” the girl cried, the stress in her voice audible. “I’ve liked him since we were little.”

“I know, but you might simply have to face the possibility that he likes someone else,” Cat tried to reason with her. “Why, he’s not even Catholic!”

“I don’t care, Mommy! I want him so bad!”

At the moment, Cat knew her daughter to be inconsolable. The best she could do for Kelly just then would be to continue holding her, hugging her, rocking her, letting her know that she was still wanted, still loved. Lessons and learning would follow, after the tears had passed. But now was the time for passions to play out.

Cat’s concern increased when she thought that she had noticed a trace of alcohol on Kelly’s breath, but she wasn’t certain of it. Given the state her daughter was in, this would not be the best time to raise questions of alcohol use, especially since she was uncertain. But raise it she must. Yet right then, her daughter most needed her reassurance.

Brandon watched the video yet another time in study hall. The teacher in charge of this study hall, Mrs. Bradley, had assigned the students their seats alphabetically according to their last names, so Jenny wasn’t seated close to Brandon. Usually that wasn’t a problem for Brandon, as he would focus entirely on his homework and would complete as much as he could so that he didn’t need to take it home. But today he kept watching the video repeatedly.

Glancing across the room, he noticed that Jenny’s laptop was open. She was working, most likely, on an assignment that Mr. Penske had given them in Computer Science. So Brandon sent her an instant message by the school’s own local area network.

Jenny smiled at the name Brandon had picked for their chatroom. She recalled their first kisses that morning, took a deep breath, and sighed in happiness. She answered him in the chatroom with a new screenname.

Jenny pondered her friend’s situation for a moment, then thought to suggest something.

Brandon thought about it and hoped that it might represent a way to deal with this new problem.

Brandon closed the chatroom down and ran the video again. He really began to wonder why this problem was all that he could think about now?

Then he remembered something else he should do. Exiting the videofile, Brandon opened a search engine. Into the search window, he entered the word androgyny.

Valerie, Debbi, Teri, Holly, and Alice were all waiting outside the main entrance for Brandon. They had noticed Jeff and Mark waiting to walk home with their buddy as they usually did. Today though, the girls thought that they would move to separate Brandon from his friends after school and perhaps get him to go with them.

“I hope he doesn’t take too much longer,” Holly whinged to her friends.

“Personally, I don’t think waiting for Brandon after school is such a good idea,” opined Alice. “We need to back off. If he’s really a girl inside, he’ll seek help on his own. As it is, we’ve been pushing too hard, especially Kelly.”

“By the way, anybody hear from Kelly since Teri talked to her,” inquired Valerie. “She’s not answered any of my text messages since lunch.”

“Me neither,” added Debbi. “She may’ve turned her cell off.”

“I think she may’ve taken the rest of the day off,” Teri suggested.

“Kelly skip class?” Valerie puzzled. “That’s not at all like her.”

“But she was way bummed out about Brandon,” emphasized Teri. “And don’t forget—she’d been drinking, too.”

“I’m worried that she’s gonna lose all perspective over that guy,” said Alice, “if she hasn’t already.”

“Look!” Debbi called their attention. “That’s Mindy Baxter leaving with Brandon’s friends.”

“Then where’s Brandon?” Holly wondered aloud.

“He’s given us the slip,” concluded Alice, secretly relieved and admiring Brandon for doing so. She thought the entire affair ill-considered and felt that her friends needed to relent before it got any further out of hand. “I think we should call it a day and go home.”

“We may as well,” said Debbi with a sigh. “We can try again tomorrow.”

“But tomorrow’s Homecoming,” Valerie reminded them. “We’ll have too much going on.”

“Girling Brandon up can wait until next week,” observed Alice. “He’s been a boy fourteen years already. A few more days won’t make any difference.”

With that, Valerie began walking away from the school and the others followed.

“Anybody know how Kelly’s chances look for Homecoming Princess?” Holly asked.

“I don’t have a clue,” admitted Alice honestly. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

“I hear they’re pretty good,” Teri confirmed as the group continued off campus.

Brandon and Jenny discreetly watched from the roof as the girls went on their way.

“That was a good move,” observed Jenny. “Misdirecting the ‘Swarm’ like that.”

“Why, thank you, my dear!” said Brandon. He turned to Jenny and their lips met for the third time on the rooftop that Thursday. “I’m beginning to like hanging out with you up here, China Babe!”

“So am I, Math Dude!”

“Well, it’s time for me to walk you home.”

“It was nice of Mr. Danvers to let us up here again today.”

They embraced with a longer kiss just before entering the spiral staircase to go back down to the classroom. As they reached the landing, Mr. Danvers was waiting there, smiling. “Congratulations, you two!”

Wide-eyed, Jenny slapped a hand over her mouth and turned away in embarrassment.

“It’s okay,” Brandon assured her. “He already knew this morning.”

“Yes,” the teacher acknowledged. “Making out next to the rooftop weather station is sort of a tradition here.” He smiled again at Brandon and Jenny. “Most human beings live as couples or try to. Learning to connect with one another in that way is no less a part of your education than lectures and homework. Brandon, Jenny, you are both intelligent and thoughtful. I’ve watched you two working together since the school year began and you’ve been great lab partners and would probably make for great study partners as well.”

“How ’bout romantic partners?” Jenny asked Mr. Danvers.

“That’s for you to explore,” the science teacher answered. “But do remember always to be kind, honest, and respectful to each other.”

Brandon returned the key for the weather station to Mr. Danvers, then thanking him the still bonding couple left his classroom and scampered down the stairs to the main entrance. Exiting the building with Jenny, Brandon took his cellphone out from his pocket to call his buddies.

Jeffrey’s cellphone rang and he answered it. “What’s up?”

“Thanks guys!” Brandon offered his gratitude. “Good job drawing the ‘Swarm’ away…”

“Oh, it was nothing. Besides, Mark seems happy to have waited for Melinda.”

Both Mark and Melinda turned and gave Jeff a look as if to say, “Keep out of it!”

“Are they a couple, now?” Brandon asked.

“Don’t know yet,” Jeff hedged his answer to maintain a modicum of order. “How ’bout you?”

“Getting there, I think,” affirmed Brandon with a smile to Jenny. “Most definitely…”

“Catch ya later?”

“Ya got it!”

Brandon offered Jenny his hand and she grasped it. He sighed. “Here goes!”

Jenny smiled at him. “Hoping it’s the first of many.”

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

“Hello, Catherine Riley-Harrigan?” the caller asked for confirmation.

“The same…”

“This is Xenia van de Meer at West Grove High School. I’m the guidance counselor for your daughter Kelly’s freshman class. I don’t know if you remember meeting me or not?”

“Of course, I do! It’s Doctor Van de Meer, isn’t it?”

“Why, yes it is, your Honor!” Xenia returned the professional form of address.

“Oh, just call me ‘Cat’. If this is about Kelly, the applicable title, after all, is ‘Mom’.”

“Then I go by ‘Xee’ informally,” said the counselor. “And I’d like to keep this call as informal as possible because until now, Kelly’s record has been unblemished and I don’t want the vice-principal to initiate a disciplinary record for her.”

“Well, thank you. I can appreciate that.”

“Anyway, she didn’t show up for her fifth and sixth period classes today. I don’t expect she’ll show up for the rest of the afternoon.”

“I kinda guessed that, Xee. When I came in, she was curled up on her bed crying.”

“What’s wrong?”

“An affair of the heart!”

“Aw! That’s so sad,” the counselor agreed. “But it’s still sweet in a way, too. It’s as much a part of her education as the classroom.”

“I know, but it’s still painful. I still remember my first unreciprocated crush,” the judge and mother confessed. “It’s never easy.”

“Mine wasn’t either,” recounted Xee. “But I’ll never forget how Mom and Sis sat on either side of me that night. We had pizza, ice cream, and watched old movies. They helped make it seem not quite so bad.”

“Thanks,” acknowledged Xenia. “I’ll remember to keep those tactics in mind if it gets too painful for Kelly.”

Then Xenia reprised the reason why she had called. “Anyway, I’m glad you answered when I called. Please, let me explain West Grove High School’s policy on truancy. When a student without a prior disciplinary record is truant, a teacher or administrator may contact the parent or guardian directly or may refer the student to the vice-principal. If the student is referred to the vice-principal, then a new disciplinary record is created for him or her. That makes the student liable for detention and other penalties for any future truancy. Since I’ve reported it directly to you, Kelly is off the hook for now.”

“So, you’re saying that you’re letting her off with a verbal warning?”

“That’s the gist of it,” the counselor summarized. “As a judge, I’m sure you understand that leniency may be granted for a first offense and I’m willing to consider a teenaged girl’s first heartbreak as a mitigating factor.”

Cat smiled at what the counselor had said, although she wasn’t sure whether as a judge or as a mother. She’d allow Kelly a mulligan for skipping class under such new and trying circumstances. Yet her daughter’s suspected use of alcohol continued to worry her, but she had decided already not to confront Kelly without more evidence than merely thinking that she might have smelled alcohol on her breath.

“Thanks for your understanding, Xee,” said Cat. “While I have you on the ’phone, can you tell me how Kelly’s grades are looking right now?”

Xenia pulled up a current summary of mid-term grades for Kelly. “All her grades are in the ‘A’ to ‘B’ range, mostly ‘A minus’ to ‘B plus’. Many students would kill for grades like hers,” Dr. Van de Meer remarked.

“I know that,” Cat confirmed. “But I also know she’s capable of ‘A pluses’ across the board.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” agreed the counselor. She pulled up a spreadsheet and quickly ranked students in the freshman class. “Only five other students in the freshman class here have scored intelligence quotients equal to or greater than your daughter’s. She has quite a mind and a very creative imagination”

“Any ideas about what I can do to help her bring her grades up?” Cat wondered.

“Kelly has no lack of drive,” Dr. Van de Meer observed. “I think that any student with as much energy as she exhibits can easily be frustrated in a classroom—any classroom, taught by even the best of teachers.”

“But what can I do for her?” queried Cat again.

Xenia thought for a moment. “First, talk to her about what she does and doesn’t like in school very generally. I’ll do the same but focus on specific courses. Then we can trade information. But I have a hunch that she may need some other activity not associated with school.”

“Well, it’s a plan, anyway,” Cat conceded. “Let’s talk again next week, then.”

“Alright, then,” agreed Xenia. “We’ll talk next week. Goodbye…”

“Goodbye…”

The five girls continued walking along their accustomed after school path. They’d already established a protocol of walking two blocks to On Firm Grounds, a coffee shop that catered to students from both the high school and a nearby community college, as well as the neighborhood residents. As they walked, they continued discussing the topics of the day, including Brandon and Kelly.

“Who wants to get in touch with Kelly and see how she is?” Valerie asked.

“Well, it might be easiest for me,” suggested Teri. “I think I was the last to talk to her at school. I could just follow up with her where we left off.”

“Anyone else have another idea about contacting her?” Valerie asked, soliciting additional opinion.

“I think Teri’s the right choice for the very reason she gave,” Alice concurred. “If Kelly’s still sensitive to the same issues that she ran home from, not having to explain it again to someone else won’t stress her out so much.”

“I think Teri and Alice both make good points,” added Holly. “I can’t think any of us a better choice.”

“I agree,” Debbi confirmed.

“Alright, then,” concluded Valerie. “Teri, you contact Kelly and give us an update—tonight if possible.”

“Okay, then,” agreed Teri. “I’ll try to call or text her tonight. And I’ll update everyone with whatever I hear.”

The girls continued along their way to the coffee shop.

“Next order of business,” announced Valerie, “is helping Brandon MacDonald get more comfortable with his feminine side. Any thoughts?”

“I’ve said it before, so I’ll repeat it,” Alice warned them. “It’s a bad idea. I’m not convinced he has so strong a feminine side as everyone else seems to think, and even then, that doesn’t mean he’d wanna dress like a girl every day.”

“But you saw the video, Alice,” Teri contended with a broad, sweeping gesture. “How can you deny it?”

“I’m not denying it, Teri,” Alice maintained. “But I don’t interpret the video in the same way that you do.”

“Then how do you interpret it, then?” Holly asked.

“To me, Brandon looked like an actor—a method actor to be specific—getting into a new role,” Alice described. “Until yesterday, had any of you ever seen him act girlish? Did any of you see him making any girlish moves today? No, you didn’t, because once he had completed playing the role, he broke character.”

“What’s a method actor?” Valerie asked.

“A method actor immerses himself in a role all day, every day, living as the character twenty-four and seven,” explained Alice. Even off-stage or off-camera, the method actor tries to maintain the behavior of that role as long as the production runs.”

The other girls remained speechless for a moment until Holly asked Alice to clarify. “So, you’re saying that this was just a role and Brandon’s finished playing it?”

“That’s pretty much it,” confirmed Alice. “He only needed to play ‘Brandi’ yesterday and he’s done with the role now.”

“Is there any way we could get him to play the role again?” Debbi asked.

“From what you and Val told me Brandon said to you, and what he told me himself, he doesn’t want to,” concluded Alice. “And we need to respect his decision.”

“Aw!” Teri whined. “But he makes such a pretty girl.”

“Still, he has to choose his own identity,” maintained Alice. “None of us has any right to interfere with who he is.”

“This seems important to you,” Valerie observed.

“Yes, it is,” affirmed Alice. “I think Kelly’s been pushing us too hard to bring him on board as a girl for her own reasons. But I think we need to treat him as we expect ourselves to be treated.”

“I think Alice is right,” opined Holly. “We should just back off. It’s one thing to appreciate his ability to look and act like a girl. It’s quite another to try making him see himself as a girl.”

The other girls were surprised to hear Holly express such an opinion. She was usually too timid speak out, so her affirming Alice’s position held special significance for her friends. Her ready agreement meant that not only did Holly consider the issue not to be difficult, but that she also found the ethics clear.

“Well, if Holly agrees with Alice on this, then I’m convinced,” conceded Valerie. “Debbi, Teri, how ’bout you?” Teri and Debbi nodded their agreement to the others. “We have a consensus, then,” announced Valerie, smiling with relief.

“Let’s get our coffee, then,” Teri beamed. I’ve been wanting a mocha all day.”

Jenny closed the door behind her and stood against it smiling.

“You look very happy,” her mother observed. “What has happened?”

“Mom, I had my first kiss today,” Jenny sighed. “And Brandon walked me home.”

“Come into the kitchen,” said her mother. “You must tell me all about it.”

Jenny complied with her mother’s request and sat down at the kitchen table. Smiling, her mom poured them each a cup of tea and set a small plate of shortbread cookies down between them.

“So, Jenny, tell me about your first kiss.”

“Well, Brandon is my lab partner in Earth Science,” she began explaining as she nibbled on a cookie. “Today was our turn to go up to the rooftop weather station and collect data.”

“Brandon is the boy who is good at mathematics?” Mrs. Chang asked her daughter.

“Yes,” the girl answered with a dreamy look in her eyes. “That’s him.”

“Continue, please.”

“Anyway, after we had collected our data, Brandon locked the weather cabinet and when he turned around, I pulled his lips to mine.”

“So you kissed him first?”

“Yes, I did,” confessed Jenny with a blushing smile. “And a moment later, he took my hand, pulled me to him, and kissed me back. We let that kiss linger a moment longer than our first, then a gust of wind blew and we hugged tighter.”

Smiling, Jenny’s mom sipped her tea. “You would like to begin going out with this boy?”

“Yes, Mommy, I really would,” Jenny replied. “I believe he’s the kind of boy you and Daddy wish for me.”

“Then you know the rules,” her mother advised. “You must invite him to dinner and we will meet him.”

“I will invite him next week, then,” resolved Jenny. “I believe you and Daddy will approve. He is the kind of boy who will mostly want to study together on our dates. So we would have them at a library, his home, or here, where we’d have adults nearby.”

“I’m so proud of you, my daughter,” Jenny’s mom praised her. “You are seeking a nice boy. What can you tell me about his family?”

“Well, his dad’s a physician and his mom’s a nurse,” she told her mother. “He has one sister, Sheila, who’s a year older, but I haven’t met her yet.”

“A doctor and a nurse for parents sound like a good family.”

“Brandon also introduced me to his best friends, Jeff and Mark, at lunch today. They live in the houses next to him and they’ve all grown up together.”

The mother could appreciate how forthcoming her daughter had been, but understood a reason that even Jenny didn’t know. The girl indeed was lovestruck and couldn’t stop thinking about Brandon. So she couldn’t stop talking about him, either. Mrs. Chang couldn’t help but think back to her first boyfriend, so many years ago.

Kelly’s cellphone rang yet again with her favorite tune by Justin Bieber. She saw Teri Hamilton’s name and picture appear on the screen. Her friends had been trying to call her and had sent her text messages all afternoon. She really didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Hello, Teri!” Kelly answered with an impatient, irritated tone in her voice. “Whaddya want?”

“We’re all worried about you, Kelly,” Teri answered. “We just wanna know how you’re doing?”

“I’m still upset about Brandon, but I don’t wanna talk about it,” Kelly stoicly dismissed her friend’s inquiry. “Look, I’ll be at school tomorrow, so we can talk then.”

Teri pondered a moment. “Alright, I can wait until then,” she replied. “You have a good night, okay?”

“Okay, Teri,” Kelly agreed, still anxious and annoyed. “You have a good night, too.” She ended the call. Then, just to be sure she wasn’t bothered again, she turned her cellphone off. She also noticed that the battery charge was getting too low, so she plugged it into her recharger. After that, she curled up on her bed again, holding Benny the Bear close to her.

The door to Sheila’s bedroom was open, but Brandon still knocked on it to gain her attention.

“Sis, can I come in?” he asked. “I need your help.”

“What for?”

Brandon pointed down to his bare feet. He hardly ever went barefoot, not even at home. Then Sheila noticed his toenails, still painted pink from two nights ago. She just giggled.

“Yeah,” Brandon remarked. “I kinda don’t want pink toenails in the showers after gym tomorrow.”

“That’s right! Come on in and I’ll take care of it for you.” She pointed for him to sit on the seat of her vanity. Taking a bottle of nail polish remover, Sheila sat cross-legged on the floor while her brother took the seat she had indicated.

“I can’t believe how cool you are about it all,” Sheila told her brother. “You’re such a good sport to go along with all this.”

“It was a lot of fun,” he admitted. “You and Mom seemed to have had fun with it as well.”

“Yes, we did,” she affirmed.

“They took a video of me in English class yesterday. I did look like a girl in it. It was kinda scary to be honest.”

Sheila began removing the nail polish from her brother’s toes. “How did it scare you?”

“Not only did I look like a girl, I seemed to act, to move like one,” he explained. “And I don’t even know how I learned to do it.”

“Sounds interesting. Maybe, you really are more of a girl at heart than you know.”

“I think that Doctor Van de Meer was trying to tell me that. She had me look the word androgyny up, and it seems to describe my situation pretty well.”

“Y’know, I was really proud of you yesterday,” Sheila said with a smile, inclining her head to one side. “Knowing you have some girlishness in you—well, I kinda like that.”

“Jenny and me, we kissed today.”

“Then, like—spill! What happened?”

“Well, we’re lab partners in Earth Science, second period, and it was our turn to take readings from the rooftop weather station. We had finished recording the data and I had just locked the cabinet and turned around when Jenny planted her lips right on mine. Then just before going downstairs, I pulled her to me and gave her an even longer kiss. Then a strong gust of wind blew, so we held each other closer.”

“How romantic!” Sheila commented. “What happened next?”

“When we got back to the classroom, Mr. Danvers winked and patted me on the back. He let us go back up there to read additional data after last period. So Jenny and me made out a little more while we watched the ‘Swarm’ waiting to ambush me and the guys.”

“The ‘Swarm’?”

“That’s Jenny’s name for the popular girls in our class.”

“But why the ‘Swarm’?”

“The Queen Bee and her Wannabes.”

“Oh!” Sheila giggled at the logic. “But who are they?”

“Of course, Kelly’s one of ’em, as are Debbi and Valerie, who loaned me the dress, shoes, and purse; Alice Johansson and Teri Hamilton, both in homeroom with Kelly and me; then Holly Thompson.”

“So why were they waiting for you?”

“Well, I found it hard to believe, but at lunch, they said they wanted to make me into one of them—a girl!”

“Is it because of how you dressed up yesterday?”

“Yeah, I think so,” affirmed her brother nodding.“When I gave Debbi and Val their things back this morning, they seemed upset that I didn’t wanna do it again.”

“But if you enjoyed it, I would’ve thought you’d wanna dress up again.”

“Well, I do, but not with them and not at school,” he confided. “Just at home around you and Mom, or when Jenny comes over—around those I can trust.”

Sheila just smiled back at her brother. “So maybe I can have a little sister now and then after all?”

“I could see that working out,” Brandon said, also smiling, “But I still need some time to think about it. These feelings are all so new to me.”

“I can understand that,” Sheila sympathized with him. “To grow up as a boy and suddenly to find out you look good—maybe even better—as a girl would be enough to mess with anyone’s mind!”

“Well, then consider my mind as thoroughly messed with,” affirmed Brandon.

His sister smiled again. “If you need help figuring it out—especially all things girly—that’s what a big sister is for.”

“Y’know, Sis, I think I appreciate you a whole lot more now than I did as a result of this gender-bending and everything.”

“And I can say the same about you,” she affirmed, continuing to clean her brother’s toenail polish off.

Would you look at the video the girls took of me?”

“Sure,” agreed Sheila. “Where is it?

“I think I may have it on me…,” replied Brandon, poking his fingers into the tight watch pocket of his blue jeans to retrieve a key drive. Sheila sprang from the floor, taking the drive from her brother and went to her desk, where she plugged it into an appropriate port of her personal computer.

“Are you okay if I just copy it?” she asked him.

“Sure,” he answered. “Just don’t show it to anyone else without my approval.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that!”

“I just wanted to hear you say so.”

Sheila downloaded and began to view the video. As it progressed, her excitement quietly increased until she felt that she could no longer withhold comment.

“Brandon, you move, you act so delicate, so—so feminine!” exclaimed Sheila. “You do it so natural, like you’ve always been a girl. When—how did you learn that?”

Brandon had sit down on the side of his sister’s bed, watching behind her. “I don’t really know,” he admitted. “I might have picked it up unconsciously by observing you and Mom, girls at school, or wherever else. I wasn’t even aware I was doing it until Alice gave me the video and Jenny watched it with me.”

“You’re demonstrating more or less ideal behavior for a girl.” Sheila turned from her computer screen and looked her brother in the eye. She smiled at her brother, then held his hands in her own. “Listen—I think Mom should see this. And you had an idea, but I’d want us to talk with Mom about it first.”

“What idea?”

“Dressing up here at home,” she reminded him. “I think you need to let your feminine side out to play now and then. That’s prob’ly why Doctor Van de Meer told you to look androgyny up. I think it’s a growing part of your character and your counselor must see it, too.”

“Have you seen me acting feminine at other times?” Brandon asked. “I’d like to know. I wouldn’t wanna behave like a girl and not know it.”

Sheila wasn’t sure. Certainly she hadn’t expected such a question. What had she noticed about her brother? “Y’know, I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure,” she admitted. “Nothing specific about you screams ‘girl,’ yet overall, I can see you as one.”

“How can I tell if someone sees me as feminine?”

“I guess they’d have to tell you,” replied Sheila.

“Kinda like the Swarm did?”

“Yes. Kinda like that.”

“I’m just so afraid of what happens next,” Brandon confessed.

“First of all, no one can make you into a girl—or anyone else you’re not—unless you let them,” advised his sister. “Stand for who you are and don’t change unless it’s what you want.

“That’s something Doctor Van de Meer was telling me.”

“Well, she’s right, so don’t you forget it!” Sheila encouraged her brother. “Now, if you let your inner girl out to play, would that really be so bad? Half the world’s people are girls. Maybe you could learn a little something from us. Try thinking about it awhile.”

“Thanks, Sis,” offered Brandon smiling. “I think I will.” With that he returned to his room and Sheila shut the door to her own. All the while Sheila wondered if Brandon were perhaps a sister as well as a brother, or maybe a sister instead of a brother. But more important than that, she was very happy that her brother seemed to be bonding with his first girlfriend.

Kelly carefully hung her cheer uniform on the front of her closet door. The cheerleaders always wore their uniforms to school on game days. For Homecoming, this would include both the varsity and junior varsity cheerleaders. Since Kelly, being a freshman, was junior varsity, her uniform was crimson with royal blue pleats and silver trim. She wore a white bodyliner under the shell top. (The varsity uniform color scheme simply reversed the crimson and royal blue.)

As she slipped her nightgown on, Kelly wondered if she would be wearing her cheer uniform to the game or perhaps a formal gown, instead. The talk she had heard suggested that she was favored for Freshman Homecoming Princess, but she did not want to get her hopes too high for it. She sat down at her vanity and began brushing her hair.

As she tried to banish thoughts of Brandon from her consciousness, new thoughts entered her mind, thoughts of Holly Thompson. At the thought of her, Kelly felt that same tingling in her breasts and tummy, and between her legs that she also was used to feeling for Brandon. In the mirror on her vanity, she could see her nipples distending beneath the diaphanous fabric of her nightgown. That she was beginning to think about Holly when she wasn’t thinking about Brandon was now bothering her.

“Thinking about him again?” Cat asked her daughter, approaching from behind.

“How could you tell?” Kelly asked her mother, deciding to let her think that she still pined for Brandon at that moment. Kelly was feeling even more embarrassed by her newly discovered lesbian attraction to Holly—not something she wanted Mom to know about.

“I saw the reflection of your nipples sticking out under your nightgown, honey,” Mom said. She took the hairbrush from her daughter’s hand. “Let me do that for you. Remember how I would brush your hair and do your sleep braid every night?”

“Yes, Mom. I liked you doing that. I wish we could start doing it again.”

Cat smiled as she pondered Kelly’s suggestion. “Well, I’ve been brushing Caitlin’s hair and doing her braid before bedtime. Maybe we could all get together before bed and help each other with our hair.”

“Kinda like before Maureen went off to college?”

“Mm-hmm,” Mom answered. “Maybe we should start again tomorrow night?”

“Maybe,” conceded Kelly. “I’m not sure what will happen for the Homecoming game tomorrow.”

“How are your chances for getting Homecoming Princess?”

“Don’t wanna say,” objected Kelly. “Might jinx it!”

“You’re so Irish, my little Kelly!” Cat embraced her daughter from behind. “But if you win, have you thought about who your escort would be?”

“Oh, Mom, I’d choose Brandon. Even if he’s dating Jenny, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t refuse to escort his class’ Homecoming Princess.”

“Have you talked to him about it yet?” Mom asked.

“No, but he has a strong sense of loyalty to the school. He’d do so out of duty if for no other reason,” Kelly reasoned. “The Homecoming Committee will announce the winners tomorrow morning during homeroom. If I win, I can ask Brandon just as soon as I get the news. But again, I don’t wanna talk about it anymore so I won’t jinx it.”

Cat continued to brush Kelly’s long, wavy, auburn mane. “Anyone else whom you might consider?”

“Well, not now,” her daughter denied. “I could’ve asked Billy Danziger. I did like him some, but he refused to wear anything girly at all for Gender-Bender Day. Most guys borrowed something to wear from their girlfriends or sisters, even if they just wore pantyhose under their jeans or a pair of lacey ankle socks. But Billy decided he was too ‘cool’ to wear any item of a girl’s whatever. He’s got absolutely no school spirit. He’s not nearly so ‘cool’ as he thinks he is.”

“He seems to have upset you,” her mother observed.

“Mom, I’m a cheerleader,” Kelly reminded her. “School spirit is very important to me. That’s one of the reasons I like Brandon. He went all out for school spirit yesterday.”

“How did he manage that?”

“He dressed completely as a girl,” Kelly testified to her mother. “He borrowed a dress that fit him from Debbi and a pair of pumps with a matching purse from Val. He even wore girls’ undergarments and pantyhose with it. I was kinda proud of him. We all were.”

“You mean your girlfriends and you?”

“Mm-hmm. For Brandon to do that, he must take school spirit seriously.”

“Or maybe he was just having fun with it,” suggested Cat.

“Whatever the reason, he was a really cute-looking girl!” replied her daughter. Cat noted Kelly’s naughty grin in the mirror as she began plaiting her daughter’s sleep braid.

“That’s certainly a strange trait to seek in a boyfriend,” Cat mused aloud.

“But it makes him special, Mom,” Kelly explained. “I think it’s nice that a boy would be willing to experience some of what it’s like to be a girl.”

“I do see the logic of that,” her mother conceded. “And I think that a boy willing to do that won’t grow up to be a male chauvinist jerk.”

“But then why can’t I get Brandon’s attention?” Kelly asked, almost pouting.

“Kelly, you’re a free spirit—a very free spirit,” Cat told her, speaking with an honest pride. “And I love that about you. Brandon, though, comes across to me as almost of an opposite temperament. His spirit is very brooding, and I don’t think you quite appreciate how easily your antics have frightened him away.”

“Am I that bad?”

“To Brandon, yes. He’s very likely afraid that you might embarrass him somehow. Most folks aren’t so eager to step out of their own comfort zones as you are. Brandon is like that. He’s not able to be the free spirit that you are. I think he wishes he could. I believe he admires that in you and is perhaps a little jealous of that about you. But it’s just not in his own nature. Honestly, I can’t quite imagine him wearing a dress to school.”

“Are you saying that Brandon and I are incompatible?”

“In a word, yes,” replied Kelly’s mom, tying her daughter’s braid off with a red ribbon. “I don’t think that you and he would get along very well as a couple long-term. Eventually, you’d feel bored with him, while he’d always feel like he were holding you back. I think he knows that instinctively, so he’s declined any chance to start a relationship with you.”

Kelly’s eyes began welling up again, as they had all day. “So I don’t have any chance at all with Brandon?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I just don’t know how,” concluded Cat, hugging her daughter closely. “You need a boyfriend who can be happy with the girl who you are and you can be happy with the boy who he is.”

Bravely, Kelly tried to smile at her mom through her tears, but she couldn’t quite manage it. Her heart had been devoted to Brandon from a very tender age and she still felt strongly for him. But she also knew her mother’s advice to be true.

“I guess I need to get to bed,” the girl told her mom. “I still have school tomorrow and I have to cheer for both the pep assembly and the Homecoming game. And I don’t know how the vote for Homecoming Princess turned out, so tomorrow will be busy for me.”

“Then let me tuck you in bed,” Cat said. “I don’t get to do that too much anymore—not even with Caitlin.” Kelly just smiled weakly and nodded to her mother, holding Benny the Bear close to her. So Cat tucked her daughter in and kissed her on the forehead before turning the light out.

Brandon’s mom had laid out his clothes for Friday. The khaki trousers would be fine, but he went to his closet for his royal blue polo shirt with the school logo in crimson and white trim.

“Mom, I’m wearing my official school polo shirt tomorrow,” he yelled out into the hallway. “They’ve asked everyone to wear their school colors for Homecoming Day.”

“That’s okay,” his mom said. “You can wear the other shirt next week, then—oh! I put clean pajamas in your top drawer. And I also washed the babydoll that you wore to bed the past couple of nights in there, too, just in case you might want to wear it again.”

“Do you want me to wear it again?” Brandon asked, his voice somewhat subdued.

“It’s your choice, Brandon,” his mom assured him, appearing in the doorway of his bedroom. “It’s okay with me if you want to dress as a girl. It’s also okay if you don’t. I do want you to feel free to find out and to express who you are. And I think your dad feels the same way.”

Brandon sighed as he felt relief at what his mom had said. “Thanks, Mom,” he said. “That helps, because even though I’ve grown up as a boy, I’m not so sure which way to go.”

“The good news is that I’m still your mother and will love you either way,” she said. “And whether you wear your pajamas or the babydoll tonight, you can still wear the other tomorrow. So don’t worry about any decisions that you’re not yet ready to make. We can talk more about it over the weekend.” She kissed him on the forehead. “Good night, son! I love you.”

“Good night, Mom! I love you, too.”

Brandon closed the door to his room, went to his dresser, and opened the top drawer. Pajamas or babydoll? But his mom was right, whichever he might choose tonight, he might choose the other tomorrow.

So for tonight, he took his boy’s pajamas from the drawer.

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

“Nate, I’m a little worried about our son right now,” Elizabeth “Libby” MacDonald, M.S.N., admitted to her husband while brushing out her hair at her vanity. “That exercise for ‘Gender-Bender Day’ may not be resolved so completely for Brandon as it should be.”

“He seemed happy enough about it yesterday,” recalled Nathan, chuckling slightly. “He didn’t take that dress off until bedtime.”

“And he was just darling wearing it, too,” agreed Libby. “But this morning he seemed very upset that he’d ever done it.”

Nathan thought for a moment back to his own days in high school. “Do you remember the Powder Puff Football Tournaments we had?” he asked.

“You were such a cute cheerleader, dear,” recalled Libby. “You were pretty as Queen of the Ball in your senior year, too.”

“The first time or two I had to dress like a girl I was so embarrassed, even though I’d had fun doing it,” recounted Nathan. “But then, I began enjoying it, but also felt guilty about it. A boy isn’t supposed to dress up like a girl, and if for some reason he has to, he’s not supposed to like it. For a boy to like dressing up as a girl violates the ‘Boy Code.’ ”

“How did you get over it?”

“You saw to that, honey!”

“I did?”

“Yes, you did. You stuck by me. You’ve always made sure I could remember who I am—both my masculine and feminine selves,” Nathan reminded his wife. “By the way, you were just as cute wearing a tuxedo with high-heeled pumps.”

Libby smiled to herself in the vanity’s mirror as she began plaiting her sleep braid. “Teaching you to dress as a girl was so much fun, and not just for me. Remember how much Mom got into it?”

Nathan chuckled again recalling how Libby’s mother had gone all-out to feminize him. After all, her mom was a feminist who believed that boys needed to learn the ways of womenfolk if peace were ever to prevail in the world. His willingness to assume a feminine role now and then had won his mother-in-law over.

“After that first Powder Puff Dance our freshman year, I knew we would always be together,” Nathan reminded her. “After letting you transform me into a girl, and letting myself become so vulnerable that you could strip my masculinity away, but trusting you to offer it back, that was so powerful. I never forgot what I learned about us both that week.”

“Nor did I, honey.” Libby tied her braid off with a ribbon. “I do think it’s time for you to share that experience father to son. He needs to know his dad wasn’t afraid to let his inner girl out to play.”

“I guess that means we’ll have to show Brandon The Yearbook ?”

“I think he’ll be able to deal with it all more easily once he knows you were a Powder Puff Cheerleader yourself,” Libby concluded sliding under the sheets next to Nathan, who extinguished the lamp on his nightstand. His wife reciprocated turning the light out on her own nightstand. They snuggled together in the moonlight.

“Know what, Libby?”

“What?”

“I should’ve worn more dresses and skirts when I was a boy.”

“But that always got you in trouble with your parents.”

“I know,” confirmed Nathan. “Then again, that was the fun of it.”

Their lips met and they settled quickly into sleep.

Brandon peered through his bedroom window, watching the clouds drifting by, illuminated in the bright moonlight. He could still feel the soft, wet sensations of Jenny’s kisses that day. Letting the image of her smiling face fill his mind, he hoped he might dream of her that night.

Yes, to dream of Jenny and a budding romance with such a petite, delicate girl, unafraid of asserting her interest in him…

Mr. Markham turned the television on for the morning announcements by live streaming video. Friday’s were eagerly anticipated by most of the girls at school, especially those on the ballot for the Homecoming Court in each class.

The announcer was a student from the senior class:

“Good morning! I’m Tina Flaubert, Chairperson of the Homecoming Committee. I’m here to announce those elected to this year’s Homecoming Court.

“A Princess has been chosen from each class. I’ll announce the winners beginning with the Freshman Homecoming Princess, next the Sophomore, the Junior, and the Senior Homecoming Princesses in that order, then the Homecoming Queen.

“The winner of the senior ballots is declared Homecoming Queen, with the runner-up becoming Senior Princess.”

Brandon tried to shut the video announcements out of his focus to study a few minutes more for his German class. Not only was the television too loud, in his opinion, but if Kelly or Rhonda won, then every girl in his homeroom would begin screaming in celebration. The announcer continued:

“If your name is announced, please report immediately to the Guidance Office. From there, you will be taken to the West Grove Mall, where you will be attired and treated to a makeover for the Homecoming Ceremonies by Kaufmann and Kaufmann’s Wedding and Formalwear Boutique for Men and Women and Maxine’s New House of Glamour. The Homecoming Ceremonies will be celebrated at midfield during halftime of tonight’s football game.

“And please be ready to name a boy, also from your own class, whom you would like to be your escort at the Homecoming Ceremonies.

“The Freshman Homecoming Princess is somewhat surprising, elected on a strong write-in vote…”

Brandon cringed from the squeals and screams around him. Kelly or Rhonda must have been chosen Freshman Homecoming Princess, he figured. But then quite unexpectedly, he felt himself being dragged out from his desk and engulfed in a group hug. He wasn’t even sure how many, but at least five or six girls, including Kelly, Teri, and Alice among them, had surrounded him. They ushered him towards the door, locking arms with him, kissing him on the cheeks and even the lips.

“…Brandi MacDonald. Again, the Freshman Homecoming Princess is Brandi MacDonald.”

“What’s happening?” Brandon asked in surprise.

Brandon had never ridden in a limousine before and the girls had him firmly positioned in among them for the ride to the mall. No, they weren’t letting him go. Still, he’d look for any chance to escape.

Brandon awoke suddenly as a wave of anxiety surged over him. He felt his heart pounding, his breathing shallow. Sitting up in his bed, he trembled all over, feeling dizzy and light-headed—and afraid.

The glowing red LEDs of the clock on Brandon’s nightstand displayed 1:44. Outside his window, the still bright moon illuminated a now lessening cloud cover. The weaker penumbra of a shadow fell across his duvet. As the dizziness cleared, his eyes scanned the darkness for a vague something that he yet feared.

Brandon knew that he’d awakened from a nightmare, but found that he couldn’t remember it, except that it involved those girls at school. Then he felt disappointed, recalling that Jenny hadn’t appeared in it. He’d so hoped to dream of her tonight and of her kisses. He found himself first praying for some reason that all was well with her, then he smiled thinking of Jenny and let himself lie down on his pillow to return to sleep.

The chauffeur pulled the limousine right up to the main entrance of the West Grove Mall. He came around to the back and opened the doors for the passengers. Brandon tried to linger behind in order to elicit the driver’s aid in an attempt to escape, but the girls of the Swarm kept him moving along with them.

Brandon had no ready answer to his friend’s question. He had never thought about it before.

Two of the mall’s burlier security guards escorted Brandon up the escalator again, one ahead, the other behind. Two more awaited him at the top of the escalator, where each took him by an arm. Along with Kelly, Alice, and Dr. Da Silva, the guards escorted him into a wing of the mall. He found himself standing before a rather spacious-looking shop bearing a sign proclaiming it to be:

Kaufmann & Kaufmann’s
Wedding & Formalwear
Boutique for Men & Women

“Sirs,” Dr. Da Silva addressed the security officers, “could you escort him all the way into the boutique? He’s been very reluctant to cooperate today.”

“Because they wanna dress me up like a girl to be a Homecoming Princess,” he replied. Brandon noticed the name C. ANDREWS on the guard’s nameplate.

“Alright!” Brandon resolved. “Let’s do this! And someone please help me get out of these wet clothes.”

As he felt the cold sweat on his forehead and then shuddered from a chill, Brandon discovered that his pajamas were soaking wet. Then he sneezed and sneezed again. The clock glowed 2:51.

Reaching over to his nightstand, he turned the lamp on, rolled slowly out of bed, then went to his dresser and opened the top drawer. The baby doll set that Mom had gotten him was still there, but somehow he didn’t want those just now. He looked under the baby doll and found another clean set of pajamas, which he took and closed the drawer.

Brandon turned the lamp at his nightstand off and let his kinesthetic memory guide him to the bathroom. Going in he shut the door and turned the overhead light on. In the mirror, he could see through his wet, sweat-soaked pajamas. So he quickly shed them and used a large towel to dry off. He had decided not to take a shower, as it might wake someone else. Next dressing himself in his clean pajamas, he dropped the wet ones and the dirty towel in the hamper. Turning the light out, he started downstairs.

Not fully awake, Brandon had no idea where he was going or why. But he was thirsty and his body was giving him instructions to rehydrate and replenish lost electrolytes. He somnambulated into the kitchen, went directly to the refrigerator, opened its door, and took out a small bottle of his favorite thirst-quenching sports beverage.

Brandon had developed an affinity for such sports drinks while he took gymnastics lessons, which he had continued through the seventh grade. He opened the bottle and drank it down. A moment or so later, he had climbed the stairs and was in his bed again.

Kelly and Alice asked Charlie to help them escort Brandon to the Ladies’ Room, just off the atrium of the second floor. While Valerie and Teri dashed to Maxine’s to get towels, a terrycloth robe, and slippers for Brandon, Holly and Debbi strolled into a nearby lingerie shop to get him a set of a matching bra and panty. Alice held the door to the Ladies’ Room open, then Kelly stepped inside first, turned around, and beckoned Brandon to enter. He looked up at Charlie.

Just then, Holly and Debbi returned with a bag from the lingerie shop. Debbi handed Brandon a matching set of a bra and panty in white satin. He retreated into the stall to put them on.

“We gotta pick a dress out for you,” announced Kelly stepping into the boutique.

Kelly grinned at him, then sang:

She pirouetted quickly, causing the pleats of her skirt to fly up and out, then skipped away, looking over her shoulder with a naughty grin.

“Somehow, I was afraid you might say that,” replied Brandon.

The girls escorted Brandon from Kaufmann & Kaufmann’s Boutique to Maxine’s New House of Glamour. Kelly carried his new formal gown in a garment bag, while Alice brought along the new corset with garter tabs and stockings. Brandon himself carried a new pair of shoes: ankle-strapped, closed-toe sandals in navy blue with four-inch (10 cm) heels.

“Anytime, kid,” he assured him, smiling broadly. “Anytime!”

Brandon awoke again, but this time feeling relieved. He had dreamed, of all people, about his nemesis, Wally Paulson, and that a security guard had thrown the bully into the West Grove Mall’s central fountain. Brandon couldn’t help but smile at the image from his dream. Glancing at his clock, the time read 3:38.

He looked out the window and noticed that barely a wisp of cloud remained in the night sky and the waning quarter of the moon lit the scene up. The boy thought of Jenny once again, and retreated back into sleep.

Brandon stood spellbound as a beautiful young woman stared back at him from the full-length mirror in a dressing room at Maxine’s. He found the idea that the reflection were his own very unsettling, but the evidence was right there, plainly before him. The soft, silky garments felt luxurious against his skin. Even the corset, as uncomfortable as it was, let him feel as elegant as he looked. The beautiful, deep sky-blue gown seemed to hug girlish curves that he was unaware his boy’s figure could even possess. The sensation of the silk stockings clinging to his smooth, hairless legs was exquisite. He could feel the added height of the four-inch heels on his feet.

“Well, it does,” maintained Kelly. “You see, I’m in love with you, Brandon, and I have been for a long time. But I think that I’m a lesbian, so you hafta become ‘Brandi’ for us to be together.”

Waking from his dream, Brandon felt anxious and frightened. Once again he wiped the cold, clammy perspiration from his forehead with his pajama sleeve. The time from the clock on the nightstand shone brightly as 4:06.

The image of himself as a princess looking back from a mirror was already seared into his mind. Would he look like that as a girl? Could he possibly be so pretty? The thought both excited and frightened him.

And what about Kelly? Had she been in love with him? If so, then for how long? He never knew that she felt that way. After all, how could he? She’d never said anything to him about it. And Brandon had never even imagined that Kelly might be lesbian. She was a nice Catholic girl, after all. Besides, if she were a lesbian it would make no sense for her to be in love with him. That just had to be the craziness of the nightmare.

Once again, he tried to snuggle into his now damp pillow, but anxiety made getting back to sleep difficult. Nonetheless, one technique had been successful tonight. Brandon thought of Jenny’s soft, wet lips pressing against his.

The stretch limousine pulled up to an open gate at West Grove High School’s side of the football field. The uniformed chauffeur got out of the vehicle first. He went around to the right side to open the back door for the Homecoming Queen and her Court to exit the limousine. Again, the girls of the Swarm maintained their huddle, keeping Brandon in their midst, although he had given up his thoughts of escape in favor of riding it out, hoping that his true identity would not be disclosed.

“It’s Brandon!” Libby awoke with a start. “Something’s wrong!” Nathan sprang out of bed and they both dashed to their son’s bedroom. The wife and mother was already at her son’s bedside. The room illuminated only by moonlight, she had begun to work on him without delay. Nathan flicked the overhead light on as he entered behind Libby.

Awakening from his nightmare, Brandon had cried out weakly. He was shaking and wheezing, trying to breathe. His mom grabbed his wrist and felt for his pulse with one hand while trying to soothe his frightened face with the other.

“Pulse is racing, weak, and irregular,” Libby told her husband. “No fever, but his pajamas are soaked.” Suddenly she smelled a discharge of urine. “He just wet himself, too.”

“What’s wrong?” Sheila asked in a scared voice at the scene unfolding in her brother’s room.

“Honey, get my kit—now!” her father yelled to her, raising his ear from Brandon’s chest. She ran to her dad’s study and grabbed the black medical bag from its shelf beside his desk. She ran it back immediately to her dad, holding it open as she arrived.

“Bag him,” Nathan ordered Libby, not as husband to wife, but as physician to nurse, handing her the breath-valve mask (BVM) from his kit. When she put its mask over their son’s face, her husband began pumping the bag. “Breathe, Brandon! Breathe!” the physician and father cried out.

“Call an ambulance!” the mother told her daughter firmly, looking right into her eyes. Tears streaming and lip quivering, Sheila grabbed the smartphone from her brother’s desk and keyed 911.

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

The announcer was a student from the senior class:

“Good morning, everyone! I’m Tina Flaubert, Chairperson of the Homecoming Committee. I’m here to announce those elected to this year’s Homecoming Court.

“A Princess has been chosen from each class. I’ll announce the winners beginning with the Freshman Homecoming Princess, next Sophomore, Junior, and Senior Homecoming Princesses in order, then the Homecoming Queen.

“The winner of the senior ballots is declared Homecoming Queen, with the runner-up becoming Senior Princess.”

Since Mr. Markham thought the television too loud, he turned the sound lower. But if Kelly or Rhonda won, then every girl in his homeroom would begin screaming in celebration. The Homecoming Chairperson continued:

“If your name is announced, please report immediately to the Guidance Office. From there, you will be taken to the West Grove Mall, where you will be attired formally and treated to a makeover for the Homecoming Ceremonies at Kaufmann and Kaufmann’s Wedding and Formalwear Boutique for Men and Women and Maxine’s New House of Glamor. The Homecoming Ceremonies will be celebrated at midfield during halftime of tonight’s football game.

“And please be ready to name a boy, also from your own class, whom you would like to be your escort at the Homecoming Ceremonies.

“The Freshman Homecoming Princess, elected by a close margin is Kelly Harrigan…”

Kelly gasped at the news. She heard the squeals and screams from her girlfriends in class along with slightly more sedate cheers and remarks of approval from the boys.

“Again, this year's Freshman Homecoming Princess is Kelly Harrigan…”

Mr. Markham immediately moved to quiet the class down, first by clearing his throat loudly, then offering Kelly his own praise. “Ahem! Calm down, please!” he began. “Congratulations, Miss Harrigan!” Ernest handed her a hall pass which she promptly clipped to her ID lanyard.

“Thank you, Mister Markham,” she told him smiling, realizing for the first time that happy tears were flowing down her cheeks. She wished for a moment that she could’ve hugged him, but he was too reserved to go along with it. Yet she needed to address an issue with him. “I haven’t seen Brandon MacDonald yet this morning. When he comes in, could you please send him down to the Guidance Office. I’m naming him as my Knight-Escort.”

Mr. Markham smiled back to Kelly. “I’ll do that Miss Harrigan,” he assured her. “You’d better get going so you’ll be there on time.”

Brandon awoke groggily, his eyes glancing at the pastel blue walls around him. He counted three blurry, upright forms standing or sitting near him. Raising his right hand to his face he touched a clear, plastic mask strapped over his mouth and nose. He then knew that he was breathing a stream of pure diatomic oxygen (O₂), which felt somewhat refreshing to him. But he also felt some discomfort from an intravenous (IV) tube that had been inserted into his left arm. The three blurry, upright forms then resolved slowly into the familiar figures of Mom, Dad, and Sis. His father nodded and his mother removed the mask from their son’s face.

“Where am I?” the confused boy asked.

“You’re in our new Adolescent Ward at Saint Luke’s,” Dad told him. His father’s face appeared to relax after a long wait, more from relief than anything else.

You gave us quite a scare earlier this morning,” added Mom. “You woke up very suddenly, screaming, and in considerable respiratory distress. We gave you assistance breathing, called an ambulance, and had them bring you to the emergency room here.”

“Your symptoms appeared to resemble an extreme panic attack,” Nathan told his son. “But we still need to have a specialist come in to see you.”

“I kept having nightmares,” said Brandon. “I know I woke up a few times. I was sweating so much that I even had to change my pajamas in the middle of the night.”

“And you were soaked again when we brought you in,” Mom informed him.

“You were very dehydrated. That’s what the I-Vee’s for,” said his father. “Sheila said that you drank a bottle of a sports beverage overnight. You probably wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t felt dehydrated.”

“I don’t remember that,” Brandon told them.

“You left the empty bottle on the kitchen table,” Sheila recalled. “It was at your usual place.” She smiled at her brother.

Returning the smile, Brandon said, “This is Homecoming Day, Sis. You should be at school.”

“And leave my little brother alone in the hospital?” Sheila retorted in mock protest, bending over to kiss his cheek.

“Mom, have you called the school office yet?” Brandon asked. “That’s the only way to get my absence excused. And if Sis stays with me, she’ll need hers excused, too.”

“I haven’t called the school yet,” Mom told him. “I did have Sheila bring along your books, laptop, and cellphone, although we ask you not to call on it in the hospital. You can call out from the room’s telephone.”

“Also, you can hook up to the Internet in this room,” added his father. “We have our own Tee-three line here at Saint Luke’s.”

“Good,” said Brandon. “I can email Jenny.”

“Who’s Jenny?” Dad asked him.

“Jenny Chang,” the boy replied. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Since when have you had a girlfriend, son?” his father inquired further.

“Since Jenny and I made out on the school roof next to the weather station yesterday.”

“What?” Dad asked, wondering how much he had been missing of his children’s lives.

“Dad, Brandon and Jenny are lab partners in Earth Science,” Sheila explained. “It was their turn to take data at the weather station. They kissed for the first time up there. It’s kind of a school tradition.”

Nathan let his first smile appear since awakening to his son’s emergency that morning. Putting his hand on Brandon’s head, he mussed with the boy’s hair. The son grinned back to his dad and then his mom and sister.

“Sis, could you bring me my laptop and books?” Brandon requested. Sheila lugged her brother’s backpack over to his bed.

“How do I set up my laptop in here?” Brandon asked. “I mean, where’s the Internet connection?”

His mom smiled. “There are ports both near the floor by the bed and on the wall behind it.”

“Libby, if you could help Brandon set-up, I’ll go to my office and call the school,” suggested Nathan. “Sheila, come with me. I may need your help calling in.”

Kelly hopped, skipped, and jumped along the corridor to the main stairs, which she bounded down two or three at a time. She reached the Guidance Office ahead of everyone else, figuring that she’d be wearing a formal gown tonight instead of her cheer uniform. But being the Freshman Homecoming Princess was not participating any less in school spirit than being a junior varsity cheerleader.

Marla Peterson, the office assistant, was not at her desk, so beaming, Kelly peeked into the Freshman Guidance Counselor’s office. “Good morning, Doctor van de Meer!”

“Good morning, Kelly!” Xenia smiled back. “How are you today?”

“On Cloud Nine!” the cheerleader answered. “I was voted Freshman Homecoming Princess. They said to report here.”

“Congratulations, then, my dear!” the counselor offered her. “Do you have an escort yet?”

“I’m naming Brandon as my Knight-Escort.”

“Is he the same Brandon whom you wished to make into a girl yesterday?”

Kelly giggled as she nodded to her guidance counselor. “So long as he’s still a boy, I may as well ask him.”

“Are you sure he’ll agree to it?”

“Yes, he will,” affirmed Kelly. The one thing that I do know Brandon and I have in common is loyalty to the school. We share respect for the school traditions and his school spirit is as strong as my own. If I ask him to be my escort, he’ll not refuse.”

“You think quite highly of him,” Xenia observed.

“I’ll admit—I’ve had a crush on him since grade school.”

Dr. Van de Meer thought back to her conversation with Cat Riley-Harrigan the previous afternoon. Was Brandon the boy who’d broken Kelly’s heart? Xenia couldn’t help but think that this otherwise bright, cheerful young woman was perhaps obsessing over him, first hoping to feminize him yesterday, but seeking him in a young gentleman’s role today.

“Have you talked to him about being your escort yet?”

“Not quite,” Kelly hedged. “I didn’t want to talk about it beforehand so I wouldn’t jinx it.”

“Well, I hope he’s willing to do that for you,” Dr. Van de Meer wished for her. But the counselor also wondered if Brandon might prefer to escort Jenny Chang to the Homecoming Game tonight as well as to the Homecoming Dance tomorrow evening.

About that time, Xenia and Kelly could hear the others elected to the Homecoming Court gathering in the Guidance Office. Looking outside Dr. Van de Meer’s office door, the JayVee cheerleader observed everyone huddling around Tina Flaubert, who beckoned her over to join them.

“Congratulations, Kelly!” Tina addressed her, pulling her into a hug, which the Homecoming Queen-Elect and the other Princesses-Elect all joined. The same greeting was offered to each Princess-Elect in her turn, culminating in congratulations to the Queen.

“So which Knights of West Grove High School will you nominate as your Knights-Escort to accompany you to the Homecoming Ceremonies during halftime?” Tina asked them. “The Freshman Princess-Elect must nominate hers first. Again, we follow the order from Freshman to Senior Princesses, and then the Queen. By the way, for those of you who are wondering, the protocols all run from Freshman to Senior to help build suspense and a sense of culmination at the end. A couple of you have been Homecoming Princesses before, but others are new to it. So, Kelly Harrigan, who will be your Knight?”

“I nominate Brandon MacDonald as my Knight-Escort.”

The others quietly applauded before Tina asked for the next Princess-Elect’s nominee.

Nearly a hundred miles away at State University, Nancy Danziger perused her dormitory closet for a few items of her own apparel that might yet fit her little brother.

Nancy’s roommate, Lauren, entered the room from the hallway, wearing a bathrobe, slippers, and her hair wrapped in a towel turban-style. She noticed Nancy looking carefully over a few of her skirts and blouses.

“Have trouble packing for your trip home?” Lauren asked.

“No, I’ve already packed my things,” said Nancy. “But I’m still trying to put an outfit together for someone else.”

“I know that you have a younger brother, but you’ve never mentioned any sister to me before.”

“That’s ’cause I only have the younger brother,” clarified Nancy with a mischievous grin. “And he did ask my help, after all.”

“What kind of help?”

“Billy thinks he may’ve lost his ‘coolness’ at school by not participating in our traditional ‘Gender-Bender Day’ during Homecoming Week,” explained Nancy. “In my opinion as an alumna, a valedictorian, a former pompom girl, past Sophomore and Junior Classes’ Homecoming Princesses, my little brother needs to get in touch with his inner girl.”

“I wish I could be there,” giggled Lauren with a glint of mischief in her own eyes. “Few things are quite so much fun as making your little brother over into your little sister.”

“Have you done this before?”

“Oh, yeah!”

“Do you have any plans for this weekend?”

“No. Not really. Why?”

“Having someone experienced there might really help.”

Lauren just giggled.

Marla Peterson returned to the Guidance Office to see the members of the Homecoming Court milling about. She carried a folder and went first to her desk to check for telephone messages. None of the message lights were on, so she went to distribute absentee reports to the counselors.

“Ellen, here’s the morning senior class call-ins,” Marla said handing a one-page print-out to the Senior Class Guidance Counselor, who was getting ready to address the Homecoming Court.

“Thanks, Marla,” she said, quickly glancing down the page. “We can get this show on the road now—well, as soon as the driver gets here, anyway.”

Next, Miss Peterson stepped into Dr. Van de Meer’s office. “Xee, your class absentee report,” she said, handing the document to her.

“Thank you, Marla,” offered Xenia, glancing down the report when the name MacDonald, Brandon caught her eye. “Oh wait! If Kelly Harrigan’s still out there I need to talk to her right away.”

“Sure—she’s still here,” confirmed the office assistant. “I’ll send her right back.”

Kelly peeked into Dr. Van de Meer’s office for the second time today. “Miss Peterson said you wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” the counselor answered. Then she addressed Kelly in a more subdued voice, “Please pull the door closed and sit down.”

“What’s wrong?” Kelly asked, noting that Dr. Van de Meer had a much more serious demeanor than just a few minutes earlier.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but Brandon MacDonald was rushed to the emergency room at Saint Luke’s Episcopal Hospital earlier this morning,” Xenia told her. “His dad called to say that they’ve admitted him for at least a twenty-four hour stay.”

“Omigosh!” Kelly cried, visibly shaken by the news. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s all I can tell you, Kelly,” said Dr. Van de Meer. “I don’t have any more information. Even if I did, I couldn’t likely tell you for privacy reasons. I’m only telling you this much because you need to know that Brandon can’t make it to the Homecoming Game.”

The tears flowed readily from Kelly’s green eyes. Xenia had anticipated the girl’s reaction and had a newly opened box of facial tissue ready, which she set on the edge of her desk for her. Kelly took a few tissues from the box to begin wiping her tears away.

“I so wanted Brandon for this,” the cheerleader lamented.

“Do you have a backup plan?”

“Didn’t think I needed one.”

“Then here’s a new lesson for you, Kelly,” said the counselor. “Always have a backup plan. So, is there no other boy whom you’d consider as an escort?”

Kelly continued wiping her face. “I kinda like Billy Danziger, but he doesn’t have any school spirit,” Kelly told Dr. Van de Meer. “Seriously, it wouldn’t be right to name him. Besides, I don’t remember him even showing up in homeroom today.”

Xenia scanned the absentee report and noted that Billy Danziger’s name was not listed. “He’s not listed as absent today. He might’ve come in tardy.”

“He frequently does,” confirmed Kelly, continuing to sniffle. “After all, he thinks he’s ‘cool.’ ”

“Anyone else?” Xenia inquired.

Kelly just shook her head. “No,” she denied. “Besides, I already named Brandon as my Knight-Escort to the Homecoming Chairperson. So I guess I need to tell Tina about it.”

The girl got up to leave, but the counselor stopped her. “Wait, Kelly! I can ask her to come in here.” She picked up her interoffice telephone and dialed an extension. “Marla, could you ask the Homecoming Chairperson to come in here?” Xenia asked her.

“Surely, Xee,” answered Marla. “Tina’s still here.”

Billy sat with his back to the wall of the Laboratory Annex. This time he was smoking—not a cigarette, but a small stainless steel pipe of marijuana. His thumb clamped a penny over the bowl of the pipe, giving him the dual advantage of not leaking the aroma of cannabis, while at the same time maximizing the delivery of the active ingredient, tetrahydrocannabinol, to his system.

Somehow, Homecoming Week just seemed so stupid to Billy. All the jocks were wearing their jerseys today. The cheerleaders, varsity and junior varsity, wore their uniforms as did the majorettes and pompom girls. And so many of the students were wearing shirts and jackets with the logo of the West Grove Knights. This whole notion of “school spirit” made no sense to Billy. Maybe Nancy could explain it all to him when she got home.

Billy could feel the cannabis in his pipe burning out. He broke open a packet of a couple of saltines, which he then stuffed into his mouth to absorb the aroma of the marijuana, eliminating its smell from his breath. Munching the saltines, he popped a can of diet cola open and washed it all down. He turned the bowl of his little pipe over and tapped it firmly a few times, knocking the ash of his marijuana onto the ground. He used some loose soil to bury the ash.

No one would be the wiser.

Billy Danziger got up from the ground and went inside the Laboratory Annex and headed for the Men’s Room. He’d wait to begin his school day when he usually did—with his second period class.

A moment later, the door to Dr. van de Meer’s office opened again. Tina Flaubert stepped in. “You wanted to see me?” she asked.

Dr. Van de Meer looked at Tina. “Kelly just learned that her chosen Knight-Escort is in the hospital.”

“I’m sorry, Kelly!” Tina tried to reassure her. “Do you have a second choice to name?”

“No,” sighed Kelly. “I don’t really want anyone else. Can you tell me who the runner-up on the freshman ballot is?”

“Rhonda Davies,” answered Tina.

Kelly looked up to make eye contact with Tina. “Y’know, I like Rhonda. She’s such a sweetie,” said Kelly. “I’m gonna decline Homecoming Princess so she can have it.”

“Why?” Tina asked her.

“I never even thought about a second choice for an escort,” she said. Then Kelly admitted, “I just wouldn’t feel right with anyone else but Brandon as my Knight-Escort.”

“Are you sure this is what you want, Kelly?” Xenia asked her.

“Yes,” the girl squeaked. Her new round of sniffling seemed almost to contradict her head nodding to affirm the decision. “I’m still a cheerleader, so I can continue to support the team that way tonight. I’m happy enough to turn down Homecoming Princess in favor of Rhonda.”

“Is that your final word on it, Kelly?” Tina asked her. “Once I offer it to Rhonda, there’s no going back.”

“I’m so sorry, Tina,” sobbed Kelly, “but I can’t do it—I don’t want it—without Brandon.”

“Brandon, I’d like you to meet someone whom your mom and I both have worked with on occasion,” his father said, introducing him to a tall, blond-haired woman in her mid-thirties. “This is Doctor Theresa Windham. She’s a psychiatrist who specializes in the kinds of problems that children and teenagers can have.”

“Do I gotta talk to a shrink, Dad?”

“Son, don’t call Doctor Windham a shrink.”

“It’s okay, Nate,” she dismissed the boy’s remark. “I even tell my patients to call me that.”

“But Brandon knows better,” Dr. MacDonald objected.

“Nate, let it go,” Theresa told him, smiling. “He’s my patient now. I do need to interview him privately, so you can go, too.” She motioned toward the door. Nathan dutifully left his son’s room, shutting the door behind him.

Dr. Windham pulled up a chair beside Brandon’s bed. “Now that your dad’s out of the room, you can call me ‘Teri’ if you want.”

“How ’bout just calling you ‘Doc’?”

“Calling me ‘Doc’ is just fine,” she agreed with a smile. “So, what can you tell me about how you felt during the night?”

“I had nightmare after nightmare,” he told her. “I was really frightened.”

“Can you remember them?”

“I can’t remember all the details.”

“Can you remember the main themes?”

“Oh, yeah!” answered Brandon, looking up somewhat sheepishly. “They were all about the same thing.”

“And what was that?”

Brandon felt embarrassed as he recalled the dreams. “I’m afraid of telling you.”

“You don’t need to be,” she tried to reassure him. “I’m not allowed to tell anyone else what you say without your permission—not even your mom or dad, unless I think you could be a danger to yourself or others.”

Brandon thought for a moment and looked Dr. Windham in the eye. “The nightmares were about something happening at school,” he began. “Our Homecoming Game is tonight and we’ve been having special activities all week.”

Theresa smiled at her young patient. “Homecoming can be such a big deal at some schools,” she affirmed. “It certainly was at mine.”

“Did your school’s Homecoming Week include a ‘Gender-Bender Day’?” Brandon inquired.

Kelly sat down on the sofa in the lounge area of the Ladies’ Room. She pulled her smartphone from her purse and pulled up Brandon’s mobile number on its little screen. When she called, it rolled over immediately to his voice mail. So she left a message and put her smartphone back in her purse. But not able to talk to Brandon, or otherwise find out what was wrong with him, she felt even more upset.

So Kelly pulled a 375-ml bottle of peppermint schnapps out of her purse. She also had a small bag of hard peppermint candies to help conceal her use of alcohol. She’d been afraid that the single-malt Scotch whisky that she’d had yesterday might be detected on her breath. Besides, everyone knew that she liked peppermint, anyway. She unscrewed the bottle cap off the schnapps and sipped about a shot of it down before hiding it in her purse again. Next, Kelly tore the plastic wrapper off a peppermint candy and popped it into her mouth.

She stood up and walked over to the row of sinks, inspecting her face in the mirror. She had cried since she’d heard Brandon was at St. Luke’s until she took her drink of schnapps. Her makeup had run down her face and needed serious repair. She looked again at her smartphone to check the time. Since less than fifteen minutes remained in first period, she chose to use the time to fix her makeup, then just go to her second period class.

Right then, the door opened and Abigail Abernathy, another JayVee cheerleader entered. She was a beautiful brunette with stunning blue eyes.

“Good morning, Abby-Abby,” Kelly greeted her fellow cheerleader and classmate. (Due to her unusual combination of given name and surname, Miss Abernathy had the nicknames “Abby-Abby” and “Double Abby” as well as simply “Abby.”) “Excited about the big game tonight?”

“I am,” affirmed Abby as she removed a kit containing her newly acquired contact lenses from her purse. “Wait a minute! Shouldn’t you be at the mall for your makeover? I thought you won Freshman Homecoming Princess?”

“I did, but I declined it when I found out that my chosen escort was taken to the hospital earlier today?”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Abby consoled her colleague as she removed her glasses. “Who was he?”

“Brandon,” disclosed Kelly as she continued to clean her face up.

“You’ve been after him for such a long time,” observed the other cheerleader, placing a lens in her right eye. “But I hear he’s going with Jenny Chang now.”

“I know. I saw them having lunch together yesterday,” Kelly admitted sadly. “But he’d’ve still been my Knight-Escort if he’d been able. He’s into school tradition as much as any of us on the cheer squad. In fact, he might be disappointed to find out he was my choice and couldn’t come.”

“Why’s he in the hospital?” Abby asked as she blinked her right eye to help settle her new lens into the correct position.

“Don’t know. He was taken to the emergency room at Saint Luke’s is all I’ve heard. His mom and dad are both on staff there.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“His dad’s a doctor and his mom’s a nurse.” Kelly continued repairing her makeup.

“So, who’s Freshman Homecoming Princess now?” Abby asked as she put the other lens into her left eye.

“Rhonda Davies was the runner-up,” Kelly informed her friend. “And I feel good about her getting it, too.”

“I’m just sorry you felt you had to give up the title.” Abby blinked her left eye a few times. “Oo! This is too weird!”

“What’s too weird?”

“How things look through my contact lenses,” clarified Abby.

“How do they look?”

“Distorted—more distant than they are,” described Abby. “It’s kinda like whenever I get new eyeglasses. It can take a day or two for my eyes to adjust to them.”

“That’s interesting,” remarked Kelly. “Are you wearing them at the game tonight?”

“That’s why I paid extra shipping for the rush order,” explained Abby. “I wanted these for Homecoming.”

“What’s wrong with your glasses?”

“I’m tired of wearing them,” Abby complained. “And they hide too much of my face.”

“I’ve always thought you looked so cute in those glasses,” Kelly assured her. “You can pull the look off really well.”

“Now you’re just saying that!”

“No, its true!” Kelly stepped over and gave her friend and teammate a hug. Then she felt a small tingle run through her body.

“You smell like peppermint,” Abby observed. Kelly just grinned and offered her two pieces of hard peppermint candy from her purse. “Why, thank you, Kelly!” she accepted the candy graciously. She dropped one into her own purse and tore the wrapper off the other to pop into her mouth.

“I hope your new contact lenses work out alright,” Kelly wished her. “See you in Spanish class after lunch?”

“Mm-hmm,” answered Abby. “In fact, unless you have other plans already, why don’t-cha join me for lunch?”

“I’ll look for you, then.”

“You woke up in a panic attack that your nightmare had triggered,” Dr. Windham diagnosed after Brandon had recounted most of his previous night’s frightening dream.

“It didn’t feel very good,” Brandon reported. “I had trouble breathing.”

“That’s why your parents rushed you to the emergency room here,” explained Theresa. “Your dad wasn’t certain why you had such difficulty breathing until he could examine you more closely. When he narrowed your symptoms down to a possible panic attack, he asked me for my medical opinion because as a psychiatrist, my specialty includes that kind of problem. My opinion is that he’s right.”

“All this because of a nightmare?”

“You might find it surprising how powerful dreams can be,” said Dr. Windham. “What happened to you isn’t really too unusual. But it’s new to you, so I’d like to help you understand it.”

“The nightmare seemed so real,” related Brandon. “I remember trying to escape from the girls by diving into the mall’s central fountain, then when I woke up, my pajamas were drenched. I had to change them in the middle of the night.”

“Wow! That sounds like a little too much realism,” concurred the smiling psychiatrist. “No wonder it got to you. It would’ve gotten to me, too. Now, you mentioned that you were trying to escape from this group of girls. Why?”

“I’ve known them all since middle school or even grade school. Yesterday, they were trying to convince me to become a girl,” recalled Brandon. “My girlfriend calls them ‘the Swarm.’ ”

“The ‘Swarm’?”

“The Queen Bee and her Wannabes,” clarified Brandon. Theresa giggled at the definition.

“Now, what can you tell me about these girls—the ‘Swarm’? Who are they? What kind of relationship do you have with them?”

“They’re the most popular girls in the Freshman Class. There are six of them,” began Brandon. “Val Schmidt is their leader and Debbi Snyder is her best friend. Then there’s Teri Hamilton and Holly Thompson. I didn’t want to call you ‘Teri’ because then I’d think about her instead of you. She’s not very likable. Holly isn’t very bright, but she has about the kindest heart of anyone I know. Kelly Harrigan is kind of wild and has constantly teased me since we were in kindergarten. She just won’t leave me alone and sometimes she can really frighten me. Then Alice Johansson, I think, is the most intelligent of them, and she’s really nice to me. We’re lab partners in German class. And when the Swarm got on my case at lunch yesterday, she stepped in and intervened.”

“How did they get on your case?”

“They invited themselves to join Jenny and me at lunch yesterday,” related Brandon. “They said that they wanted us to join their group.”

“Even though you’re a boy?”

“That’s what was so crazy,” the boy continued. “They said they’d help me become a girl. They think that I’m really a girl on the inside and that I want to be one of them.”

“Did any of them actually say that?”

“Oh, yeah!” Brandon confirmed. “And I’m sure they meant it, too.”

“Do you know any reason why they might think that?”

“When we had ‘Gender-Bender Day’ on Wednesday, we were supposed to dress up as the opposite sex, but I think I did it too well.”

“Oh?” Dr. Windham signaled her interest. “How did you do it too well?”

Brandon sighed before trying to recollect what had happened. “I needed something of a girl’s to wear, so I swapped my dress suit with Debbi for one of her dresses. We’re both about the same size and build. Then I borrowed a pair of high-heeled pumps and a matching purse from Val. Mom and Sis got me lingerie and pantyhose and helped me with my hair and makeup. Dressing me up was a lot of fun for them.”

“Was it fun for you?”

“Well, it seemed to be fun when I did it Wednesday,” admitted Brandon. “In fact, I liked dressing up like a girl. But then yesterday, I felt guilty and ashamed because I had.”

“But this was a designated school activity that you participated in, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. But not many boys went as far as I did,” he explained. “Most boys only wore a single item of girls’ clothing and either made it look silly, or wore it under their regular clothes.”

“When you said you did it too well, is that what you meant?”

“Well, that’s not all,” continued Brandon. “Wednesday, Debbi took some video of me in English class. Alice downloaded it to my laptop during lunchtime yesterday. I looked at it with Jenny at school and then with Sheila at home. The consensus seems to be that I moved and acted like a real girl. But I don’t really know how I could’ve learned to do that.”

“Do you have the video here?”

“I think so. It should still be on my laptop.” Brandon opened his computer and set the power switch, starting its boot-up sequence. “I should prob’ly email Jenny anyway.”

“Who’s Jenny?”

“As of yesterday, she’s my girlfriend.”

“Tell me about her,” she told him. “Your dad said you’d mentioned a new girlfriend to him earlier.”

“Her name’s Jenny Chang, she’s in all my classes except first period, and we’re lab partners in Earth Science and Computer Science,” Brandon explained. “And we made out next to the rooftop weather station for the first time yesterday morning.”

“On the roof?”

“Uh-huh. It was our turn to collect data from the weather station,” he explained with the polite excitement due a boy’s first love. “After we finished recording data, she kissed me. Then just before we went back to class, I kissed her. And then we learned that making out next to the rooftop weather station is a school tradition.”

“That’s so sweet!” the psychiatrist sang out. “She kissed you first?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you excited about Jenny?” Dr. Windham asked.

“Oh yeah, Doc!” Brandon replied with the mixed signals of a blushing enthusiasm. “She’s cute, exotic, sweet, and really, really intelligent. I’d been working up to asking her out since school started, but like I said, she kissed me first.”

“Sometimes, we girls know when to go after whom we want,” she said, smiling. “Especially when we’re smart.”

Brandon grinned at Dr. Windham’s remark. He refocused his attention on his laptop and ran the video, turning the screen toward Theresa’s view. “That’s me in the blue and green dress,” he told her. “Debbi, who loaned me the dress, took the video during our third period English class.”

“What were you doing in your class just then?”

“We were taking a short quiz.”

Dr. Windham watched the video images carefully. “Brandon, your behavior is impeccably feminine. Did anyone coach you for it?”

“Sheila tried to show me how to walk in high-heeled shoes, but except for that, no,” calmly denied Brandon. “I didn’t know I had done it until I saw the video.”

“Interesting,” she remarked. “You look and act like any other girl your age.”

“That’s why it worries me,” the boy admitted. “I wasn’t trying to act like a girl, but I just did it without even trying.”

“And this upsets you?”

“Kinda,” whimpered Brandon.

“Well, did you consider that you could do this because you’ve always paid attention to the differences between boys’ and girls’ behaviors?” Dr. Windham suggested. “So, when you put on a dress for the first time, you already knew how to behave. To me, it’s no great mystery.”

“But it still feels kinda weird.”

“Of course it does. You went beyond your comfort zone. You may feel things you’ve never felt before whenever you do. That’s not at all surprising.”

“But I still feel guilty about it.”

“Really?” Dr. Windham queried. “I don’t think it was guilt that you felt. Could it’ve been another feeling?”

“Maybe,” admitted Brandon. “But I don’t know what.”

Dr. Windham smiled at the boy. “Let me suggest a few ideas to you,” she said. “First, don’t be afraid to step outside your comfort zone. That’s what you did Wednesday, and you seemed to have enjoyed it, even if you did regret it later. Stepping out of your comfort zone is very much necessary for you to have new experiences and learn new things.

“Next, as you mature, you will learn to make finer distinctions in your own feelings, your own emotions. That’s why I asked you, if it was guilt that you felt yesterday, or if it were perhaps something else? Also, that will help you learn how to see those distinctions in others. Learning to recognize finer distinctions in feelings will improve your ability to start and maintain relationships.”

“But I’m worried about something else, Doc,” confessed Brandon, sniffling. “I’m really afraid because—because—”

“Yes?…”

“I really liked dressing like a girl. And I think I wanna do it again, too,” he confided. “There! I said it! But is there something wrong with me ’cause I do?” The boy looked at Dr. Windham with tears in his eyes.

Theresa simply leaned back in her chair and grinned at him. “Don’t worry, Brandon,” the psychiatrist said in her most reassuring voice. “You’re among very good company.”

Brandon wondered, what could Dr. Windham mean by that?

“I think you need to tell your parents what you just told me.”

“But I can’t,” Brandon objected. “I’d be way too embarrassed!”

“Brandon, didn’t your mom and sister help you get dressed up Wednesday?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“And how did they feel about it?”

“It was fun and exciting for them.”

“Did they appear to have been embarrassed by you?”

“No. If anything, they were kinda proud of me.”

“So, how do you think your mom might take it, then?”

“She might take it well?”

Quietly, Dr. Windham simply nodded. “Brandon, I’ve known your parents for a very long time. They’re much more tolerant than most. Give them a chance to show that they can accept you for who you are.”

“Do you think they’d not be upset by what I’ve told you?”

“Again, give them a chance,” the psychiatrist told him. “And if you do tell your parents, then I will also recommend that they allow you to dress as a girl at home if you want. I think that you may need to give yourself permission to experiment a little with it.”

Brandon thought back to his conversation with Sheila the previous evening. He had wanted to try dressing up en femme at home, but now a psychiatrist was recommending it for him. “But do I have to?” Brandon asked. “I’m still kinda scared of doing it.”

“No, you don’t have to,” assured Dr. Windham. “But I’m suggesting you give yourself permission to explore who you are.”

“Give myself permission?”

“Yes, Brandon,” she emphasized. “Again, you need to give yourself permission to step outside your comfort zone, permission to make mistakes, even permission to fail at something.”

“Permission to fail?”

“We all need to try new things,” she continued. “Especially those things that might be different from our usual kinds of activities or many unexpected and spontaneous now and then. But we still need to take on those challenges knowing that sometimes we may not succeed. That’s how we stretch our abilities. It’s how we learn—by risking and sometimes even making mistakes. That’s what I mean by ‘stepping out of your comfort zone.’ ”

“But I don’t like to make mistakes,” objected Brandon. “I don’t like to be wrong.”

“Of course not! None of us do.” Dr. Windham assured him smiling. “But we’re all human and we will make mistakes, we will be wrong, we will fail at things. But we can also learn from those mistakes, correct what’s wrong, and try again. And key to that is accepting that we’re fallible and forgiving ourselves when things don’t go according to plan. When we do, we both gain experience and build character.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“Then you can start.” Just then, a paging device on the psychiatrist’s lanyard beeped. “Brandon, I have another patient I need to see right away. I do want to talk to you again, but next time with your parents, too, if you’re alright with that. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you later.”

“Sure, Doc,” Brandon consented. “See ya later!”

With that, Dr. Windham got up and left her patient’s room. As she went her way, she considered Brandon’s diagnosis. His toxicology report was clean—no drugs or alcohol. No sign of any seizure disorder was observable. His panic attack seemed a single acute occurrence rather than any general anxiety disorder. That was still possible, but she’d need to have his parents watch him longer term for any more symptoms. The boy’s gender identity had certainly been challenged, but she could hardly diagnose it as a disorder, not yet anyway, although she found his impeccably feminine behavior in the video curious.

None of those issues had really bothered her about Brandon. No, what really concerned her were signs of yet another problem that she needed to examine further. Teri would need to call in a colleague to confirm her psychiatric intuition. If confirmed, then she’d have to break the news to Nate and Libby.

Diagnosing and treating colleagues’ children could be uncomfortable and fraught with stress. But it had to be done. As awkward as it may be, as the specialist in childhood and adolescent psychiatry at St. Luke’s, she was the only one who could do it.

Kelly met up with Holly Thompson on their way to the Technology Building. They were lab partners for Computer Science. The course was not at all difficult for Kelly, but Holly had struggled with it almost from the beginning. So Kelly had taken Holly under her wing. Helping her friend learn had become more interesting to Kelly than the course itself. Yet in recent days, her growing sexual attraction to Holly was starting to become worrisome.

“Kelly! I didn’t expect to see you in class today,” exclaimed Holly in surprise. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to the mall?”

“I had given them Brandon’s name as my Knight-Escort for the Homecoming Ceremony tonight,” explained Kelly. “Then I found out Brandon was rushed to St. Luke’s this morning.”

“Omigosh! What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know,” replied Kelly, holding the building’s door open for Holly. “I’ve tried calling but there hasn’t been any answer.”

“I hope he’s alright,” Holly sought to console her friend.

“Anyway, when I found out, I gave up Freshman Homecoming Princess to Rhonda Davies,” recounted Kelly as she and Holly entered the lab for their computer science class. “I really hadn’t thought about any second choice for a Knight-Escort. Brandon was the only one I ever had in mind.”

“Even though he and Jenny Chang are a couple now?”

“Yes, because he’d still have agreed to do it,” affirmed Kelly as they took their accustomed seats. “Brandon’s always been a team player. He’s the kinda guy who’s really into school traditions. He gets into showing school spirit, too.”

Holly thought back to the Brandon MacDonald whom she had known all through elementary school and middle school. “Y’know, I can see that. If boys could be cheerleaders, he’d be a good one.”

“Youre prob’ly right, Holly,” agreed Kelly. “Although I can’t imagine that ever happening.”

“Since you’re not gonna be a Homecoming Princess, what will you be doing at the game and for the dance?”

“The tradition for Homecoming is that we junior varsity cheerleaders join with the varsity cheer squad at the game tonight.”

“So you’ll be cheering, then?”

“Yes,” affirmed Kelly. “I really need to cheer tonight. It should help me keep my mind off Brandon.”

“Any prospects for a date to the dance tomorrow night?”

Kelly suddenly imagined herself at the Homecoming Dance with Holly, slow-dancing and deep-kissing. Holly’s scent strongly appealed to Kelly, who began to experience wetness. And once again, Kelly felt a little tingling run through her body as she sat next to her friend.

Recently, the only respite that Kelly’d had from obsessing over Brandon came by thinking about Holly. She needed to talk with someone about these feelings, but with whom? She was still afraid to discuss this with Mom or Dad—certainly not with her priest. Maybe Miss San-Giacomo? No, because the coach might kick Kelly off the cheer squad if she thought her attracted to one of the other cheerleaders.

Maybe Dr. Van de Meer would be safe to talk with? And she might know others to whom she could talk about it.

“Kelly, you okay?” Holly inquired gently. “You seem distracted.”

“That’s ’cause I am,” sighed Kelly. “Brandon and Homecoming and everything—it’s all a bit much for me just now.”

“I’m sorry!” Holly pouted as she wrapped her arms around Kelly in a hug. She had no idea that her purely innocent embrace further deepened Kelly’s sexual response. “No one should hafta go through all this right now.”

Brandon figured that Jenny would just be setting her laptop computer up in Earth Science right then, so he decided to approach her by using the school’s Instant Messaging utility. Her computer chimed gently.

©2013 by Anam Chara

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

“Yeow! That’s gotta hurt!” Brandon added. “That’s Kelly down at the sideline.” They watched the screen as the cheerleader slowly got up on her knees then stood, clenching her forearm near the wrist.

“But I think another cheerleader got caught between the two players,” remarked Jenny.

“Another one of the jayvee squad,” Brandon confirmed. “If it’s who usually stands next to Kelly, it’d be Double Abby.”

“Double Abby?”

“Abigail Abernathy,” he clarified. “Since ‘Abby’ works for both her first and last names, she got the nickname ‘Abby-Abby’ or ‘Double Abby’ in grade school because we had another Abby in our class.”

They continued watching the television to see the two football players get up from the ground, revealing the petite cheerleader lying motionless on the ground. Kelly went over and knelt next to her friend. Brandon and Jenny held hands as they watched. When Jenny glanced at him, he noticed that she was crying. When he did, he quit holding back his own tears.

The football team’s trainer also came over and then knelt beside Abby. Coach San-Giacomo followed him. Jeff Baker tossed the football to the referee who’d come to the sideline. The trainer stood up and waved the waiting paramedics to advance. While they did, he looked at Kelly’s left forearm and began to wrap a bandage around it.

Jenny and Brandon could not see the Pine Forest linebacker Bob Kavalevsky’s pain and anxiety. His worry and tears were well-hidden under his helmet and behind his face mask. But they did notice that Jeff Baker patted his opponent’s shoulder in concern. Jeff shared the linebacker’s remorse.

“Those football players hafta feel bad about that,” observed Jenny. “They couldn’t have meant to hit the cheerleaders.”

“No. They were focused entirely on the pass play,” confirmed Brandon. “That’s what football’s like. They might not even have known where the sideline was until after they’d crossed it. It was just an accident.”

“But look, the paramedics are lifting her onto that stretcher. She must be unconscious.”

“They usually bring an ambulance from our football field to the Emergency Room here. If you want, you could wait for them in the waiting room downstairs.”

“I’d rather stay here with you,” Jenny assured Brandon. “That’s why I came.”

Brandon took Jenny by the hand and pulled her to him. She leaned over him and once more, their lips met.

Dr. MacDonald was on duty in the ER (Brit. A&E) when the ambulance from the football game arrived at St. Luke’s Episcopal Hospital. When the rear door of the vehicle opened, he recognized that each patient wore the junior varsity cheerleading uniform of West Grove High School, the same uniform that his daughter Sheila had worn the previous year. Also, he recognized his son Brandon’s red-haired friend and classmate Kelly, wearing a bandage on her left arm and a purse strapped over each shoulder. (She had the presence of mind to bring Abby’s purse as well as her own.) After she had crawled out of the ambulance, she took and held the other cheerleader’s hand as the paramedics pushed the gurney inside.

“Kelly, what happened?” Dr. MacDonald asked her.

“A pass play came over the sideline,” explained Kelly. “Double Abby got caught between the receiver and the tackler. She was wearing new contact lenses so she might’ve misjudged how close they were. And she’s been out since it happened.”

“That’s right,” confirmed one of the paramedics, handing the doctor a clipboard with a form that they both signed. “Possible concussion. Also, she felt tender in the upper left abdominal quadrant. Likely broken ribs, ulna, femur, and tibia. We immobilized her with collar and backboard in case of spinal injury.”

“Thanks, Joe,” Nathan said as he returned him the clipboard. The paramedics and orderlies then lifted Abby from the gurney to a bed and rolled her into the ER. There, the nurses and technicians immediately began working on her by carefully removing the collar and backboard before taking her clothes off and then starting an IV line.

“Kelly, I want you to get an x-ray of that arm,” said Dr. MacDonald. “If you can, I’d also like you to help Admissions with Abby’s paperwork as best you can. But first, do you know if she has any medical issues?”

“Not that I know of,” replied Kelly. “She’s always been really fit as far as I know. Honestly, most of the squad is more than a little jealous of her fitness.”

“Thanks, that’s good to know,” the physician acknowledged. Then he took out a pad from the pocket of his white coat and made a notation on it. “Take this to our radiology lab while I work on your friend. You know I’ll do everything I can for her.”

“Thanks, Doctor MacDonald. I’ll call her parents, too. They weren’t at the game.”

“That’d also be helpful,” agreed the physician. “Now get going, Kelly. “Again, get that x-ray. And remember, Abby’s counting on you to give us her admission data and to get her parents here.”

The Rev. Philip Abernathy and his wife Florence were enjoying their time with the two couples dining with them at La Trattoria Nuova de Michelangelo. Christopher and Karen Newcombe, an architect and a software engineer, respectively, and another professional couple, David and Madeleine Prentice, an accountant and a patent attorney, were prospective new members of St. Matthew’s United Methodist Church. The conversation among the adults at the table had been lovely and lively, while the Newcombes’ twelve-year old daughter Alyssa had in big-sisterly fashion taken the Prentices’ eager and willing four-year old daughter Sarah under her wing. Alyssa’s older siblings, Timothy, age 14, and Joyce, age 16, were at the Homecoming Game.

Both the Newcombes and the Prentices had moved to West Grove recently. The small town’s economy was turning around thanks to new technologies being developed by local inventors and entrepreneurs. Mrs. Abernathy, a certified K-12 schoolteacher, was happily surprised to see an unexpected 30% surge in enrollment at William Jefferson Clinton Elementary School. Laid-off three years earlier, she had been called back to teach there at the end of the summer break.

The Reverend felt the cellphone vibrating in the lower left pocket of his suit jacket. Glancing at it, he read ‘Abby’ in the display, then rose from the table.

“Excuse me, please,” the Reverend asked. “I need to take this call.” He turned to his wife. “It’s Abby.”

Striding toward the restaurant’s waiting area, the Rev. Abernathy answered the call. “Hello, Princess!…”

“Uh, not quite, Reverend Abernathy,” another girl’s voice answered. “I’m Abby’s friend Kelly…”

“Oh yes, I remember you,” the minister acknowledged. “But why are you calling me on her cellphone?…”

“We were caught in a collision between two players. She was badly injured,” the cheerleader reported. “They brought us to Saint Luke’s Episcopal. Abby’s in the Emergency Room here…”

“Can I talk to her?…” asked the pastor, the anxiety in his voice growing.

“Not now. She’s unconscious from a concussion,” explained Kelly. “But the nurse here needs to talk with you…” She handed the cellphone to the nurse at the admitting desk.

“Am I speaking with the Reverend Philip Abernathy?…” asked the nurse.

“Yes, I’m Philip Abernathy…”

“I’m Debbi Freund, the Charge Nurse for the Emergency Room at Saint Luke’s Episcopal Hospital. Your daughter Abigail is here and unconscious. She has a concussion, multiple fractures, and a ruptured spleen. Our surgeon is confident she can save her spleen, but she’s not willing to operate without parental consent…”

“She has our permission to do whatever’s necessary…”

“We do need it in writing, Reverend sir…”

“Please, ma’am, tell her to start. I’ll sign any permission when we get there…”

“Alright, then. I’ll have your daughter’s paperwork ready when you arrive…”

“Thank you, ma’am. Would you give the ’phone back to my daughter’s friend, please?…”

Nurse Freund handed the ’phone to Kelly, who resumed talking with her friend’s father. “Yes, Reverend Abernathy?…”

“How are you doing, Kelly?…”

“I’m okay for now,” she replied, touched that he’d concern himself with her welfare. “I broke my wrist, but it’s in a splint now…”

“Thank you for looking out for Abby. I appreciate the call…”

“She’s my friend. We’re like sisters on the cheer squad and we all look out for each other…”

“Her mother and I are thankful she has friends like you…”

Kelly blushed a little at the praise Abby’s father had offered her. She hadn’t even considered her own safety—nor had Astrid. They had both rushed to help Abby avoid the collision, but it had developed too quickly and just far enough away to frustrate their efforts. Still, Kelly’s and Astrid’s reactions had been immediate, valuing their friend’s well-being above their own.

“Thank you, Reverend,” offered Kelly. “Abby’s important to us…”

“I need to go now. I have to tell my wife—Abby’s mom—what’s happened so we can get to the hospital,” he said. “Thanks for calling. Goodbye, Kelly…”

“Goodbye, Reverend Abernathy…”

The Reverend hurried back to his table. He leaned over to whisper in his wife’s ear, “Honey, we need to call an end to dinner. Abby’s hurt. She’s at Saint Luke’s. They need our permission for surgery.”

Florence nodded to her husband and he turned to signal the maître d’hotel. Then while he arranged for their guests to continue dinner, she addressed them: “We’re sorry, but we just received word that our daughter’s been injured and we’re needed at the hospital.”

“Abby is a cheerleader and she was hurt when a football play went over the sideline,” explained the Rev. Abernathy. “The hospital needs our permission for treatment, so we must leave early. But I’ve arranged with the maître d’ for your dinner to continue. So feel free to order dessert, after-dinner coffee or drinks, whatever. And please continue getting your families acquainted with one another.”

“Can we at least leave the tip?” Chris Newcombe offered.

“That’s already been taken care of, along with the bill,” replied the minister. “But feel free to add a like amount to the offertory. I hope we’ll see all of you at church Sunday morning.”

With that, the Reverend and his wife exchanged farewells with the Newcombes and Prentices, little Sarah waving her fingers as they left.

Nurse Freund smiled. “Thank you so very much for your help with Abby’s paperwork,” she told Kelly. “You were smart to bring her purse along. Usually, we don’t have any information on health insurance when someone comes in under conditions like this.”

“I’m glad I could help,” Kelly assured the nurse. “She’s my friend and she’d do the same for me.”

“Calling her dad with her own cellphone was good thinking,” Debbi complimented the cheerleader.

“We both have the same model of smartphone. I knew exactly how to access it,” explained Kelly. “By the way, another friend of mine was brought in this morning. Can you tell me what room he’s in?”

“Surely! What’s his name?”

“Brandon MacDonald.”

“Doctor and Nurse MacDonald’s son?”

“Mm-hmm! We’re classmates.”

“Lemme see… I had it here only a few minutes ago,” the nurse said. “Here it is! He’s in the Adolescent Ward, Room twenty-five-oh-one.”

“Thanks, Nurse Freund,” offered Kelly as she turned to go down the corridor.

Kelly found her way to St. Luke’s new Adolescent Ward quickly enough. Brandon’s room was the first in that ward after she entered by the main double doors. She peeked inside.

“Could I come in?” Kelly asked.

“Of course!” Brandon invited.

“Omigosh, Kelly!” Jenny exclaimed, noting the cheerleader’s left hand and forearm immobilized in a splint and a sling. “You’re so hurt!”

“Oh, it’s not so bad as it looks,” Kelly dismissed her injury. “It’s just a distal radius fracture.”

“A what?” Brandon asked.

“A broken wrist,” clarified Kelly.

“Still, I’m sorry,” Jenny consoled her, hugging Kelly warmly but carefully avoid her injured arm. “We watched you and Abby take that hit. How’s she doing now?”

Kelly glanced down. “Not very well,” she reported. “Double Abby cracked three ribs and broke her left forearm and left leg in two places. She also has a concussion and a ruptured spleen. She’s in surgery now.”

“Why were her injuries so much worse than yours?” Brandon inquired.

“She was wearing her new contact lenses but hadn’t adjusted to the prescription yet,” explained Kelly. “I think she simply misjudged how far out the players were. She got caught right between our receiver and their linebacker. They’re both really big, heavy guys and carried a lot of momentum. Double Abby didn’t expect to get hit, so she didn’t think to move or to protect herself. I got injured trying to push her out of the way. Astrid tried as well, but she wasn’t close enough to reach her, either.”

“Were the two players injured?” Jenny inquired.

“Not physically, anyway,” replied Kelly. “But they’re both waiting outside the operating room. They’re very upset about it. I don’t think the Pine Forest linebacker has stopped crying like since it happened. Their coach pulled him from the game ’cause he just couldn’t focus.”

“I hope you’ll both be okay,” Jenny wished for the two cheerleaders.

“So do I,” added Brandon. “I just never thought of cheerleading as a contact sport.”

“Believe me, Brandon,” assured Kelly, “I never thought of it that way, either. Cheerleading injuries are usually more like what we had in gymnastics.”

“You were in gymnastics?” Jenny asked Brandon in surprise.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Kelly and me were in the same gymnastics school until two years ago.”

“How did you get into that?” Jenny followed up.

“Yes, you never did let on why you took gymnastics,” added Kelly. “For that matter, you never told anyone why you quit.”

“Well, I was really clumsy when I was little,” confessed Brandon. “So, when Sheila decided she wanted ballet lessons, Mom was gonna sign me up to take it with her. But I was afraid all the other boys would make fun of me. So Dad suggested I might take gymnastics instead. Coach and Madame Johnson gave us their Family Plan Discount.”

“So, your gymnastics and ballet teachers were married?” Jenny continued.

“They still are,” affirmed Kelly. “I actually took both gymnastics and ballet from them. We also got good discounts. My older sister Maureen took ballet from Madame Johnson as well. Anyway, Brandon, why did you quit? I mean, you were really good on the floor and on the bar.”

“Well, I wasn’t good at anything else,” he admitted. “Coach Johnson told Dad he’d be wasting his money if I continued. He said I didn’t have a ‘competitive physique.’”

“I can’t believe Mister Johnson would say something like that!” exclaimed Kelly incredulously.

“He only said it because it’s true,” Brandon dismissed Kelly’s objection. “He didn’t believe I would be able to compete at the next level. And I knew he was right. Although I was improving at vaulting and pommel horse, I still lagged behind everyone else in the class for those events. But I wasn’t even close to getting started on the parallel bars or the flying rings.”

“I’m sorry, Brandon,” consoled Kelly. “I never knew.”

“That’s okay, Kelly. There was no reason for you to know,” he assured her. “I mean, it was disappointing, but I got over it. Besides, I had long since achieved my goal.”

“Which was…?” Jenny asked.

“To walk without tripping over my own feet,” he answered laughing at himself as the two girls giggled along.

They heard another girl’s voice at the door. “I see you have company already. And I was afraid you’d be all alone in here,” Sheila told her brother, only half-kidding. She was wearing a pom-pom girl’s uniform of a shiny, sparkly crimson and royal blue leotard mini-skirted in long white fringe, shimmering nude tights, white gauntlets trimmed in short crimson and royal blue fringe, and matching white ballet slippers.

“Come in and join us, Sis!” Brandon invited her. “Jenny, I’d like you to meet my sister Sheila. Sis, this is Jenny Chang, my girlfriend.”

The two girls didn’t bother to shake hands but went directly to hugs. “So, you’re the girl who got my little brother’s attention,” said Sheila. “Like, you’re all he can talk about now.”

“He didn’t seem about to ask me,” explained Jenny. “So I decided to make the first move myself. Mom says sometimes a girl must go after what—or whom she wants.”

“That’s my little brother, alright,” confirmed Sheila. “Always clueless about girls.” Then she turned to embrace the injured cheerleader, but carefully dodged her bandaged wrist. “I’m glad to see you again, Kelly.” Sheila kissed her cheek.

“Glad to see you again, too,” replied Kelly, returning the hug and kiss. “But I had hoped to be cheering with you. Why aren’t you a cheerleader this year?”

“I wasn’t that good with the more difficult gymnastics,” admitted Sheila. “I’m much more confident with just dancing, so the pom-pom squad is really a better fit for me.”

“Well, the important thing is you’re still out there showing school spirit,” emphasized Kelly, smiling. “And you rock in that uniform.”

“Thanks, Kelly,” offered Sheila.

“Hey, Sis!” Brandon called out. “Don’t forget me over here!”

“Of course I’m not forgetting you, Li’l Bro!” Sheila assured him. “After all, I came here to see you, didn’t I?”

“Well, since you’re my sister, I must suspect a hidden agenda,” he teased her. “And since you’re here with both my girlfriend and my longtime playmate since kindergarten, even a full-blown conspiracy is possible.”

“Aw! Would I do something like that to you?” Kelly protested with an exaggerated pout at which Jenny and Sheila giggled.

“In a word? Yeah!” Brandon replied. “Like the plan you and your friends revealed at lunch yesterday. That’s kinda why I’m in here anyway.”

“What?” Kelly asked.

“I had nightmares and awoke with a panic attack,” explained Brandon. “The nightmares were about you girls electing me Homecoming Princess. I couldn’t get away from you and next you and the other girls made me wear a formal gown and get made over at the mall. Then you made my best friend, Jeff, escort me to midfield at the Homecoming game in front of everyone. I woke up trying to scream, but short of breath. That’s when Mom and Dad came in to help me breathe. Sis called the ambulance.”

Replaying the sequence of events since Wednesday morning in her mind, Kelly sniffled and broke into tears. His nightmares were her fault. If she hadn’t teased and cajoled him over crossdressing and led her girlfriends to do the same, then he wouldn’t have had the nightmares, so he wouldn’t have had the panic attack, nor have been in the hospital. Therefore, not having Brandon available as her Knight-Escort, she concluded, was entirely her own fault. She found the logic irrefutable.

Suddenly turning, Kelly fled from the room, escaping down the corridor, through the double doors, and out of the Adolescent Ward.

“What’s that all about?” Brandon wondered, stunned and confused. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, Li’l Bro,” Sheila assured him. “I don’t think it was anything you said or did.”

“No, she must have something on her own mind,” Jenny concurred. “After all, she declined Freshman Homecoming Princess this morning after winning it.”

“She did what?” Brandon exclaimed. “Kelly wanted that more than anything. Why would she pass it up?”

“That’s a good question,” observed Sheila. “Maybe I can find her and ask.”

“Gotta moment?” Dr. Windham asked her colleagues Nathan and Libby as she caught them on their way into the Staff Lounge. Theresa sat in an armchair across from the sofa where Libby sat down.

“Sure, Teri,” replied Dr. MacDonald as he held the door for her and his wife. “What’s up?” Nathan asked as he went to the coffeemaker. He filled cups for Libby and Theresa and served them before filling his own. “Is this about Brandon?”

“Yes, it is,” affirmed the psychiatrist. “He’s mostly fine, although I do see a few possible concerns.”

“Like what?” Libby queried the psychiatrist.

“First, Brandon’s a little worried about his gender identity, Libby,” replied Dr. Windham. “A nightmare on that theme seems to’ve triggered his panic attack this morning. He presented so well as a girl for his school’s ‘Gender-Bender Day,’ that a number of his female classmates asked him to repeat it, although I suspect they pressured him too strongly about it.”

“That explains why he enjoyed dressing up for it then regretted it the next day,” observed Nathan.

“Perhaps, but he’s also afraid of violating some unwritten rule of boyhood,” Theresa added to Brandon’s symptomatology. “His greatest fear wasn’t dressing and behaving as a girl, but that he really enjoyed doing so. He’d like to try it again, but he’s afraid he might risk forfeiting his claim to eventual manhood.”

“Nate, that’s why we need to show him our own high school yearbooks,” Libby asserted.

“But I don’t want Brandon to feel that I’m pressuring him along with everyone else,” Nathan maintained.

Dr. Windham was puzzled, so asked, “What’s in the yearbooks?” Then she noticed Nathan blushing. “Is this something I need to know that might affect Brandon.”

“Sweetheart, please don’t!” Nathan begged his wife, offering a sadly embarrassed demeanor.

“This is for our son’s well-being, dear,” Libby reminded him. “After all, you brought Teri in on this, so it’s our duty as parents to offer her any information that she might find relevant.”

“So, Libby, what’s in your yearbooks?” reiterated Theresa.

“Nate was a cheerleader—and a cute one—for the Powder-Puff Football Tournament all four years of high school,” Libby disclosed. “And he was elected a Powder-Puff Princess his sophomore and junior years and Queen of the Powder-Puff Ball his senior year.”

“Omigosh!” Theresa squealed holding her hands over her mouth, palms facing, fingertips touching, yet not effectively muffling her exclamation. “Are you kidding?”

“Libby, you are so sleeping alone tonight,” announced Nathan.

“Don’t be such a curmudgeon, Nate,” Libby cautioned her husband.

“Libby’s right, Nate,” confirmed Dr. Windham. “If you have experience in presenting your feminine side in such a public venue, sharing that with Brandon should help relieve some of the anxiety he’s feeling.”

“I’m afraid that if I do, he may feel pressure to emulate me when he wouldn’t want to,” admitted Nathan.

“But given that he’s unsure how to handle such a circumstance, to know that you did without ill effect may be a great relief to him,” explained Theresa. “Whether he chooses to emulate you or not, he still needs a role model to help him through it. No one would be better than his own father for this.”

“Just because I was comfortable crossdressing in my teens does not guarantee Brandon will be as well,” objected Nathan. “For one thing, I wasn’t the only boy doing it. We had an entire cheer squad as well as a dance line of pom-pom girls and a majorette corps. Having so many guys all doing it together made it safe and was also much of the fun.”

“But honey, your crossdressing wasn’t limited to Powder-Puff Football,” his wife reminded him. “We dressed you up quite a few times.”

“And who enjoyed it more, Libby?” Nathan retorted. “You or your mother?”

“Well, you never complained!” Libby reminded him with a giggle. “You even said you wish you’d dressed up more.”

“Seriously, Nate,” reasserted Theresa. “Your son needs to know.”

“Alright!” conceded Nathan. “I’ll talk to him about it when he gets home. I just hope he’s not more frightened by it than he already has been.”

“I think he really wants to do more crossdressing,” said Dr. Windham. “But I think he needs to know he has your support before he can give himself permission to explore his gender identity.”

“Teri, do you think Brandon’s transgendered?” Libby asked.

“That’s a good question,” replied the psychiatrist. “At this time, he’s interested in exploring who he is. So far, he’s not really shown any signs of gender identity disorder—he just tried crossdressing and is confused and embarrassed because he found out he enjoyed it. He may simply be androgynous like you, Nate. Also, I should point out that he did express fear that to like crossdressing might disqualify him becoming a man. If he’s indeed afraid of losing his masculinity, I’d further doubt him being transgendered. Again, that’s another reason he needs to know about his father’s experiences. And that brings me to the next issue.”

“What’s that?” Libby asked her.

“Brandon seems generally to keep his focus in a few narrow areas, doesn’t he?” inquired Theresa.

“Yes, we’ve noticed that recently,” confirmed Nathan as Libby nodded her agreement. “Is that a cause for concern?”

“It can be,” Theresa cautioned her friends. “But it really depends on why his focus is so narrow. One reason might simply be that he’s afraid to step beyond his comfort zone to try new experiences. That would make his recent interest in crossdressing an encouraging sign.”

“Because he took a risk doing it?” Nathan asked for clarification.

“Yes,” the psychiatrist affirmed. “A measured, limited, and controlled risk, but a risk nonetheless. And it’s had real consequences for Brandon, even if they may seem somewhat overblown to us. So, we discussed leaving his comfort zone and giving himself permission to fail.”

“Could there be another reason?” Libby asked Theresa.

“Yes, and it pains me to say so, Libby, Nate,” the psychiatrist grimly prefaced her diagnosis. “Now, I’m not an expert on this, so I would like to consult with another colleague who is. Brandon shows a number of symptoms of an autism spectrum disorder, signs of what until very recently was known as Asperger’s syndrome.”

“Asperger’s syndrome?” Libby asked her, partly in denial, partly in surprise. “Are you serious?—Well, of course you’re serious! But I find that so very hard to believe.”

“But Libby, Asperger’s would explain much about Brandon,” her husband observed. “I’m inclined to go along with Teri on this.”

“I’d like to point out that I’m relying not just on my own interview with Brandon and observations of him,” Theresa added, “but both of you have described various behaviors over the years that, considered as a whole, would tend to support a diagnosis of an autism spectrum disorder, especially Asperger’s syndrome.”

“Isn’t there a specific test for Asperger’s syndrome that we’d need for a proper diagnosis?” Libby followed up. “Is it fair to diagnose Brandon according to what Nate and I have told you about him over the years?”

“There are diagnostic protocols for autism spectrum disorders,” Theresa confirmed. “In fact, they include an interview with the parents. So considering what you and Nate have disclosed to me about your son anticipates some of the actual protocol, although there are other tests as well. For example, certain subtests of the Wechsler Adult Intelligence Scale are known to correlate quite strongly with diagnoses of autism spectrum disorders.”

“I had just thought that he’s going through the same normal problems any teenaged boy does,” Libby said in a worried voice.

“And he still is,” Teri added. “Not everything he'd face would be due to Asperger’s. He’s still a teenager and, for example, his hormones appear to be just beginning to stir. But Asperger’s syndrome could affect how he’d handle the new situations that go along with it.”

“I guess neither of us realized how much might be piling up for Brandon,” observed Nathan. “So what do you suggest next?”

“Were you going to have him stay overnight for observation?” asked Dr. Windham.

“Yeah,” Dr. MacDonald answered. “I want to make sure we don’t have a repeat of this morning’s panic attack from nightmares. Besides, keeping him here for observation is pretty much normal protocol anyway.”

“Tomorrow morning, I’d like to give Brandon the Wechsler, and if his scores warrant, I’d then like to bring in Doctor Blaise Devereaux for additional observation and assessment,” Teri told her friends. “He’s a clinical psychologist and quite an expert in diagnosis and management of autism spectrum disorders. He’s the best around. I’ve worked with him often and he’s agreed to come in tomorrow afternoon for Brandon depending on his Wechsler scores.”

“Exactly what would Doctor Devereaux do for Brandon?” Libby asked.

“He’d review your son’s results from the Wechsler and then likely administer diagnostic tests specific to autism,” Dr. Windham explained. “Although certain scores on the Wechsler and its subtests correlate strongly with Asperger’s syndrome, they’re not definitive. Also, as I mentioned earlier the diagnostic testing will probably include a structured interview with you and Nate. So you’d both need to arrange some time off tomorrow afternoon.”

Libby glanced at Nathan who nodded back to her and then to Teri. This was for their son’s welfare. They’d make time off for the interview.

“Can we come in?” another familiar voice came through the door of Brandon’s hospital room. It was his next-door neighbor and best friend, Jeff Padgett. “We heard you were in here. You okay now?”

“Jeff! Mark! Melinda!” Brandon happily acknowledged his friends. “Come on in! I think I’m alright now, but Mom and Dad want me to stay overnight and I gotta have more tests tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong with you anyway?” Jeff asked his longtime buddy. Meanwhile, Sheila and Jenny went around hugging Brandon’s new set of visitors.

“I woke up with a panic attack after a nightmare,” explained Brandon once again. “Sheila called for an ambulance while Mom and Dad helped my breathing. It was kinda scary until I was awake enough to see Mom and Dad working on me.”

“That had to be heavy,” opined Mark about his friend’s experience.

“Well, the nightmare was,” Brandon downplayed Mark’s observation. “But after the panic attack, I slept through everything, anyway.”

“We’re just glad you’re alright now,” Melinda shared with the group. “It’s easy to see how you guys rely on each other.”

“How do you know my sister?” Brandon asked Mark’s girlfriend.

“Art club,” quipped Melinda tersely as Sheila nodded.

“Have you met my brother’s girlfriend yet?” the pom-pom girl asked her friend, afraid that once again Brandon’s narrow focus on his immediate circumstance might cause him to forego introductions.

“Melinda and I met at lunch yesterday. She suggested I’d look good in Goth fashion,” Jenny assured Sheila. “And just for the record, I met Mark and Jeff then as well.”

Sheila felt relieved at the thought that Brandon had not merely forgotten introductions but that everyone already knew one another. Then again, maybe he had forgotten, but there was no way to tell. Her brother never intended to be rude, but in his enthusiasm to discuss whatever, he often failed to follow the simplest of social protocols. She was not surprised that Jenny had made the first move with Brandon. Sheila doubted her brother would have read Jenny’s signals, even though the attraction was strong and clearly mutual.

“On the other hand, Jenny,” said Melinda, “you look totally awesome in what you’re wearing now. I mean, you’re really hot, girl!”

Jenny blushed some and giggled at Melinda’s comment. “Y’know, I would like to try it sometime,” she acknowledged. “Whaddya think, boyfriend? Would I make a pretty Goth girl?”

“I think I’d like you in something like Melinda’s wearing,” observed Brandon. “It has an Old World look—a Romantic theme you can pull off easily. Of course, I like what you’re wearing now.”

Jenny smiled back at Brandon while Melinda took Mark by the hand. “Jenny, would you like to come shopping with me this weekend? I could take you to the boutiques for Goth fashions.”

“That sounds like fun,” Jenny answered. “Maybe you’d like to come with us, Brandon?” she teased.

“No thanks!” Brandon answered her. “I’ve been in drag enough for now. Besides, you’ve reminded me tonight of just how much a guy I am.”

At that, Jeff high-fived Brandon, which he returned. “Good going, buddy!” Jeff announced smiling.

Sheila simply smiled to herself as she remembered talking with her brother the night before. “Oh, maybe you should consider it,” she teased him. Skirts and dresses can be acceptable for Goth boys.” Jenny and Melinda giggled along with her.

“Yes!” You did look so nice in that dress,” beamed Jenny. “You’ve got great legs. Don’t be so embarrassed by them!”

“Wait a minute, now!” Mark injected into the discussion. What about my legs, Melinda? I wore a skirt, too.”

“And so did I!” Jeff added. “We dressed up in support of Brandon. That wasn’t exactly easy for us.”

“True, but do you have a group of girls following you around trying to get you to repeat it?” Brandon asked his buddies.

“No, I guess not,” conceded Jeff.

“Well, not that you know about,” Melinda warned giggling behind a somewhat less than demure smirk. “Oh! And Mark, your legs did clinch the deal for me. I’ve just gotta see you in a pair of stockings sometime.”

“What?” Mark gasped in surprise.

“Please…?” Melinda bid in a singing voice, displaying an excellent, well-rehearsed pout along with puppy-dog eyes. “Just for me…?”

“There you go, guys!” Brandon declared to his buddies. “Now you have a little taste of what I’ve been going through since Wednesday.”

The three girls in Brandon’s hospital room glanced among themselves, fighting to restrain their giggles behind naughty grins. Jeff and Mark looked to their buddy in affright, but Brandon just shook his head in resignation. They looked back at the girls to see all three smirking back at them, but each with her best mesmerizing gaze.

“What is it?” Jeff asked, his voice tremulous. The room was silent for yet a moment. “Well, what?”

Kelly had seated herself snugly at the right end of a vinyl sofa in the slightly chilly waiting area outside the Emergency Room, curling her legs up underneath her. A nurse had brought her a blanket, which she now wore as a shawl around her upper body. On an end table, flush with the armrest next to her, were two purses, Abby’s as well as her own, and a box of facial tissues, which she very much needed that evening.

A sling held Kelly’s left arm, her wrist now immobilized in a splint. She would not be able to perform many of her cheerleading routines until her injury healed, since they required much gymnastics work, mostly tumbling. She’d have to break the news to Miss San-Giacomo herself and soon.

Even worse, though, Double Abby’s injuries were much more extensive and would take much longer to heal, definitely weeks, maybe months. At any rate, she would be unable to cheer for quite some time. So that’d put Abby on the long-term disabled list. Kelly felt sad for their coach, as the work she’d done to train such a good jayvee squad might’ve been all for nothing. The cheerleader worried about how their injuries would affect the other girls on the junior varsity squad.

Next, Kelly turned her thoughts to the practical problem of how she could manage her assignments for school. She was left-handed—a lefty, a southpaw—but now unable to use her left hand for perhaps a few weeks. How would she write or use a computer keyboard? Would her grades suffer as a result of her injury. She certainly hoped to avoid that somehow.

The events of the day had been just too much for Kelly, winning Freshman Homecoming Princess and naming Brandon as her Knight-Escort, then learning that he was in the hospital. And now it was clear that her own teasing had put him there and resulted in her having to give up her crown as Freshman Homecoming Princess in favor of Rhonda Davies. But beyond those issues was her continuing sexual attraction to Holly Thompson, Double Abby’s and her collision at the game with the two football players, Abby’s and her own injuries, and now Abby in surgery—it was all too much.

Kelly grabbed a few tissues as she began to cry yet again. All this had happened today after Brandon had chosen Jenny over her yesterday. Now she bore a wound in the hand along with the wound in her heart. She blotted her tears, then took her purse from the end table and laid it in her lap. Out of her purse, Kelly took her half-bottle of peppermint schnapps. Fighting the fatigue and ache in her left hand, the cheerless cheerleader managed to close her fingers around the bottle and unscrew the cap. She drank a swig of the schnapps, replaced the cap, and set it down on the end table. Then, she took yet another hard peppermint candy, and with some difficulty, tore its wrapper off and popped the confection in her mouth.

“I hope you don’t really think that you’re fooling anyone with the peppermints, Kelly,” a familiar baritone voice cautioned her. “The smell of schnapps is so much stronger than that of the peppermint oil used in hard candy.”

She looked up to see Dr. MacDonald standing there, the disappointment evident on the face of Brandon’s father.

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

Dr. MacDonald sat down in an armchair facing at right angles to the sofa. Kelly was so much like his own daughter, his own son. So many times she’d visited them under their own roof, joined them in the backyard for summer fun or in the park for picnics. His children had spent their share of time at Kelly’s home as well.

“You’re too young for alcohol, Kelly,” advised Dr. MacDonald. “Why do you feel a need to self-medicate?”

“Self-medicate?” Kelly asked.

“Yes. That’s what you appear to be doing,” he began to explain. “You’re not drinking for a party, for which you’re underage, anyway. It’s much more likely that you’re drinking to reduce your anxiety and pain. A physician or psychiatrist might prescribe something else in such a case. That’s why we call it self-medicating. You’ve essentially prescribed yourself alcohol as a treatment for whatever’s bothering you. Am I wrong?”

“How could you possibly know that?” Kelly asked him skeptically.

“Well, the bottle size that you’ve chosen, half-a-fifth, is quite easily concealed in your purse. For a party, you’d be taking a fifth or even a litre. You chose peppermint schnapps believing that the hard candy would conceal it on your breath. The bag of peppermint candy also indicates that you do this frequently, prob’ly daily,” thus Dr. MacDonald outlined his reasoning. “But more than that, your demeanor isn’t quite right. You don’t look quite like the Kelly who took ballet with Sheila or gymnastics with Brandon, nor the Kelly who’d come to our house to play with them both and often stay for dinner. You don’t even look like the same Kelly who sustained an injury trying to protect a friend and rode with her in the ambulance tonight. By the way, Nurse Freund can’t stop praising you for helping her to get Abby registered and to contact her parents. And there’s one more thing you need to know about that.”

“What?”

“You got through in time, when no one else had,” he related. “The surgeon was able to start in time to save Abby’s spleen, thanks to you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really!” affirmed the physician. “That’s why alcohol doesn’t make sense for the Kelly whom we all have come to know and love. I don’t want to see a young lady with your potential, with your promise, go down that path. Your parents would be more disappointed with your drinking than I am.”

“Please, don’t tell my parents about this,” pled Kelly.

Nathan leaned back in the armchair for a moment, scratching his chin. Kelly had presented him with an ethical dilemma. Even though she was a minor, physician-patient confidentiality still applied unless Kelly were a threat to herself or others. She was too young for a driver’s license or even a learning permit, so there was not an issue of drunk driving. She didn’t even have a car here. He’d seen her arrive by ambulance, himself.

“Alright then, Kelly. I won’t tell your parents—because you will!” The doctor pulled his referral pad from his white coat and began to write on it. “You will need some help to take that step, so I want to refer you to someone who really understands what teenagers go through. Doctor Theresa Windham is a colleague of mine and would be a good person for you to talk to.” He tore the form from the top of the pad and gave it to Kelly. She studied the referral for a moment.

“Would you refer Brandon or Sheila to her?”

“Absolutely!”

“So you trust her that much?”

“Yes, I do,” Nathan affirmed to his children’s friend. “And she’s here now. I’m hoping you can meet her tonight.”

“But I need to be meeting my friends and their families when they come in.”

“Then, since I haven’t released you just yet, I’d like to keep you overnight for observation,” the physician told her. “That will give you a chance to meet Doctor Windham and we can watch for possible internal injuries.”

“Internal injuries?” Kelly asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Collisions like you experienced can often cause internal injuries that may not appear immediately,” explained Dr. MacDonald. “So it would be wiser if you remain here overnight—just in case.”

“So what do I do next?”

“Go meet with your friends and their families. Barring other more serious conditions, we’ll assign you a room in the Adolescent Ward.”

“But how will you know where I am?”

“I work here, Kelly. I’ll find you,” he said with a knowing smile. “Besides, you’re still wearing your cheerleading uniform. You kinda stand out.”

The small lobby outside the Operating Room was quite crowded when Kelly arrived. The Rev. Philip Abernathy was consoling a tearful Bob Kavalevsky while Jeff Baker was being reassured by Mrs. Abernathy. Kelly knew Abby’s parents would not affix blame to either boy for their daughter’s injuries. That simply wasn’t their way. They’d already forgiven both players in their own hearts and Kelly figured that Double Abby would do the same.

A group of four approached Kelly, led by Carla Benoit (her Big Sister), Astrid Svenson (Double Abby’s Big Sister) with her boyfriend Jason Brandt (star quarterback), and Coach Brenda San-Giacomo. Carla, Astrid, and the coach all carefully hugged Kelly, avoiding bumping into her injury. Jason simply shook hands with her.

Miss San-Giacomo turned to talk with Kelly. “So, how bad’s yours?”

“It’s a broken wrist, Coach Brenda” Kelly told her. “I can still cheer and dance, but I don’t think I’ll be doing any pyramids or other gymnastics for awhile.”

“Are you otherwise okay?” Miss San-Giacomo asked, hoping that Kelly’s injuries were limited to the broken wrist.

Kelly sighed as she continued to deliver news. “Doctor MacDonald ordered me to stay overnight,” she told her coach. “He’s concerned I might have internal injuries that aren’t obvious—kinda like Double Abby’s spleen. Have you heard about all her injuries?”

“I’ve already talked to Abby’s parents and Doctor MacDonald,” related the coach, her expression downcast. “It’s not good. He said they’ll know more when she’s out of surgery, but he guessed from her apparent injuries it’d be two to three months before she’s up and about again. And even then we may not get her back. Her mom and dad seem wary of letting her continue to participate.”

“I hope not!” Kelly objected, nearly in tears. “She loves cheerleading. Taking that away from Abby would break her heart!”

“But even if it’s just for the short-term, we still need a replacement for her,” Miss San-Giacomo told her. “I’ll be more than happy to have Abby back when she’s able, but until then I still need to keep you girls going. As it is, we’ll need to make changes to our stunts, which I’d like to minimize. After all, I’d rather not see another of my girls in here.”

Kelly nodded in agreement with her. She hadn’t thought too much about the implications that their injuries had. First and foremost was that it meant a lot of work for Coach San-Giacomo. Although most of their choreography was independent of how many dancers were available, for their pyramids and other stunts, having two cheerleaders absent would push the margin of safety beyond what anyone was comfortable doing. Those stunts would need to be revised and relearned. That would be a lot of work for everyone.

“So, how can I help out with this?” Kelly asked her.

“Talk to anyone who you think would be a good cheerleader,” the coach instructed her. “But she needs to be really fit and capable of stepping right in. She’s gotta get up to speed within a couple of weeks. And I’ve gotta make sure she’s academically eligible and has the right time available in her schedule. We don’t have time to hold new tryouts, so we really need to identify a suitable candidate and entice her to join as soon as possible.”

“Well, here comes one candidate now,” remarked Kelly as a pom-pom girl entered the room. Coach San-Giacomo turned to see Astrid and Carla hugging Sheila MacDonald. Quickly, the cheerleading coach sought to reclaim one of her past flock who’d wandered off.

“Sheila, come here!” the coach sang out, stepping up to hug her. “You’re looking so fit and healthy. Why are you here?”

“I hurried here after the game to be with my brother,” answered Sheila. “We brought him in this morning. He hated like not being able to go to the Homecoming Game. So, his girlfriend came to watch it with him on streaming video. They’re in his room upstairs. Kelly came by to see him, too. So, I thought like I’d see how Double Abby is?”

I think like they’re still working on her,” noted Astrid. “Like, no one’s come out of the operating room yet.”

Carla read the look in their coach’s eyes and immediately redirected the conversation. “So, Sheila, any chance like we can talk you into coming back to the cheer squad while Double Abby’s out?”

“Like I was telling Kelly earlier, I belong on the dance line,” replied Sheila. “I just can’t do the stunts you want. I really don’t have like what it takes.”

“Girl, you don’t give yourself enough credit,” Miss San-Giacomo tried to encourage her. “I still think you’d make a fine cheerleader.”

“We’ve been through this before, Coach Brenda. Even though I like dancing and cheering, I’m not comfortable with the other kinds of moves,” reiterated Sheila. “Even my brother’s better at those than I am. Besides, I’m much safer and happier on the dance line now.”

“Forgive us, then,” the coach asked of her former cheerleader. “Poor Abby is gonna be out for a long time, maybe even permanently. We need another girl in there fast.”

“I’ll certainly help look for someone and, like, help get her up to speed,” promised Sheila. “But if I were really any good as a cheerleader, I’d have stayed on this year.”

“That’s alright, then,” conceded the coach, although she wondered why Sheila really had not returned to the cheer squad this year. The girl had shown as much potential as anyone, if not more. Brenda just could not understand why such a promising cheerleader had defected to the pom-pom squad and dance team.

One cheerleader was not ready to concede, even if their coach was. “Sheila, now please!” Astrid Svenson addressed her former teammate and Little Sister. “Take the weekend and, like, think about it. We really need you, like even if just for a few weeks. Please?”

The hardest part of leaving the cheer squad for Sheila was that she missed her relationship with Astrid, who was now a varsity cheerleader and had been her Big Sister. Sheila and Astrid shared much mutual affection.

“Alright, Astrid. Because you asked me, I’ll think about it, but like I won’t promise anything beyond that. Leaving the squad was hard for me, and like I don’t wanna repeat it.”

They both hugged and fought back their tears. Sheila then thought it best if she return to Brandon’s room.

Jenny and Brandon were still enjoying each other’s company in his hospital room. West Grove High School’s win had, of course, added to their spirit and the young couple had all the more reason to hug and kiss.

Until they heard another knock at the door.

“May I come in, Brandon?” asked a newly familiar female voice.

“Yes, Doctor,” he invited her. “I’d like you to meet Jenny Chang, my new girlfriend. Jenny, this is Doctor Theresa Windham, a friend of my parents and my new psychiatrist.”

“Pleased to meet you, Doctor Windham,” Jenny greeted her, stepping forward to offer her hand.

“And I am as well,” replied the doctor, accepting her hand with a smile just as dimpled as Jenny’s. “Could you step outside while I talk with Brandon?”

“No!” Brandon objected. “Anything you need to tell me, you can say with Jenny here.”

“So you’re giving me permission to talk with Jenny here?”

“Yes, I am,” he agreed.

The information she had to give was just what he’d be doing tomorrow. And he did give permission for Jenny to be there. So be it, then.

“Tomorrow morning, I’ll be giving you a test,” the doctor announced. “And if it shows what I think it will, I’ll ask a colleague to give you another test or two in the afternoon.”

“Then when do I get to go home?” he whinged just a little. “I feel fine now.”

“Of course you do,” Jenny teased, giggling. “We’ve been making out all evening.”

Dr. Windham covered her grin while restraining her own giggles. But she was relieved to know that her young patient had participated in age-appropriate behavior with the opposite sex. At the very least, it could become a mitigating factor in her diagnosis. She was really hoping that what she yet suspected for Brandon proved wrong.

“You get to go home when I say you can,” Dr. Windham answered him. “Your dad has given me your case, so that decision is mine. And I’ll let you leave after I’ve discussed the results of your tests tomorrow with you and your parents.”

“I’d hoped to get out of here early tomorrow morning,” complained Brandon.

“Could I stay overnight?” Jenny piped up. “It’s an incentive for him to stay and not whine about it.”

Smiling, Dr. Windham shook her head. “Nice try, Jenny, but no. He really needs some rest tonight.”

“Mom?…”

“Yes, sweetie,” Cat addressed her teenaged daughter over the telephone. “What is it?…”

“Now, I don’t want you to worry, and please don’t interrupt while I tell you what’s happened, but I was injured at the football game,” Kelly told her mother. “A pass play went over the sideline. Double Abby was caught between the receiver and a linebacker. I tried to push her out of the way but couldn’t, and broke my wrist in the collision…”

“Oh, Kelly!…”

“I’ll be alright, Mom, but Double Abby is much worse…”

“What happened to her?…”

“She was knocked unconscious and has a broken arm, broken leg, broken ribs, and a ruptured spleen…”

“That’s awful!…”

“They brought us here to Saint Luke’s Hospital. They x-rayed my arm and set my wrist. Double Abby’s still in surgery…”

“Will she be alright?…”

“We don’t really know,” admitted Kelly. “She won’t be cheerleading for a long while. That’s for sure…”

“How ’bout your own cheerleading, sweetie?…”

“The doctor said my wrist should take about six weeks to heal—maybe a little longer. But I can still yell and even dance. And Coach Brenda has already asked me to help out behind the scenes. She wants me to help her find another girl to stand in for Double Abby…”

“That’s really too bad—her injuries being so serious, I mean,…” Cat commiserated with her daughter.

“I was lucky mine was relatively minor…”

“When can I come and get you?…”

“Not until tomorrow.” Kelly explained, “Doctor MacDonald says internal injuries don’t always show up immediately, so he wants me to stay overnight for observation…”

“Then I’m coming to see you,” Cat resolved. “Do you need anything?…”

“Some proper sleepwear—I’ve seen these hospital gowns and they’re not much better than naked,” Kelly complained. “They provide basic toiletries here—oh! Bring me Benny the Bear. I’m not too old for him…”

Cat just smiled. Her daughter had held on to her favorite stuffed animal for a long time. “No, sweetie, you’ll never be too old for Benny…” She paused a moment. ”I have to get Caitlin on the way home. I’ll get your things, then we’ll come visit you…”

“When’s Daddy due back?…” Kelly felt like she needed her father near as much as her mother.

“His flight should arrive at five forty-five tomorrow afternoon. Do you think you’ll be out of the hospital in time?…”

“I hope so,” admitted Kelly. “Mom, I don’t tell you and Daddy this nearly often enough, but I love you…”

“Well, I am happy that we won tonight,” Billy Danziger confirmed for the three women seated at the table with him in Giuseppe’s Pizzeria. “Pulling it out by a field goal in the last few seconds of a game is always exciting.”

“Yes, it was,” Nancy agreed with her brother.

Lauren nodded in affirmation. “Wasn’t even my team but I still got caught up in the game.”

“Both teams played well, I think” opined Billy, sipping his cola. I haft’ admit I got my money’s worth for the ticket.”

“Do you know who the injured girls are?” Mrs. Danziger asked.

“The red-headed cheerleader was Kelly Harrigan,” replied Billy. “She’s in my homeroom, although I heard this morning she was supposed to be Freshman Princess tonight. I couldn’t tell who the other girl was.”

“I wasn’t sure, but I think the girl who didn’t get up was Double Abby,” added Nancy. “You know—the Reverend Abernathy’s daughter.”

“That was her?” exclaimed Mrs. Danziger. “Is she in the freshman class?”

“Yeah, Mom!” Billy affirmed. “We’re the same age. “We share two or three classes.” Indeed, Billy had three courses scheduled together with Abby. But since he seldom went to his first period class, he wasn’t certain that she were in it.

“I haven’t been to St. Matthew’s since Easter,” remarked his mother. “I hope she’s okay.”

“Mis’ess Danziger,” Lauren addressed her. “I’m sure that if you go Sunday, the church bulletin would have news about her. Besides, I’d like to go there myself.”

“Yeah, Mom,” added Nancy. “Lauren’s always up for services Sunday mornings.”

“Where do you attend church?” Mrs. Danziger followed up with her daughter’s roommate.

“Usually on campus at the University Chapel,” replied Lauren.

“A state university has a chapel?” Billy asked in surprise. “How does that happen?”

Before it was a state college it was a private religious school—I think Episcopal or Methodist, but I’m not certain—I need to ask someone who knows. Then almost a century ago, the church sold the campus to the state’s Board of Regents who wanted another college in that area. It’s grown to be the largest campus in the State University System.

“Anyway, the Chapel is surrounded by the campus but not technically a part of it. There are four clergy who do services there part-time and also teach, mostly as adjunct faculty in the Department of Religious Studies, although they can be found teaching other subjects as well. The ministers there are Episcopal, Methodist, Presbyterian, and Baptist. They’re paid by their denominations and the Chapel has a few of its own fundraisers. Oh! It’s really a popular place for weddings. Almost every Saturday is booked ahead through next year!”

“It sounds like a nice place to have on campus,” Mrs. Danziger agreed. “So which services do you prefer there?”

“I’m an Episcopalian, myself, so I always try to be to that one,” replied Nancy. “But I’ve attended all of the others a time or two as well. Like I went with Nancy to the Methodist service a couple of times.”

“And Lauren is always dressed up so nice for church Sunday mornings,” added Nancy.

“Oh no!” Lauren gasped. “I forgot to bring a dress for Sunday!

“No problem, Lauren,” Nancy assured her friend. “You can wear one of mine.”

“But remember? Yours don’t fit me well at all.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I forgot that.”

“Could she wear one of mine?” Mrs. Danziger asked her daughter.

“Prob’ly not, Mom. Yours fit me fine, so they’d not look right on Lauren, either.”

“Well, the solution is easy enough,” suggested Lauren. “Take me to your mall!”

“Are you up for a shopping trip tomorrow, Mom?”

“Hmm?… Well, I haven’t been out to the West Grove Mall in quite a while, and I do need a few new things. So sure!”

“Billy, you should come with us, too, so we can help you with your special request—whaddya think about that, Lauren?” Nancy turned to her friend with a mischievous smirk.

“The mall is an excellent place to show him things to restore his ‘cool’ factor,” replied Lauren, nodding eagerly and subtly reflecting her friend’s smirk.

“So how ’bout it, Billy?” Nancy followed up. “We can show you a whole new way to be cool!”

Billy thought a moment. He had asked his sister for help and she promised that she would. She had even brought her roommate along, a friend who had some experience with his kind of problem. And Lauren was probably right that the mall would be a good venue to observe what he needed.

“Alright,” he answered his sister. “It makes sense. After all, a mall is a great place for people-watching.”

Their waitress then reappeared carrying a pizza, so the Danzigers and friend turned their attention to dinner.

Sheila returned to Brandon’s room to find Jenny and him going over their assigned homework.

“Did Jeff, Mark, and Melinda, like, leave?” Sheila asked.

“Yeah,” her brother answered.

“The conversation got, like, a little heavy about Melinda’s dreams of Mark in drag,” added Jenny giggling, which Sheila joined in.

“What is it with girls around here?” Brandon exclaimed in puzzlement. “Do you just hafta put guys in dresses for some reason?”

“It’s all in good fun,” his sister argued. “Besides, you looked really nice as a girl.”

“It did prompt me to go after you sooner than I would have otherwise.” Jenny explained. “The only reason you could pull off dressing up as a girl is, like, you’re sweet and gentle at heart. And that’s why I like you and want you as my boyfriend.”

“I thought it’s because I’m good at math,” Brandon mildly contradicted her.

“That’s why my mom likes you,” clarified Jenny, smiling. “She sees that as, like, giving you a good future. But that’s an added plus for me, too.”

“Still, I think it’s all the stress from gender-bending that’s put me here today,” declared Brandon. “As much fun as it was, and as nice as I might’ve looked in a dress, I’m still a boy.”

“But didn’t you, like, tell me you wanna try it again?” Sheila asked, reminding him of their conversation the previous evening.

“Yeah, but privately,” he answered, in turn reminding her of the conditions that he required. “Only where I could dress up safely without anyone else knowing—but not when and where it suits the Swarm and certainly not in front of the whole school!”

“Well, anytime you want to, you’ll be safe around me,” promised Jenny. Taking his hand between hers, she held Brandon’s attention with a reassuring gaze. “And we’ll keep it just between us. It’s, like, more fun that way.”

Dr. Jacquelyn Mendenhall untied her surgical mask and let it fall from her face as she approached her colleagues for discussion. “Good call on the spleen, Nate. It did have some damage, and the sutures were tricky, but Miss Abernathy gets to keep it.”

Dr. MacDonald sighed in relief. “I really can’t take credit for any of it, Jacqui. Joe the paramedic drew my attention to her spleen and one of her friends got through to her parents for approval. You did the surgery. I was just the gatekeeper.”

“Then thanks for expediting her through,” offered Jacquelyn. “What happened to her anyway?”

“She was cheerleading at a football game,” explained Nathan. “She was caught between a pass receiver and a linebacker when the play went out of bounds.”

“Ow! That had to hurt!” remarked Jacquelyn.

“Dat iss how she got all de fracturess,” observed Dr. Singh, an orthopedist. Fortunately, dey are all clean ant simple breaks. Surgery doess not appear necessary for dem, just setting de boness. But dere are several of dem.”

“That’s just as well,” said Jacquelyn in approval. “Would be better for her not to undergo another surgery until her spleen heals.”

“Dit you obsserffe de damage to her ribss?” Dr. Singh asked.

“The break in the tenth tore the spleen, so I took care of that one,” reported Jacquelyn. “The ninth and eleventh were cracked but not too badly—nothing that some tape and strict bed rest can’t heal.”

“What’s the plan, Singh?” Nathan asked.

“Splints on everyting for now,” the orthopedist prescribed. “I do not wish to reinjure her spleen, so I will schedule her casts more slowly dan usual.”

“Her parents are outside. Are we agreed that her prognosis is good?” Nathan polled his colleagues. They nodded in agreement.

“And how long do we say Miss Abernathy’s recovery will take?” asked Dr. MacDonald. “Her parents will need to know.”

“Her fracturess shoult be fully knittet in about six weeks or so,” predicted Singh.

“But the spleen heals more slowly,” asserted Jacquelyn. “At least eight weeks and, for the first few weeks, the risk of reinjury is high. The longer she’s immobilized, the better for her spleen.”

“But not so for her muscless,” Singh pointed out. “But she is more fit dan average for a teenaget girl.”

“Still, she may need at least some physical therapy after so long a period of immobilization. So she’d be looking at ten weeks or more, mostly in bed,” Nathan concluded. “Anything else we need to bring up with the parents right away?”

Dr. Mendenhall and Dr. Singh shook their heads, so Dr. MacDonald led them out to the waiting room.

Kelly Harrigan was beginning to feel comfortable in her hospital bed, save for the contraption used to immobilize her left arm. Pressing a button at the end of a cable, the head of her bed rose to a sitting position. Dr. MacDonald and a woman wearing a white coat and carrying a notepad paused at the door of her room.

“Kelly, may we come in?” asked Dr. MacDonald.

“Yes. Who’s she?”

“This is Doctor Theresa Windham,” the physician replied. “She’s the psychiatrist I told you about and referred you to. Teri, this is Kelly Harrigan. She’s such a close friend of our kids that she’s like another daughter to Libby and me.”

Kelly blushed at Dr. MacDonald’s introduction. “Nice to meet you, Doctor Windham,” she said, offering her hand. The woman stepped up to accept it. “Happy to meet you, too,” the psychiatrist returned the girl’s greeting.

“Alright, ladies,” announced Dr. MacDonald. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted now.” The physician left, closing the door behind him.

Dr. Windham sat down in a chair to the right side of Kelly’s bed, crossing her legs and propping her notepad up on her knee. “If you wish, feel free to call me ‘Teri’ or even ‘Doc.’ I prefer either to the more formal ‘Doctor Windham,’ unless the formality makes you feel more like you can trust me,” she suggested.

“Okay, Teri,” replied the young patient. “And I prefer just ‘Kelly’ unless ‘Miss Harrigan’ works better for you.” She couldn’t help but giggle.

“So, Kelly, why did Dr. MacDonald refer you to me?”

Kelly reached for her purse on the nightstand to her right. She unzipped the bag, took out her half-bottle of schnapps, and handed it to Dr. Windham. The psychiatrist accepted it from her and studied its label with concern for a moment. Then she placed it on the nightstand.

“You’re, like, not taking it from me?” Kelly asked with a puzzled look, returning her purse to the nightstand next to the schnapps.

“We’ll be talking about that in a few minutes. But at the moment, I’m more concerned about why you think you need it?”

Kelly’s tears flowed and she pulled her knees up to her chest. “Because I feel like everything in my life is falling apart!”

“Everything?”

“Yes! Everything!”

“Wow! That’s really heavy if everything’s falling apart.”

“Well, it is!”

“Hmm? How are your grades?”

“They’re okay—like, I think so, anyway. I haven’t made, like, less than a ‘Bee-plus’ on anything so far.”

“Doesn’t sound like your grades are falling apart, then.”

“But they will now.”

“Oh? Why?”

“My wrist.”

“How does that affect your grades?”

“I’m left-handed. I can’t write or keyboard like this.”

“Hmm? I guess that would present a challenge, wouldn’t it?”

“Sure would, ’cause it, like, really sucks.”

“Your injury just happened tonight, Kelly,” Dr.Windham reminded her, trying to offer some perspective. “You haven’t even had time to think about dealing with it.”

“Guess not.”

“Apart from your grades, how are your classes?”

“Mostly boring.”

“Well, mostly suggests that sometimes you must find at least one class not boring.”

“My favorite class is Cheerleading.”

“That’s a class?”

“Uh-huh! For us cheerleaders, it replaces our regular Physical Education course. We do get full academic credit for it.”

“Is cheerleading important to you?”

“Yes—very!”

“Why?”

“Well, for one, when I’m cheering, I feel better and, my depressed feelings disappear awhile. Besides that, the teamwork helps. On a really bad day, I can forget about myself except for what I need to do for the cheer squad.”

“Do you get depressed feelings often?”

“Often enough.”

“Any other classes that you enjoy?”

“I’m liking my English class more and more all the time now,” admitted Kelly.

“What about your English class do you enjoy?”

“All of it!” Kelly replied, her grimace now morphing into a thoughtful grin. “I like literature, especially poetry. Writing poetry has helped me to compose cheers. But I’m into writing everything. So now I’m writing stories, essays, whatever.”

“Any other classes?”

“Computer Science.”

“That’s quite different from English or Cheerleading. Why do you like it?”

“Well, computers are easy for me, but I think what I like most is helping my lab partner out.”

“Tell me about that.”

“Holly doesn’t seem to understand our teacher’s explanations too well, so, I try to find, like, other ways to tell her or show her. And she really appreciates it.”

“So you enjoy helping out your classmate?”

“Mm-hmm. It’s kinda like cheerleading, too, but more personal.”

“I wouldn’t ’ve thought of it that way.”

“Well, Holly’s a real sweetheart, always nice, and kind to everybody. She comes across, though, as not being very bright, but she’s smarter than she thinks she is.”

“So how do you help her?”

“Like I said, it’s cheerleading but one-on-one. It’s mostly convincing her that she can do it.”

“That’s interesting.”

“It works. She really is smart,” Kelly reiterated. “She just has trouble believing it.”

“Would you say that she depends on you?”

Kelly thought a moment. “I guess so.”

“Well, it certainly doesn’t sound like everything is falling apart for you. For example, you have things in a few of your classes that you’ve just described as working quite well.”

Dr. Windham decided to shift the direction of the interview. In all her experience working with adolescent patients, the most common problem faced by teenaged girls was teenaged boys.

“So then, Kelly, tell me about your boyfriends.”

The change in Kelly’s body language confirmed Dr. Windham’s guess. Her patient’s posture became more rigid, even defensive, while the psychiatrist noted the girl squirming below the waist. Kelly clenched her blanket with her free hand. So the doctor thought to respond with her own body language by deliberately relaxing. Placing her notepad on the nightstand, Theresa stretched her arms and back, then covered a yawn. Unconsciously, Kelly picked up on it and mirrored her psychiatrist’s moves back to her, relaxing her own posture, stretching out her arms and legs. She had fallen for Dr. Windham’s trick.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” denied Kelly as the doctor retrieved her notepad. “I was elected Freshman Homecoming Princess, but I had to withdraw this morning because I couldn’t find an escort for the ceremony.” The girl wept as she told her story. “I thought Brandon would, but he wasn’t at school. He was here.”

“Brandon?” Dr. Windham asked, not only to clarify, but also to protect his privacy as well.

“Doctor MacDonald’s son.”

Dr. Windham recalled how Brandon had briefly described Kelly to her:

“…Kelly Harrigan is kind of wild and has constantly teased me since we were in kindergarten. She just won’t leave me alone and sometimes she can really frighten me…”

Brandon had characterized Kelly as wild and even frightening. Now she decided that she needed to know how Kelly felt about Brandon. Yet she had to protect the privacy of both her patients.

“How long have you known Brandon?”

“Since kindergarten.”

“And how long have you had feelings for him?”

“Since kindergarten.”

“So then, the two of you have a long history?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Are you attracted to him sexually?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Since the sixth grade—since when I, like, started to become a woman.”

“Does Brandon express any like interest in you?”

“He’s clueless! Somehow, he showed up at lunch with a new girlfriend yesterday. I wish I could understand how she got his attention. I’ve been trying for years!”

Kelly’s account was helping confirm Dr. Windham’s initial diagnosis of an autism spectrum disorder for Brandon. As attractive and direct with her feelings as Kelly was, for Brandon to miss such social cues as the girl displayed could not be regarded as normal behavior.

“So is Brandon why you started drinking?” Dr. Windham asked Kelly.

The girl tossed her hair back and pulled her knees up to her chest again and hugged them. “He was this week.”

“So when did you start drinking?”

“A couple of weeks before school started.”

“Why then?”

“Well, I don’t know, like—like, how to explain it,” she admitted. Kelly looked to the upper right corner of her eyes. “I’m worried about why we’re even here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been such a bitch to Caitlin.”

“Caitlin?”

“My little sister.”

“How old is she?”

“Ten.”

“So how’ve you been bitchy to her?”

“Mostly by shutting her out, not talking to her, not playing with her. I guess I’m jealous of her.”

“Jealous? How?”

“She’s so carefree. Nothing bothers her.”

“But apparently something bothers you.”

“I don’t understand why I’m here or what the world’s about,” the girl confessed. “So many wars, terrorism, so much suffering and poverty, school shootings… It’s all more than I can take sometimes.”

Precocious existential angst? Teri reflected a moment on how it got to her too. “Is that why you started drinking?”

“No,” Kelly denied. “But it made me feel, like, really sad.”

“And is that why you began drinking?”

“Yes.”

“Then does drinking help you feel happier?”

“No,” replied Kelly. “But it, like, helps me feel nothing, and sometimes that seems better.”

Three ladies of importance in Brandon’s life, his mother, his sister, and his girlfriend, had all convened in his hospital room.

“Doctor Windham has left orders for your medications tonight,” his mother told him. “It’s especially important for you to get some sleep before your testing tomorrow. Trish is the Charge Nurse on the ward and Valerie is your nurse. I love you.” She kissed her son’s cheek. “Now we need to be going. I promised Jenny’s mom that we’d have her home by curfew. So you girls wish Brandon a good night.”

“G’night, Li’l Bro!” Sheila said, kissing Brandon’s other cheek. “I love you!”

Jenny bent over her boyfriend and locked lips with him. And they took a moment, maybe too long?

“Alright, now!” Brandon’s mom called. “That’s enough tonsil hockey!” Jenny broke off her kiss, giggling along with Sheila.

“Jenny, Sis, Mom, I love all of you,” said Brandon. “Jenny, thanks for dressing up for me tonight and spending your evening.”

“I hope it’s just the first of many such evenings,” Jenny added with a hug. “And I love you, too.”

Valerie Martin showed at Brandon’s door. “Time to go, Libby,” the nurse announced. “Visiting hours are over.”

“Good night, Brandon!” Elizabeth waved to her son as she and Valerie ushered the girls from his room.

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

Brandon awoke and stretched with a satisfied yawn. Definitely, he felt better than he did yesterday. That he was still at St. Luke’s seemed absurd to him. He really felt fine. Indeed, the boy had felt perfectly fine yesterday evening, but both his father and Dr. Windham had insisted that he stay overnight for observation and for some kind of test this morning. He cringed at the thought of another syringe drawing his blood again. They’d already done that to him yesterday, both a standard blood panel and drug tests. He wondered, did they forget to check for some narcotic? But he’d never taken anything not prescribed him by a physician. Despite all his foibles, Brandon prized his mind and enjoyed his intellect, which he regarded as a beautiful gift from God by way of Mom and Dad. He’d never risk that for a cheap thrill or a brief high.

“Good morning, Brandon! Rise and shîne!” a cheerful, young woman wearing white scrubs sang out as she raised the window shades in his room. “I’m Fran, your nurse for the morning shift. I hear you’re Libby and Nate MacDonald’s son?”

“Yeah, they’re my folks,” replied Brandon. He noted how cheerful and perky Nurse Fran was—almost too much so. “Is breakfast soon?”

“Should be,” she confirmed. “Until then, would you want to shower and change into a clean gown?”

“I guess, but I’d rather have my own clothes.”

“Well, I’m sure your mom or dad one will bring you some clothing when they come back on duty.”

“That would be nice,” he conceded. “This gown is all I had to wear since I was brought in yesterday.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fran told him. “I’m sure someone will bring you something.”

For a moment, Brandon relaxed as he thought that he might be getting a set of his regular clothes. Then he felt a shiver surge through him as cold sweat broke out from his forehead. But surely they wouldn’t bring me a dress, would they? he worried. That wouldn’t be fair!

“Are you alright, Brandon?” Nurse Fran asked him. “You suddenly don’t look so good.”

Kelly slowly began to stir. As she awakened, the cheerleader felt something soft cuddled in her arm. She looked down.

Benny the Bear.

Also, she was wearing her own pink diaphanous nightgown. Kelly glanced over to see her mother curled up and asleep on the sofa in her room. But the girl couldn’t remember Mom coming in, nor putting her nightgown on. Holding Benny was a conditioned reflex for her, though. As anxious as Kelly was to talk to her, she had no idea how long her mother had waited up with her, so the girl decided not to wake her up. No, Kelly had to confess a couple of problems and Mom would need all the rest that she could get.

“Wakey! Wakey, Billy Bro!” Nancy chanted, throwing a pillow at her brother. “Rise and shine, then off we go!” She giggled along with Lauren who had joined into the fray, tossing another pillow.

“Go away!” Billy groaned from underneath the additional pillows. It’s Saturday. Saturdays I sleep in.”

“Not today, Billy Boy!” decreed his sister, tugging at his covers. “You’re coming to the mall with us.”

“No, I’m not,” he contradicted her, holding firmly onto his blanket and bedsheet. “I’m staying right here, Sis. You and Lauren have a nice day. Now go away!”

“Is he always this hard to get out of bed in the morning?” Lauren asked her friend.

“Almost,” confirmed Nancy. “But I have a trick that always works.” She firmed up her grip on the covers.

“No, Sis! Don’t!” warned her brother, clenching the covers tightly to his chest. “I'm not—!”

Nancy yanked her brother's covers away with both hands.

“No…!” Billy yelled as he grabbed a pillow to quickly cover himself.

Lauren screamed.

Nancy gasped.

“What’s going—?” Mrs. Danziger began to ask, but stopped as three red, blushing faces looked back at her.

Brandon had just finished eating breakfast when his mom entered, pushing a wheelchair and tossing him a bundle of textiles. “Good morning!” she greeted him. “How’s my little boy?”

“Mom, I’m not—what are these?”

“Scrubs.”

“What for?”

“So you don’t have to get tested with your backside naked,” his mom informed him. “There’s also slippers and underwear for you. Get dressed quickly, now.”

Well, at least it’s not a dress, he thought as he accepted the scrubs, an actual unisex garment. Brandon had seen both men and women wearing them, physicians, nurses, medical assistants, lab technicians—everyone, really. Even Dad wears them now and then. He sighed in relaxation as he laid the scrubs out on the bed.

Brandon pulled the underwear on under his hospital gown before shedding it. He found that he could pull on the top and bottom of his scrubs as quickly as he might a tee-shirt and blue jeans. After putting the hospital slippers on, his mother pushed the wheelchair right up to him.

“Sit!” she commanded.

“But I can walk, myself, Mom.”

“No, you can’t. Hospital policy requires you to be wheeled since the test is on the third floor.”

“I thought the Med Lab was in the basement.”

“It is. But it’s not that kind of test.”

“Huh? Whaddya mean?”

“You’re going to Psychometrics.”

“Psychometrics?”

“Yes, Psychometrics,” confirmed Brandon’s mother. “Doctor Windham will explain when we get there.”

Catherine Riley-Harrigan began to awaken, stretching herself out on the sofa. Patient yet anxious, Kelly waited until she saw that her mother’s eyes were open.

“Good morning, Mom,” offered Kelly quietly. “I hope you slept alright on that sofa.”

“The nurse offered to bring me a cot,” recalled her mother, sitting upright on the sofa. “But I was afraid of waking you up with the noise.”

“Oh, Mom! You changed my nightgown without waking me up.”

“Actually, you did wake up then.”

“I did? I don’t remember it.”

“As exhausted as you were, that’s not surprising,” acknowledged Catherine with a smile. “Doctor MacDonald said that you’d had a very intense day yesterday.”

“That’s the truth!”

“I guess it must’ve hurt when you didn’t win Homecoming Princess?”

“Actually, I did win.”

“What?”

“I won the vote and named Brandon to be my Knight-Escort, but later I found out he was already here in the hospital,” recounted Kelly. “So I withdrew and gave Freshman Homecoming Princess up to Rhonda Davies. Besides, I could still support the team by cheering instead.”

“But you had dreamed of being your class’s Homecoming Princess,” Catherine tried to console her daughter. “Was Brandon really your only choice?”

“Yes, but I, like, never imagined he’d not even be available for me to ask,” the girl explained. “But he woke up yesterday morning with a panic attack.”

“That’s too bad.”

“I didn’t even find out until, like, after I’d already nominated him as my Knight-Escort,” continued Kelly. “They offered me a chance to name someone else, but I couldn’t think of anyone.”

“Not even the other boy you mentioned when we talked Thursday evening?”

“You mean Billy Danziger?”

“I think that’s his name, yes.”

“He was absent from homeroom yesterday, too,” noted Kelly. “Besides, you might also recall what I told you—he doesn’t care anything about school traditions.”

“Well, I’m sorry you felt you had to give that up,” said Catherine, unsure how to console her in this situation.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Kelly assured her. “Besides, I like being a cheerleader, so letting Rhonda have Freshman Homecoming Princess, like, helped to spread more school spirit around. At some schools, the cheerleaders aren’t even eligible for homecoming titles, so just winning the vote was honor enough.”

Catherine saw that her daughter was consoling herself reasonably well. Still, giving the title up after wanting it so much couldn’t have been easy for Kelly. But Catherine respected her reasoning and felt good because her daughter had chosen to share an honor that she’d won with another.

“That was both kind and honorable,” approved Catherine. “And then you risked yourself trying to protect Abby. Even though I’m upset at your injury, I’m proud that in the heat of the moment, you’d act from your heart to benefit another.”

“Mom, please!” Kelly objected, blushing nervously. “I’m not nearly so perfect as you may believe. I’ve got some heavy issues to spill this morning.”

“Like what?” her mother asked.

“Let’s start with the easy one,” began Kelly. “Where’s Caitlin?”

“She was invited to a slumber party with a few friends. I took advantage of that to stay overnight with you.”

“I was hoping to talk to her this morning.”

“What about?”

“I’ve not been a very good sister to her lately,” confessed Kelly. “I owe her an apology—a really big one—and more than a few hugs.”

“I felt that your relationship with her was strained somehow and she’s hurting because of it,” her mother observed. “Your little sister worships the ground you walk on.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” apologized Kelly, somewhat tearfully. “I’ve been such a bitch to her. I’ve been regarding Caitlin’s attention as inconvenient when all she wants is to spend time with me.”

“She looks up to you as her big sister just as you did Maureen.”

“Mom, I still look up to Maureen.”

“Then just remember that with Caitlin,” Catherine advised her daughter.

“I should, like, take her to the mall to kinda re-start our relationship.”

“She’d like that,” Kelly’s mother approved. “Anything to let her know she’s still important to you.”

Kelly remained silent a moment. She looked her mother in the eye while wondering which issue to raise next. The girl took a deep breath and sighed. “Mom, the collision at the game was not the only reason Doctor MacDonald had me stay overnight. He referred me to Doctor Windham. She’s a psychiatrist.”

“Whatever for?”

Kelly paused again, tears flowing. “Alcohol, Mom,” she confessed. “Doctor MacDonald caught me drinking.”

“Oh, honey!” Catherine intoned, sounding at once both disappointed and caring. “I was afraid you might be. I thought I smelled it on your breath Thursday afternoon, but I wasn’t sure.”

“But why didn’t you say anything to me about it?” wondered Kelly.

“Again, I wasn’t sure,” her mother emphasized. “And what have your daddy and I taught you about accusations?”

“Never to accuse without evidence.”

“I had only a passing suspicion of alcohol then,” explained her mother. “But I knew for a fact you were upset over Brandon. Dealing with that first made better sense to me at the time.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been drinking, Mom.”

“So for how long?”

“Off and on for a few weeks.”

“Let me rephrase that,” Catherine thought aloud. “I mean, when did you start?”

“It was, like, the next to last week in August,” Kelly admitted. “Before school started. That’s one reason why—I was getting worried about going to school this year.”

“I don’t quite understand, sweetie,” her mother stated. “School’s never bothered you before and your grades have always been good. You’ve always enjoyed going.”

“But now the stakes are higher—like, a whole lot higher, Mom,” explained Kelly. “College and career—it all depends on what I do now. My grades are good, even very good, but now they gotta be excellent, like, perfect. It’s like I’m not allowed to make any mistakes from here on out.”

“Oh, honey! It won’t be so bad,” her mother assured her. “I remember thinking the same thing when I started high school. But you’ll be alright. Most of that pressure we put on ourselves, anyway, and you will learn how to deal with it. Just know it’s not worth getting drunk over and risking the bright future in front of you.”

“Doctor MacDonald kinda said the same thing to me.”

“Of course he did!” Catherine reminded her daughter. “Everyone who cares about you will give you the same advice.” She hugged Kelly more firmly. “Remember that Doctor MacDonald and Libby have watched you grow up along with Sheila and Brandon. You mean almost as much to them as their own children. I’m thankful that Nate caught you and referred you to someone who could help.”

Nancy and Lauren listened to the water spraying down on Billy, the droplets bouncing off the translucent shower door, sounding like the patter of raindrops against a windowpane. So Lauren carefully pushed open the bathroom door and Nancy quietly crept in, holding a matching set of a white satin camisole and panty in hand. Quickly, she exchanged the lingerie for her brother’s undershirt and shorts that he had placed on the bathroom counter. The two young women struggled to suppress their giggling long enough to escape Billy’s range of hearing.

Patricia Danziger saw her daughter and friend sitting at the bottom of the staircase, congratulating themselves in laughter. “What have you girls done to Billy now?”

”Nothing really, Mom,” said Nancy, handing her the underwear. “We just left him more appropriate underthings for our shopping trip today.” Lauren’s restrained giggles sputtered forth again and Nancy joined in.

Patricia took the underwear from her daughter and took but a moment to figure out what was happening. “Please, Nancy, tell me you didn’t!”

“Now Mom, Billy himself called me to ask for my help with this,” her daughter explained. “Lauren came along to help out. She’s done this for her little brother as well.”

“You mentioned something about it yesterday, but didn’t discuss any details,” her mother noted. “So maybe now would be a good—”

“Môm…!” came a cry from upstairs.

Once again, Lauren and Nancy broke into laughter. But this time, Mrs. Danziger joined in as well.

“Good morning, Brandon!” Dr. Windham greeted him, more cheerily than he felt was called for. Still, he didn’t want to appear rude. Sometimes, he had to concentrate to be polite and such a fanciful mood, when expressed to excess, could make it difficult. Nonetheless, his manners had improved somewhat since the previous year.

“Good morning, Doctor Windham,” he returned the greeting. “This doesn’t look like a medical lab.”

“That’s because it’s a different kind of lab,” explained the psychiatrist. “It’s a psychometrics lab. We’re set up in here for the kind of tests I need to give you.”

Brandon glanced around and noted a variety of test booklets, answer sheets, and a cylindrical box of sharpened pencils. There were also a desktop and laptop computers set up at a few desks. He also noticed a machine in the corner that looked identical to one he’d seen teachers use to score tests at school. There were also a number of what appeared to be briefcases, suitcases, and sample cases along the back wall of the room.

A young blond-haired, blue-eyed woman, barely five feet tall (152 cm), entered the room from a side door next to a long mirror on the wall. She smiled at Brandon.

“Brandon, this is Doctor Anne Pettigrew,” Dr. Windham introduced her. “She’s our psychometrician. Her job is to administer the tests to you this morning.”

“Hi, Brandon!” Dr. Pettigrew extended him her hand, which he accepted, but then addressed Dr. Windham.

“You’re not doing it?” Brandon asked her, just a little apprehensive at the unexpected development.

“No. Doctor Pettigrew will give you the tests and I’ll interpret them with her assistance,” the psychiatrist explained. “She’s the expert on the tests you’ll be taking this morning.”

“What kind of tests?” the boy asked.

Dr. Windham nodded to her colleague, who began to answer. “The first is the Wechsler Adult Intelligence Scale. It’s an I-Q test.”

“But I’ve already had an I-Q test,” objected Brandon. “They gave it to us at school.”

“Yes, we got your scores for the Stanford-Binet from your guidance counselor at your school,” injected Dr. Windham. “That’s a different I-Q test. But we need the scores from the Wechsler’s set of subtests for you. From those we can tell if we need more in-depth testing.”

“We’re also giving you another test, the Bem Sex-Role Inventory,” added Dr. Pettigrew.

“Why?” Brandon asked, becoming more anxious as the amount of testing he’d need grew.

“Because I asked for it,” declared Dr. Windham. “I’d like to test my intuition about that problem you have with those girls at your school.”

“And what would that be?” Brandon pressed the issue with her.

“I’d prefer to see your test results first,” pled Dr. Windham. “I’d rather not mention it at all if I’m wrong.”

“Mom, I have another secret to tell you,” said Kelly. “And it’s even worse than my drinking. I couldn’t even tell Doctor Windham about it.”

Catherine could think of only one situation worse than Kelly’s drinking. “You’re—you’re not pregnant, are you?”

“Don’t I wish!” Kelly replied, looking out wistfully into space, as if she hoped that might be so. “If I were pregnant, I could be happy for the baby. No, it’s, like, really, really bad, Mommy. I’m so, so sorry and so very ashamed of it and I’m afraid you’ll be ashamed of me, too.”

Catherine again moved to embrace her daughter, at least to the extent possible in a hospital bed. “Honey, no matter what it is, I still love you.”

“You might not after I tell you.”

“Kelly, how could you think that?”

“Mom, I’m really, really bad,” the girl sobbed. “I think—I think I’m a lesbian.”

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

Mrs. Chang leaned against the wall of her daughter Jennifer’s bedroom, arms crossed, yet smiling. “So then, Brandon did like you wearing cheongsam?”

The girl turned away from her vanity mirror to answer her mother. “He said to tell you it worked!” Jenny related with a smile. She turned back to the mirror as a prelude to applying her makeup. “I really like him Mom. And he’s agreed to come to dinner Wednesday evening.”

“Good! He’s accepted the invitation,” observed Mrs. Chang with a slight note of enthusiasm in her voice. “So what are you doing today, then?”

“Brandon has testing at the hospital this morning. We plan to meet for lunch and finish our joint lab report for Earth Sciences due Monday. We also have an assignment together in Computer Science to work on.”

“Will that take all your afternoon?”

“Most of it for me, I think. I may need to finish up at the Carnegie Library if he needs more tests. But he won’t know until after lunch.”

During their conversation, Jenny had continued to apply her makeup. This morning, she wanted a natural look, using the very minimum of cosmetics. But she added some lipgloss to her look, mostly to encourage Brandon to kiss her more.

Mrs. Chang carefully studied her daughter’s appearance as well, noting how Jennifer obtained a full effect from the minimal application of cosmetics. Indeed, she was proud that her daughter had attained this boy’s attention wearing the plainest of fashion and little or no makeup. Discreet inquiries in the neighborhood so far had given very favorable news about him and his family. With each new report about Brandon, Mrs. Chang’s confidence in her daughter’s judgment grew.

“Jennifer, I think you will need to wear prettier, more sophisticated clothes very soon.”

Her mouth open in surprise, Jenny turned again suddenly to her mother. “How soon?”

“When would you like to go?”

“Could you give me some time to plan it?”

“Yes,” affirmed Mrs. Chang. “Let me know when you are ready.”

Brandon put down his pencil after completing the test. It had been a list of words for him to compare. He honestly didn’t understand quite what the Bem Sex-Role Inventory (BSRI) was, nor why Dr. Windham had wanted him to take it. Besides, it wasn’t like his answers were right or wrong. It wasn’t that kind of a test. He suspected from what she had told him, it might be related to why he had liked dressing as a girl on Wednesday or the androgyny concept that Dr. Van de Meer had raised with him.

“Are you finished with the Bem, now?” Dr. Pettigrew asked him.

“I guess,” sighed Brandon, trying to appear nonchalant rather than bored.

“Take a break, then,” suggested the psychometrician. “Walk around, stretch your legs, get a drink—whatever. I’ll score your Bem and get the Wechsler ready for you.”

“What’s the Bem test for, anyway?” Brandon asked, hoping that Dr. Pettigrew might satisfy his curiosity. “Since it’s called the ‘Bem Sex-Role Inventory,’ what does that mean?”

Anne really didn’t want to be the one to explain the BSRI to him. But since he’d already completed the inventory, an explanation wouldn’t affect his results. “Let me score it first, Brandon,” she said. “It will be easier to explain along with your own results.”

“Fair enough!” Brandon conceded. “That makes sense to me.”

“Gimme about fifteen minutes, then,” Dr. Pettigrew requested. “I’ll score your test and have a moment to think about your results.”

Acknowledging her with a grin, he dashed out of the room toward the alcove of vending machines that he had noticed earlier as his mother wheeled him to the Psychometrics Lab.

Catherine held onto her daughter even as Kelly fought to push her away. She knew that her not-so-little girl was both confused and frightened—especially frightened. But a moment later, Kelly ceased to struggle and yielded to her mother’s love.

“Oh, my honey! I’d hoped to’ve taught you better than that.”

“I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you,” answered Kelly, still sniffling.

Catherine looked Kelly right in the eyes. “You’ve not disappointed me other than to think I’d reject you for being a lesbian, as if that were some ugly, heinous crime.” She took Kelly’s free hand. “You’re my daughter. I love you and I always will. So dismiss any idea of rejection from your thinking right now.” Then she hugged Kelly again, just to drive the point home.

Kelly bowed her forehead to her mother’s shoulder. “Thanks, Mom,” she said. “I think I needed to hear you say that.”

Catherine sighed in relief. Now she knew what had bothered her daughter so. Losing her hoped-for boyfriend, the fear over her sexuality, the worries about her future—it was little wonder that Kelly had been drinking. Considering her daughter’s plight again, she appreciated one very important fact—worrying over sexual orientation and choice of mate, college and career, Kelly was thinking about what really mattered.

“So when are they letting you out of here?” Catherine asked her daughter.

“I don’t know,” replied Kelly. “I’m sure Doctor Singh needs to look at my wrist again. Doctor Windham wants to talk to me again—prob’ly to you as well. She said she’d refer me to an alcohol abuse counselor. And I’ll bet Doctor MacDonald stops by to see me, too.”

Catherine smiled at her daughter. “You did it again.”

“Did what, Mom?”

“Drew a crowd,” replied Catherine. “You always get more people around you no matter what you’re doing.”

“I do that sometimes, don’t I?”

“Ever since you were little,” Catherine reminded Kelly. “The only difference is that today they’ll come one at a time and not all at once.”

“Would you take me down to the gift shop?” Kelly asked. “I need get-well cards for Brandon and Abby. And I wanna get a gift for her, too.”

“We can ask the nurse if she knows when the doctors are coming to see you,” her mother suggested. Catherine relaxed a little knowing that as rough as Kelly’s circumstances were, her daughter was thinking now of her friends’ welfare.

“Melinda, I don’t wanna spend more time doing this just now,” Jeffrey complained. We promised Brandon we’d be there today.”

“But Hallowe’en is only a couple of weeks away,” Melinda reminded Jeffrey. “And I’m close to having Mark ready for this costume.”

“She’s right, Jeff,” said Mark, looking at himself in the full-length mirror. He was wearing a black corset and a lacy black skirt with torn fishnet pantyhose, his face made-up in Goth style. “I’d rather finish this now.”

“I don’t believe you’re doing this,” remarked Jeffrey. “Wasn’t wearing skirts at school Wednesday crazy enough for you?”

“I don’t believe it, either,” Mark agreed. “But it’s just for Hallowe’en.”

“He’s just lucky enough to fit into my clothes,” said Melinda grinning. “Except something’s still not quite right.” She studied Mark carefully. “I know—you need different boots. Those don’t fit the look. You need something with a more daring heel. I’ll see what my girlfriends and I can find.”

“Let me get back into my own clothes so we can go visit Brandon,” requested Mark.

“Aw! I was hoping you’d go with us still wearing that,” whined Melinda.

“Not just now,” answered Mark. “I’m hardly ready for that.”

“Besides, after what’s happened to Brandon, he might not take it in the spirit intended,” Jeffrey cautioned his friends. “I don’t think he wants to be reminded of crossdressing.”

“But I can’t believe he had a panic attack over it,” Melinda told them.

“People have different sensitivities,” argued Mark. “Even if putting me into drag is fun for us, others don’t feel the same about it.

“But I don’t understand that,” she whinged. “After all, it’s just clothing!”

“To you it’s just clothing,” admitted Jeffrey. “But apparently it’s more than that to Brandon.”

Brandon sat again at the desk where he had taken the BSRI in the Psychometrics Lab, setting a bottle of his favorite sports beverage down next to the test form that he had marked. He noticed that it had been scored and the results were given at the bottom of the page. They listed:

Masculine traits............ 116
Feminine traits............. 118
Bem score......................... -2

“And what does all this mean?” Brandon asked Dr. Pettigrew.

“Your Bem score measures how androgynous you are,” she replied.

“And that means…?”

“How comfortably you see yourself in terms of traditional gender roles,” explained Dr. Pettigrew. “Gender stereotypes, really.”

“And what’s a Bem score of minus two mean?”

“That you’re very nearly perfectly androgynous.”

“Then, if I read this right, a Bem score of zero would’ve been perfectly androgynous?”

“That’s right.”

“And the minus sign?”

“In this case, it means you’re very, very slightly to the feminine side of androgynous.”

“Why’m I not surprised?” Brandon muttered to himself sotto voce as he thought back to Wednesday.

“What’s that?” Dr. Pettigrew asked him.

“Oh! Nothing really,” he fibbed, but then admitted, “Just that it figures. Somehow, it all figures.”

The five girls sat around their table at On Firm Grounds, one shy of their usual company since Kelly was in the hospital.

“Does anyone know, like, how long Kelly has to stay?” Valerie inquired.

“She called me from the hospital and we talked briefly,” announced Alice. “They kept her overnight for observation and possible referrals today.”

“What’s that mean?” Holly asked.

“She might need to see a specialist today,” explained Alice. “Kelly broke her wrist, but the emergency room physician was worried she might have, like, other internal injuries not showing up right away.”

“By the way, I heard that Brandon’s dad was the doctor who saw her and Double Abby in E-R,” added Teri. “And Abby’s injuries were really bad: concussion, broken arm and leg, cracked ribs, and ruptured spleen.”

“How long will she be in the hospital?” Valerie asked.

Like, two or three months,” replied Alice. “I think that’s because the spleen heals really slow.”

“That’s gotta suck!” Debbi remarked taking a sip of her lattè.

“I think we should get like gifts for Kelly and Double Abby,” opined Valerie. “At the very least, get-well cards. After all, Kelly’s one of us and Abby’s her friend and teammate.” The girls around the table all nodded in agreement.

“Brandon, too,” Alice added. “He’s in the hospital as well.”

“I heard he had, like, a really bad nervous breakdown,” Teri added the rumor to their discussion. “That’s why they called an ambulance.”

“But I heard it was, like, a severe asthma attack,” Holly contradicted her.

“I never heard of Brandon having asthma,” objected Debbi. “Besides, when he showed me how he’d organized his purse Wednesday, he didn’t have an inhaler. He had, like, two tampons and a spare pad, but no inhaler.”

“That does suggest that he wouldn’t have asthma,” Alice agreed. “But we shouldn’t be guessing at what’s happened. We’ll know, like, soon enough if we need to.”

“Anyway, we should get something for, like, all of them,” declared Holly, seeking to affirm a consensus of the group. “Are we still going to the mall today?”

“We could go shopping downtown instead,” suggested Debbi. “We, like, haven’t gone there in a while.”

“That may be a better plan today,” adjudged Alice. “If we go out to the West Grove Mall, we won’t get to the hospital until much later.”

“That’s a good point,” remarked Valerie. “And Debbi’s right—we’ve not gone shopping downtown for a while.”

“But that’s because downtown’s not as much fun as the mall,” Teri complained. “Nobody much hangs out downtown anymore.”

“We can skip the mall for just one Saturday, Teri,” asserted Holly. “This is for the benefit of friends, after all.”

The others at the table nodded in agreement. Looking around, Valerie knew she had nearly a consensus to which Teri, the lone dissenter, had acquiesced. “I assume we’d prefer taxis to the bus?” Valerie raised as the next issue.

“Unless we can hire a minivan, we’d need two cabs,” Alice noted. “The bus is much cheaper.”

“But I hate the bus,” pouted Teri. “It’s too—too—”

“Too working-class for you?” Debbi rejoined with a hint of umbrage in her voice. “Not all of us were born rich, Teri.”

“Could I, like, offer a compromise?” Valerie suggested. “We hire a minivan if it’s available. Else, we’ll take like the bus downtown. We’ll take, like, taxis or a minivan to the hospital.”

Even Teri nodded her agreement.

“Alright,” Valerie claimed a consensus, then moved on to the next topic. ”Anyone thinking about, like, what we can do for Hallowe’en yet?”

“You’re really quiet, Billy,” Mrs. Danziger teased her son riding on the passenger side in the front seat of the family minivan. He closed his legs together firmly, pulling the hem of the skirt as near as possible to his knees.

“No kidding,” he grumbled to his mother. “I’m afraid that anything I say can be used against me in the demented, scheming mind that is my sister’s.”

“You’ll be okay,” his mother tried to reassure her son as Nancy and Lauren continued giggling behind them. “You’re not the first boy whose big sister dressed him like a girl.”

“But Mom, I don’t really look like a girl,” he objected. “I look like a guy in drag. My face is not a girl’s.”

”True enough, except—,” she began, drawing out the conjunction.

“Except what?” Billy demanded.

“No one’s gonna look at your face!” Nancy piped up from the back seat. “Most girls would kill for legs like yours. They’re prettier than mine.”

The three women in the minivan laughed and laughed hard, while Billy blushed a dark shade of pink, nearly rose. Patricia Danziger pulled the vehicle off the road, parking on the shoulder.

“It’s not funny!” Billy angrily bellowed, crossing his arms tightly across his chest and flicking his braid behind his shoulder.

“Son, you did that just like Nancy when she’s mad,” observed Patricia.

“I do not!” Nancy denied.

“Sorry, honey, but yes, you do,” her mother reiterated. “And Billy seems to have picked it up from you.”

“But I swear, I don’t act like that,” maintained an anxious daughter.

“Uh—Nancy, I’ve seen you do it, too,” said Lauren, jumping into the discussion.

“Hey! You’re s’posed to be on my side!” Nancy retorted.

“Well, I am—on your bitchy side!” Lauren declared as she raised an arm to defend against her friend hitting her with a rolled up sweater.

“Girls, give’m a break,” said Patricia attempting to prevent any further altercation. “It’s his first girlish action, which looked quite real. And there’s little doubt that he picked it up from his big sister.”

“But how can we be certain he didn’t learn it from you instead, Mom?” Nancy quipped back.

Patricia turned to gaze angrily at her daughter, peering into her eyes. Immediately, Nancy searched her own memory, wondering which of her naughtier antics her mom might have discovered. Surely, Lauren would not have told her about—.

“No, I forgot,” confessed Nancy, realizing her mother’s look was not an accusation but a demonstration. “That’s your angry look. I’ve not seen it for awhile.”

“Keep it in mind, girl,” her mom told her. “I don’t have the charming pout you and your new little sister have.”

Her argument prevailing, Patricia took advantage of a lull in traffic to drive the minivan back on the road.

Anne Pettigrew handed the manilla folder to her colleague. “Brandon’s subtests from the Wechsler are consistent with Asperger’s, Teri. He’s incredibly bright, though, with an I-Q of a hundred sixty-one. Also, his Bem-score was minus two.”

“I’ll call Doctor Devereaux, then,” Theresa Windham resolved as she sadly examined the results in the folder. “More than anything I wanted that diagnosis to be wrong,” she said.

“And it still may,” Dr. Pettigrew cautioned her. “The Wechsler subtest scores aren’t conclusive for Asperger’s syndrome. That’s why you’re calling Devereaux in.”

“Thanks for doing the testing, Anne. Brandon’s parents and I have been friends since college. I’d just hate for their son to have Asperger’s. And It can be so difficult for a family to deal with. But do you know what the worst problem is?”

“What?”

“Regardless of their education or other background, the parents tend to blame themselves,” explained Dr. Windham. “Autism disorders can tear a family apart.”

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

“Are you ready for lunch, Brandon?” Jenny asked as she finished reviewing their jointly completed lab report for Earth Sciences. The wall clock showed a quarter until noon. “I know I am.”

“Actually, I’m not,” her boyfriend answered. “They brought breakfast way late today—not ’til almost nine o’clock!”

“I got here not too long after that,” observed Jenny. “So you’re not quite hungry are you?”

“No,” grumbled Brandon. “I had to get a snack before breakfast ’coz they started giving me tests right after I woke up. I’m on everyone else’s schedule while I’m here.”

“That’s no fun!” Jenny agreed with the implicit reason for his complaint. “My tummy’s starting to growl already.”

She closed the textbook for their Earth Sciences course and reached for the one for Computer Science. “Wanna start on our programming assignment then?” Jenny proposed.

“Sounds like a plan!” Brandon agreed. “My immediate goal is to complete all assignments before leaving aus diesem Krankenhaus.”

Jenny giggled in response, betraying that she knew what he meant from the German that she had picked up from him through casual exposure. She turned her attention to her laptop computer and closed her files out from the previous assignments and opened new ones to begin their joint work for Computer Science lab. Just then, she and Brandon heard a knock on the still open door to his room. Three faces, two more familiar than the third, jostled light-heartedly for both position and attention.

“Good morning, guys,” Brandon greeted Jeff, Mark, and Melinda. “C’mon in!”

“Hi, Melinda! Hi, guys!” Jenny added her own greetings. “How are you doing?”

“We’re okay, I think,” answered Melinda, vying for preeminence of her group. “It all depends on whether Jeff is over the shock of Mark trying on my clothes.”

“Uh-oh, Mark!” Brandon immediately jumped on the opportunity to tease his buddy. “Wasn’t Wednesday enough for you?”

“He’s Melinda’s favorite dress-up doll now,” Jeffrey joined in. “Once she saw him in that skirt for Gender-Bender Day, his fate was sealed!”

“He’s just so pretty in pleats!” Melinda continued. “But he does need higher heels!”

Jenny giggled along with the teasing when Mark simply rolled his eyes at it. She thought that he may be actually comfortable with some light teasing over what his girlfriend had mentioned. “Is he cute in a skirt?” Jenny asked.

“Oh, I hope so!” remarked Brandon. “It would be nice if someone else had to worry about how he looks in a dress for a while. Mark, thanks for taking the pressure off me.”

“Sure, buddy! We aim to please,” replied Mark, grinning. “Trying out a Hallowe’en costume. The Goth girl look isn’t so bad for me.”

“Well, if you can pull it off, I guess I at least gotta try!” Jenny quipped as everyone joined in with laughter.

“Seriously though, we came to see if you and Jenny can join us for lunch?” Jeffrey asked.

“I hafta stay for whatever they bring me for lunch,” said Brandon. “But the cafeteria’s food here makes our school’s cooking taste like haute cuisine.”

“It couldn’t be, like, that bad, could it?” Melinda doubted.

“Maybe you guys could sneak us something in from wherever you go?” Brandon petitioned his friends. “Jenny and I have more work to do while we’re still here.”

Another knocking on the door jamb interrupted their chatting. Theresa Windham was standing there with a man about a decade older than Brandon’s father. “May we come in?”

“Sure!” Brandon agreed. “The more, the merrier!”

Jenny noted the older man next to Dr. Windham, briefly making eye contact with him. He looked overly serious?—No!—He looked somewhat domineering to her.

“Sorry, Brandon, but I have you scheduled for an E-E-G at noon,” said Dr. Windham. “That was the only time still open today.”

“Does that mean I gotta go now?” Brandon whined to his psychiatrist.

“In a word, yes,” she answered. “And Doctor Devereaux here would also like to speak with you as well.”

“Oh alright, then!” Brandon yielded. “But most of my friends just got here.”

“That’s okay, buddy,” Jeffrey consoled him. “We’ll come back after lunch, since you can’t go with us, anyway.”

“That’s fine,” conceded Brandon, decidedly annoyed. “But call me first to make sure I’ve finished whatever they want me doing.”

“Take care, buddy! Bye-bye! Catcha later!” Mark, Melinda, and Jeffrey offered their goodbyes, respectively, as they left the room. Meanwhile, Jenny continued what she’d been doing.

Seeing that she hadn’t left, the man beside Dr. Windham addressed her in a rather heavy French accent, “Young lady, you can leave, also.”

“Hey, Doctor!” Brandon responded directly. “Anything you need to tell me, you can say in front of Jenny.”

“No, I will not,” maintained Dr. Devereaux. Then he reiterated, “Miss, you will leave.”

Jenny stared defiantly at the man, before turning to Brandon and saying in Latin, “Scio ne salvere iubear.” With that, she quickly kissed him on the lips before carefully slamming her computer closed and gathering her books up as passive-aggressively as she could demonstrate. She stared Dr. Devereaux down again as she left, calling him in Cantonese, «死鬼佬!» [Sei gwei-lo!] Unsettled by her demeanor, his eyes followed her out of the room. Her defiant gaze caught his eye a third time as she smirked back at him before disappearing around the corner to try catching up to her other friends.

Brandon fought not to betray a smile as his girlfriend asserted herself against Dr. Devereaux. Secretly, the boy took pride in Jenny’s minor triumph. Perhaps the man was not aware that his bewilderment at the girl’s reaction to him was visible to both colleague and patient.

“Brandon, I’m sorry about that,” Dr. Windham apologized in an effort to prevent more misunderstanding between him and her colleague. “Let me introduce you properly. Doctor Devereaux, this is my new patient, Brandon MacDonald, he’s the son of my colleagues Doctor Nathan and Elizabeth MacDonald on the staff here. Brandon, this is Doctor Blaise Devereaux, a clinical psychologist. He’s an expert and will be assisting me with my diagnosis. As part of the testing process, I need him to interview you and also your parents, so I will ask for your cooperation.”

Dr. Devereaux extended his hand and Brandon, hiding his reluctance, accepted it, shaking it firmly once. « Bonjour, monsieur le docteur! » the boy acknowledged, noting that his hand was neither warm nor cold, altogether an absence of feeling. « Bonjour, Brandon! » replied the psychologist. Glancing at her patient’s eyes but a moment, Dr. Windham read uncertainty and reticence in Brandon’s face.

Brandon had never been one to accept stereotypes before. Specifically, he’d never bought that of the rude Frenchman. But not until today had he met anyone so determined to sell him that image. Thus Blaise Devereaux, Psy.D., would become for Brandon the face of French arrogance.

Dr. Windham peeked out the door for a nurse. “Fran, could you bring a wheelchair for Brandon?” Theresa asked. “He’s scheduled in the Neurology Lab right at noon.”

Theresa was quite worried about what her colleague had just done. He’d immediately alienated their patient. She hoped that the rapport that she’d previously built with Brandon would hold despite Blaise’s arrogance. She knew that his students called it “Blaise’s blazing.” However, his renowned expertise in autism spectrum disorders achieved remarkable results and consistently so. She’d seen him turn awkward boys suffering from Asperger’s syndrome into passionate, socially adroit young men comfortable endowing the world with their considerable intellectual gifts. His students and colleagues called these “Blaise’s blessings.” Yet she couldn’t quite believe how he’d rudely created such an unnecessary confrontation with Jenny. Then in a moment of insight, Dr. Windham understood Dr. Devereaux’s success in the diagnosis and treatment of Asperger’s syndrome: It takes one to know one.

Kelly sat next to her friend’s bed, holding Double Abby’s right hand by her own. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t fast enough to keep you from getting hurt. I tried, I really did, but I couldn’t push you out of the way. It all happened so fast, too fast to stop you.

“They never meant to hit you, but they hit so hard. They never even saw us on the sidelines. You were caught in between them and didn’t even have a chance to protect yourself.

“I know you’re hurting all over with all the broken bones and everything. But they did save your spleen. She was a really good surgeon who worked on you. I hope you’ll be up and around.

“I wish there were something more I could do for you. I wish you’d wake up so I could talk to you, Abby, but I know you need your rest,” she said. “Please wake up soon.” Weeping, Kelly bent over and kissed Abby on the cheek.

Florence Abernathy, overheard Kelly crying for her daughter, so she stepped outside the room to talk with her mother.

“Cat, I’m worried Kelly might blame herself for what happened to Abby,” Florence told her. “I’ve seen the video of what your daughter tried to do for her. She acted so selflessly. You mustn’t let Kelly blame herself.”

“She really feels bad about it,” replied Catherine very frankly. “Kelly’s already assigned herself blame. We talked earlier and that was clear to me. She’ll have to deal with it now in her own way. All I can do is to reassure her until she does.” At least that was what Catherine hoped. Her daughter had already turned to the bottle and the stress of her friend’s injuries might even have been a cause of her getting caught drinking.

“But she’s injured, too. Kelly didn’t have to risk herself like that. She could’ve been hurt as badly as Abby.”

“I know my daughter, Flo. And I’m not surprised by her actions. That she did it to save a friend makes me feel better about it all.” Actually, the altruism in Kelly’s action was indeed unexpected. But what Catherine knew that did not surprise her was her daughter’s response to impulse. Kelly had acted in the moment without thinking. She might have easily been in a bed next to Abby right then. And that had frightened Catherine and would continue to worry her.

At lunchtime, Billy—or was it Billie?—Danziger sat across the table from his mother, his sister Nancy to his left, her friend Lauren to his right. After shopping for a couple of hours in the morning, they had stopped to eat. Billy’s lunch consisted of half a sandwich and a cup of soup with a diet cola, the same as everyone else in their party. Normally, Billy’s lunch began with twice that, but not today. He could hardly manage the meager meal before him, as it had to share space with a busy swarm of butterflies in his tummy.

No, Billy sat there in the little soup and sandwich shop in the West Grove Mall wearing clothes, shoes, and accessories borrowed from the three women at the table. He felt too anxious to eat his lunch let alone enjoy it. He’d thought that he were as cool as anyone else for a while, but somehow, he could not quite convince himself that dressing like a girl were needed to maintain coolness. If it were he could’ve done so for Gender-Bender Day and that would’ve been the end of it already. Then perhaps, Billy worried, he was not so cool as he thought he was.

“So, Little Brother, how d’you feel?” Nancy asked him.

“How d’you think?” he quipped. “I feel stupid and embarrassed.”

“But Billie, you’re so cute!” Lauren offered her support. “And you have gorgeous legs.” The college freshman had slipped her shoes off and began to run her nylon-clad foot along Billy’s nylon-clad leg. He had to admit to himself that he enjoyed the sensation. He glanced obliquely at Lauren, who made eye contact with him momentarily. She then traced the tip of her tongue along her upper lip and, for a moment, he forgot how he was dressed. Instead, he wondered, was Lauren making a pass at him?

“I think you’re sweet doing this,” said Lauren. “You do look nice as a girl.”

“You’re just saying that to be polite,” he objected. “I’m a dude in a dress.”

“So? A dress is great for showing off legs like yours.”

“But who wants to look at my legs?”

“I do!”

Billy felt Lauren’s foot slide along his leg again, with the same effect that it had before. He gazed into her eyes again, this time a little more intently. Perhaps dressing like this, he mused, was not so bad after all.

“Lauren, do you have a crush on my little brother?” Nancy asked. Her roommate blushed slightly, but Billy, more so. “Or does my little brother have a crush on my roomie?”

Billy only blushed even more deeply as the women at the table giggled. “It’s really okay,” approved Nancy. “I trust my friend Lauren to take care of my little brother.”

“But that’s not the problem, Nancy,” remarked her mother. “Do you trust Billy to behave with Lauren?”

“Mom!” Nancy objected.

“That’s okay, Nancy,” her roommate demurred. “I’m sufficiently well-behaved for the both of us. Besides, for now I’m only interested in your little sister.”

“What?” Billy exclaimed in surprise.

“You’re much more charming as a girl,” insisted Lauren.

Nurse Fran wheeled Brandon into the small conference room where his meeting was to take place. A nearly elliptical table but with squared-off ends occupied the center of the room. Left to right on the far side of the table sat Anne Pettigrew, Theresa Windham, and Blaise Devereaux, respectively. The nurse bade him sit in the chair next to his mother, Libby, opposite Dr. Pettigrew. Elizabeth was sitting across from Theresa while Nathan sat next to her, across from Dr. Devereaux. Theresa Windham would preside informally over the meeting.

“Now, I’d like to explain why we’re all here,” began Dr. Windham. “This is first and foremost about you, Brandon, and how we can help you.”

“Is it so bad that all of you have to be here?” he asked, overwhelmed by so many gathered in the small room. “I kinda feel like you’re all ganging up on me.”

Dr. Windham smiled to reassure the boy. “Brandon, each person here was involved in diagnosing your illness and that includes both you and your parents. And everyone here has a role in helping you get better, and again that includes you and your parents. So we’re all here as a team. But don’t let the size of the team frighten you. We may even ask others to join the team if needed.”

“So, does that make you my coach?” Brandon asked.

“Oh, you might think of me that way,” replied the boy’s psychiatrist, smiling to encourage his further engagement in the process. “I’ll be doing many of the things for you that a coach might do. The most important will be to help you find and follow a winning strategy.”

“And this is all because of the panic attack I had from the nightmares?” Brandon inquired.

“Believe it or not, it has little or even nothing to do with your panic attack,” asserted his father. “Teri agreed that I had made the right call on that, myself. But she noticed something else while she was talking with you yesterday.”

“Does it involve the transgender or androgyny problem we were talking about, then?”

“No, it doesn’t really involve that, either,” continued Dr. Windham.

“Then what?” Brandon pressed his inquiry as he became increasingly anxious about the reason for the meeting. “Are you saying there’s something else wrong with me?”

“You have a condition that, until recently, we called Asperger’s Syndrome,” Dr. Windham told him. “It’s new name is Autism Spectrum Disorder, Level One. That’s why I asked Doctor Pettigrew and Doctor Devereaux to give you the tests that they did.”

Dr. Pettigrew entered the discussion. “When I gave you the Wechsler this morning, your scores on certain of the subtests were consistent with Asperger’s Syndrome,” explained Anne. “So Teri called Doctor Devereaux and asked him to follow-up with the interview questionnaires for you and your parents. He’s an internationally recognized expert on the diagnosis and treatment of the condition.”

“My review of ze notes of your case by ze Doctor Windham, ze neurologie report, your scores from ze tests, an’ my interviews wiss you an’ your parents,” Dr. Devereaux recounted in his heavy French accent, “zey all confirm ze diagnosis of an autism.”

“Brandon, we all care about you and want to help you as best we can,” his mother told him.

“But what is it?” Brandon wondered to everyone there. “Why do you think I have it?”

Dr. Windham leaned forward across the table. “You have a very mild form of Autism Spectrum Disorder. You have problems reading social and emotional cues, and that, in turn, causes you difficulty in establishing social and personal relationships.”

“Are you talking about why I don’t have many friends?”

“In a word, yes,” affirmed his father. “Although there’s more involved than that. Do you remember why your mom wanted you to take ballet lessons with your sister?”

“Because I was really clumsy.”

“That’s actually a symptom of Asperger’s Syndrome,” explained Dr. Windham. “Your parents must’ve been worried that your physical development was lagging behind what it should’ve been. Now, you didn’t want ballet, so you took gymnastics instead?”

“Yeah.”

“Bohs ze ballet an’ ze gymnastique are good to treat ze clumsiness of Asperger’s Syndrome,” asserted Dr. Devereaux. “Ze folk dance, ze ballroom dance, an’ ze martial arts are good, also. All zese activities require repeating a choréographie. Zis is good for ze neuromusculaire development.”

“Well, at least I’m not so clumsy anymore.”

“So zen it works,” concluded Blaise Devereaux, smiling. “I’m ’oping zat we might ’elp you, also, wiss ze social an’ z’emotional problems.”

“But since I got over the clumsiness, what makes you think I still have this?”

“You still have deficits in your social development,” replied Dr. Windham. “And as you yourself noted, your circle of friends remains quite small. Also, you have deficits in your own emotional development as well as your ability to understand others’ emotional responses. You need to learn how better to observe the feelings of others as well as to express your own. You also need to learn to read cues to social behavior.”

“Am I that bad?” Brandon asked.

“Seems like you are, son,” said his mother, reaching around him with her left arm and smiling. “But that’s why we’re here—to help you get well.”

Catherine popped the trunk open as soon as she saw her husband Brian emerge from the airport terminal. He flashed his always warm smile as he directed the skycap towards their car. Brian carried his own briefcase and laptop bag, while the skycap pushed the rack holding a week’s worth of luggage ahead. Quickly, the young man loaded the trunk of the car under Brian’s supervision. The skycap shut the trunk and Brian discreetly handed him a folded ten-dollar bill as a tip. Brian himself put his briefcase and computer inside the car, in the footwell of the back seat. He then sat on the passenger side of the front, but first leaned across to offer Cat a kiss, which she met halfway.

“How was your trip?” Catherine asked him.

“Fruitful and multiplied,” he chuckled in response. “Yesterday I received a check for more than I earned my first year out of law school. Not bad for a week’s effort. It seems almost unreal. How about you?”

“Principal witness for a case I’m hearing got sick and passed out on the stand Thursday, so I sent everyone home,” recounted the judge. “Then, the attorneys for both sides came down with it yesterday, so I’ve postponed the hearing for another week.”

“How’s the home front?”

“In a word, Kelly’s discovering that life’s challenges can be dangerous and threatening as well as confusing and disappointing.”

“Oh? What happened?”

“Quite a few things, honey,” replied the wife and mother.

“Good, bad, smart, stupid?” Brian asked.

“All over the map I fear,” warned Catherine. “What order would you like them in?”

“Oh—chronological is best whenever Kelly’s concerned,” he answered. “So tell me.”

“When I arrived home after calling the recess in the aforementioned hearing, Kelly had already been home awhile on her bed, sobbing. Brandon MacDonald apparently began dating someone else and Kelly’s heart-broken over him.”

“So she still has a crush on him?” Brian asked for confirmation. “But can’t he see that she’s adored him since they first met?”

“Well, to answer your first question, yes. And as for the second, I think that everyone who’s ever met them knows except Brandon himself,” observed Catherine. “He’s always seemed oblivious to Kelly’s feelings. I do wonder sometimes if there’s something not quite right with him, but psychology is hardly my field of expertise.”

“Are you suggesting that he simply hasn’t noticed her after all this time?”

“In a word, yes! Consider the evidence and ask yourself, what does it tell you about him?”

“But he’s always seemed such a bright, intelligent boy.”

“And that, too, is evidence.”

“Continue, please.”

“Well, I consoled her for a few minutes during which I thought I might’ve noticed a whiff of alcohol on her breath, but I wasn’t certain of it until today.”

“Alcohol?”

“Please wait!” Catherine advised her husband. “I have more to tell you about that, but let’s focus on it after you hear the rest. As serious as it is, Kelly does not regard it as her worst offense.”

“She thinks something else is worse than drinking?”

“Yes, Brian,” she affirmed. “And her concern about it is quite real and legitimate, so—let me continue. After consoling her, the ’phone rang. Her guidance counselor called to apprise me that Kelly had skipped her afternoon classes. Of course, I already knew that, but it gave me a chance to talk with Doctor van de Meer about Kelly and we agreed that she’s become somewhat restless and anxious in her classes. She may need a less traditional approach to at least some of her education.

“Then yesterday, Kelly showed the very best and the very worst of her character, almost at the same time. First, she was elected Freshman Homecoming Princess. Now, she wanted Brandon to be her escort, but he had been rushed to Saint Luke’s earlier in the morning. When she heard that, the news broke her heart, and she passed the crown to another girl so she could continue cheerleading at the game.

“Then at the Homecoming game, a pass play went over the sidelines and her teammate Abby was caught in the collision between the receiver and a linebacker. Kelly rushed to her friend’s aid but was caught in the fray herself, trying to get Abby away from it. She couldn’t stop Abby from getting hurt. Now, Abby’s in Saint Luke’s with multiple fractures and a ruptured spleen. For her efforts, our daughter has a broken wrist.”

“Oh!” Brian whined at the apparent unfairness of the situation.

“Anyway, Kelly kept her wits about her and brought Abby’s purse along for the ride in the ambulance. When they arrived, Kelly helped with the paperwork for Abby’s admission and insurance and then got through to her parents to secure permission for surgery. Nate MacDonald told me that her doing so gave the surgeon the time she needed to save Abby’s spleen. And all this before she had attended to her own injury.

“But I think it was all too much for her, because then Nate caught her in the waiting room with a bottle of peppermint schnapps. And she tried to cover her breath up with hard peppermint candy.”

“That sounds like something you or I might’ve tried at that age,” chuckled Brian.

Catherine smiled and nodded at his remark as she recalled a few of her own youthful antics. Then she resumed her account. “Anyway, Nate had her stay overnight for observation of possible hidden injuries and also referred her to a psychiatrist to discuss her alcohol abuse.”

“So she’s already getting something done about it?” Brian asked.

“Doctor Windham, her psychiatrist, has talked with me about getting her counseling for alcohol abuse, but she also says that Kelly is more likely self-medicating for another reason. So, she wants to continue meeting with Kelly in case there’s a deeper problem. And there may be.”

“Like what?”

“Honey, you may not like hearing this, but it’s not our first time dealing with it.”

“Please don’t tell me she’s like Maureen,” sighed Brian.

“This morning, Kelly said that she thinks she’s a lesbian,” affirmed Catherine.

“Is this maybe because she couldn’t get Brandon’s interest?” Brian hoped.

“Possibly, but I doubt it,” she tried to assess the situation for her husband. “It’s more likely what we call a ‘girl crush’ or she may indeed be lesbian or bisexual. Only Kelly can really know that. She’s just fourteen and is for the first time really beginning to explore life and herself. We have to trust her to find out who she is. We’ll have to let her ask us for help when she needs it.”

“Still, am I wrong to hope that our kids grow up with something like normal sexuality?” Brian inquired, the disappointment audible in his voice.

“Not so long as you can accept the sexuality that they actually have as adults,” concluded Catherine. “Look at how proud Maureen has made us. Does anything about her sexuality change what she’s given back to us?”

“No, I guess not,” Brian’s replied pensively. “She’s a good girl—the best, really. Have you told Kelly about Maureen yet?”

“No, because I believe it will mean more to them both if Maureen tells her,” Catherine explained. “Besides, if Kelly is lesbian, she couldn’t have a better role model than her older sister. Maureen has asked to bring her partner along for Thanksgiving and that may help, too.”

“Speaking of which, I have surprise news about our son,” announced Brian, smiling.

“You heard from Connie?” Catherine beamed.

“More than that, honey,” he told her. “I went to an evening performance he gave yesterday and took him and his new girlfriend to dinner.”

“What?”

Brian smiled at his wife. “Yesterday afternoon, since he knew I’d still be in New York, Connie left me a voicemail that he and his girlfriend Constance would be performing an evening concert at the Ninety-Second Street “Y.” She’s a ’cellist and they played Vivaldi’s Concerto for Violin, ’Cello, and Orchestra in B-flat Major. We were able to meet up far enough in advance of the concert, so I treated them to dinner.”

“Her name is Constance?”

“Yes, and like our son, she also goes by ‘Connie’.”

“Omigosh!” Catherine exclaimed laughing. “Well, what kind of girl is she?”

She’s Asian—Korean ancestry to be specific—athletic, petite, polite, and very intelligent,” Brian described her. “I found her quite well-informed about business and economics, world affairs, and current events in general.”

“How well do you think Connie likes her?”

“You know he’s not easy to read when it comes to girlfriends, but I got the feeling that they’re better suited to one another than any of the girls he went with in high school. If he's serious about her, I’d be happy enough, I think.”

“Sounds like she impressed you?”

“Yes, she did. And I’m just as impressed that Connie would consider someone like her. If nothing else, he’s showing growth since he’s been in Philadelphia.”

“That’s good to hear,” Catherine concurred with her husband. Then she reprised an earlier topic: “We need to figure out how to punish Kelly’s alcohol abuse.”

Brian thought for a moment. “Do we ground her? But that’s almost a cliché.”

“No ‘almost’ about it!” Catherine declared. “It is a cliché and it hardly achieves anything. I’d rather have a family hearing and allow her to present her case. As serious as this is, I think some formality is needed.”

“I agree with you there.”

“And instead of grounding her, I’d prefer a constructive punishment, more suitable to the offense.”

“Sounds like you have something in mind already?”

“I do,” his wife admitted. “I’d like her to spend some time in a soup kitchen on Skid Row. She needs to see what alcohol can do to people and she has other issues that the experience may help her with as well.”

“Other issues?” Brian inquired.

“Kelly and I had a very frank talk at the hospital this morning,” disclosed Catherine. “Our daughter is such a paradox, Brian. The selfish princess battles the selfless angel, and the fun, silly girl competes with the responsible, thoughtful young woman. And she’s quite aware of these contradictory forces within herself. She’s just as fragile as she is strong.”

“Perhaps I need to sit down to talk with her myself?” Brian asked himself more than his wife. “Time for a father-daughter dinner?”

“She may really need one right now,” surmised Catherine. “It might help assure her that we still care.”

“I’d like that, myself,” agreed Brian. “I won’t need to take another case right away, so I can take more time for Kelly and Caitlin as well.”

Catherine smiled as she prepared to enter the highway from the airport road. “Home first, you can clean up from your trip, we can pick Caitlin up, and get to Saint Luke’s to see Kelly.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Brian approved as his wife accelerated up to speed on the entrance ramp and drove onto the highway.

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

Apprehensively, Billy followed Nancy and Lauren through the mall, his mom walking to his left, trying to encourage him by a subtle grin and with a discreetly placed hand on his shoulder now and then. Right then, Billy misunderstood the difference between praising and teasing all too easily, so his mother was watching out for him. Still, she and the girls had made plans, so she’d need to be more assertive with him. Of course, being his mom, she knew just how to do it.

They approached the salon that Patricia and Nancy liked to visit, Maxine’s New House of Glamour. “Girls, I think we ought to enjoy ourselves this afternoon,” she opined. “Are you up for it? My treat!”

“That’d be great, Mis’ess Danziger!” Lauren beamed at her friend’s mother. “I haven’t gone to a salon since my senior prom.”

“It’s been almost as long for me as well!” Nancy admitted. “And poor Billie has never been!”

“Maybe that’s ’coz Billie doesn’t wanna go?” Billy objected to the main point of the discussion.

“Oh, nonsense!” Patricia declared. “How can you possibly know if you’ve never been?”

Billy would like to have answered his mother’s question. He did not want to go because he was a boy. Nor did he, however, wish to call attention to the fact that he was a boy while wearing his current attire. Anyway, it was a rhetorical question, which to answer was at best poor style, if not simply rude. In other words, it would not be cool. Besides, to answer your mother’s rhetorical question probably was sassing.

No, Billy was not dressed for any kind of confrontation.

Billy felt his sister take him by the left arm, Lauren by the right, and with his mother laying her hands on his shoulder from behind, ushered him into the salon. The receptionist raised an eyebrow at the party of four as they entered. “Can I help you,” she asked.

“Would you be able to squeeze us four ladies in this afternoon?” Patricia inquired. “That’s myself, my two daughters, and our friend.”

“That you, Trish?” a lady of nearly the same age as Patricia stepped up to greet her with a smile in her eyes. “I haven’t seen you for so long!”

“Good to see you again, too, Maxie!” Patricia returned the greeting. “You weren’t here when I came in before I sent Nancy off to college.”

“Jim and I weren’t back from the Bahamas, yet,” she admitted. “There was a cancellation at the resort where we were staying, so the manager offered us a nice deal to stay longer. Jim insisted that it was too good to pass up and I really couldn’t disagree.”

“Well, some people have all the luck!” Patricia registered as a mock complaint.

“I’m not apologizing for it, though,” teased Maxine. “Now what can we do for you today, Trish?”

“The works for all of us,” said Patricia. “Nancy is here with her college roommate Lauren, and my younger daughter Billie needs a full makeover.”

Maxine had recognized Billy as her friend’s teenaged son. Whatever was going on was Trish’s affair between mother and son. Maxine had no reason to interfere. Besides, this meant additional income and perhaps some fun on the side.

“Zoë, come here please!” Maxine called to one of her assistants, a young woman in her early twenties, sporting her platinum-blond hair in a semi-pageboy haircut. “This is Billie’s first time. Her mom wants her to have a total makeover.”

“Not that, please!” Billy objected.

“Nonsense!” Zoë dismissed his complaint. “We’re gonna have some fun today! Since this is your first time here, you’re gonna get to know some of the perks of being a girl.” The assistant beautician led Billie by the hand to a changing room. She handed him a pink terrycloth bathrobe. “You undress, now, and put this on. I’ll be back for you in a minute.”

Zoë closed the curtain behind her to leave Billie in privacy. As she did, Maxine beckoned her over. “What is it?” Zoë asked.

“I don’t know if you guessed—,” whispered her boss.

“Billie’s really a boy, isn’t he?” Zoë anticipated, still sotto voce.

“Yes! He’s Trish’s son and Nancy’s little brother Billy.”

Zoë fought to suppress a giggle. “So, what’s the story?”

“He didn’t participate in his school’s dress-up day, so Trish is sending him to school as a girl Monday.”

Zoë could suppress her giggling no longer. “So, what should I do with him?”

“Make him look as much like a girl as you can,” Maxine advised her. ”And while you can tease him some, be gentle about it. After all, we don’t want him running away.” Zoë and Maxine both giggled together.

Kelly heard knocking and looked up from her laptop. “Rhonda?—Rhonda Davies?”

“Hi, Kelly! I saw what happened at the game so I thought I’d come by,” said the Freshman Homecoming Princess. “Are you feeling any better today?”

“Except for the broken wrist, I’m actually feeling pretty good,” Kelly assured her. “How are you?”

I’m alright, except—well—I feel guilty,” confessed Rhonda.

“But why?”

“Well, first, I want to thank you for letting me have Homecoming Princess. Passing me the crown was really gracious of you.”

“Do you know why I did?”

“I heard it was because your escort wasn’t available. Is that, like, true?”

“Yes, it is. I had named Brandon MacDonald, but he’s ill. In fact, he’s in another room down the hall.”

“We’re lab partners in French One,” Rhonda informed Kelly, reaching into her purse. “Here! I got you this, like, for a thank-you gift.” Rhonda withdrew a satin gift box from her purse and presented it to Kelly. She took the lid off the box to see inside of it a porcelain figurine of a knight mounted on a white horse, in shining golden armor and ready for battle.

“It’s beautiful!” Kelly beamed, noting the craftsmanship. It somehow reminded her of others that her mother had at home, but she wasn’t sure. Rhonda had put some thought as well as some money into the gift. “Thank you!” Kelly sang out as she drew Rhonda awkwardly into a bedside hug with her right arm, allowing them to kiss one another’s cheek.

“Maybe he’ll do until you can find your real Knight-Escort to keep you company?” Rhonda gently teased.

“Maybe,” agreed Kelly. “So, like, who’s yours?”

“Jimmy Pickering,” Rhonda named as her escort.

“I didn’t know, like, you two were a couple,” Kelly, teased Rhonda with a smile.

“Kind of a new couple,” emphasized Rhonda hesitantly. “Of course, he’s escorting me to the Homecoming Banquet and Ball tonight.”

“Then you be sure to have enough fun for both of us,” Kelly wished her. “But you still haven’t answered my question: why d’you feel guilty?”

“Because if you hadn’t passed the title to me, you wouldn’t have been on the sidelines and injured with Abby while cheering.”

“Oh, Rhonda! Don’t think that way!” Kelly consoled her. “I was injured trying to protect my friend and I’d do it again. If I could change anything at all, I’d have been fast enough to get us both safely out of the way. My injury is merely inconvenient compared to what Double Abby is dealing with. She’s still unconscious.”

“But how about you?” Rhonda began with a new line of inquiry. “Won’t your broken wrist keep you from cheering?”

“Well, I can still, like, sing, yell cheers, and maybe dance simpler choreography, but pyramids and any of our more daring gymnastics hafta wait until my wrist heals up,” she explained. That’s at least six weeks, then like a couple more for physical therapy.

“How do Abby’s injuries affect the team?”

“We’re not sure yet. With her out and me injured, we need either to rework much of our choreography and many of our stunts, or find someone who can learn it quickly so we don’t hafta make too many changes. So Coach Brenda is already looking for a substitute. I mean, Double Abby is out for at least three months with physical therapy if not longer. She’s out for the remainder of football season and most of volleyball and basketball seasons. If she heals well, and setbacks, I figure she could do some lighter cheering for spring sports—kinda like what I’ll be doing until my wrist heals.”

“How bad are her injuries?”

“Broken arm, broken leg—two places—three broken ribs with ruptured spleen, and a concussion,” recounted Kelly. “The ruptured spleen was her most serious injury, I think. Her surgeon was able to repair it, but it will prob’ly take the longest time of all to heal.”

“I wish I could do something for Abby. I feel so helpless about it all,” lamented Rhonda. “Maybe I can do something to help her out when she’s awake again? I did get her a figurine, too, though.”

“What kind?” Kelly asked, not only in earnest curiosity but also to distract her friend from feeling helpless.

Rhonda withdrew another satin gift box from her purse and opened the lid to show Kelly. “I got her this from the same line of figurines as yours.”

“Oh, that’s such a lovely piece. She’ll like it very much,” affirmed Kelly examining the beautiful figurine of a unicorn. “Clearly you’ve heard that Double Abby loves unicorns.”

“I’ve, like, noticed she has them on her notebooks, some clothes, and a lot of accessories.”

“I guess that, like, gave it away?”

“I wish other people I know were as easy to choose gifts for.”

“Well, you’ve aced it for Double Abby and me,” Kelly assured her, nodding and smiling as if to admit her own quandaries in selecting gifts. “And my Knight-in-Shining-Armor gets a prominent place in my bedroom,” she promised.

“Your real one will come charging into your life someday,” predicted Rhonda. “Just who, when, and how will surprise you.”

“Well, I never imagined you with Jimmy Pickering.”

“I never imagined myself with him, either, but he really knows how to treat a lady and—and he makes me laugh!”

“You have yourself a winner, then?”

“Think so,” said Rhonda sighing in relief. “I think so!”

The five girls came out of Billings Square, laden with their bags and boxes from shopping through the early afternoon. Debbi carried a large, plush toy unicorn, and Holly, a cuddly toy dog. Valerie carried a big shopping bag that concealed an eighteen-inch (46 cm) doll, while Teri and Alice both held on to plastic balloons. The girls maneuvered the spoils of their Shopping War as best they could. Alice managed to wave down a minivan taxi for them.

“Where to?” asked the driver.

“Saint Luke’s Hospital,” Alice told him. “I think we all can fit.”

“Do you young ladies need any help with your bags?”

“No, thank you, sir,” Alice assured him, smiling. “We’ve managed all afternoon.”

The cabbie grinned back at her. “Just thought I’d offer,” he said.

“And we appreciate it,” continued Alice. “But it’s all easier than it looks.”

The cab ride took about fifteen minutes, turning back toward the residential and community college area of town.

“Eighteen seventy,” announced the driver as he turned the meter of in the waiting lane at Saint Luke’s.

“Five bucks apiece everyone,” Valerie levied from the girls. Each dug into her purse for a five-dollar bill. Alice collected and added to them her own, passing twenty-five dollars to the driver. “Keep the change,” Valerie told him.

“Thank you, ladies,” offered the driver, noting that the tip was larger than normal as the ladies cleared out of his vehicle with their belongings. “That’s generous!”

Before leaving, Valerie knocked on the cabbie’s window and he lowered it. “You gotta card? We’ll all need a ride home later.”

The driver smiled at the young woman as he took a business card from a little tray next to his seat. “Tell ’em you need a van an’ ask if Number Thirty-Eight is available,” he instructed her. “You’re bein’ really nice to me.”

“I might be a rich girl now, but Daddy drove a cab to pay for college when I was still little,” Valerie admitted sotto voce. “If I mistreated a cabbie, he and Mom’d absolutely kick my butt and rightly so.”

“So, what’s your dad do now?”

“He’s a lawyer.”

“So a cabbie went to law school?”

“Uh-huh! And if it’s for a case related to driving a taxi, he’ll even represent drivers pro bono.”

“Pro bono?” the driver looked at her inquisitively.

“No charge. He’ll take on the case for the public good.”

“What’s your papa’s name?” the driver asked getting his pen.

“David Schmidt,” she replied.

“Could I get a ’phone number for ’im?”

“Wait a sec—,” said Valerie rummaging through her purse. She handed the driver a card. “I always like to keep two or three of Daddy’s business cards in my purse—just in case!”

The driver looked at it, briefly noted its information, and put it into his shirt pocket. “Well, thank you again for doing business with me,” he said. “Call me if you need a cab.”

With that, Valerie ran to catch up with her friends as someone escorting a woman in a wheelchair flagged the taxi down.

Zoë paused at the curtain of the changing room. “Are you decent, Billie?”

He pulled the pink belt of the terrycloth robe tight around his waist. The robe was really too short for him, or so he thought. It barely covered his butt and he was afraid of exposing the panty underneath. He also wore a pair of pink slippers on his feet. Overall, he felt rather vulnerable as undressed as he was. “Not really,” he replied.

Not wishing to risk scaring the boy away, Zoë clarified her question. “Do you have your robe on?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m coming in, then.”

Billy sat back in a chair, cowering as he held the robe tightly closed.

“So, have you thought about what kind of hairstyle you want?” Zoë asked him.

“No, I don’t know anything about it,” he admitted. “I’ve never needed to until now. I’ve always worn my hair long ’coz it’s cool.”

“Yes, but obviously, you don’t take care of it very well,” the beautician concluded after a brief examination. “You have tangles and split ends all over it. Don’t you ever use any conditioner?”

“Like I said, I don’t know anything about it.”

“Apparently not!” Zoë concurred, almost despairing at the task before her. “Please, work with me here. Don’t you have any idea what kind of a hairstyle you’d like?”

“This whole thing isn’t even my idea, really,” Billy dismissed. “I’m just going to school as a girl Monday. So whatever you do, I need to look like a guy again the next day.”

Zoë looked at Billie’s hair again, this time to imagine what she might do with it. The hairstyle would have to let him pass not only as a girl but also as a boy. This was not anything that she’d ever tried before. Maybe Maxine knew how? Zoë’d have to ask.

Jenny Chang had invited Jeff, Mark, and Melinda to join her for lunch at Uncle Li’s Chinese Restaurant. They all sat together at Jenny’s family table, because the restaurateur was her own Uncle Li. She had opened up her laptop computer while waiting for their lunch to be served. The topic of conversation was a certain video recording of her new boyfriend in English class.

“So where d’ya think he learned that?” Melinda wondered. “I mean, if you had just shown me this without telling me who it is, I’d have thought, like, she was a new girl in school. I’d never have guessed she was Brandon. I’m friends with his sister, so I’ve, like, seen ’im around, but this blows my mind!”

“I’ve sit next to him in lab every day since school began and watched every move he makes,” admitted Jenny. “And I’ve never seen him do anything or say anything even to suggest that he could look and act and talk like a real girl.”

“It’s almost like he’s a method actor,” suggested Melinda.

“Wouldn’t that be ‘method actress’?” Mark quipped.

“No—Brandon’s the actor,” clarified Jenny. “Brandi is his role. He’s playing her.”

“What’s a method actor, anyway?” Jeff asked.

“A method actor continues to play the role, even offstage, like twenty-four and seven until the production ends,” explained Melinda. “The actor lives like he really is the character in daily life.”

“Then I’d say Brandon wasn’t like a method actor since he only did it for one day,” contended Mark. “And not even the whole day—at least I don’t think so.”

Jeff smiled across the table at his buddy. Melinda followed with her own smile to suggest that she was taking her boyfriend’s remark as a challenge to be dealt with later. Mark had begun to think for himself since they’d been dating. She liked it that way.

“So, that’s what encouraged you to make your move on Brandon?” Melinda asked Jenny.

“Pretty much,” she confirmed. “He’s, like, super smart and seeing how cute he looked in that dress, well, I decided not to wait any longer. Mom says sometimes a girl’s gotta go after what—or whom—she wants.”

“That’s how I got Mark,” recounted Melinda as she interlaced her fingers with his. “But is it really important to you for him to dress like a girl?”

“Omigosh, no!” Jenny denied. “But that he was willing to do it and then did it so well tells me a lot more about him than was visible on the surface.”

“Well, me and Mark ’ve known ’im like forever and we never seen ’im do anything the least bit girlish,” added Jeff. “But that video is crazy! Where did he learn that?”

“Prob’ly by watching us,” suggested Melinda. “He’s learned those moves from every girl he’s ever seen.”

“Everyone else may think he’s nerdy,” remarked Jenny, nodding her accord as a waitress carted their food over to them. “But I think he’s attentive and thoughtful. If that’s nerdy, I’ll take a nerd over other guys any day.”

“Who had the Buddha’s Delight?” asked the waitress.

“I did,” confirmed Jenny.

“The Veggie Mu-shu?”

“That’s mine,” said Melinda.

Kelly was sitting up in her hospital bed reading her Spanish textbook when the other five of her circle blew into her room like a sudden wind. Holly entered first, carrying the plush, toy puppy, followed by Teri, Valerie, Debbi, and Alice.

“Hi there, Kelly! How ya feeling? Hey, Kelly! How are you, Kelly? Good to see you’re up and about!” greeted the visiting girls, respectively, yet almost simultaneously.

Kelly’s friends swarmed her with hugs and kisses. “Careful!” Kelly warned them. “Watch the wrist!” Awkwardly, each girl displayed an appropriate degree of affection for their friend, somehow without aggravating Kelly’s injury.

“We thought that you might need a cuddle toy,” announced Holly, “so here’s a cute, plush puppy!”

“Well, thanks!” Kelly offered. “You really didn’t have to, though. Mom brought Benny the Bear in and I woke up cuddling him. But he could still use a new roommate.”

Meanwhile, Teri looked to affix a plastic balloon labeled “Get Well Soon!” somewhere. She had thought to tie it to Kelly’s wrist, but the one was broken and she didn’t want to impede the other.

“Just attach it to the wheelchair,” Kelly told her when she saw what Teri was trying to do. “I’m not allowed to go walking right now, so that’s how I can take it along.”

“Why can’t you go walking?” Holly inquired. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Liability issues,” answered Valerie. “There’s a risk that a patient could fall and aggravate an existing injury.”

“Uh-huh,” affirmed Kelly nodding. “They wheel me everywhere since I can’t steer safely with just one hand.”

“So, when are you going home?” Valerie asked Kelly.

“Tomorrow morning, I think,” she answered.

“Two nights just for a broken wrist?” Alice followed up.

“Doctor MacDonald was worried I might have internal injuries that didn’t show up ’til later,” explained the injured cheerleader. “He had me stay for observation. Even though Double Abby took the worst of it, I still got hit hard.”

“We all hope you’re alright after what happened,” encouraged Debbi. “Will you be back at school Monday?”

“I should be,” assured Kelly. “Coach Brenda wants to meet with me later today to help her find a substitute for Double Abby. She’s clearly going to be out of action for a while—two or three months, maybe even longer.”

“What were her injuries?” Holly asked. “I can’t remember them all.”

“Concussion, a broken arm, a leg broken in two places, three broken ribs, and a ruptured spleen,” Kelly enumerated her teammate’s injuries. “She’s looking at no less than eight to ten weeks to heal and, at the very least, a couple weeks of physical therapy after that.”

“So we’re talking about a significant time before Abby’s back to normal, then,” observed Alice. “That’s likely to interfere with her studies.”

“That had crossed my mind,” replied Kelly. “I’ve been wondering how we might help her.”

“We could organize a study group to meet with her here,” suggested Alice. “We could also set up something for her studies online.”

“But she’s gonna have trouble using a keyboard,” observed Kelly, “at least until her arm heals. I’m finding it difficult with a broken wrist, myself.”

“We could ask for volunteers to work the keyboard for her,” proposed Valerie.

“I’m sure that the other cheerleaders will be eager to help her out,” Kelly surmised. “I think it’s important to have as many of us who can keep visiting her so she won’t feel isolated.”

“But not just cheerleaders,” added Debbi. “We should visit, too.”

“Absolutely,” commented Alice. “Otherwise, she may begin to feel isolated. She’s gonna be alone in her room most of the time as it is.”

“That’s why we came today,” Holly announced. “Even if she’s not awake yet, she’ll know we came.”

“That’s why we got her a great, big plush unicorn,” explained Debbi. “It’s her favorite theme.”

“I know,” affirmed Kelly. “Rhonda Davies came by earlier. She brought a figurine to give her. Look at what she gave me…”

She took the lid of the satin-covered gift box off to show the mounted knight to her friends. “Whaddya think?”

“It’s exquisite!” Alice declared and beckoned to examine it more closely. She gently lifted it from the box and noticed the distinctive trademark on the bottom. “Omigosh!” exclaimed Alice. “It’s a Lladró!” So Rhonda Davies must have some real money, she quietly concluded.

“A Lladró? Are you kidding me?” Kelly asked, almost shocked. “How can you tell?”

“Look at the bottom,” Alice directed her. “That’s Lladró’s mark—no mistaking it! Your passing up Homecoming Princess must’ve meant a whole lot more to her than any of us realized.” She handed the figurine back to Kelly who looked at the mark on its bottom, not having done so earlier.

Kelly also recognized the trademark, as her mother had collected a few pieces. But now the girl had one of her very own. Still, she did not know how valuable some of the figurines by Lladró® were.

“We got, like, a gift for Brandon, too,” Valerie remarked as she pulled the large box from her shopping bag. “Take a look!”

“Omigosh!” Kelly squealed when she saw the big doll dressed in a cheerleader’s uniform, complete with matching pennant, pom-poms, and megaphone. “That’s darling! I have got to see Brandon’s face when you give it to him! Who found that, anyway?”

“That was all Val’s doing,” said Debbi.

“But why the cheer uniform?” Kelly asked Valerie.

“Why not? I think it’s especially cute,” replied Valerie with a giggle. “So then, who do we visit next, Brandon or Abby?”

“Let’s find out,” suggested Kelly as she pressed her call button. Before anyone else said anything, Nurse Fran was at the door.

“Looks like a big party in here,” the nurse remarked. “What-cha need, Kelly?”

“Is Brandon free for a visit from us?”

“No, he’s talking with his doctor right now. She just went in, so they may be awhile.”

“Then could you take me down to see Abby again? We wanna check in on her and leave a gift and cards and a balloon for her.”

“Well, I would think that would be alright, except there are so many of you. Let’s go downstairs and ask the charge nurse.”

“Brandon, I don’t especially like prescribing medication like this to teenagers,” Dr. Windham warned her young patient. “But your symptoms were severe enough that you may really need them.”

“What is it?” Brandon asked her.

“Alprazolam,” she told him. “It’s a powerful drug and I want you to understand how to use it safely. Only take it if you’re having a panic attack or feel one coming on.

“First, if you feel any panic coming on, try the breathing and relaxing exercises that we practiced. If that calms you down, it’s better than taking the pills, so don’t take them if you don’t have to.

“But if the panic is still coming on, take one pill and give it some time to work. If you’re still feeling panicky after half an hour, then take a second pill.

“If a panic attack hits so suddenly that you didn’t feel it coming on, then take two right away. But never take more than two. If two won’t do, then call for help.

“Any time you need to use these, tell your school nurse, your parents, or me immediately afterwards.”

“Does that mean I gotta carry the pills with me all the time?” Brandon asked her.

“Yes,” affirmed Dr. Windham. “And here’s how I’d like to arrange this. I’m prescribing these in blister packs. Always carry two pills and a copy of your prescription with you in case of an emergency. Also, take one card of pills for your school nurse to keep in the locked medicine cabinet there with a copy of your prescription. Keep the rest at home.”

“So then I’ll always have some at home, some at school, and a dose with me,” he summarized his psychiatrist’s orders.

“And you need always to keep that copy of your prescription with you,” she emphasized. “Remember, this is a controlled substance. Don’t give it to anyone else and especially don’t try to sell it. ’Cause it’s major bad if you do!”

“Then should I have it at all?”

“Like I said, Brandon, I don’t like to give this to anyone your age, but your panic attack yesterday morning was too severe not to prescribe you something for a sudden attack. So, your parents and I discussed it and we agreed that you’re both smart enough and mature enough to handle the drug responsibly. This drug is powerful and it should work for you. The danger is in using it too often and for too long. I won’t let you have more than what I think you can get by with. If it turns out that you need something to take every day, it won’t be alprazolam. But let’s not go there just now.”

Brandon thought a moment. “Then I guess I should take it to the school nurse on Monday?”

“I can’t think of any reason for you to wait,” replied his psychiatrist. “And do have her call me to confirm that you’ve given her your supply for safekeeping.”

“So, are there any pills I gotta take for Asperger’s Syndrome?”

“Not right now,” replied Dr. Windham. “You haven’t shown any symptoms of attention deficit or hyperactivity, so there’s no need for anything there, at least not yet. There may be other symptoms to show later that might indicate other meds. For now, we have to wait and see.”

“The room’s really not big enough for all of you to go in there at the same time,” the duty nurse told them. “Besides, she’s unconscious, so she can’t talk to you, anyway.”

“We just wanted to visit and leave our get-well cards and a gift for Abby,” pled Valerie. Debbi held the large unicorn up for the nurse to see, Teri standing behind her with a plastic balloon. Valerie continued, “Please? At least she can know we thought of her when she wakes up.”

“Alright, then!” the nurse sighed, not wishing to seem unreasonable or even ill-spirited. “But no more than two of you at a time in there with her. And keep it brief.”

“What’s her problem?” Teri whispered to Alice.

“Nothing, really,” Alice answered her. “Protecting Abby from too much commotion is just part of her job.”

Teri went in and tied the balloon string to a bedrail while Debbi brought in the big plush unicorn to put under Abby’s unbroken right arm. They tarried briefly with their badly injured classmate, placed their get-well cards on Abby’s nightstand, then allowed Valerie and Holly to visit with her next. Valerie noticed the little Lladró® unicorn sitting on the nightstand next to Abby’s bed, while Holly held Abby’s right hand and cried for a moment. They also left their get-well cards for her on the nightstand.

After Valerie and Holly came out, Alice wheeled Kelly into her friend’s room and they spent a moment watching over her. They both noticed her Lladró® unicorn as well as the big plush one under Abby’s arm. Alice then added hers to the accumulating stack of get-well cards already on the nightstand before kissing Abby on the cheek.

“Y’know, Kelly,” Alice addressed her friend, “I think we should invite Abby into our circle, too.”

“You’re right,” affirmed Kelly nodding in agreement. “Why didn’t we think to include her before?”

“We can be real bitches sometimes,” concluded Alice. “We need to work on being less like that.”

“Agreed,” conceded Kelly. “That’s what Doctor Van de Meer was trying to tell us Thursday morning.”

“You’re right, Kelly,” Debbi concurred. “Double Abby is the kinda girl we already should’ve invited in.”

“Sometimes we’re so caught up in our own little group that we miss seeing other people,” observed Holly.

“But we’re trying to include others,” Teri asserted to her friends.

“No, Holly’s right,” Alice followed up. “All we’ve really done is to seek one or two others just like ourselves. Do we always need to be so exclusive? Is that what you wanted to say, Holly?”

“Yes, it was,” answered Holly. “You just said it clearer than me.”

“Not really,” Kelly assured Holly. “What you said was perfectly clear to anyone who’d listen. You always speak from your heart, girl. We need you to keep doing that.” Kelly felt tingly as she looked into Holly’s eyes. Unable to fold her arms to hide her usual body language, she had to satisfy herself by thrusting her right hand into the sling holding her left arm. But now she understood why she was so attracted to Holly: the girl was sweet and kind, possessing an innocent simplicity in her views of the world. Was that why Kelly had also liked Brandon? Was he indeed clueless, or did he just live in a simpler world than she understood?

While Zoë had been busy styling Billy’s—or Billie’s—hair, another girl, Cheri, had been giving him a very feminine manicure and pedicure to go along with it. He’d have been much less anxious if it weren’t for all the giggling that continued back and forth between the hair stylist and the nail technician. But then, that was the idea. They didn’t get to do this to guys very often, so they had to have their fun while he was there.

Billy hadn’t quite understood fully until now that he’d yielded Nancy control of his life for a few days. But that had been implicit when he’d asked her for help. Being “cool” wasn’t necessarily what he’d thought. He ran through his mind what his actions had been and wondered how he’d miscalculated his friends’ and classmates’ reaction to skipping Gender-Bender Day. That was why he’d called his sister and somehow this exercise should help him understand. If “cool” wasn’t what he’d thought, then what was it?

What good were school traditions anyway? Wearing girls’ things? Why? For some reason it had been a tradition. But why did bucking it make him “uncool”? It’s just clothes, after all.

“Hi there, Billie!” Nancy startled him, prompting giggles from Zoë and Cheri. “So, how are you dealing with it?” his sister asked him.

“How do you think I’m dealing with it?” He replied. “Why are you doing this? Why am I doing it? None of it makes sense to me.”

“You might not believe this, but the treatment you’re getting right now,” she explained to her younger brother, “we ladies regard as a pleasure. When you’re dating a girl, if you treat her to an afternoon like this, she’ll be thrilled.”

“You kidding me?” Billy asked, incredulous.

“Oh, you’d better believe it, Billy-Boy!” Zoë interjected. “Unless she’s a confirmed tomboy, there’s nothing she’d enjoy like a complete spa-day. And even a tomboy might not turn it down.”

“I just don’t understand how girls think,” complained Billy.

“We know you don’t, Little Bro,” Nancy reminded him. “That’s kinda like the point of all this.”

What frightened Brandon was that the entire troupe came into his room, squealing all at once. He was not surprised that Kelly would visit him; in fact, he might have been disappointed if she hadn’t. Nor did Alice seem out of character showing up at his bedside. But he didn’t expect the entire Swarm to descend for a group visit.

“Hi, Brandon!” Kelly announced. “How are you today?”

“Alright, even if suddenly I seem overwhelmed,” he answered. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“Oh, we just thought we’d look in on one of our favorite classmates,” Valerie explained. “Besides, if we visited both Kelly and Double Abby without looking in on you, that would’ve been rude, don’t you think?”

“Well, I guess I would’ve felt slighted if you had,” conceded Brandon, still suspicious of any hidden agenda behind their visit. “Anyway, you are here now and I appreciate your visit.”

“We have a gift for you,” declared Valerie, withdrawing the box with the eighteen-inch (46 cm) cheerleader doll from her shopping bag. “In honor of your achievement Wednesday as Brandi, we got you this. After all, every girl should have a doll.”

Brandon just sighed before grinning at the girls. Now was the time to bow to the absurdity of the situation. “She’s a nice doll,” he acknowledged. “I’ll take good care of her.” They all giggled at his promise.

“Brandon, now that you’ve accepted the doll, we’ve agreed not to tease you about being girlish anymore,” said Valerie on behalf of the group. “We took it too far. We’re sorry.”

“Thanks,” he said. They had apologized to him, so he needed to be gracious. “It’s not so bad if you remember I’m still just a guy going along with a school tradition.”

“And we think a lot of you for that,” added Alice. “I respect you for pulling it off so well. You showed great acting ability.”

“I think we got so pushy about it because your act was so amazing we wanted to see it again,” Debbi explained. “You had so many of the details down.”

“To do that you had to be paying attention to girls as people, not just as sex objects,” asserted Alice. “That makes you a different kinda guy, one we like.”

“Alright, girls,” Brandon addressed them. “I’ll admit dressing up like you for a day was fun. But I am a guy. So get over it!”

“But we’d like Brandi to appear at the Hallowe’en Dance,” pled Debbi.

“No,” said Brandon, shaking his head.

“Maybe the Powder Puff—?” Kelly began to ask.

“No!” Brandon refused, folding his arms in defiance.

“But Brandon—!” Valerie tried to challenge him.

“No!” he declared, pointing his right index finger at Valerie, then sweeping it around the room. Indeed, a hush had settled in his room and he nodded a couple of times to acknowledge the silence.

“Hmm?” Brandon vocalized before speaking again. “My game, my rules!”

Alice grinned at him. « Touché! » she replied nodding.

He looked at the cheerleader doll that they’d presented him and smiled. Then, he folded his arms around it, almost as if hugging the doll. He looked around at everyone before settling his focus on Valerie. “Thanks to all of you for the doll,” he offered them. “It’s an appropriate and thoughtful gift.”

Outside Brandon’s room, a clinical psychologist and a psychiatrist listened intently to a complex example of group dynamics unfolding.

“But zat cannot be,” objected Dr. Devereaux. “Zat is not ze Asperger’s type behavieur.”

Dr. Windham smiled wryly and raised an eyebrow. “I told you this boy would be interesting,” she reminded her colleague. “Just when you think he’s about to withdraw into his shell, he suddenly asserts himself, here taking command of the social dynamics.”

“Yet until now, his testing, his interviews, his behavieur, all are consistent wiss ze Autism Spectrum Disorder. You know him longer zan I. Why you sink he change now?”

The psychiatrist puzzled over it for a moment. Why—how could an Asperger’s patient suddenly gain control in such a circumstance? Then she remembered why Brandon came to the hospital—to the ER—to begin with: anxiety, a panic attack!

« Mon ami, il s’agit de l’instincte primale, » Teri Windham replied to her longtime colleague.

« C’est le peur? »

« Oui! »

Dr. Devereaux folded his arms, nodding a few times before uttering: « D’accord! »

“He’s been in such fear of that group of girls taking control of his life, that he’s responded by asserting control, as if he were the alpha-male of his tribe,” observed Dr. Windham.

“Euh, since zere are no ozer boys, he is ze alpha-male of ze tribe,” affirmed Dr. Devereaux. “But as I am not ze sociologue nor ze anthropologue, I do not wish to analyse from such a viewpoint. Zat ze strong fear may motivate him could explain his assertion, yet his facilité of ze dynamiques sociales seem too expert. Ze Asperger’s patient cannot develop such expertise social zat we see.”

“Like any other Asperger’s patient, Brandon has topics of passionate interest. The first, which has been known for quite some time, is mathematics, as was confirmed in the tests and interviews,” reviewed Dr. Windham. “However, only now has another such topic emerged for Brandon. He’s actually an intense observer of human behavior. He watches and learns what these behaviors are, although he’s not imitated these until very recently. We may have just witnessed the second use of his secretly learned behaviors.”

“So, what was ze first?”

“Blaise, I have a video that you must see.”

Brandon sat in the passenger seat in a pensive, sullen mood. He clutched the rugged, nylon bag containing his laptop to his chest.

“Penny for your thoughts, son,” said his mother as she checked the rearview mirror before backing out of her parking space.

“Why did she hafta be hurt so bad?”

“The impact from those two big players was tremendous,” explained Elizabeth. “If they had hit her at a slightly different angle, her injuries could’ve been even more severe.”

“Double Abby looks just so—so helpless lying there. I feel guilty because there’s nothing I can do to help her.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, son! You may have an opportunity to help her out yet.”

“Well, I’m glad Kelly wasn’t injured too badly,” remarked Brandon. “She was just trying to protect Double Abby.”

“That was a completely selfless act,” emphasized his mother. “Saving her friend became more important to Kelly at that moment than even her own safety.”

“But then she teases me until I can’t take it anymore,” complained Brandon. “I’m pretty sure her teasing was a cause of my panic attacks.”

“Brandon, Kelly teases you because she likes you,” his mother declared. “She always has.”

“And you always say that,” retorted the boy. “But you’re not whom she embarrasses in front of everyone.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Mom, it’s been that bad for a long time. I told Doctor Windham that I’m frightened of her.”

“Frightened of Kelly?” Elizabeth asked, her voice underscoring disbelief.

“Yeah, Mom,” affirmed Brandon. “She and her friends are why I had that panic attack yesterday morning. They think I’m transgendered and told me I’m really a girl and wanted me to start dressing like one at school every day.”

“But how did they cause the panic attack?”

“In the nightmare, Kelly and her friends did something to get me elected Homecoming Princess. Next, they took me to the mall and made me get a makeover and a formal dress. Then they made Jeff take me to the game, where the announcer told everyone I was the first boy to be chosen Homecoming Princess. That’s when I woke up with the panic attack.”

Elizabeth thought a moment about what her son had just told her. “I don’t think that Kelly and her friends meant you any harm. However, she is the kinda girl who tends to get carried away by her own exuberance. She and her friends may mean well but lack needed wisdom.”

“But I certainly got harmed this time.”

“I know, son. I know,” she assured him. “But how much of what harmed you was what they did, and how much was your own reaction?”

“Môm! Those girls were chasing me around, trying to get me to wear dresses!”

“Now, Brandon, so let’s assume that they chase you with their dresses. Can they make you wear one?”

He thought for a moment. “Not unless they got me somewhere alone and tore my clothes off me.”

“Is that likely?”

“Not really.”

“So what other way could they get you into a dress?”

Now Brandon understood where his mom was taking their dialogue. “I’d hafta agree to put it on.”

“And can they make you agree to it?”

“No, I guess not,” said Brandon, a little more relaxed. “And I demonstrated as much when they came to see me.”

“Sounds to me like you have a better handle on the situation than you thought, now that you know your response is your decision,” his mom assured him, smiling as she began to merge into the neighboring lane of traffic.

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

Kelly had just finished her breakfast Sunday morning when Nurse Fran peeked into her room.

“How are you this morning, Kelly?”

“Alright, but I’m usually getting ready to go to Mass about now.”

Fran looked at Kelly’s chart and noted that Kelly was Roman Catholic.

“If you’d like, I can ask the Catholic chaplain to visit you, or if you prefer, I can take you down to the Chapel for Mass.”

“What time is Mass?”

“Eight o’clock.”

“Could you give me a few minutes to get dressed, please?” Kelly asked. “I’d feel naked going in just my pyjamas.”

“Of course,” replied Nurse Fran. “Just buzz me if you need help with anything.” She picked up the breakfast tray on her way out as Kelly made her way to the shower.

Billy folded his arms tightly across his chest, looking defeated, frightened, and anxious. Nancy and Lauren carefully worked on his face and hair to conform the style from Maxine’s New House of Glamour to the pretty blue dress that they had for him to wear. He merely sat passive-aggressively at the seat of his sister’s vanity, wearing a white slip over a padded bra, panties, and pantyhose.

“Do I hafta go to church like this?” Billy whinged more than asked.

“Yes!” chorused the two young women and his mother, giving him a serious look before sputtering into giggles.

“Mom, what is it about guys that makes it so hard to get them dressed up?” Nancy asked while her mother checked her own hair in a mirror.

“Oh, I don’t know, dear,” she dismissed the question. “Except maybe they have no eye for color or fashion. Billie certainly doesn’t appreciate what looks good on her.”

“Môm, I’m a guy,” objected her son. “I’m not supposed to look good in a dress.”

“Well, you still do, Billie!” Lauren added, eliciting a yet redder face from him. “I love the way pantyhose caresses your legs, especially after you step into a pair of heels. I just wanna rub my hands up and down your legs. Y’ know, we should play footsies together in our pantyhose.”

Billy bolted from the vanity, up-ending the seat, rushing into the bathroom, and locking the door behind him.

The rector of St. John the Evangelist Episcopal Church, vested in cassock, surplice, and stole, approached the pew where the MacDonalds were sitting. “Good morning there, Nate, Libby!” the Rev. James Gilchrist addressed his parishioners, shaking hands with each. “You too, Sheila, Brandon! How’s everyone doing?”

“We’re doing quite well today,” answered Nathan on behalf of the family. “How ’bout you and your wife?”

“Doing well we are,” the rector replied. “But I come to you with a special request. May I talk with your son?”

Guessing the topic of conversation, Brandon sighed before looking at the Rev. Gilchrist. “Father Jim, I’m supposed to have today off,” he whinged.

“The verger told me as much, but George Edwards called to say that he overslept today,” explained the priest. “Something about partying too late after the Homecoming Dance. So now I need a thurifer. You’re the only one here today who knows how to do it.”

Yes, Brandon had already suffered enough thanks to Homecoming Week activities. Yet it continued in church Sunday morning.

“But I can’t do all those fancy swings and loops that he does.”

“Brandon, you don’t need to do his yo-yo tricks,” Fr. Jim assured him. “Just swing the thurible gently to keep the charcoal hot, make sure there’s incense burning, and hand me the chain when I ask for it.”

“Alright, Father Jim, it’s against my better judgment, but I’ll do it,” agreed Brandon reluctantly. “This is playing with fire—literally!”

Fr. Jim chuckled to assure the boy of his confidence. “You’ll do fine, Brandon.”

“Sis, Mom, Dad, I gotta go,” Brandon said to dismiss himself. “But please, don’t blame me if the church burns down!” As everyone else laughed, Brandon dodged his family’s knees as he clambered his way out of the pew.

Miss Brenda San-Giacomo had attended the early Mass at eight o’clock so she could get started on her day. Most Sundays she’d sleep a little later and attend the eleven o’clock service, but if she were going to get a new cheerleader to fill in for Abby, she had to continue working today.

The coach had approached Kelly Harrigan for help with finding a possible substitute. Since she, too, had been injured along with Abby, and would be unable to participate fully until her wrist healed, Kelly was more than eager to become involved in some of the administrative needs of cheerleading. And that would take away some of the stress that Brenda felt.

Unfortunately, stress followed what had happened in more than one way. Brenda had met with Abby’s parents and physicians. She had to comfort and reassure other girls on the squad; several were still upset over the events of Friday night. Brenda certainly was, herself. There would of course be meeting after meeting with the principal, Abby’s counselor, likely an attorney investigating for the School District, maybe the School Board itself, insurance adjustors, et cetera. And she hadn’t even filed an incident report yet, but the rules for that required her to wait until Monday.

Of course, as cheerleading coach, she had practical problems with her two best junior varsity cheerleaders injured. Without someone to take Abby’s place soon, Brenda would have to change much of her cheer squad’s choreography, or else give weaker performances for the rest of the football season. But that would be unacceptable to her girls as well as to herself.

Yet Brenda’s greatest concern was for Abby. The coach struggled with the pain that she felt seeing such a fit young woman, now lying in a hospital bed, fragile and broken. Brenda cried as she thought about what her girls had gone through. She had lit candles and offered prayers for Abby and Kelly in the Lady Chapel after Mass.

Billy sank into the front passenger seat of his mother’s car, arms tightly folded over his padded breasts. He wore the muted blue dress that Lauren had chosen for him along with a pair of navy pumps and a matching purse. But the blue ribbon tied in his hair by a big bow above his right ear was really over-the-top, he thought.

“Mom, I look stupid like this,” he complained. “I look like a boy in a dress.”

“Billie, you look fine,” Patricia tried to reassure her son, “even if you are a boy in a dress.”

“Dressing like this for school is one thing, Mom,” he allowed, “but showing up at church in drag, I think, is pushing my luck. Besides, after what’s happened to Abby, someone might see it as disrespectful.”

“Disrespectful?”

“Yeah,” affirmed Billy. “I kinda think so, myself.”

Mrs. Danziger thought a moment and drove her car to a stop on the side of the road. Her daughter pulled her car up behind her. Patricia opened her door and stepped out of the car and walked back to her daughter’s. Nancy rolled her window down to talk to her mother.

“Your wiley brother came up with an excuse to get out of church today,” reported Mom. “And it’s actually a good one.”

“Aw, Mom!” Nancy whined while Lauren’s demeanor betrayed her shared disappointment. “You’re not letting him off that easy, are you?”

“Well, he did raise an objection that because of Abby’s injuries, his going to church in drag could be seen as disrespectful after what’s happened to the pastor’s daughter over the weekend.”

“I guess Billie does have a point,” Lauren admitted to her friend from the passenger’s side of the car. “I can see how people might take it the wrong way if your brother shows up crossdressed today.”

“That’s prob’ly true,” concurred Nancy. “But we went through so much effort to get him all dolled up for church.”

“Oh, don’t you worry!” Mrs. Danziger assured them. “I’ve planned quite the day for us together with your little ‘sister.’ You girls go on to church and call just as soon as you get out. Billie and I will meet you for brunch somewhere. We’ll keep ourselves occupied until we hear from you. Alright?”

“That’s great, Mom!” Nancy quickly agreed. “Sounds like a plan.” She rolled her window back up and took advantage of the lighter traffic to drive her car back onto the road.

Patricia was smiling as she sat down in the driver’s seat and closed the door. “Well, you made your point,” she conceded. “We won’t be going to church with you dressed like that.”

“Alright!” Billy celebrated his small victory by raising his fist in the air and pulling it down in line with his forearm. “Can we go home now? I’d like to change outta this.”

“Oh no, Billie! We have such a big day ahead of us, and it starts right now.

“But Môm!”

Vesting himself in cassock and surplice had never bothered Brandon before. As an acolyte, a thurifer, or a crucifer, he’d done so many times, maybe hundreds since he was big enough to hold the candlesticks and tapers. But today, instead of seeing the liturgical garments as vestments, he saw them as long dresses. He began to feel light-headed and to shake slightly. According to Dr. Windham’s instructions, he should try relaxation first. But there really wasn’t time. Morning Prayer would begin in five minutes or so. Yet the last thing he needed was to carry around burning charcoal with his hands shaking or himself passing out. No, that would not be good for anyone including himself.

Brandon reached into a slit at the side of his cassock which allowed access to his own pockets and withdrew his wallet. He took out a strip of two alprazolam and broke one plastic blister open, then went into the sacristy and ran a cup of water from the faucet of the piscina.

“You okay, Brandon?” Fr. Jim asked as the thurifer swallowed his pill.

“I’m a bit nervous this morning,” the boy answered.

“Nervous about handling the thurible?”

“Well, that’s part of it, yeah, but there’s more to it than just that,” he confessed. “My doctor gave me something to take for it, though.”

“Just remember to swing the censer only enough to keep the charcoal hot. Don’t try to copy George’s tricks with it. Timmy will carry the incense boat ahead of you,” the rector reminded him. “Anything else?”

“Why do all of the vestments look like dresses?”

“Interesting question, I think,” noted Fr. Jim. “There’s not really time to discuss it now, but we can later.”

Nurse Fran had pushed Kelly back to her room in the wheelchair. “Your mom will be along to take you home soon, so you should get your things together while I go check on your paperwork.”

“Thanks, Fran,” Kelly offered the nurse as she stepped out of the room. Immediately, Kelly turned her attention to putting her books and laptop computer into her bags while thinking about the chaplain’s homily at Mass on entering the Kingdom of God as a little child. She felt herself struggling to hold on to the child yet hidden deep within.

She had put most everything away and was about to begin texting her friends when she heard a knock on the door.

“Can I come in?” asked a familiar voice.

“Coach Brenda!” Kelly exclaimed. “Good morning! How are you?”

“I’m doing okay,” the coach assured her, “although I’m worried about Abby.”

“I am, too,” agreed Kelly.

“I think we all are,” Brenda reminded her. “We’re worried both for her own sake as well as for us as a team.”

“My injury doesn’t help, either, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” agreed the coach. “But then again, you’re not entirely out of the game. You can still cheer and chant, sing and dance—well, some dancing, anyway. How’s your wrist and hand doing today?”

“It’s still aching, but I thought it would be worse,” said Kelly holding her bandaged left forearm up by her right hand to show her wiggling fingers. “Doctor Singh said I need to keep my fingers moving as much as possible so my hand and wrist don’t get stiff.”

“That makes sense. How’s your keyboarding?”

“I’m kinda doing it one-handed today. I mean, I can move my left-hand fingers alright, but the cast across the palm of my hand gets in the way.”

“You’re left-handed, aren’t you?”

“Of course!” Kelly giggled. “I’m a southpaw, alright. Why else would I have broken my left wrist?”

“Oh, is this some Murphy’s Law thing?”

“Well, isn’t Murphy Irish, after all?”

“Kelly, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who enjoyed annoying people by just being Irish quite as much as you do.”

Kelly flashed an impish grin at Miss San-Giacomo, with half-closed eyes, a dimpling of her mouth, and a wrinkling of her button nose, that drew a strong, healthy laugh from the coach. Brenda embraced Kelly carefully to avoid her bandaged arm while the schoolgirl returned the hug as best she could. But once again, Kelly felt an unexpected tingle surge throughout her body.

“I needed that laugh, Kelly,” Coach Brenda thanked her, smiling. “I don’t think I had laughed once since our pre-game rally Friday afternoon.”

“We’ll need to getcha in a better mood for next Friday’s game.”

“You’re right, of course,” conceded Brenda. “Besides, Abby certainly must want us to cheer the team on.”

“I plan to be out there with pom-poms in hand and megaphone raised even if I can’t do anything else.”

Brenda smiled. “I know you will. But I’m hoping you can help me this afternoon as well.”

“How?”

“I’ve heard that you know how to do database searches?”

“Uh-huh! My friend Brandon showed me how to structure queries and everything.”

“Well, I need a list of candidates who could fill in for Abby.”

“But I would need access to the fully secured students’ database. That data’s confidential or restricted,” observed Kelly. “I don’t have the necessary passwords and security codes for that.”

“I can authorize you for that,” said Coach Brenda. “But you can only use the full database from a secured computer on campus. Could you come over to the gymnasium this afternoon? You can get access from the computer in my office while I start working on the incident report for Friday night.”

“I’ll have to ask Mom, but I don’t know why I couldn’t,” answered Kelly, reaching for her purse to get her smartphone. “Let me call her.”

The rector invited Brandon into his study. “Come on in, Brandon,” said Fr. Jim. “I’d like you to read something that I wrote. This was my master’s thesis.” He took a tall, thin volume bound in black from a shelf behind his desk and handed it to the boy. “You asked me why vestments look like dresses. Well, you might find some of what you want to know in there.”

Brandon accepted the book from Fr. Jim, opened it, and quickly found the title page:

“So you wrote this?” Brandon asked for clarification.

“Yes, I did,” the minister reiterated. “But I don’t think anyone’s read it since then. Still, when you asked your question earlier, I thought it might help you understand, if you read it, or at least browse it thoroughly. Then we can talk about it more if you want.”

“Okay, I’ll take a look at it, then,” promised Brandon. “It might help. It’s cool you wrote about it.”

“We aim to please,” said the clergyman flashing a quick smile at his young parishioner. “Now I gotta get back out there and shake hands with everyone.”

Billy nestled himself in the corner of the booth, seeking concealment from passersby in the restaurant. Nervously, he stretched the hem of his dress as close to his knees as he could. No one had to tell him to sit with his knees together—his own anxiety enforced that easily enough. He clutched his purse to his chest, attempting to hide the outline of his padded brassiere from view.

“Billie, you really should just go with it,” his mother commented. “You’re only drawing attention to yourself by trying to hide it.”

As she had calculated, his mother’s remark only served to increase his anxiety. Her son’s body language became increasingly closed. She knew that not much more of a nudge was needed to push him where he needed—where he had asked—to go.

Billy put down his purse next to him and began perusing the menu for Sunday brunch. The huevos rancheros looked good to him, so he thought that he’d order those, or maybe the buffet. He’d like a mimosa—orange juice mixed with champagne—with it, but there was no way he could get that past Mom. He’d have to settle for just orange juice.

Suddenly, Nancy and Lauren showed up at their table. Lauren slid into the booth next to Billy while his sister sat across from her next to Mom. Then Lauren kissed him on the cheek.

“What’s that for?” Billy asked.

“Just for being so sweet,” said Lauren as Nancy and her mother giggled. “And so much fun! You’re a good sport to go along with all this.”

“When I asked Sis for help, I shoulda guessed she’d have something like this in mind.”

“Well, it’s not like you’re the first boy whose big sister dressed him up like a girl,” remarked Nancy (as Lauren squelched her urge to giggle by tightening her lips). “And as you mentioned, you did ask me for help.”

“But I was worried about coolness,” objected her brother. “I’m just trying to get my cool back.”

“So, Billie,” asked his mother, “what’s that really mean—to be cool?”

“I don’t really know, I guess,” he admitted. “That’s why I’m sitting here in this get-up.”

“Then what did you think it means?” Mrs. Danziger followed up.

“Acting like nothing really matters?” Billy postulated quite weakly.

“No, that’s not it,” his sister replied, “although I can understand why you’d think so.

“Being ‘cool’ doesn’t mean nothing matters to you. But it means you know what really does matter and you won’t let anything else bother you. And when something that matters comes up, then you do something about it.

“Now, when I say you know what really matters, you’ve paid attention to the world around you and to your own conscience to figure it out. But what really makes you ‘cool’ in the eyes of everyone else, is that when you act on something that matters, you show confidence that you’re doing the right thing.”

“So, Billie,” his mother addressed him, “if you’re really ‘cool,’ what mattered for Gender-Bender Day and what didn’t?”

“Apparently wearing something of a girl’s mattered quite a bit,” he answered.

“No!” Nancy contradicted him. “In fact that didn’t really matter at all.”

“Okay, Sis,” he acknowledged her. “Now you’ve got me completely confused.”

“Billie,” Lauren addressed him, “what your sister’s trying to get you to see is that Gender-Bender Day wasn’t about boys dressing up like girls. It was about showing school spirit and support for your team.”

“But that’s not really important to me,” objected Billy in his own defence. “All that Homecoming stuff doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“And that’s your other mistake,” his mother emphasized. “It’s not all about you! It is important to most of your classmates but you ignored it and even stepped on their feelings, although you prob’ly don’t realize it.”

“The other side of being ‘cool’ is that you make an effort to recognize, understand, and acknowledge what’s important to others even when it’s not important to you,” explained Nancy. “And that’s when everyone else will start to see you as cool. Anyway, that’s how it works for me.”

“So, you’re saying that I really miscalculated about Gender-Bender Day?” Billy more confessed than asked.

“From the get-go!” Nancy affirmed.

“Coach Brenda, this doesn’t look too hopeful,” announced Kelly flexing the fingers of her left hand. “I’m really having trouble finding anyone who meets all the requirements.”

“That’s unfortunate,” commented Miss San-Giacomo tersely. “So, which criterion excludes the most girls? Grades?”

“No, it’s time slot availability. You told me we can only take a girl who’s in either another physical education course or a study hall during the period we have Cheerleading One. Otherwise, she’d hafta get, like, multiple schedule changes.”

“Not gonna happen this late in the term,” the coach observed. “The principal, the counselor, or any one of the faculty involved could veto the whole thing.”

“Anyway, that requirement excludes, like, nineteen out of every twenty girls. In fact, it excludes more girls than grades, physical fitness profiles, or medical permission.”

“Not surprised,” conceded Coach Brenda. “The only other girls’ physical education course at the same time is Aerobic Dance Two and there aren’t any freshmen in there. How ’bout those who did meet all the search criteria?”

“Even though you didn’t ask for it, I thought to check them for sports and other extra-curricular activities,” explained Kelly. “Of the eight remaining freshman girls, two are, like, on the soccer team, two in the Marching Band, one in the Majorette Corps, and two on the Dance Line-Pompom Squad right now. After football season, one’s already made the volleyball team and three have filed forms intending to play basketball and two for girls’ ice hockey. In the spring, they wanna try out for track and field, tennis, golf, lacrosse, and/or softball. A few will try out for more than one sport to increase their chances of making a team. Meanwhile, cheerleading is a year-round activity, so if they do it, they can’t join any of the other teams.”

“Cheerleading is just one choice an athletic girl has now,” observed the coach. “Many girls who have what it takes are now attracted to other sports. Sometimes I have to work hard to recruit good cheerleaders.”

“I can see why,” agreed Kelly. “But couldn’t we talk at least one of them into cheerleading instead?”

“We can try,” said Brenda. “But don’t count on it. Most of those girls already have their hearts set on whatever it is that they’ve signed up for.”

“Well, some girls who otherwise would’ve been good cheerleaders might’ve been discouraged from trying out,” observed Kelly.

“I used to think that, but the longer that I’ve coached cheerleading, the more I’m of the opinion that a good candidate knows she wants it and goes after it.”

Kelly peered at the screen:

No records returned

She looked back over her work, especially how she had structured the queries. Maybe she could run them again, just in case? No, that wouldn’t change anything unless she were to relax at least one criterion. But then she looked back at an erroneous query. She hadn’t even looked at its output because she forgot to set one of the usual parameters for a cheerleader candidate:

gender = female

Because she had forgotten that setting, the query had returned a boy’s name.

Kelly peered again at the monitor. Just to be sure, she added one more criterion to the query: intent forms filed for sports or other activities. The new query returned the boy’s name again:

MacDonald, Brandon

His record showed him enrolled in no extra-curricular activities. Kelly knew that he was on the chess team, but he likely hadn't filed an intent form because he was already competing.

“Coach Brenda, you’ve told us that creativity means thinking outside the box,” Kelly reminded Miss San-Giacomo. “Like, just how far outside the box are we supposed to go?”

The question surprised Coach Brenda. “What d’you mean?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I found a student who meets all the requirements you’ve listed for a new cheerleader.”

“Who is she then?”

“That’s why we’re outside the box now,” warned Kelly. “She’s a he!”

“What?”

“In an earlier query, I’d forgotten to specify gender, so I didn’t even bother looking at the output,” recounted Kelly. “But after coming up empty, I reviewed my previous work and noticed that the query had returned a boy’s name.”

“Whose?”

“Brandon MacDonald’s.”

“The guy who taught you to do database searches?”

“He’s the one!”

“Sheila’s younger brother?”

“The same!”

“I still wish we could get her back,” the coach mused sotto voce. “How well do you know him?”

“The three of us, with Sheila I mean, have been friends since, like, forever!” Kelly admitted. “Brandon and I were in the same kindergarten class, Sheila and I took ballet together while I took gymnastics with him.”

“You were in gymnastics with him?”

“Yes. And he’s really good at it, too.”

“Good enough to do our stunts?”

“Easily!”

“How’s he for school spirit?”

“Very much into it—more so than most guys, I think. Nothing lacking there.”

“So d’you think he’d be a good cheerleader?”

Kelly thought back to what Holly had told her only a few days earlier.

Y’know, I can see that. If boys could be cheerleaders, he’d be a good one.

“If he were a girl, he’d be on the squad already,” affirmed Kelly. “I’m sure he’d be, like, an exceptional cheerleader—if we can get him past the obvious hurdle.”

“Wearing the uniform?”

“It might take some effort, but he does look sweet in a dress,” giggled Kelly. “When Brandon wore one for Gender-Bender Day, he was, like, very convincing. I should show you the video.”

“So, how do we get him to do it?” Coach Brenda inquired.

“We ask him,” suggested Kelly. “Doctor Van de Meer says it’s an underused technique.”

“How about the other girls?” Coach Brenda asked. “Shouldn’t we ask them how they’d feel about cheering with a boy on the team? We need everyone on board if it’s to have any chance of working.”

“That’s a good idea,” conceded Kelly. “I can try calling around to get their opinions right now.”

The Rev. Abernathy had just left Abby’s recovery room to get fresh coffee for his wife and himself when their daughter began to stir, trying to flex what muscles that she could. But finding much of her body immobile, she emitted a small whine, barely audible, yet immediately heard by her attentive mother’s ear.

“Nurse! She’s waking up!” Florence cried springing to the door. “Please!”

Nurse Valerie Martin responded to the call immediately and pressed a button on a console that sent a signal to a physician’s pager, then went into Abby’s room to see what she might need. Viewing the monitor, Valerie knew that the girl was coming out of the coma.

Florence went to the side of her daughter’s bed and took her hand. She squeezed her mother’s hand firmly, smiling as best she could with a tube taped to the corner of her mouth. Mom relaxed when she felt the strength of Abigail’s grip. As wounded as the girl may have been, Florence knew that her daughter was ready to begin her recovery.

“What happened?” the Reverend asked at the threshold with fresh cups of coffee for his wife and himself.

“She’s awake, Phil,” his wife answered. “She’s finally awake!”

Kelly tried the number for Mathilda James one more time, but it switched directly to her voicemail.

“Coach Brenda, I’ve polled all the other junior varsity cheerleaders, except Tillie didn’t answer, so I left her a voicemail.”

“Was there a consensus?”

“Surprise! Except for Penelope Bennett, they all sounded okay with having a boy on the squad, and I think even she was more weirded out by the idea than opposed to it.”

“No specific objections, then?”

“Not objections,” remarked Kelly. “More like an expectation. Two or three mentioned that he’d have to wear the same uniform.”

“That’s just part of being on any team.”

“For us that’ll be part of the fun!” Kelly giggled.

“Slow down a moment, girl. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, here,” Coach Brenda advised. “We don’t know if Brandon will do this just yet. Also, I’d like to find out what the varsity squad thinks about it. I see them tomorrow morning. And I have to run this whole thing by Doctor Van de Meer and Doctor Lansing, too.”

“How long do you think it’ll take to find out?” Kelly asked.

“I already sent Xee an email and she can see me during homeroom period tomorrow,” said Coach Brenda. “I’ll have her send for you and Brandon to come to her office then. The hard part of this will be taking it to Doctor Lansing.”

“Does she have to approve it, too?”

“Yes, she does,” confirmed the coach. “Any change to a student’s schedule this late in the semester requires the principal’s signature.”

“That’s why you wanted a girl with a gym class or study hall at the same time,” observed Kelly. “So that Doctor Lansing would be more likely to go along with the change.”

“Just transferring a student from one physical education course to another? Not a problem. From a study hall to a credit earning course? There’s more paperwork but she likes to see students go for more. Switching from the boys’ gym to the girls’, though?” Coach Brenda wondered to her young assistant. “I don’t know if she’s even open to the idea.”

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

A boy and a girl, siblings, walked up the sidewalk to an unfamiliar house and knocked on the door. The boy greeted the Chinese lady who opened the door. “Good morning, Mis’ess Chang! My name is Brandon and I’m here to walk Jenny to school.”

Mrs. Chang smiled at Brandon. “Yes, she told me you were coming by this morning. But who is with you?”

“This is my sister Sheila, ma’am.”

“Older or younger sister?”

“She’s older than I.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mis’ess Chang,” said the girl smiling and extending her hand, which the lady graciously accepted. Now aware that he had forgotten to do so earlier, Brandon then offered his own hand to Mrs. Chang.

“Jenny ran back to her room for something,” apologized Mrs. Chang for her daughter. “She says that you are very good doing mathematics, Brandon?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “We’re in our geometry and computer science classes together as well as a few others.”

“I like that you know mathematics well,” Mrs. Chang encouraged him. “Jenny is very impressed with you.”

“I feel better knowing that,” he said. But Brandon did not understand that Mrs. Chang really meant that she herself was impressed with him. Just then, Jenny scampered down the stairs to appear at the door beside her mother. Instead of her usual plain, frumpy style, the girl wore a very pretty electric blue dress with its hem at mid-thigh and teetered atop a pair of three-inch (8 cm) heeled, ankle-strapped black pumps with a small matching purse. Brandon took in the stylish vision, not quite conscious of Jenny’s growing hold over him.

“The boy Brandon is here with his sister to walk to school with you today,” Mrs. Chang informed her daughter. “Do not forget to take your lunch, Jenny.”

“It’s in my backpack,” she assured her. “I’m all ready for school.”

“You pay attention and learn much today, my daughter.” Mrs. Chang then addressed Brandon, “And you must see that Jenny learns her mathematics today.”

“I’ll do my best, ma’am,” promised the boy. “But Jenny is also good at math herself.”

“For you to say so is nice,” said Jenny’s mother with a smile. “You must go now. You cannot be tardy.”

“You have a good day, Mom!” Jenny replied.

“Goodbye!” Brandon called out.

“Happy to meet you, Mis’ess Chang!” Sheila said as they started towards the school. When the threesome was outside the range of Mrs. Chang’s hearing, Sheila told her brother, “I think Mis’ess Chang likes you.”

“My mother likes that I like your brother, Sheila,” clarified Jenny. Then she continued with an impish grin, “Mom thinks he’s a keeper.”

Jenny leaned against Brandon and into his ear whispered, “And I think you are, too.”

Ernest Markham had just finished marking attendance for his homeroom when the desktop computer chimed with a message from the Guidance Office. He needed to send two students to talk with Dr. Van de Meer.

“Kelly, Brandon, Doctor Van de Meer wishes to see both of you right away,” announced Mr. Markham, handing each a hall pass.

Brandon turned and looked at Kelly who sat behind him. “Do you know what this is about?”

“I might,” she answered, “but I can’t be certain until we get there.”

“Get going, you two,” Mr. Markham told them.

Kelly bounded from her seat immediately. Brandon, unsure of what was going on, showed more reticence. He even remained seated until Kelly grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him away from his desk. Deftly, he turned his wrist and forearm inward, breaking her hold.

“You forgot that I’ve had martial arts training as well as gymnastics,” Brandon reminded her. He followed her out of the classroom toward the stairwell at the end of the hallway, where she paused, insisting by her body language that he precede her down the stairs. So he went ahead of her, only to hear her giggling behind him. “You do know what this is about, don’t you?” Brandon accused. “You knew just as soon as Mister Markham mentioned it.”

Kelly looked at him with her best, most mischievous grin. Moreover, Brandon knew that look. Whatever might come next, Kelly would have made sure already that it would be at his expense. “Actually, I knew before he mentioned it,” she admitted.

“Could that be because, whatever it is, you’ve engineered it?”

“What? Moi? ”

“Yes! Toi! ”

“No,” denied Kelly. “Not exactly, anyway.”

“And what do you mean by that?” Brandon asked her with growing anxiety.

“I’m not personally responsible,” explained Kelly. “Your name, like, just happened to match the database search.”

“I just knew it was a mistake to show you how to structure queries,” grumbled Brandon in regret.

Wearing a red sweater over a simple white cotton blouse with a Peter Pan collar, a short blue denim skirt, and a pair of navy pumps, Billy toyed nervously in the back seat of his sister’s car with the small stainless steel pipe inside his purse. His long, usually unruly hair was neatly brushed and held in place by a white hairband. Nancy drove into a section of the high school’s parking lot reserved for visitors. Parking in the visitors’ area felt a little weird to her, as she’d always parked in the students’ lot before. “Here we are!” she announced to her passengers. Nancy and Lauren opened their doors and Billy clambered out of the back seat, trying not to allow the hem of his skirt to fly up. They hadn’t thought to show him how to climb out of the rear seat of a compact car in a skirt while wearing heels.

The two girls escorted him holding either arm as they climbed the stairs to the main entrance. “Are you getting along okay in those heels?” Lauren asked him.

“I guess as well as any guy wearing them could,” he conceded. “I’ll be glad when this is over.”

“Of course, it would already be over if you had done it along with everyone else,” his sister reminded him, “and you wouldn’t be doing it alone.”

“I kinda get that now, Sis.”

“But you’re brave to be going it alone today,” remarked Lauren. Then quite unexpectedly, after they stepped onto the upper landing, she kissed Billie on the cheek.

Brandon and Kelly arrived at the bottom of the stairwell and proceeded to the Guidance Office. Marla Peterson was at her desk waiting for them both. “Doctor Van de Meer and Miss San-Giacomo are waiting for you,” she said. “You can go right in.”

“Who’s Miss San-Giacomo?” Brandon asked.

“Maybe Sheila’s mentioned her to you?” Kelly suggested.

“Not that I can remember.”

“We call her ‘Coach Brenda.’”

“The cheerleading coach?” Brandon asked for clarification.

“That’s her!” Kelly answered, pulling him to the open door of Dr. Van de Meer’s office.

“Come in,” the counselor told them. “Please shut the door behind you, Kelly.” The girl complied after Brandon entered. She joined Coach San-Giacomo on the sofa while he sat alone in the armchair.

“So, Doctor Van de Meer,” Brandon addressed his counselor, “why am I here?”

“I’ll let Miss San-Giacomo tell you since it’s by her request,” Dr. Van de Meer deferred the explanation. “I will remind you of two things, though. First, listen to everything she has to say before asking any questions or making a decision. Next, remember what I told you Thursday: you don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do. I’ll support your decision either way.”

“So, what do you want, Miss San-Giacomo?” Brandon inquired.

“First, were you at the Homecoming game?” Coach Brenda asked him.

“No, but I watched it with my girlfriend on streaming video,” he replied.

“Why weren’t you at the game?”

“I was in the hospital.”

“I’m sorry,” apologized the coach. “What happened, if I may ask?”

“When I woke up from a nightmare Friday morning, I had a panic attack,” explained Brandon. “I spent Friday and Saturday at Saint Luke’s.” He noticed that Kelly had folded her right arm underneath the sling supporting her left arm and squeezed her knees and ankles together. She looked down at the floor. Brandon understood that Kelly blamed herself for his nightmare and hence the subsequent panic attack.

“No physical illness or injury, then?” Coach Brenda probed further.

“No. Not really,” Brandon dismissed the coach’s concerns. “But my psychiatrist gave me some pills to take if it happens again.”

“We can be thankful for that,” Coach Brenda conceded, “because right now, as things stand, you’re our only qualified candidate.”

“Qualified candidate for what?” Brandon wondered out loud.

“Did you see the accident that happened to Abby Abernathy?” Brenda asked him.

“Yeah,” he replied. “That looked like it was really bad. And Kelly broke her wrist trying to help her.” Kelly blushed as Brandon acknowledged her injury.

“Yes, she did,” affirmed Coach Brenda, “and that makes what I’m about to ask even more important.”

“Well, what is it?” Brandon pressed, as he was becoming not only annoyed but increasingly anxious as the coach had yet to arrive at her point.

“We’d like you to substitute for Abby while she’s unable to cheer,” Miss San-Giacomo admitted. “That would be for at least three months, maybe longer.”

“You want me to be a cheerleader?” Brandon asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” affirmed the coach. “Kelly told me about your skills in gymnastics, so I called your former coach and he confirmed what she’d told me.”

“Did he also tell you why I quit gymnastics?” Brandon asked more as an objection than as an inquiry. He felt somewhat violated that she had called his gymnastics coach without asking first.

“Yes, he did,” replied Coach Brenda. “But he described your tumbling skills, your floor exercises as excellent. Those are what we really need—not the more advanced skills on men’s apparatus that your body never grew enough to compete on.”

“And I vouched for your school spirit,” interjected Kelly. “That’s, like, so important for a cheerleader. And I’ve noticed, too, except for your hospital stay, that you and your friends have come to all the games to cheer and sing along with us. It really means a lot to us on the squad when you do that.”

“Have guys been cheerleaders at West Grove before?” Brandon asked.

“No, they have not,” Dr. Van de Meer replied as she re-entered the discussion. “Coach San-Giacomo asked me to check the school’s history for any precedents. You’d be breaking new ground here, Brandon.”

Brandon took another breath before asking his next question, the one that most worried him. “So do you have a boy’s cheerleading uniform?” he asked Miss San-Giacomo. “I’ve noticed that guys on college cheer squads have their own.”

“No. High schools almost never have boys as cheerleaders,” she replied. “So, you’d be wearing the same uniform as the others.”

“You mean I’d be dressing like a girl?”

“That is the uniform,” the coach confirmed. “We don’t have another available.”

Why does it always seem to come around to this? Brandon wondered. Does absolutely everyone want me to dress like a girl?

“But that’d be just at the games?”

“We’re required to wear our uniforms in school on game days,” remarked Kelly. “You’d hafta wear yours, too. And once a week, we have, like, a ‘fashion day’ when we all wear pretty dresses or nice skirts and blouses. We’d hope you’d, like, dress up with us for that as well.” Coach Brenda nodded to confirm that, indeed, Brandon would be bound by the same everyday requirements and social expectations as the other cheerleaders.

Brandon began to feel queasy and light-headed as he began to understand whither all this was going. “So I’d be going to school in drag twice a week?” he asked, once again more as an objection than a question.

“Actually, during basketball season, it’s more like three times a week,” the coach warned him. “And as junior varsity, you’ll be asked now and then to cheer for a few of the other sports, like soccer, volleyball, lacrosse, and baseball. Cheerleading is a year-round activity.”

“Brandon, you need to consider something else,” Dr. Van de Meer said, raising a new issue. “In our school district cheerleading is not extra-curricular—it’s an actual course. If you decide to do this, we’d transfer you from your alternating study hall and Boys’ Physical Education One to Cheerleading One. You’d receive full academic credit for it and it would also count towards meeting your physical education requirements for graduation. Once you transferred into the course, you’d receive a regular grade for it just as you would for your physical education course.”

“But that would cause other scheduling problems!” objected Brandon. “I like the courses that I already have.”

“No, Brandon!” Kelly retorted. “One reason the database query returned your name was that your study hall and Boys’ Physical Education One meet at the same time as Cheerleading One. We couldn’t ask any student to swap out more than a single class period. That rule disqualified most of the girls who might’ve otherwise been available.”

“Couldn’t you find any girls?”

“In a word, no,” summarized Coach Brenda. “There weren’t too many girls still eligible at this point in the semester. After we checked them out, they were all committed to other sports or activities.”

“Your name only came up because I forgot to limit a query by gender,” admitted Kelly, “but once we knew you were qualified, we had to see if we could interest you in doing it.”

Coach San-Giacomo added, “I know this won’t be easy for you if you agree to it, but I can promise you a real adventure and a lot of fun. The girls on the squad will all support you as best they can. In fact, we’d like you to come this afternoon to meet the other girls on the squad.”

“Is this a joke?” Brandon asked, warily shaking his head. “Kelly’s been pulling pranks on me since kindergarten.”

“Brandon, I’m sorry about all those things. Please don’t turn your back on the team because of what I’ve done in the past,” pled Kelly. “We really need you now. Without a substitute for Double Abby, we’ll hafta do so much more work, like, to change all our stunts and choreography. Teaching you would be, like, so much easier, thanks to your background.”

“And Kelly showed me the video of you from Gender Bender Day,” said Coach Brenda. “I have no doubt that you can convey the femininity expected of a cheerleader. In that video, you were so sweet that I cried. That as a boy, you’d be willing to put yourself in a girl’s place is very touching. I’m hoping that you’d be willing to do it again.”

“I hate that video,” whinged Brandon. “Dressing up for that day was such a mistake. And this just seems like it’s more teasing for doing that. I never should’ve done it.

“I thought it might be fun. And at first it was. Besides, it was intended to boost school spirit,” explained Brandon. “But the next day, Kelly’s friends were chasing me around, trying to get me crossdressed again, telling me that I should be a girl. And they had that video. It was all so embarrassing.”

“I’m so sorry, Brandon!” apologized Kelly. “I didn’t appreciate how you might feel. We actually thought we were helping you.”

Dr. Van de Meer replied, “I did warn you young ladies about that. Just because he’s androgynous enough to pass as a girl doesn’t mean that he wishes to be one. Nor does it even mean that Brandon wishes to define his life by androgyny. How ’bout it, Brandon?”

“Could I have a day or two to think about it?” he asked, feeling flushed and dizzy as a cold sweat erupted from his forehead. “I need to talk to my parents and my shrink.”

“We need a decision by tomorrow morning,” advised Coach San-Giacomo. “Otherwise, I must begin revising choreography and planning new stunts. We’re really under a time constraint here. If the timeline weren’t so tight, I might’ve been able to handle this differently, but I need a substitute on the sideline Friday night and on the field next week.”

“Brandon, are you feeling alright?” Dr. Van de Meer asked him. “Suddenly, you’re not looking so well.”

“I need to see the school nurse, I think,” the boy replied. “And I think I know what’s wrong.”

Dr. Van de Meer opened a desk drawer to get a hall pass out for Brandon. She also withdrew another. “Kelly, you go with him, then to your morning class. Brandon, you have a day to decide. Let me know your answer tomorrow morning. If you’re willing to do it, Miss San-Giacomo and I still have to discuss this with Doctor Lansing. We don’t know how she’ll respond to the idea of a boy on the cheerleading squad. Like I said this would be breaking new ground.”

Brandon stood to accept the hall pass but immediately felt dizzy, so Kelly held an arm to steady him.

“See that Brandon gets down to the Infirmary alright,” Brenda instructed Kelly. “We can’t risk anything else happening to him, too.” The coach opened the door for Kelly to help Brandon out.

“Are you ready, Billie?” Nancy asked her younger “sister.”

“No!”

“Oh, you’ll do fine!” Lauren exhorted him. “Just keep your knees together and no one’ll even notice!”

“This is crazy,” complained Billy. “Gender-Bender Day was wacky enough, but I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Oh, quit your whining, ‘Sis’!” Nancy said as she knocked on the door to the classroom that belonged to her favorite high school teacher. The doorknob turned and the door slowly opened.

“Miss Danziger?” Ernest Markham exclaimed happily.

“Mister Markham!” Nancy cried as she reached out to embrace her former teacher. “It’s so good to see you again! I just thought I’d say hello and drop my younger sibling off on my way back to State. And this is Lauren Gallagher, my roommate.”

“Nice to meet you, Mister Markham,” said Lauren shaking hands with her friend’s mentor.

“Likewise, Miss Gallagher!” Mr. Markham returned the greeting. “So, I’m looking at two Miss Danzigers, then?”

“My roommate Lauren and I thought that we’d escort Billie to homeroom today,” said Nancy, indirectly teasing her brother. “She seemed so distraught over missing Gender-Bender Day that she called me for help.”

Billy rolled his eyes and looked away. Did she have to tell him that? Just coming to school in this get-up was embarrassing enough. But she’d be on her way soon, he’d skip class, go home, and that’d be the end of it. He might even score a few points for “coolness” with the right people before the day was out. But mostly, the crossdressed boy just wanted to sneak out to his stash for a quick, morning dose of cannabis.

“I think you did well to consult your sister, Billy,” assessed Mr. Markham. “You’re lucky to have such a person to help you with this.”

“She described her understanding of how to be cool yesterday,” explained Billy. “Somehow, this is supposed to help me learn more about it?”

“Give it a chance, Billie,” teased his sister. “Mister Markham had better tell me that you learned something from it!”

Then quite unexpectedly, Lauren embraced “Billie” and pressed her lips to “hers,” lingering slightly. “Courage, Little Billie!” she said. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again. You really are cute like this.”

“I’m glad to see you again, Mister Markham,” Nancy said hugging him again, “but Lauren and I have to drive back to State for later morning classes.”

“I’m glad to see you, too, Nancy,” he reciprocated. ”You must stop by again when we both can have more time to talk.”

“I will, Mister Markham,” she promised. “I will!”

“Nice to meet you, sir!” Lauren added.

“Goodbye, Lauren!” Billy said. “Goodbye, Sis!”

“Goodbye, Little Sister!” Nancy shouted back as she pushed the door of the stairwell open. Lauren yelled, “See you soon, Billie!” as she followed her friend down the stairs.

“Are you ready, ‘Miss’ Danziger?” Mr. Markham asked his crossdressed student as he gripped the doorknob.

“No!”

“At least he’s willing to think about it,” observed Brenda. “But his face looked white when he left here.”

“I didn’t expect him to consider it at all,” admitted Xenia. “After the teasing and shenanigans Kelly and her friends did after Gender-Bender Day, I thought he’d’ve sprinted back to his homeroom.”

“Well, he looked like he wanted to for a moment,” the coach confirmed with a smile, “but I think Kelly sent him on a subtle guilt trip. Apparently, there’s a long history between her and Brandon.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Kelly told me they’ve been in class together since kindergarten and she’s close to him and his sister. She and Brandon also took their gymnastics together.”

Xenia leaned back in her ergonomic chair. “He couldn’t refuse outright without hurting her,” the counselor deduced. “She knew that.”

“That was what I thought as well.” Brenda paused a moment before asking, “What shenanigans were you talking about?”

“I don’t like to betray my students’ confidence, but I’ll tell you this because it’s relevant and I’m still a little worried about things getting out of hand for Brandon,” began Xenia. “Thursday morning, Kelly and a couple of her friends came in and told me that Brandon were transgendered and that they were going to help him be a girl.”

“Then perhaps asking Brandon to substitute for Abby is not such a good idea?”

“No, it might not be,” agreed the counselor, “but let’s wait until he decides what he wants to do. I also had a little talk with him Thursday morning about letting people take advantage of him. And I told him to look up the meaning of androgyny. He’s a very androgynous kid, although at the end of the day, he’s still a boy.”

“I could see that he’s androgynous and that would certainly help if he agrees to this,” conceded the coach. “But I had no way of knowing that it might already be an issue for him.”

“No, you didn’t,” concurred Xenia. “Not if Kelly omitted telling you, anyway. Brandon did refer to pranks that she’s played in the past.”

“I noticed that,” said Brenda. “She has a wild streak in her and I have no doubt the boy’s wary of getting caught up in another one of her schemes.”

“I advised him very strongly when we talked Thursday that he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to. And I was referring specifically to Kelly and her friends’ plan to feminize him. So it’s not like he hasn’t been forewarned.”

“I’m not getting a cheerleader out of this, am I?” Brenda sighed in regret.

“I wouldn’t wager money on it. But still, he asked for time to think about it. So, he may be trying to lessen Kelly’s disappointment by appearing to think it over, or—.” The counselor paused a moment.

“Or what?”

“Or he’s really going to do it, but doesn’t want to seem too willing. He’s a boy after all. He at least has to appear reluctant to do it,” Xenia explained to the coach. “I do know him fairly well, though, and whatever his decision, Brandon made it before he left this room.”

Mr. Markham opened the door and ushered “Billie” Danziger into the room. Wolf whistles and catcalls, jeers and laughter greeted the crossdressed student as he came in view of his classmates.

“Omigosh!” Teri Hamilton squealed. “Billy? You’re so—girlie!”

“I don’t believe it!” Rhonda Davies exclaimed before giggling uncontrollably.

“I don’t either,” Billy concurred with her.

“Listen up, everyone!” Mr. Markham announced. “Mister—Miss Danziger has taken up the challenge that I suggested Thursday morning after all.”

“Well, it was my sister’s idea,” Billy tried to excuse himself as he went to his usual seat in the back of the room, dodging missiles of crumpled paper and hands groping at his legs. “Ow!” he yelled when he felt someone pinch his butt. “A few of you guys are more perverted than even I had thought!”

“Oh, Billie! You’re the girl of my dreams!” Dave Hamill teased. Other guys in the homeroom tossed volleys of wadded paper missiles at both Billy and Dave.

“Guys, they’re just clothes!” He defended himself as he finally sat down. “They don’t really mean anything.”

“You’re a queer!” Barry Kingman asserted.

“Mister Kingman! That’s quite enough!” Mr. Markham’s deep baritone voice boomed. “We’ll have no more of that!”

“I think you look nice, Billie,” said Alice Johansson. “You went to a lot of trouble to do it right.”

“My mom, my sister, and her friend did most of it,” explained Billy. “I feel kinda stupid.”

“Try not to, Billy,” Mr. Markham encouraged him. “You’re making up the exercise in group solidarity you skipped Wednesday. You’re a better man for doing it.”

The class chuckled at the remark.

“As my sister said,” recounted Billy, “if I had just done this Wednesday, it would’ve been easier and it would already be over.”

“You should listen to your sister more,” the teacher advised. “She’s really quite smart.”

“How many of you guys are cool enough to do this if it’s not Gender-Bender Day?” Billy challenged.

As another salvo of crumpled paper rained down on Billy Danziger in response from his classmates, Mr. Markham thought that he should send the Principal a short email, just in case the boy encountered more difficulties during the day.

Kelly led Brandon downstairs to the Infirmary. She noticed him hugging the handrail.

“What’s wrong, Brandon?” Kelly asked as she watched him, noticing his deliberately slow, deep breathing.

“Panic attack,” he answered. “It’s what happened when I woke up Friday morning. Doctor Windham gave me pills to take for it. And she showed me how to calm down by controlling my breath.”

“So, you see Doctor Windham, too?”

“Yeah, she diagnosed my panic attack and is treating me for anxiety disorder,” he related. “All that talk about me being a cheerleader kinda triggered another. How d’you know her?”

“Your dad referred me to her after—after—,” she paused. “Brandon, I need you to keep this, like, secret. You promise?”

“Okay.”

“Friday night at the hospital, your dad caught me drinking. That’s why he referred me to Doctor Windham.”

“You have a drinking problem?”

“Well, no—not yet, anyway,” denied Kelly. “And I don’t wanna start one.”

“So, take better care of yourself, Kelly,” Brandon advised her. “I’d hate for you to get into alcohol or drugs. You’re too nice a person to let that happen to you.”

Kelly looked down a moment. She felt embarrassed, but at the same time was encouraged that Brandon would feel concerned for her well-being. “Thanks. Your dad really did me a favor by stopping me. Alcohol isn’t the real problem, anyway. He said I was self-medicating. Doctor Windham is trying to find out what’s really wrong with me.”

“Well, I promise not to tell anyone,” Brandon assured her, “but I need you to lay off all the talk about me being like a girl. That’s why I’m having panic attacks.”

“I’m sorry about that,” apologized Kelly. “It just seems like something inside you wants to be a girl.”

Brandon stopped at the bottom of the stairwell. “Yes, and I’m curious about it, too, but I’m still a guy and mostly happy with that.”

“We thought that you were, like, transgendered and really wanted to be a girl.”

“No, not transgendered,” denied Brandon, “but Doctor Windham says I’m androgynous and should give myself permission to explore my feminine side.”

“Becoming a cheerleader would be a good way for you to do that.”

“I’d rather explore it on my own—at home and in private.”

“No, Brandon,” she contradicted him. “That really won’t help you. It’s time for you to take hold of life! Like, what’s that phrase in Latin?”

“Carpe diem?”

“That’s the one! Carpe diem! Seize the day!” Kelly almost sang out. “When that query returned your name, Brandon, I recommended you to Coach San-Giacomo because I know you have, like, what it takes to be a great cheerleader. And I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

“But it all seems so weird!”

“Earth to Brandon! Half the school thinks you’re weird, anyway. You and I both know that,” Kelly reminded him. “You should go and enjoy who you are. But we think you’re sweet, too. And honest and loyal and kind—more than you know about yourself. And think about Double Abby. When she woke up from her coma yesterday, all that she worried about was if we needed someone to take her place until she could cheer again. But she can’t return until next year at the earliest.”

Brandon felt somewhat guilty thinking about Abby. The poor girl’s injuries were extensive and she’d need up to three months or more to heal. “Are you sure you can’t find another girl to do it?”

“I did the database queries myself—just like you showed me. But the criteria were, like, really limiting. First of all, there was the academic requirement. Then there’s the physical fitness profile and medical eligibility. Then finally, there was a requirement of minimal disruption to schedules. A few girls did meet these requirements, but they had already committed to other activities and didn’t wanna switch to cheerleading.”

“I thought all girls wanted to be cheerleaders.”

“I did, too, but I guess we’re wrong.”

They arrived at the Infirmary. Kelly spoke up again as she was ready to knock on the door. “Please, please consider it fairly. I know it might be difficult, but we really do need you.” She knocked on the nurse’s door and it opened. Kelly ushered Brandon in and seated him in an armchair. “Nurse Mansour, Brandon says he’s having a panic attack.”

“My pills are in my backpack,” said Brandon as he allowed it to slide to the floor. Kelly took his statement as permission to rummage through it to find his medication. In but a few seconds, she extracted a perforated card of a dozen tablets enclosed in transparent plastic blisters with foil backing. An adhesive label with Brandon’s and Dr. Windham’s names and instructions for the alprazolam had been stuck to the back of the card.

“Here they are!” Kelly announced, handing Nurse Mansour the card of pills. “Please be okay, Brandon!” Kelly found her tears welling up. “We really need you!” she entreated as she hugged him.

Brandon did not respond to Kelly’s entreaty. The nurse lifted his arm by the wrist and then let it fall. She took a penlight from the breast pocket of her white smock and pulled back each eyelid in turn to examine his eyes. “He’s passed out now, but he’ll be alright when he comes to.”

Then suddenly, a pang of guilt seemed to hit Kelly in her tummy. She thought about Brandon and his needs for a moment. So, she picked up his smartphone to send a text message.

Jenny was double-checking her quiz in Latin 1 and had concluded it to be perfect. Her knowledge of Latin was well beyond what would be taught in the course, but she still needed the academic credit on her transcript. However, Sigurd “Ziggy” Ericsson, Ed.S., Ph.D., was pleased to have a student like her in class and gave her alternative assignments to challenge her beyond her current knowledge. As she stood to take her quiz forward, she heard and felt the muffled vibration of the cellphone in her purse, so she slung it over her shoulder as she went. It had buzzed but once, so it was likely an email or text message.

Dr. Ericsson accepted Jenny’s quiz, not at all surprised that once again, she was the first to complete it.

“Doctor Ericsson, could I go into the hall for a moment to check my messages?”

“Surely,” he allowed.

So Jenny stepped out into the hallway, withdrew her smartphone, and leaned against the wall. She noted that a message from Brandon was waiting, so she opened it:

Jenny
Brandon panic attack
Plz kum 2 Nrs Ofc
Kelly

Jenny could not hold back the sudden wave of tears. She rushed back inside the classroom. “Doctor Ericsson, could I go to the Nurse’s Office?”

“Surely, but don’t forget to turn in your assignment first,” he reminded her. “Also, I’ll assign you a special reading with questions to answer before you go.”

Jenny nodded her acknowledgement. She slipped back to her desk and gathered her books before returning to her teacher’s desk, where she laid out her three-ring binder. She turned to the tabbed divider for her Latin course and popped the rings open, then handed Dr. Ericsson her completed assignments for both today and tomorrow.

“You give me hope,” he told her. “Firstly, because you enrolled in Latin; next, because you’re so good at it; and then again, because you demand more from the course than the syllabus offers.”

“Well, I love Latin poetry,” confessed Jenny. “When I’m reading it at home, I often feel like dancing to it. I like to do my own choreography for it.”

Dr. Ericsson smiled at his student. “Here’s your next poetry assignment and a hall pass,” he offered her. “I hope everything’s alright for you.”

Jenny rapped on the door of the Infirmary. Kelly opened it and hugged Jenny with her right arm. “We’re glad you’re here. Brandon passed out. He had a panic attack in Doctor Van de Meer’s office.”

“But why?” Jenny asked. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

“Coach San-Giacomo asked Brandon to join the cheerleading squad,” revealed Kelly. “I think it triggered his panic attack ’cause he’d, like, hafta wear the same uniform.”

“Omigosh! You mean the girls’ uniform?”

“Yes. After all, there’s not, like, a different one for boys,” remarked Kelly. “It’s too bad really. He’d make an excellent cheerleader if he was a girl.”

“I’ll admit he did make a cute girl when he dressed up for Gender-Bender Day,” agreed Jenny, giggling. “It’s what prompted me to make my move on him.”

Kelly felt another pang in her tummy, but this time from disappointment. So many times she had hinted her affection for him, but Brandon had never picked up on it. Yet Jenny had sprung but a single snare and had him. “He did look so cute in that dress! I’m really hoping he’ll agree to join the squad.”

“I’ll encourage him if he seems to be leaning that way,” promised Jenny, “but I’ll still support whatever he decides.”

Jenny and Kelly knelt on either side of the armchair where he had passed out. Nurse Mansour broke an ampoule of smelling salts [(NH₄)₂CO₃] open under his nose. He coughed a couple of times as he came to. “Huh? What happened?” Brandon asked.

You passed out,” the nurse informed him.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he apologized. “Our discussion in Doctor Van de Meer’s office freaked me out.”

“Kelly filled me in on what happened,” the nurse related, inspecting the label on his bottle of medication. “She also fished your meds out of your backpack and called your girlfriend down here to be with you.”

“Thanks for doing that, Kelly,” he offered. “Jenny, thanks for being here.”

“Alright, Brandon,” the nurse continued. “The label is marked for you to take one or two as needed. I’d say that going so far as to pass out means you prob’ly need two.” She handed him a small cup of water and two pills, which he took and drank down.

”Ma’am, I need to call Mom, Dad, or my shrink—,” Brandon began.

“Brandon! I’m surprised at you!” Nurse Mansour interrupted him. “Calling your psychiatrist a ‘shrink’ is quite insulting!”

“But Doctor Windham told me to call her that,” he retorted.

“And she told me the same,” Kelly seconded.

“Well, I still think it’s rude, so you will not refer to her as such in here,” the nurse decreed. “If you must use slang, the preferred term nowadays is psydoc.”

“That makes sense,” conceded Brandon, looking at Jenny, then Kelly. “But I still need to call someone about the panic attack.”

“If you’d like, I could call for you and have one of them contact me here at school. Are your parents’ ’phone numbers in the school database?”

“Yeah, but not Doctor Windham’s,” he answered, accepting his own smartphone back from Kelly.

“I have it, though,” the nurse told him. “I know her well. Quite a few of our students here have seen her from time to time.”

“I never thought of that,” admitted Brandon.

“I hadn’t, either,” added Kelly.

“I wouldn’t expect you to know that,” conceded the nurse.

“It’s logical, though,” observed Jenny. “After all, you’re a school nurse and she’s a specialist in child and adolescent psychiatry.”

“But that’s why I felt stupid,” pled Brandon. “I should have known something that obviously logical.”

“Take it easy, young man! You’re too hard on yourself,” advised the nurse. “Alright, then—I’ll make the calls. Meanwhile, you kids get to your next classes.”

Jenny and Brandon clasped hands together to climb the stairs to up to the top floor for their second period class, Earth Sciences. “Doesn’t holding hands constitute a forbidden public display of affection?” he asked her.

“Is there anyone else around?” she asked in return.

“I don’t think so,” answered Brandon.

“If there’s no else around to watch us,” asserted Jenny, “then by definition, it’s not public.”

“Logical,” agreed Brandon, “but that would also change just as soon as anyone else showed up.”

“Then that means we should take advantage of the situation as we can,” said Jenny pulling Brandon to her and pressing her lips against his. “Are you feeling any better, yet?”

“I think so, but I didn’t expect another panic attack this morning,” he admitted. “Then again, I didn’t expect to be asked to join the cheerleading squad, either.”

Jenny smiled at her boyfriend. “I’m not surprised, though. You’d be a good one.”

“What?” Brandon exclaimed. “You too?”

“Brandon, I’ll support whatever decision you make,” she assured him. “You should appreciate, though, like how well you show the qualities of a good cheerleader. You’d be a good one, even as a boy.”

“If I could do it as a boy, I wouldn’t have a problem with it,” he admitted. “I kinda miss gymnastics. Never did anything with it since I wasn’t growing fast enough for competition. Still, I think I need my shrink’s—my psydoc’s advice about this.”

“Y’know, Brandon, that suggests to me that you might be, like, just a little bit open to this.”

“Y’know, Jenny, I just might be,” he confessed. “But the part of me that’s still frightened of it is bigger, stronger, and louder.”

“Well, don’t give up on yourself. I won’t. I think you just, like, need to trust yourself more.”

“Doctor Windham was telling me the same thing over the weekend.”

“Well, she’s right. Give yourself some credit.”

“But I feel like I’m getting pushed into things I’m not ready for.”

“Still, though, you know if you are or are not,” she reminded him. “Trying new things brings growth. But to recognize when you’re not ready for something also shows growth.”

“Are you sharing this wisdom with me because you’re Chinese, or because you’re Jenny?”

Jenny blushed at the compliment. “If it’s good advice, does the source really matter?”

“Yes,” replied Brandon, “because I may need good advice again and wish to go back to it.”

They reached the top floor and turned the corner towards their science classroom. Once inside, the couple went straight to their lab station. Their teacher, Mr. Danvers, grinned at them as they sat down, acknowledging their status as a fledgling couple.

The African-American man with graying hair leaned back in his huge, wingbacked office chair, munching on a sliver of carrot. The carrot sticks had replaced cigarettes since his wife had prevailed over him to quit smoking. He leaned forward and placed the document that he had just read on the massive desk situated at the southern focus of the elliptical room. The paper was some of the best legal writing that he had ever read. Surprisingly, his brief tenure as editor of his law school’s own journal had prepared him well for such a duty. He’d read samples of legal opinions and articles by everyone on the shortlist for the current judicial vacancy. The staff of the Federal Judiciary had prepared a prospectus for each candidate. Per his request, a weakly adhesive label, bearing only a number, concealed the name of the author on each paper. This arrangement helped him avoid his own personal bias while reading. But now that he had finished reading them, he had settled on his first choice. He peeled the concealing label from the cover of the prospectus to reveal the writer’s name:

The Hon. Catherine Moira Riley-Harrigan, JD.

He smiled.

Yes!

He thought that he had recognized her logic and legal style. And she was not just any Democrat. If he recalled correctly, his predecessor had first appointed her to the Federal bench.

His Republican predecessor.

And that meant that the Republicans in the Senate dare not block her nomination to an appellate seat. That seat on the bench for the Ninth Circuit had been vacant for years. He was almost giddy at the prospect of filling the vacancy.

His office telephone rang, with his secretary’s ringtone. “Yes?…” he asked.

“Your eleven-fifteen is here, sir,…” she announced.

“Send him in, please,…”

A tall Caucasian man with light brown hair, graying at the temples entered the office. He carried a thin, black leather attaché case bearing the official seal of the Department of Justice on its lid.

“Good morning, Counselor,” the African-American greeted him. “How are you today?”

“Good morning, Mister President,” he returned the greeting. “I’m doing well. And yourself?”

“I’m fine today. And I’m ready for you to proceed with an appointment.”

“Whom have you chosen, Mister President?”

“What can you tell me about the Honorable Catherine Moira Riley-Harrigan?”

The counselor took a key from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, unlocked his attaché case, opened it, then leafed through a small stack of printed documents. He withdrew a report about Judge Catherine Moira Riley-Harrigan and read from it. “The American Bar Association rates her as a ‘highly qualified’ candidate. First in her class at the Georgetown School of Law, she’s on the Federal bench eleven years already. Her husband, Brian, is a free-lance corporate lawyer in high demand, specializing in keeping mergers and takeovers compliant with anti-trust law.”

“Any potential for conflict of interest there, counselor?”

“No more so than for any other successful professional couple, Mister President,” he dismissed. “In practice it’s unlikely, although it’s still always possible. I did notice, though, that she’s recused one case so far since it involved the parochial school that one of her daughters attended. She didn’t even want any hint of a conflict of interest.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” the President acknowledged. “You mentioned a daughter. How many children?”

“They have four in all, a son and three daughters. Their oldest is a daughter, Maureen, who’s already followed her mom to Georgetown for her first year of law school. Next is their son, Connor, a freshman at the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia.”

“He’s a musician?”

“A violinist, Mister President,” he informed him. “And he’s rumoured to be a virtuoso.”

“So talent indeed runs in the family,” remarked the President. “How about their younger daughters?”

“Kelly’s a high school freshman and a junior varsity cheerleader. Friday night, she broke her wrist trying to save another cheerleader from even more serious injuries. Their youngest, Caitlin, is in the fifth grade. Both their younger girls are honor students as well.”

“Irish-Catholic family?”

“Yes. Fairly traditional Roman Catholic values as far as I can tell, sir.”

“Yet they chose to send their children to public schools even though they could afford parochial tuition?” mused the President. “Interesting!” He offered a carrot stick to the counselor, who declined, then took another to munch for himself. “So this one daughter suffered her own injury trying to protect another cheerleader?”

“That’s what the report said, sir.”

“Could you find out a little more about what happened? That they raised a daughter who’d do that sounds like it should reflect well on her parents’ character.”

“I’ll do that, sir.”

“And their oldest daughter is staying in the family business?”

“It looks that way, sir,” replied the counselor. Both men smiled.

“From what I’ve read, Judge Riley-Harrigan has one of the keenest legal minds in the country. Start vetting her as a nominee to the Federal Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit,” the President ordered. “And not just for that seat, Counselor. I also want her on my shortlist the next time a Justice retires from the Supreme Court.”

“Yes, Mister President.”

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

Billy walked quickly around the back of the Technology Building, partly due to the brisk weather, partly because he needed his morning hit, more so today than usually. The sidewalk from the Academic Main Building merged into an apron on one end, the front, and the back of the Technology Building. But his destination was the opposite, grassy end of the building where he usually sought daily morning solitude while enjoying his cannabis.

Today, Billy would have to do things somewhat differently because of how he was dressed. He normally sat down in the grass, his back against the wall while he engaged in his morning ritual. But he realized that if he did, the grass might stain his skirt. He couldn’t quite believe that he was suddenly worried about something like that, but apparently Mom, Sis, and Lauren had trained him well. So he had brought his backpack to use as a cushion for sitting. He also had a bottle of cola in its outside mesh pocket and the usual packet of saltines in his purse.

Billy had cached his marijuana in a glass vial inside a vinyl pouch under a loose decorative cobblestone at the base of the wall. The vial held just enough to fill the bowl of the small brass pipe for every day of the school week. He would meet with his dealer at lunchtime Fridays and refill his stash before the weekend. Thus he never risked taking any of the drug inside the school with him, although he still had it on campus. However, when the police did locker searches, he wouldn’t have to worry. If someone found his stash, there was nothing to connect him directly to it.

So that’s what Billy expected to do today while he skipped his first period class—actually a study hall. He turned the corner from behind the building, but after just a couple of steps on the grass, he realized that the narrow, spiked heels of his pumps were sinking into the soft ground. That was not something that he’d anticipated. It took a slight effort to lift his feet from the ground, but to do so with each step was annoying. It was a little easier, though, since the shoes were strapped to his ankles. He walked along the wall until he came to the loose cobblestone. Sitting down on his backpack, he then retrieved the vial and took the little brass pipe from his purse.

“So, what do you girls think about Brandon joining the junior varsity squad?” Coach San-Giacomo asked her varsity cheerleaders during their class. She had already explained the circumstances, including how long Double Abby’s convalescence would likely take and why Brandon was not only qualified but the only substitute available on short notice. “Astrid, I’d like to offer you the first opportunity to address the issue, since you’d be Brandon’s ‘Big Sister’ throughout all this.”

“Friday night, I asked his older sister Sheila to consider coming back,” replied Astrid. “She promised to think about it over the weekend, but I haven’t talked to her today.”

“I also asked her Friday evening, myself, but she declined,” reported the coach. “She told me, though, that her brother’s better than she is for doing our more difficult moves.”

“Bringing a boy on board would be, like, a major challenge, I think,” opined Astrid. “The big question I have is, can he switch back and forth between being a boy and being a girl? Also, will he really look right as a girl?”

“Have you seen the video of him from Gender-Bender Day?” Carla asked.

“There’s a video?” Astrid inquired.

“Yes,” affirmed Coach Brenda. “I have a copy on my desktop. Come by my office and you can download it. It’s quite—impressive.”

“Coach Brenda,” Colleen Wright spoke up. “May I say something?”

“Yes, Colleen,” Miss San-Giacomo acknowledged her. “Please do.”

“I kinda like the idea of having a boy as a cheerleader,” said Colleen, “but I do think he should dress up with us for weekly fashion days and other special occasions. That’s always been an important part of our team bonding.”

“I know, and I agree with how important that is,” acknowledged the coach. “And Kelly raised that issue when we asked him. But I also don’t want the boy scared away. We do need him and what he can do. Even wearing the uniform won’t be easy for him, so I’m asking the jayvee squad not to push him too far all at once.”

“Exactly what can he do that the jayvee squad needs?” asked Sarah Blackwell.

“He’s about the same size and build as the girl he’s subbing for,” the coach explained. “His gymnastics skills are good enough to step in and take Abby’s place in pyramids and stunts. His previous coach says Brandon’s tumbling skills are excellent.”

The coach paused a moment.

“Any more questions?” Coach Brenda asked. No one else raised other concerns. “So girls, as a group what do you think of Brandon joining the junior varsity squad?”

Her varsity cheerleaders answered with smiles, applause, and cheers.

Billy needed to go into a restroom, not only to relieve himself but also to touch up his appearance. He had smeared some of his lipstick on the stem of his little brass pipe. He felt like he needed to clean the pipe, too.

He approached the restrooms right near the main entrance, but dressed as he was, should he go into the Men’s Room, as usual, or into the Ladies’ Room, since he was presently attired as a girl. Neither seemed correct. But he figured that the Ladies’ Room were the safer choice, since other guys might try to assault him for being crossdressed. Besides, he hoped he could pass as a girl among those who didn’t know him very well.

Quickly glancing around, he didn’t see anyone else nearby at the moment who might be watching him. So, Billy decided and entered the Ladies’ Room.

“I’ve missed my German class two days straight, now,” lamented Brandon to his girlfriend as they worked on their lab assignment together in their Earth Science class.

“You really like your German class, don’t you?” Jenny encouraged him by way of inquiry.

“Yeah,” he affirmed. “It’s a lot of fun. We’re allowed to talk about anything in class, so long as we do it in German.”

“That’s kinda neat,” she agreed. “I feel the same way about my Latin class.”

“I’m sorry you had to miss it on my account.”

“Oh, don’t be! I had already finished my quiz when Kelly texted me. I’m so far ahead of the coursework in there that Doctor Ericson, like, has to give me some outside reading to do, like Latin poetry. It’s so different from English.”

“Cool!” Brandon approved, smiling at her. Then he changed the subject. “So what do you think I should do?”

“About what?”

“About Kelly’s coach asking me to be a cheerleader?”

“It’s up to you, Brandon, because only you can know if you’re ready for something like that,” Jenny reminded her boyfriend. “I know you’re open to it, and like I’ve already said, I’ll support your choice, whatever it is.”

“But don’t you have a preference one way or the other?”

“Yes, I do, but I don’t want to influence your decision.”

“But suppose I want your influence?”

“Do you want to know what I really think?”

“Of course! Why else would I ask you?”

“Well, I think you’re always afraid of being wrong, like it’s the worst thing that anyone could ever do,” Jenny revealed, “We have this saying in Chinese: No mistake—no learning!”

“That’s kinda what Doctor Windham told me Friday,” disclosed Brandon. “She talked about leaving my ‘comfort zone’—and giving myself permission to make mistakes.”

“Yes. It’s also called ‘pushing the envelope,’ like what you did on Gender-Bender Day. It’s not so much leaving your comfort zone as expanding it.”

“But how can I know when it’s okay to do that?”

“Sometimes you don’t, so you hafta take a risk,” she explained. “But then at other times, it’s as easy as taking the next obvious step.”

“Can you give an example?”

“Sure! Remember on the roof Thursday morning? What did I do?”

“You kissed me.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I kissed you back.”

“And how did you know it was okay to kiss me back?”

“Well, it made sense because you already did,” recounted Brandon. “That meant you must’ve wanted to and—oh! It was the next obvious step!”

“See! That wasn’t too hard, was it?”

“I guess not—but how does that help me with the decision I hafta make about becoming a cheerleader?”

“Since you dressed up like a girl for Gender-Bender Day, what’s the next logical step to expand your comfort zone?”

“Dress up again?”

“Yes,” affirmed Jenny, “although you need to for something other than Gender-Bender Day.”

“Like at home?”

“Well, maybe—but I think that’s contracting instead of expanding your comfort zone.”

“So then, you think that joining the cheer squad would be expanding my comfort zone?”

“If you’re ready to show up at school wearing the uniform, it is.”

Billy stood to adjust his pantyhose and then smoothed his skirt before stepping out of the stall. He noticed a couple of girls chatting with each other about boys while touching up their facial cosmetics. This he took as a cue to do the same. Looking in the mirror, he confirmed that he needed to repair a slight smearing of lipstick and lip gloss. Surprisingly, his facial features appeared nearly feminine. No, on close inspection, he was clearly a boy, but he had, in fact, passed as a girl to the two who were touching up their own faces.

Returning the cosmetics to his purse, he noticed the lipstick smeared on the stem of his little brass pipe. He decided that it needed a quick cleaning, so wetting some facial tissue from a dispenser on the sink, he cleaned off his pipe, then used another tissue to polish it to a shine.

“Omigosh, Billie!” Alice Johansson asked. “What are you doing in the girls’ room?”

“Well, I couldn’t go into the boys’ room like this, could I?” Billy retorted. “Besides, there’s not a good mirror like this one in there.”

“I don’t know. It might be interesting to try,” she answered impishly. “You might get a few wolf whistles!”

“Oh! I don’t doubt that at all!”

Alice giggled at her classmate’s predicament, but then kissed him on the cheek. “I’m proud of you for dressing up today. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve made up for Gender-Bender Day. Oh! Cute little pipe!” she observed. “Is that the kind for smoking marijuana?”

Billy was embarrassed to have been caught cleaning his little pipe. “Uh—yeah,” he confessed. “Sorry!”

“Well, don’t let anyone see it,” Alice warned. “You could be, like, expelled just for having it on you!”

“Thanks for the warning,” offered Billy, “but I don’t have any marijuana with me.”

“Still, it’s drug paraphernalia,” she reminded him. “I wouldn’t wanna be caught with it.” With that, Alice finished touching up her face and started out the door.

Billy dried the little brass pipe off with a facial tissue and dropped it in his purse. He then followed Alice out the door and into the main corridor.

Seph Lansing found the email from Ernie Markham amusing. The principal had never heard of anyone making up Gender-Bender Day as if it were an assignment for a course. There was likely more to it than explained in the email. But Ernie liked to challenge students, even those in his homeroom.

Clearly, Ernie wanted to make sure that she knew a boy was attending school en femme today. She hoped that she might encounter him, just to chat about why he felt that he needed to make up Gender-Bender Day. Also, Ernie likely had concerns about possible bullying.

Was this boy, William Danziger, perhaps transgendered? Probably not. Knowing Ernie, crossdressing was being used here to prove a point. She just hoped that this boy was enjoying his adventure and didn't encounter any bullies.

Hmm? Danziger? Dr. Lansing wondered. Any relation to Nancy, the valedictorian of the previous graduating class?

The bell signaling the end of second period rang. Seph always liked to walk the corridors of the school, getting to know her students. She loved running the high school. The atmosphere kept her young.

“Oh, Billie!” Alice addressed her classmate stepping into the hallway. “Did you forget your badge?”

He looked down at his red sweater and saw that he wasn’t wearing his identification. Even worse, he saw Dr. Lansing, about to leave the Main Office and come his way. He certainly didn’t want her to see him not wearing his badge. He set his backpack down on the floor and quickly rummaged through it. But his identification wasn’t there. Of course! Billy then remembered that he had moved it to his purse, so he let the strap slide off his right shoulder and opened it. Tossing the badge’s lanyard over his head, he relaxed a little as the principal walked over to him.

“That’s still not quite compliant, Miss—Miss…?” the stern woman said, pointing to his badge.

“Danziger,” he answered nervously. Billy looked again and saw that, in his haste, he had turned the badge backwards. Fumbling the shoulder strap of his purse in his right hand, he carefully lifted the lanyard up and over his head, then rather awkwardly reversed it and put it back on. “I’m sorry about that Doctor Lansing.”

“You should be wearing your badge properly before you step onto the campus,” cited the principal. “By the way, are you any relation to Nancy Danziger?”

“Yes, ma’am,” confirmed Billy. “She’s my older sister. She started at State University this semester.”

“I hope that we’ll see you begin to give her a run for her money while you’re at West Grove High School,” she encouraged the student. “But you’d best be getting to class.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, Doctor Lansing,” he said. Then nervously, Billy tried to step away, unaware that the spiked heel of his left shoe had caught a shoulder strap of his backpack. As a result, he tripped and fell, with most of his purse's contents jumbling out onto the floor.

A shiny object caught Dr. Lansing’s eye.

The little brass pipe.

The principal crouched down and picked it up, shaking her head.

“Miss Danziger, a proper young lady doesn’t carry such things in her purse,” proclaimed Dr. Lansing very disapprovingly. “My office—now! ”

Brenda excitedly activated the Faculty Chat feature of the desktop computer in her office. She wanted Xee to join her for lunch and, she hoped, also invite the principal to join them.

Brenda hoped strongly that they could meet with the principal over lunch and get her approval for a boy to join the junior varsity cheerleaders. But Seph could be very hard to read. The rumor was that she had learned to play poker from her older siblings. No one knew when Seph were bluffing, nor when she were serious. She always wore a straight face until the showdown.

“Sit down!” ordered the principal, ushering Billy into her office, while she stayed in the outer office for a moment. He sat down in a small, metal chair with blue seat and back cushions directly in front of her desk. Then he looked at the nameplate on the corner of her desk:

Janice P Lansing EdD

The cadence of Dr. Lansing’s heels warned Billy as the principal strutting in nearly slammed the door behind her and slapped a manila file down on her desk. A feeling of fear surged through him as Dr. Lansing sat down behind her desk. She opened the file in front of her and leafed through a few pages, before allowing her eyeglasses to hang down from their neckchain. This indeed was the student named in Ernie Markham's memo.

“You present me with quandaries, Billy,” said the principal. “The first is that I’m unsure whether to call you Mister or Miss Danziger.”

“I’m still a boy, ma’am,” he told her casting his eyes downward. “I’m sorry for the confusion.”

“Well, Mister Danziger, I have three questions for you,” declared Dr. Lansing. “First, why are you dressed like a girl? Next, why were you in the Ladies’ Room? Finally, why did you have a marijuana pipe in your purse?”

Billy sighed, crossing both his arms and his legs tightly—and awkwardly. He was less embarrassed about having been caught with the little brass pipe—he was even somewhat proud of that—than he was about sitting in drag before the principal. What was worse, he was already tardy for his Electronics 1 class, which was his favorite subject and the only one that he fully enjoyed in school.

“Well?” she prompted the young crossdresser. “I’m waiting.”

“I came in d-d-drag today b-b-because I didn’t participate in Gender-Bender Day on Wednesday,” stuttered Billy. “Thursday morning, I sorta got dissed by some of my classmates for not doing it. Then Mister Markham kinda suggested I might make up for it by ‘Miss Danziger’ making an appearance. Well, my older sister came back for Homecoming Weekend and she and her roommate and Mom all kinda made me dress up like this for today.”

“Is Nancy your older sister?”

“Yeah,” confirmed Billy. “But it seems like all her teachers that I’ve had, too, gotta tell me how smart and perfect she is and expect me to be the same as her. So maybe if I dress like her I can be, like, smart and perfect, too.”

Janice couldn’t help but recall a few of her own issues from childhood. She certainly understood Billy’s complaint, first as a schoolgirl, now as an educator. Indeed, the plea was of a classic issue, faced invariably by all but the eldest child in a family.

“I’m sorry about that, Billy,” she offered in a more consoling tone. “We all liked Nancy here. She was sort of a ‘golden girl.’ But I also know what it’s like, myself, to follow older siblings to the same schools, even with the same teachers. I got so very tired and frustrated always hearing about how wonderful my older brothers and sisters were.”

“I’ve heard that from several of my teachers. And Mister Markham was like Nancy’s fave, even though I just have him for homeroom.”

“Well again, I’m sorry about that. Our teachers here should not be doing it,” declared Dr. Lansing. She wrote a little note to herself in her agenda to send out a memorandum to all the faculty about the issue. “One more thing about your sister, though—while I can’t divulge any details, I can say that as much as we love her, Nancy was not at all the perfect student. Indeed, she sat right where you are a time or two having to defend her behavior.”

“I guess I feel better knowing that even though she was valedictorian, she still wasn’t perfect.”

“An important part of your character is what you learn from mistakes and how you recover from them,” Dr. Lansing explained. “We like to talk about the ‘teachable moment’ in education and very often a mistake is exactly that, an opportunity to learn something useful.”

“So what am I learning now?”

“Well, let’s look at the other events that occurred, like why were you in the girls’ restroom?”

“I was afraid to go into the guys’ room dressed like this,” admitted Billy. “If I had encountered any other guys in there, at the very least they’d’ve harrassed me verbally, which I could likely handle, but they might’ve become physically hostile, too. So I felt safer going into the Ladies’ Room.”

“Were you alone in there?”

“No, not at first. Then there were a couple of girls when I came out of the stall, but they didn’t even seem to notice me. After they’d left, Alice Johansson came in.”

“How did she react to you being in there?”

“Polite and encouraging. She helped me feel normal to tell the truth. In fact, she warned me I’d forgotten my badge.”

“Any other girl see you in the Ladies’ Room?”

“No one else came in while we were there.”

“Anyone else see you enter or leave the restroom?”

“I’m almost sure no one saw me go in, ’cause I sorta waited until no one else was around,” he recounted. “But I can’t be certain if anyone saw me come out, ’cause as soon as I was out, Alice noticed I wasn’t wearing my badge yet.”

“Alright,” acknowledged Dr. Lansing, setting the little brass pipe down on the desk in front of her. “Next I need to inspect your purse and backpack for other contraband. Let’s start with your purse.”

Billy removed each item from his purse, one at a time. He hadn’t carried too many things in it. To him, the most embarrassing were a pair of pink nylon panties and a tampon. The contents also included tubes of lipstick and lip gloss, mascara and eye liner, a box of eye shadow, a compact with mirror, face powder, and applicator, and a combined comb and hairbrush. He only had a couple of his regular things in the purse, his wallet (a boy’s style, of course) and some kind of metal device in a slim leather case.

“Well, I see that you’re outfitted with most everything a girl needs for an emergency,” observed Dr. Lansing, then, picking up the case with the metal device asked, “What’s this?”

“That’s my multi-tool,” answered Billy as the principal slipped it from its case. By simple examination, she perceived how to open its scissor-like handles and then pivot out the various hidden tools. But next she noted a couple of the attachments with disapproval.

“These are knife-blades!” exclaimed Dr. Lansing. “You shouldn’t have this. This is a weapon, so it’s contraband.”

“No, Doctor Lansing! It’s not a weapon—it’s a tool!” Billy defended himself. “The multi-tool is required equipment for Electronics Lab One. Everyone in class carries a multi-tool. We hafta have it. It was sold to us along with the other lab gear for the course. Wait! I can show you—!”

Billy reached down beside his chair and pulled out from his backpack a three-ringed triptych-style binder. He turned to a manila pocket and took out from it a small sheaf of papers stapled together. “This is the syllabus for Electronics One and Electronics Laboratory One. There’s an equipment list including the multi-tool and another page with a diagram showing the full layout of the multi-tool.”

The boy handed the document over to Dr. Lansing who slipped her eyeglasses back on to peruse them. She quickly verified that the course syllabus and supporting documents confirmed the boy’s claim.

“I apologize to you, Billy,” offered the principal. “I didn’t know this. I need to talk to Mister Kelsoe about it. I certainly can’t call it contraband, since you’re required to have it. Besides, I’m afraid the little brass pipe is trouble enough for you.”

“But what’s wrong with a little pipe?” Billy asked. “I don’t actually have anything in it.”

“It’s drug paraphernalia. This type of pipe is traditional for smoking marijuana. I’m actually supposed to expel you just for having this.”

“But I don’t have any marijuana here,” protested Billy. “I use it for tobacco instead.”

“Young man, let me offer you some advice before you only make things worse for yourself,” said Dr. Lansing. “When you find yourself in a hole, stop digging!”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Under the law, you’re too young to smoke. You can’t legally buy tobacco and you’re not allowed to bring it on campus. It’s contraband, too. So, you’d be no less guilty using the pipe for tobacco than for pot.”

Billy thought about the pack of cigarettes in the outer pocket of his backpack. “Uh—supposing that I have any cigarettes on me?”

“You can quit digging that hole by surrendering them now,” promised Dr. Lansing. “While it’s still serious, the School Board’s guidelines are slightly more lenient for cigarettes and tobacco products than for illegal drugs.”

He picked up his backpack, set it on his lap, and unzipped the outer pocket in which he’d stowed his cigarettes. The frightened student placed them quietly on the principal’s desk. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

“Listen, Billy,” began Dr. Lansing. “The other concern that I have for you is your record shows excessive tardiness and absence, especially from your first period study hall. Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

“I wish I’d taken a real class instead of that. Torkelson—.”

“Mister Torkelson to you!”

“Mister Torkelson seems to go out of his way to be annoying and boring in study hall. His voice is whiney and he seems constantly to get into arguments with students over all kinds of stupid stuff. And he’s always talking about ‘my study hall,’ ‘my study hall,’ ‘my study hall,’” said Billy, emphasizing the repeated phrase with air quotes. “It’s like he’s obsessed with how great he thinks study hall is. But I just can’t study with a guy like him around.”

“That’s too bad,” the principal remarked. “If he’s making you that uncomfortable, it defeats the very purpose of a study hall.”

“So, how much trouble am I in?” Billy inquired nervously. “I mean—?” He looked at Dr. Lansing with pleading eyes.

“Quite a bit,” she replied. “As far as the really bad things, the drug paraphernalia and the cigarettes, this is a first offense. Yet your attendance record shows a growing pattern of irresponsibility.

“By the book, I ought to give you a suspension, which could be from ten days up to the remainder of the semester. Getting caught with the little brass pipe actually puts you in jeopardy of expulsion, which would be permanent. But without any of an actual drug on you like marijuana, I’m inclined to think that’s somehow excessive.”

“So you’re not expelling me, but suspending me?”

“No, I won’t expel you over this,” she assured him. “But I think you need a wake-up call more than punishment, anyway.”

“I’m keeping the cigarettes, but gather up everything to put back in your purse—and the little brass pipe you can have back, too. Just don’t ever bring it to school again!”

“Why are you giving it back?”

“I’m being lenient by disregarding the School Board’s ‘zero-tolerance’ drug policy,” explained Dr. Lansing. “If I keep the pipe and it’s discovered during an inspection or an audit, I’ll be asked why I have it. When I say I confiscated it from a student, they’ll want to know who you are and all the details about what happened and how I handled it. Then in the end, they’ll want to know why I didn’t expel you. And I'm not even looking in your backpack. I should because you could have marijuana in it, but I'll give you a break because you voluntarily disclosed the cigarettes.”

“Ma’am, I’m really sorry about all this.”

“Well, it helps that you didn’t even have any minor disciplinary issues from elementary or middle school,” remarked Dr. Lansing. “You’re a strong candidate for leniency. But while I’m not showing possession of drug paraphernalia on your record, I am noting your jeopardy of a three-day suspension due to excessive tardiness and unexcused absences, a second five-day suspension for entering the Ladies’ Room without authorization, and then one more suspension for the balance of the semester for the possession of cigarettes on campus.”

“Exactly whaddya mean by jeopardy?” Billy asked, nervously.

“Ignoring the drug pipe, those are the penalties that I’m supposed to mete out for your offences according to the School Board’s guidelines. These are more or less severe penalties. Except for violating the ‘zero-tolerance’ policies, I do have some discretion to apply leniency when I think it’s appropriate.

“What you should know about a suspension, though, is that you won’t be allowed to make up missed work. Typically, an until-semester-end suspension typically results in failing grades for all or most courses.

“But instead of giving you three suspensions, I’m about to offer alternatives that mostly avoid them.”

“So, these are lesser punishments?”

“These are alternative, but not necessarily lesser, penalties,” she emphasized. “Also, it may not be up to you alone. I must inform your mother about this, and legally she has the right to choose for you. Also, the School Board could review the case and they have the authority to impose the full penalties specified by their own guidelines.”

“It sounds complicated.”

“It can be,” Dr. Lansing warned him.

“So what are the alternatives?”

“Well, since you claim that Mister Torkelson’s study hall is why you’re tardy or absent from first period so often, your study hall will be replaced with a sort of in-school suspension. That suspension will take place in a substance abuse workshop to help get you to quit smoking and to deal with any related issues. This will also allow you to serve your suspension with minimal impact on your classes.

“But here’s the clincher, Billy,” said Dr. Lansing. “You must dress as a girl until the end of the semester.”

“What?”

“You will dress as a girl for the rest of the semester,” reiterated Dr. Lansing. “Skirts, blouses, dresses, high heels…”

“B-but I—I c-can’t—!” Billy stuttered and stammered, still making his point. Tears began streaming down his cheeks.

“Well, it’s your choice: suspensions until next semester or live in a girl’s world?” Dr. Lansing reminded him. “Besides, you’re dressed as a girl now, so it couldn’t be so bad, could it?”

“But this was just to make up for not doing Gender-Bender Day!” Billy objected. “Just for today!”

“I do understand that, Billy. Yet, I wouldn’t even have imagined such a choice for an alternative penalty,” continued Dr. Lansing. “And you must choose here and now, before you leave this room!”

“Could I call Mom?” he pled. “You said you have to inform her anyway.”

“Is she at work now?”

“No, she shouldn’t’ve left for work yet.”

“By the way, Billy,” said the principal, “before I forget, you have one hour of detention this afternoon for your identity badge infraction. Report here to the Main Office. You will be told where to go then.”

Billy simply sighed as he held back tears. She was throwing the book at him, but slowly, a page at a time.

Dr. Lansing opened the boy’s file again and noted a home telephone number. The Danzigers apparently still had a land-line at home; the home telephone number was distinct from his mother’s work and cellular telephone numbers. She wrote the numbers down in her agenda, then picked up the handset to call.

The President's Counselor leaned back in his own chair. He still preferred to use his own loose-leaf, leather-bound agenda to an electronic database and his desk telephone to the one in his pocket. He only ever called on his cellphone when away from his office.

He opened his agenda to the “Contacts” section under the letter R and found the entry for Riley-Harrigan, Catherine M. When approaching a candidate for vetting, he liked to make the first call himself. He’d let his secretary carry the ball later, but she was new and inexperienced. He could trust her to carry out the mechanics of the process after the nominee agreed to it.

He dialed the code for long distance, then the number for Judge Riley-Harrigan’s office.

“Good morning! You’ve reached the Federal District Court Office,” the secretary-receptionist answered. “This is Esperanza Gutierrez speaking…”

“Good morning to you, too, Miss Gutierrez,” the Counselor returned the greeting. “Is Judge Riley-Harrigan in her chambers?…”

“No, she’s hearing a case right now,” Ms. Gutierrez informed the caller. “Could I take a message?…”

“Please ask her to call me at two-zero-two, five-five-five, two thousand, extension six-two-two, if you would. My name is Ethan MacAlistair. I’m with the Department of Justice, Office of the Federal Judiciary…”

“Very well, Mister MacAlistair. I’ll have her return your call…”

Patricia Danziger hung up the telephone with mixed emotions. She felt guilty, disappointed, angry, giddy, and hopeful all at once. Billy was in serious trouble now, and she couldn’t help believing that the blame fell squarely on her.

The worried mother’s first concern was where her son had acquired a marijuana pipe and whether he had a stash at home. Consulting her wristwatch, she still had half an hour before needing to leave for work. So she climbed the stairs and first went into her own bedroom. From the jewelry box on top of her dresser, Patricia retrieved a small, fancy key. Underneath her vanity was a hidden, locked drawer, which she used the key to unlock. Pulling it out revealed an elegant, red satin box, covered by a matching, hinged lid. She opened the box to uncover a beautifully feminine, matched, white ceramic set of a long rectangular box of joss sticks with a sliding lid, usable as an ashtray for the incense, an old-style refillable lighter, a small canister with a hinged, vacuum-sealing lid assembly, and a bong, all decorated with a Southeast Asian floral motif in pink, blue, and green pastels. Each item was secure in its own shaped niche in a rose pink, satin lining.

Opening the canister, Patricia took in the aroma of the cannabis, still fresh due to the vacuum seal. It was also full and apparently untouched since she had filled it. So her son had not raided her stash. Indeed, she guessed (correctly) that he was even unaware of its existence.

Yet therein lay also the root of her guilt, disappointment, and much of her anger over Billy’s predicament. She herself was an occasional user of cannabis, so she could hardly confront him without hypocrisy, which to her was a far more serious failure of character than enjoying marijuana.

She resealed the canister, closed her box, a cached it away in her secret drawer, then returned the key to her jewelry box. Looking at her wristwatch again, Patricia decided not to try searching Billy’s room now. They’d have a few issues to discuss later and she’d rather offer her son first the chance to volunteer his stash instead of confronting him over it.

Billy had really gotten into trouble, yet the unusual punishment that she had agreed to might offer her a new chance to know her son. As serious as the charges against him were, Dr. Lansing had taken a professional risk not applying zero-tolerance policies to Billy's case. The principal wished to keep him in school was the only reason that felt right to the mother. For this, Patricia would remain grateful to Dr. Lansing.

So Patricia started back down the stairs carrying the weight of the morning’s problems in her heart. Of course, when his principal asked her about Billy’s punishment, she hated the choice that she approved for him, thinking both offered sets of penalties excessive. She took her son’s side of the argument that his use of the Ladies’ Room ought to have been acceptable in this circumstance. Also, she was an advocate of legalizing the use of marijuana and very critical of so-called “zero-tolerance” policies. Yet she was especially disappointed to learn about her son’s frequent tardiness and his skipping classes. He’d always been an exemplary student until now. She certainly agreed that something needed to be done about that.

On the other hand, Patricia thought that Dr. Lansing simply must have a lighter, humorous nature hidden beneath her stark, uncompromising exterior. Her son dressing as a girl for the duration of the semester, even though a punishment, was still funny. Acquiring a girl's wardrobe for him would cost some money, yes. But she hoped more than anything, that Billy could embrace the humor inherent in his predicament as a way out of the deep malaise that he'd suffered in recent months.

Shaking her head as she fought back tears, Mrs. Danziger donned her raincoat, grabbed her purse, and stepped out to face her workday.

Dr. Lansing looked at the boy sitting in front of her desk, considering the sentence that she had imposed on him with his own mother’s full knowledge and consent. Although the principal felt real sympathy for him sitting there in girl’s attire, she had to struggle to contain her own laughter. He’d have to get used to it, since Billy would be coming to school as “Billie” for the duration of the semester. The boy didn’t look too bad in drag. With a little work, he might even look passable as a girl.

“Billy, I know that you’re facing a difficult time until next semester,” the principal tried to console him. “But I’d like you to realize something positive, a real strength in your own character. I received an email from Mister Markham this morning about why you’re crossdressed today. While he may’ve challenged you to make up Gender-Bender Day, you didn’t have to and no one would’ve forced you. But you still accepted the challenge, because I think you believed you needed to for some reason. If you take your punishment with the same courage and resolve that you showed dressing up today, you might find it not so punishing as you fear.”

“Are you saying it won’t be so bad?” Billy asked in a skeptical tone.

“I’m saying it might not bother you so much in a few days as it does now,” she clarified. “And although it’s not why I brought you in here, I’d also like to thank you for bringing certain issues to my attention. The one about comparing students to siblings can be handled simply by sending out a memo. The others that you raised will require some investigation, though.”

“Can I get any special consideration for those?”

“In a way, I’ve already given you special consideration. The in-school suspension during first period gets you out of Mister Torkelson’s study hall. And again, I can’t apply the ‘zero-tolerance’ policy for weapons to the multi-tool because your teacher requires it for the course,” she explained. “Besides, I really do believe that in your hands a knife is not a weapon but a tool.”

“I’m really sorry about all this, Doctor Lansing,” apologized Billy. “I just think having to dress like a girl until next semester is kinda harsh.”

“Well, it’s supposed to be,” the principal reminded him. “But like I said earlier, you need a wake-up call more than punishment. Tardiness and absences were going to catch up with you, anyway.”

“Then, consider me woken-up!” Billy retorted.

Brandon knew that he’d need to talk to her about it, anyway, so while waiting between classes at his girlfriend’s locker, he sent Sheila a text message requesting her to join him and Jenny for lunch.

Jenny and Brandon began walking from her locker toward the staircase to their next class, English.

“Jenny, I asked Sheila to meet us at lunch,” he said. “I need her advice on this. I’m hoping she’ll tell me just why she didn’t continue on the squad again this year. And maybe I can fit into her old uniform, too.”

“That’s right,” acknowledged Jenny. “She’s on the Pompom Squad-Dance Team this year. I would think that anyone would have preferred to be a cheerleader.”

“I did, too, but Kelly pointed out that’s not necessarily so,” Brandon explained. “Apparently, there are other activities and sports many would rather do. Miss San-Giacomo seems in a way almost desperate to get me on the squad.”

Thoughtfully, Jenny paused at the door to the stairwell. “Brandon, what do you really feel in your heart you wanna do about this?”

“If I don’t do it, I’ll always wonder if I could have,” he confessed. “But if I do, I’m afraid that everyone else might react to it, like, I’m crazy. There could be consequences I don’t want.”

“You really enjoyed being a girl for Gender-Bender Day, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” whispered Brandon under his breath.

“Then what went wrong?”

“The next morning, Sheila told me that two guys wanted her to fix them up with her ‘little sister,’” admitted her boyfriend. “I’m not gay, and I don’t want anyone thinking I am. I don't wanna date guys. I’m straight, and I like you.”

“And I like you. Besides, putting on a dress or a skirt doesn’t change who you really are,” she assured him. “But when you did, it told me that you’re not just smart and sweet. You’re interesting, too, and braver than most of your classmates.”

They started down the staircase and since no one else was there at the moment, Brandon intimated his intent. “I do wanna be on the cheer squad but I’m afraid of it going all wrong. I wouldn’t just be dressing as a girl; I’d be, like, a high-profile girl. Do you think I haven’t ever thought about what it’d be like to have a cheerleader for a girlfriend? To think that suddenly I might be seen as that girlfriend seems really weird!”

Suddenly, Brandon felt Jenny’s lips pressed against his as he yielded to her embrace. “Just so long as you’re mine, you can be my boyfriend or my girlfriend or both,” she promised him. “I don’t want you to get away from me!”

Kelly stood next to the door of her classroom for Freshman English, as Brandon and Jenny walked up.

“Hi, guys!” Kelly greeted them. “Are you feeling any better, Brandon?”

“Yeah, I think so,” he assessed his own condition. “Thanks for helping me out with Nurse Mansour. And getting Jenny to come was really thoughtful.”

“Well, even if we're never anything more in this life, Brandon, we've always been friends, so we'll always be friends,” declared Kelly. “And Jenny, because you're Brandon's friend, you've become mine as well.”

“Thank you, Kelly!” Jenny offered and then reached out and embraced Brandon and Kelly together with her in a group hug. “Our circle will grow as we bring others in.”

“Kelly, can you join us for lunch today?” Brandon asked. “I've asked Sheila to come so we can talk about cheerleading.”

“Sure, I can join you for that,” promised Kelly. “But try to get a table in a corner where we can watch who comes by. Not everyone needs to know about this yet.”

The bell rang to signal the end of break and the threesome streamed into their English class.

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

Xenia chose the vegetarian lasagna once again while Brenda walked beside her, parallel to the lunch line. The girls’ coach preferred to bring a bag lunch instead of sampling the cafeteria’s cuisine of variable quality.

“Could you find us a table where we can be sure to get Seph’s attention when she comes in?” Xenia asked her friend and colleague. “I’ll be a moment or two longer getting my lunch.”

“Sure, Xee,” the coach agreed. “The near corner booth is open.”

Janice Lansing entered the school’s galley and, exercising her privilege of rank, bypassed the queue and came up behind Dr. Van de Meer. “You’re having the veggie lasagna again?”

“Well, Seph, it seems like that’s the only thing on the menu they’re able to cook right consistently.”

“You’ve made your point, Xee,” Dr. Lansing conceded with a chuckle as she indicated the veggie lasagna to Mrs. Brown, the food service worker. “Now, you and Brenda still want me to join you for lunch?”

“Yes,” admitted the counselor, handing the cashier her school lunch smartcard. “We have a solution to a problem that arose after what happened to Abby Abernathy Friday night, but we anticipate that you may need to consider policy before we try it.”

“Abby Abernathy?” Dr. Lansing asked as she accepted the lunch tray from the food service worker. “I’ve seen the name today…”

“She was the cheerleader injured on the sidelines when a pass play went out of bounds,” explained Xenia as they began walking towards the booth where Coach San-Giacomo awaited them.

“There was a memo on my desk about that when I arrived this morning,” acknowledged the principal. “I would need to discuss it with Brenda and you, anyway.”

Janice and Xenia sat down at the booth across the table from Brenda. “Good morning, Seph,” the coach greeted her principal. “I’m glad you can join us. But this will be a bit of a working lunch, I’m afraid,” Brenda added pulling a manila file folder from her tote bag. “This is my initial report on the accident that happened to Abby Abernathy at the Homecoming game Friday night.”

Dr. Lansing glanced quickly at the report, then remarked, “Her wounds are quite serious, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are,” confirmed Brenda. “She’s looking at two to three months of convalescence and physical therapy.”

“And that means we need to work out a plan so that she won’t have to be held back a year due to minimum attendance rules,” explained Dr. Van de Meer. “Abby’s a bright young woman and I don’t want her treated like she were just another truant. So I’ll be requesting tutors for her and permission for her to study off-campus. We can use some of our new technology for that, too.”

“She also wasn’t the only casualty,” added Brenda. “Kelly Harrigan’s wrist was broken trying to prevent the injury to Abby. That might affect her studies some, although I think she’ll manage alright.”

“But that’s not even the issue that we need your input for,” warned Xenia. “More novel consequences of this have arisen.”

“Oh?” Dr. Lansing wondered. “Even a worse shipwreck than what you’ve told me so far?”

“Abby is definitely out for the rest of the season and likely the remainder of the year,” noted Brenda. “And Kelly will be limited in her activities for a few weeks as well. With one of my Junior Varsity girls out and another one not up to full readiness, I have to change something. The choice is between reworking much of our choreography and gymnastics or recruiting another cheerleader to substitute for Abby and bringing her up to speed.”

“That makes sense so far,” observed the principal. “Although I’d imagine finding a new cheerleader should be the easier solution.”

“And so I thought,” continued Brenda. “But when we did a database search to find a suitable candidate for a new cheerleader, we couldn’t find any girls who met all the search parameters.”

“None at all?” asked Janice.

“We used the regular criteria for eligibility,” recounted Brenda. “They had to meet minimum academic requirements of grade-point average and course load, meet a physical fitness profile, have a recent letter of medical approval on file, and be available to enroll in Cheerleading One. That one excluded most of the candidates because this late in the term, you’d only allow a student to switch a study hall or another physical education course for it.”

“That’s right. The semester is too far along for any but the simplest course changes,” acknowledged the principal. Brenda’s tone had suggested additional details, though, so Dr. Lansing asked, “What else?”

“We only had a few candidates still eligible at that point,” the coach continued. “But Kelly, who’d been doing the database search for me, considered something I hadn’t. She noticed that records in the student database included a field showing an intent to participate in sports or other activities.”

“What did that tell you?” probed the principal further.

“Not so many girls want to be cheerleaders anymore,” Xenia injected into the discussion.

“That’s right,” added Brenda. “An athletic girl has many more options now than even a few years ago. Girls who’d’ve been good cheerleaders are competing in other sports now. That’s good for girls in general, but not so great for the cheer team. I told Kelly that it’s getting harder to recruit good cheerleaders than it used to be sometimes.”

“I do remember cheerleading being a lot of work and then waking up the next morning with sore muscles,” recalled Janice. “But I was so proud of making the squad.”

“Seph! You never told me you were a cheerleader,” exclaimed Brenda.

“Well, you never asked!” Janice retorted. “So then, who was still available after looking at other sports?”

“No one, really,” lamented the wistful coach. “So Kelly and I called up the girls who’d signed intent forms, hoping to convince someone to try cheerleading instead, but no one wanted to. Those girls really have their hearts set on other things.”

“So then you’ll have to trim your sails and rework your gymnastics and choreography,” said Dr. Lansing. She stated it as a conclusion rather than a question.

“Well, the story’s not quite over, yet,” Dr. Van de Meer continued. “One of Kelly’s queries did mistakenly yield the name of an otherwise eligible student.”

Janice raised a quizzical eyebrow, asking, “Mistakenly?”

“Kelly omitted one of the more obvious criteria from one search,” the coach explained as the principal sipped her diet cola. “The search returned a boy.”

Suddenly, a spray of diet cola spewed from the lips of Dr. Lansing sputtering into laughter. Xenia and Janice both produced napkins and paper towels as Brenda bolted from her seat in an unsuccessful attempt to dodge the spit-take. The cola had soaked the coach’s sweatshirt and dribbled down the front of the principal’s blouse. Xenia was fortunate not to have been in the line of fire.

“Now I believe you were a cheerleader!” Brenda cried, laughing along with her colleagues at one another and herself.

Jeff and Mark waved at Brandon from a booth in the corner across from where Miss San-Giacomo, Dr. Van de Meer, and Dr. Lansing were still at lunch. But Brandon simply pointed to the lunch line to signal his usual intention of buying his lunch from the school’s food service. As he approached the glass case, he examined the choices of the day.

“What would you like, young man?” Mrs. Brown asked.

“I think I’ll have the fettuccine Alfredo primavera.”

“Not the veggie lasagna?”

“Well, I don’t want to eat the same thing every day, ma’am.”

“I understand,” said Mrs. Brown, smiling as she handed a tray of the fettuccine to Brandon. “I wouldn’t want that, either. Enjoy!”

He accepted the lunch tray from Mrs. Brown and continued along in the line, also taking a dinner roll with butter, an apple compote, and a cola. He simply handed his smartcard to the cashier who deducted the lunch from his balance. She winked at him then rang up the next customer’s lunch.

“That was a little strange,” observed Brandon as he set his lunch tray on the table across from his buddies.

“What?” Jeff asked.

“The cashier winked at me.”

“She’s got it bad for Brandon!” Mark teased.

“A little old for me, don’t-cha think?”

“Ya got a cougar chasing you, huh?” Jeff added to their banter.

“Maybe, but I like my Asian Tiger better,” retorted Brandon.

“So where is the China Babe?” Jeff continued.

“In the Ladies’ Room.”

“Melinda went in with your sister,” reported Mark. “They’ll prob’ly meet up with Jenny in there.”

“Yeah, do either of you know why girls go to the restroom together?” Jeff inquired. “I’ve never understood that.”

“Don’t look at me!” Brandon pled to his friends.

“Well, you do have a sister,” Jeff reminded him.

“Yeah, but would you listen to yourself?” Brandon objected. “It’s not like we go to the bathroom together—ew!”

Mark couldn’t help but laugh at his friends’ exchange. “Jeff, that would make Brandon even weirder than you.” Jeff replied by taking his baseball cap off and hitting Mark over the head with it.

“And here comes our gleesome threesome now,” announced Brandon as Jenny, Sheila, and Melinda walked into the cafeteria. Sheila broke formation to join the end of the lunch queue while the other two girls continued towards the boys’ corner booth.

“Hi, guys!” Jenny greeted them and sat down next to Brandon, and Melinda, beside Mark. They both quickly stole kisses from their respective boyfriends’ lips, risking that faculty or staff might witness their public displays of affection.

“Sheila will join us in a moment,” said Melinda, addressing Brandon directly.

“Kelly is coming along, too,” added Jenny. “She said she’d ask Alice as well, since you trust her judgment.”

“I do,” agreed Brandon, “but do we have enough space at the table? That’ll be eight of us.”

“They can put a small table at the end if needed,” suggested Jeff. “Or even just chairs if no one hogs the table. Why so many, anyway?”

“I wanna discuss something before I make a decision,” revealed Brandon.

“With this many people?” Jeff remarked. “We’re gonna need a conference table somewhere.”

Mark suddenly swiped Jeff’s baseball cap and hit him over the head with it. Jeff grabbed it back from him. “Wear your own next time!” Jeff whined.

“So what’s the big deal, anyway?” Mark directed his question to Brandon.

“Let’s wait until everyone’s here,” replied Brandon. “That way, I only have to explain it all once.”

Mark looked at Jenny. “D’you know?”

“Yes,” she answered, “But it’s for Brandon to tell—not me.”

“Well, from what Sheila told me, I can guess,” added Melinda, looking at Brandon. “You wanna dress like a cheerleader for the Hallowe’en dance?”

“Uh—no!” Brandon denied, grinning. “Good guess, though!”

Melinda glared at him with a wry frown, raising an eyebrow. Brandon sputtered into laughter at her grimace. “It really was a good guess,” Jenny assured her. “But it’s still not quite on the money. Besides, since your boyfriend is going as a Goth princess, it wouldn’t be such a big deal if Brandon went as a cheerleader.”

“Actually, I might,” raised Brandon as a possibility. “But again, that’s not what I wanted to talk about right now.”

“So what is?” Jeff inquired in turn.

Brandon just grinned as Jenny retrieved her beeping smartphone from her purse. She noticed a text message from her mother waiting and smiled, dancing a little bourrée right at her seat. “Brandon, Mom wants to know if five-thirty would be a good time for dinner Wednesday evening?”

“That’s fine.”

“Yes!” Jenny squealed an almost ear-splitting, shrill tone, resuming her toedance right at her seat. Immediately, she texted Brandon’s confirmation of the time back to her mother, then delivered him a quick kiss. He just smiled.

“Brandon’s really hiding, like, something big,” accused Melinda playfully. “And with a smile like he’s showing, it’s gotta be terribly naughty!”

“Here come Kelly and Alice,” noted Brandon. The two girls stopped to put their purses and bag lunches on a small, square table and pushed it flush with the end of the larger one in the booth. Then they pulled chairs over to it for themselves and sat down.

“Hi, everyone!” Kelly greeted the group. “Have you heard what happened to Billy Danziger this morning?”

“What?” Melinda asked.

“Alice, you start with how he showed up in homeroom,” Kelly deferred to her friend. “I had, like, already left. You actually saw everything that happened.”

“Yes,” affirmed Alice. “This is not gossip. I was there. Anyway, Billy came in drag today.”

“What?” Melinda squealed.

“Billy showed up dressed as a girl,” reiterated Alice. “Mister Markham had challenged him, like, to make up for not participating on Gender-Bender Day. Apparently, Billy took him up on it.”

“But that was just the beginning,” interjected Kelly. “Tell what happened just before second period!”

“Well, I went into the Ladies’ Room across from the Main Office,” Alice continued recounting, “and ‘Billie’ was in there cleaning a little brass marijuana pipe.”

“A marijuana pipe?” Jeff asked incredulously.

“Uh-huh! A little brass one,” Alice confirmed. “It was as cute as he was!” The other girls all giggled at that remark as she continued, “Then after he came out of the Ladies’ Room, I warned him he wasn’t wearing his student’s badge as Principal Lansing was coming out of the office. So he went, like, looking for his badge, first in his backpack, then set it down before looking in his purse where he’d put it for today.

“Well, he’d just got it on when Doctor Lansing came our way to chat. She must’ve thought he was a girl, at first, anyway, but she got on his—her case about forgetting her—his badge. Then she asked about Billy’s older sister. Then just as Doctor Lansing was about to leave, he caught his heel in a strap of his backpack and tripped, dumping everything in his purse?—that doesn’t sound right—her purse?—the purse on the floor. The principal saw the marijuana pipe and picked it up and told Billie to get to her office right then. And that’s what I heard and saw, myself.”

“Hello, everyone!” Sheila greeted as she approached the group with her lunch tray. “Sorry to make you wait, but the lunch line was, like, so long.”

“That’s okay, Sis,” Brandon absolved her. “Alice was just regaling us with her tale of what happened to Billy Danziger this morning.”

“Oh?” Sheila expressed her surprise as she put her tray down on the small table next between Kelly and Alice.

“This morning, he came to school in drag, like, to make up for Gender-Bender Day, and then he tripped and a marijuana pipe fell out of his purse in front of Principal Lansing,” Kelly summarized. “Alice witnessed all that. But now, the rumor is, like, the principal gave him a choice between getting expelled or dressing like a girl for the rest of the semester!”

“Omigosh!” Melinda squealed. “You’ve gotta be kidding!”

“That’s what I heard!” Kelly insisted her giggles maturing into full laughter with the other girls following suit. Jeff and Mark looked at each other and guffawed. Brandon just relaxed with a sigh. His problem would be just a little less embarrassing and perhaps he wouldn’t be alone if he consented to join the cheerleading team.

“Alright,” Brandon addressed the group. “Sheila’s here, so it’s time to tell you what I hafta think about.”

“Lemme guess, Bro,” said Sheila. “From your text message, I’d say you wanna wear my old cheerleader uniform for Hallowe’en?”

“No,” said Melinda. “That was like our first guess.”

“What is it, then?” Mark followed up.

“It’s—It’s—uh—,” Brandon hesitantly stammered. “Kelly, maybe it’ll be more believable if you tell it.” He looked at her, his face almost pleading. She simply nodded.

“Okay, everyone,” Kelly addressed them. “To put it simply, we want Brandon—or rather ‘Brandi’—to join the cheerleading team. Coach Brenda, like, asked him this morning.”

“Is that where you two went during homeroom?” Alice wondered.

“Yeah,” answered Brandon. “We discussed it in Doctor Van de Meer’s office.”

“The immediately obvious questions are why you?” Jeff inquired. “And does that mean you’ve gotta dress like a girl to do it?”

Kelly fielded the questions for her friend. “We did a database search to find someone to stand in for Double Abby. None of the eligible girls who were named wanted to. They’re all going out for other sports. By mistake, I forgot to limit one search for gender. Brandon’s name came back in that one. Since we both took gymnastics lessons from the same coach, I knew, like, he could do it and suggested him to Coach Brenda. And yes, he, like, has to wear the same uniform—.”

“But he’ll be so cute in it!” Jenny broke in. The girls giggled at that.

“That’s just crazy!” Jeff opined. You can’t seriously be thinking about it?”

“Yeah!” Mark agreed. “Gender-Bender Day was bad enough. This is even crazier!”

“Well, maybe it won’t be so bad with Bill around,” mused Brandon. “At least I won’t be like the only one, now.” He felt Jenny’s hand squeeze his.

“But are you, like, really gonna do it?” Jeff pressed his buddy for an answer.

“I’m not sure,” admitted Brandon. “They really seem to need me, so I’m thinking about it. Still, it does sound crazy, though.”

“Brandon, we wouldn’t’ve asked you if we didn’t need you or if we didn’t think you could, like, do it,” Kelly reminded him. “I never thought you knew, like, just how good a gymnast you were—and still are. You really oughtta give it a go.”

“Oh! I’m not thinking so much about the gymnastics,” he assured her. “But if I really gotta show up dressed as a girl two or three times a week, I’m not so sure I can handle that. I mean, I did it once and look at how it turned out—I spent half the weekend in the hospital!”

“Well, I think you’re better than that,” insisted Kelly. “Your talents and your spirit are needed.”

“She’s right, sweetheart,” affirmed Jenny. “You’d be doing this for the school’s benefit, just like you did for Gender-Bender Day. It’d only be more often.”

“You didn’t have any problem while you were doing it,” Sheila reminded her brother. “It wasn’t until the next day you had any misgivings about it.”

“And those misgivings grew into nightmares,” he reminded her. “You had to call for the ambulance.”

“But it was, like, alright when we got you there,” his sister continued to argue.

“Brandon, you can handle it,” Jenny assured him, squeezing his hand again. “I have faith in you. Let others have a chance to rely on you, too.”

He relaxed a little more. Jenny’s support helped to reassure him. But was she supporting him just as any girl would stand with a boyfriend, or was her view objective as well?

Alice had been watching and listening to the discussion but hadn’t offered an opinion. “Kelly, is this more of trying to turn Brandon into a girl, like on Thursday? We agreed to leave that alone.”

“No. No, it’s not!” Kelly defended what she had done. “I was just as surprised as Coach Brenda when the computer search gave me his name. It only happened because I made, like, a mistake setting up one of the queries.”

“Well, a few days ago, you were saying Brandon’s transgendered,” Alice reminded her.

“No, I’m not transgendered,” denied Brandon. He wasn’t sure of how much he wanted to reveal, but these were friends gathered around him. “But I am androgynous. Dr. Van de Meer had me read about androgyny. Then at the hospital, they gave me a test for it and I scored right in the middle—perfectly androgynous.”

“Is that like unisex?” Mark asked.

“Well, it’s more like both sexes,” Brandon tried to explain. “According to the test, I should be comfortable in both traditional masculine and feminine roles almost equally.”

“That’s weird!” Jeff remarked. “Really weird!”

“No more than when you’re playing baseball,” argued Brandon. “You throw left-handed but you’re a strong switch-hitter. And Mark throws right but always bats left. Yet most players can only bat and throw with the same hand. But everyone catches with the hand opposite their throwing hand.”

“So you’re saying androgynous is like switch-hitting?” Mark asked his buddy to clarify.

“Pretty much,” affirmed Brandon. “And how many things do we all have to do two-handed?”

“I never thought about that,” conceded Jeff.

“And who decides what roles are masculine or feminine, anyway?” Melinda added to the discussion.

“Exactly!” Brandon agreed with her. “Did I mention the test was for traditional gender roles?”

“Yes, you did,” confirmed Alice.

“So does that mean you’d be comfortable as a cheerleader?” Kelly asked.

“Well, that would be consistent with the test results,” replied Brandon.

“Can’t you ever answer, like, just yes or no?” Kelly complained rolling her eyes.

“No!” Brandon quipped. Everyone but Kelly laughed at his humorous twist of logic. “Seriously, though,” he continued, “I don’t think I’d have much difficulty cheerleading if it weren’t for the likely problems of teasing and bullying. After all, it’s not thought of as a masculine role.”

“But according to that test, you’re, like, supposed to be comfortable in feminine roles,” Melinda reminded him.

“I am,” affirmed Brandon, “but that’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?” Kelly asked.

“Other guys won’t be comfortable with him in a feminine role,” Alice observed. “And they’ll prob’ly be vocal about it.”

“Bingo!” Brandon exclaimed. “And that’s one reason not to do it.”

“Seriously, sweetheart?” Jenny looked him in the eye.

“Yeah,” he said to her. “Bullies don’t need so much a reason to inflict violence as an excuse. It’s like their default mode.

“Then maybe this really is a bad idea,” concluded Jeff. “If you’re gonna make yourself even more of a target to bullies, I don’t think it’s worth the risk.”

“The cheerleaders need me, though,” Brandon reasserted.

“But how bad do they need you?” Jeff asked. “Why can’t the cheer team get along with one less cheerleader?”

“Jeff, it’s not so simple as you’re making it out to be!” Kelly retorted. “While I can still do some cheering and dancing, I won’t be doing, like, any gymnastics until my wrist heals, so for those kinds of things, the cheer team is down by two of us. If we can’t get a substitute for one of us, then we have only a very short time to revise our choreography and gymnastics. That’s especially hard to do, like, this late in the season and we’d have safety issues as well. It’s a lot easier to bring in, like, a new girl and get her ready to rhumba.”

“But Brandon’s not exactly a girl,” Mark reminded Kelly.

“No, he’s not,” she conceded. “Still, he showed us he can pull it off really well.”

“That was such a mistake!” Brandon whinged. “I should never have worn that dress!”

“But Brandon,” said Sheila. You really looked good in it.”

“Please, Sis,” he sighed. “Don’t remind me!”

“So Billy’s mother was alright with his punishment?” Xenia inquired.

“Well, she agreed it was a better choice than expelling or suspending him long-term,” replied Janice. “And from her tone of voice, she might have some fun helping him comply.” She took another bite of the lasagna.

“I’m in agreement with you and Xee, though,” said Brenda. “These ‘zero-tolerance’ policies are essentially the same as zero-thought.’”

“Or ‘zero-hassle’ for certain school-board administrators,” observed Xenia. “If they can treat everyone as guilty, then they don’t need to bother investigating anything.”

“And they can assign the same penalty to everyone without having to think of fairness,” added Brenda. “But I think you did well to consider an alternative punishment for Billy—and a creative one at that. He might really learn a few things from it.”

“That’s the idea,” remarked Janice. “Besides, I couldn’t ignore how he was dressed this morning. He gave me the idea for it himself—and I can always argue that it’s an appropriate penalty for entering the Ladies’ Room without permission.”

“Anyway, you don’t seem to have any categorical objection to boys dressing as girls,” concluded Xenia.

“No, I guess not,” confirmed Janice. “So are we back to the issue of letting Brandon MacDonald join the Junior Varsity cheerleading squad?”

“We do need an answer from you, Seph,” said Brenda. “I want to be able to act immediately when we get a decision from Brandon. And if you can’t allow it, then I need to start revising the choreography and gymnastics for my Jay-Vee girls today.”

“I think that I should talk to Brandon myself before giving you either a yes or no on this,” the principal decreed, withholding her final decision until she had interviewed the boy. “But I will lay down one instruction right now. Whatever course he plots, you will both accept it and not try to change his mind. This sounds like a very difficult decision for a boy to make and I want it respected.”

Xenia nodded to her boss. “I’ve already promised Brandon that I’d support whatever he decides to do.”

Dr. Lansing looked at the coach. “Seph, I’ve explained it to him as best I can and I’ve asked him to come to the Cheerleading One class today. Seeing how the cheer team works day-to-day should help him make a better informed choice, whatever it is. I’ve already accepted that he might refuse. I’m just happy he’s willing to consider it, although I don’t think he’ll really do it.”

“You don’t?” Xenia asked in surprise.

“No, Xee, I don’t,” confessed Brenda, sighing. “I hope I’m wrong, but I think he and Kelly have too much negative history between them. And we know he’ll take a lot of teasing from his classmates if he goes along with this.”

“He did ask for time to think it over, though,” Xenia reminded her.

“Yes, but you also said that he’d made his decision before he left,” recalled the coach. “He only asked for the time so he could let Kelly and the rest of us down gently. He came across to me as a very sensitive boy.”

“But I think he’ll do it!” Xenia said, contradicting her colleague.

“So how do you reach that conclusion, Xee?” Dr. Lansing asked.

“Although I did say that Brandon had likely decided before he’d left the room,” explained Dr. Van de Meer, “I also thought that he needed to take time not to appear too eager to do something that normally is in our girls’ domain. I think that he really wants to do it but is more afraid of appearances than anything else.”

Dr. Lansing mused for a moment then wondered, “Have either of you considered a third alternative?”

“What’s that?” Brenda asked.

“Well, maybe he’s not decided yet and he really needs to think about it?” Janice answered. “Too often we let our own mind games get in the way of our better judgment. Brenda, I think you’re just too pessimistic about the outcome and are trying to steel yourself against it. Xee, you’ve worked with the boy to assess his interests and abilities before scheduling his classes, but do you really know him that well?”

“I did have a long talk with him Thursday morning,” reported Xenia. “I tried to emphasize to him the importance of making his own decisions and being secure doing it.”

“Why?” Dr. Lansing asked.

“Classmates were trying to push him where he might not wish to go,” replied the counselor. “And when Brenda asked him this morning to join the cheer squad, I reminded him of our previous discussion. That was also when I promised to support his decision.”

“So then you had talked with him about decision-making before Abby’s accident?” Brenda asked Xenia to clarify.

“Yes, I had.”

“So, he seems to have taken your advice to heart,” acknowledged Dr. Lansing, opening her agenda. “And that makes the stipulation I laid down all that more important. We must let the boy’s decision stand.” She made a notation in the margin of the day’s page to call Brandon MacDonald into her office.

Jeff and Mark huddled with Brandon while the girls all made a beeline for the Ladies’ Room.

“So buddy, are you really gonna do it?” Jeff pressed Brandon for an answer yet again. “I mean, you’d be dressing like a girl at least once a week, and prob’ly more than that.”

“Jeff, it’s just clothing,” he tried to reassure his two best friends. “Pieces of textiles cut out and sewn together into strange shapes—now just a little stranger than usual.”

“But it’s all so weird!” Jeff insisted. “I mean, getting dressed up, like for Gender-Bender Day or Hallowe’en is one thing, but this seems like so much more.”

“Look, Jeff,” Mark jumped into the discussion. “We both wore skirts when Brandon dressed up and we’re still who we are. And he’ll still be who he is. He wouldn’t even be thinking about it if any girls had volunteered.”

“This is true,” Brandon agreed with Mark. “If you remember what Kelly said, my name only showed up in the search by mistake.”

“I know,” acknowledged Jeff. “But I’m afraid it’ll all be one big mistake if you do.”

“Jeff! Listen!” Brandon quietly hushed his friend. “It’ll be alright! No matter what I decide to do, we’ll still be friends, won’t we?”

“Yeah, but—,” began Jeff.

“No but’s, Jeff!” insisted Brandon. You, me, Mark—we’ve been together since we were how old?”

“We were toddlers, I think,” recalled Mark. “I can’t remember ever not knowing both you guys.”

“So, we’re all friends, then,” Brandon reminded them. “We don’t always agree on everything. But has that ever stopped us from being friends?”

“No, guess not,” confirmed Jeff.

“So, don’t worry about it,” Brandon tried to assure his friends. “Nothing too bad can happen.”

About then, Brandon and Mark saw their respective girlfriends coming from the Ladies’ Room. Melinda took Mark by the hand and Jeff by the elbow to direct them toward their classes.

Jenny and Brandon started down the hall, hand in hand, toward their French class, but his sister quickly caught up with them.

“Wait, Li’l Bro!” Sheila gently took her brother by the wrist. Then she told him, sotto voce, “I wanna talk to you about this alone. When we get home, you need to try on my old uniform. I have my own selfish reasons for wanting you to become a cheerleader, but it’s only fair to warn you about the down side of joining the team. You need to know about it, too, before deciding. Okay?”

“Okay, Sis!” Brandon agreed. “But Jenny and I gotta get to French class now.”

The siblings went on their respective ways. “What was that about?” Jenny asked as she and Brandon started to class.

“Sis wants to have a private talk about cheerleading with me,” he said, continuing sotto voce. “Apparently she feels a need to warn me about something. She also wants me to try on her old uniform.”

Jenny’s face beamed. “I wanna see that, myself.”

“Of course you do,” conceded her boyfriend. “What I don’t understand is why?”

“I like beauty,” she said, halting their walk to class. “And you show it so well.” She delivered a quick peck to his lips. “But you need to show it more often.”

« Bon après-midi, Rhonda, » Brandon greeted his lab partner, speaking into the microphone of his headset.

“You’re back already!” Rhonda exclaimed, still trying to adjust the earphones of her own headset.

« Mais en français, mon amie! » he reminded her as he set a switch on their desk console.

« Déjà tu es retourné! » she reiterated. « Ça va? »

« Très bien! Et toi, Rhonda? »

« Très bien aussi! » answered Rhonda. Then she spoke in English again. “I guess I should thank you.”

“Thank me?” Brandon asked in surprise. “For what?”

“For not coming to school Friday,” answered Rhonda. “Because you didn’t come, Kelly passed the crown for Freshman Homecoming Princess to me.”

« Quoi? » Brandon exclaimed. « A-t-elle passé la couronne à toi? »

« Mais oui! » affirmed Rhonda. “I don’t know how to explain all this in French yet. Kelly named you to be her Knight-escort for Homecoming. But when she heard you were in the hospital, she was really upset and no longer wanted to be Freshman Homecoming Princess. Since I had won second place in the voting, the title went to me.”

Brandon looked down at his lab station. He hadn’t thought that Kelly might want him for her escort. But why would she? Jenny and he were a couple now. It made no sense to him that Kelly wanted to ask him to be her Knight-escort.

“I had no idea, Rhonda,” confessed Brandon, forgetting to converse in French with his lab partner. “She couldn’t’ve asked anyone else?”

“I heard that she wanted only you,” recounted Rhonda. “Would you have escorted her to the game and to the Homecoming Banquet and Dance if you had known?”

« Je ne sais pas, » he replied. « Vraiment, je n’y peux pas répondre. »

Brandon glanced across the room to Jenny, hoping to get her attention, but she was focused on her lesson. Then he took the smartphone from his pocket.

« Qu’est-ce que tu fais, Brandon? » asked Rhonda.

« Je veux parler à Jenny, » Brandon answered as he began inputting a text message to his girlfriend.

“You really shouldn’t be doing that in class,” whispered Rhonda. “You could get in trouble for it and get Jenny in trouble, too.”

“Well, I could hack the language laboratory router instead and talk to her right at her work station,” he replied.

“But that could get you into even worse trouble!” Rhonda continued, sotto voce.

“And that’s why I’m just texting her.”

Rhonda simply rolled her eyes as Brandon giggled at her. So neither noticed their French teacher, Anne-Marie Wiszniewski, walking up behind them.

“Brandon, Principal Lansing has asked to see you right away,” said Madame (Mme) Wiszniewski.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Madame Wiszniewski!” Brandon apologized, believing that he’d been caught texting by his teacher. “I promise not to do it again.”

“Whatever are you talking about, Brandon?” Mme Wiszniewski asked him. “It really doesn’t matter. I just got a message from Doctor Lansing and she wants to see you in her office now.”

“Right now?” he asked, slightly whining, for her to clarify.

« Tout de suite! » confirmed his teacher. She offered the boy a hall pass, inquiring, “I take it you know what this is all about?”

Wishing neither to lie outright nor to tell herq anything that he needn’t yet reveal, Brandon hedged his reply. “Uh—not exactly,” he denied. “It might be any of a few issues. I won’t really know until I get there.” This was true enough, although he could, with high confidence, guess which issue it would most likely be. Accepting the hall pass, he scampered through the door and down the corridor.

“Brandon, please wait in Doctor Lansing’s office,” instructed the school secretary. “She’ll be with you in a minute or two.” The secretary ushered him into the room and took the hall pass from him. Before sitting down he looked around the office. He noticed on the wall, over the desk, a diploma reading:

The boy sat down in a chair in front of the desk. He wondered if Billy Danziger sat in the same chair earlier when he was sentenced to dressing as a girl for the semester? Yet here Brandon was waiting to talk to Principal Lansing. The note didn’t say what she wanted to discuss, but he could guess. After all, it wasn’t every day that a boy is asked to be on a girls’ cheerleading team. Dr. Van de Meer had mentioned that they’d have to ask Dr. Lansing about it, so the principal must need his input. Or perhaps, she’s decided not to allow it and was going to tell him not to worry about it anymore. Or maybe she wanted to know if he’d made a decision or which way he were leaning?

“Good afternoon, Brandon!” the contralto voice of the principal greeted him. “I’d like to thank you for coming on such short notice.” She shut the door behind her and then walked around and sat at her desk. “Don’t worry! You’re not before the captain’s mast, but you must be wondering why you’re here.”

“Is it because Miss San-Giacomo wants me to be a cheerleader?” Brandon asked, getting right to the point.

“Yes, it is,” the principal affirmed. “So, how do you feel about that?”

“I’m not sure how I feel about it,” he answered truthfully and now relaxed. “I talked to all my friends and my sister at lunchtime today to find out what they thought.”

“But I’m wanting to know what you think and how you feel, not their opinions,” clarified Dr. Lansing. “You have to make a decision that’s quite unusual for a boy to consider and I want to be sure that you know what’s being asked of you and what some of the results might be.”

“Well, ma’am, I think I do know what’s being asked of me, and why,” he told the principal. “And I am worried about some possible things that might happen.”

“What are you worried about?”

“I guess I’m most worried about getting teased and bullied,” he said. “It would be another opportunity for bullies to come after me.”

“Well, you’d be participating in a school-sponsored activity,” the principal remarked, probing to see what Brandon understood. “That’s hardly a reason for bullying.”

“Bullies don’t need a reason, Doctor Lansing,” argued Brandon. “Just an opportunity. Having the school’s permission to dress like a girl won’t figure into their logic.”

Dr. Lansing nodded at the boy’s observation. He had summarized the problem quite succinctly. She could not have expressed it any better—maybe not even as well!

“Let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that I can keep the bullies away from you and prevent any teasing,” premised Doctor Lansing. “What else would concern you?”

“I’m not sure how often I’d have to come to school as a girl,” replied the student. “I really had fun on Gender-Bender Day, but the next day, everyone seemed to be pushing me to be a girl. Exploring what being feminine is like was fun, and I think I want to try it again, but if I’m on the cheerleading team, I might be doing it too often. I’d be committing to a full schedule of days when I’d be required to wear the uniform to school. And the cheerleaders have a ‘Fashion Day’ every week when I’d have to come in drag then, too. That might be too much for me.”

“Anything else?”

“Cheerleading can get expensive,” recalled Brandon. “My sister Sheila was a Jay-Vee cheerleader last year and there were a lot of unexpected small expenses, here and there, that she complained about all the time. But my family’s not exactly poor and I get a decent allowance.”

“So then why did she complain about it so much?” Dr. Lansing asked.

“Even though the expenses were small, she had a lot of them and the total amount got larger than she thought,” he explained. “Mom and Dad expect us to budget and to account for our money and often it’s hard to explain unexpected expenses and especially to budget for them.”

“That’s quite true,” conceded the principal. “Yet I get the feeling that you’re not too worried about the cost of it?”

“No, not really, Doctor Lansing,” he admitted. “Like I said, I get a good allowance. Besides, cheerleading would prob’ly take up enough time that I’d do less of another hobby, so I’d just budget that money for it. And then Mom and Dad have always been willing to pay for my sister and me to participate in sports and other school activities.”

“You’ve thought more than one aspect of this through, haven’t you?”

“As much as I’ve had time for it since this morning.”

Dr. Lansing had long experience of reading students’ faces, body language, and intonation. She had a feeling that Brandon was holding something back from her.

“How suited for cheerleading are you physically?” Dr. Lansing inquired.

“That’s prob’ly why Miss San-Giacomo asked me,” answered Brandon. “I had gymnastics lessons with Kelly Harrigan and she told Coach Brenda that I was good at it. That and I think Kelly just wanted to get me in a dress again.”

“Does Kelly tease you much?”

“Daily, since kindergarten…”

Principal Lansing smiled at the boy who had been asked to play such a feminine role just as he approached the cusp of manhood. So he and this cheerleader, Kelly, had some shared history. Perhaps she needed to inquire further into that before approving or rejecting anything.

“Brandon, I know that teasing can be mean-spirited and hurtful, but sometimes it’s meant to be friendly and affectionate,” explained Dr. Lansing. “Have you considered the possibility that Kelly’s teasing is that kind?”

“But how can you tell?”

Dr. Lansing thought that a strange question, unless he were that kind of boy who had difficulty perceiving or understanding social cues. She opened Brandon’s dossier to look at the one-page summary of his academic history and current status in school. She was hardly an expert, but while absorbing the data on the young man, she could only wonder, Asperger’s syndrome?

Peeking at the next page of his file, she had another question to ask him. “Why were you absent Friday?”

“I was—ill.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“Do I have to?”

“Well, your health may be relevant to the decision I have to make.”

Brandon took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. “After I went to sleep Thursday night, I had a series of nightmares,” he recounted. “Then I awoke Friday morning from a nightmare with a panic attack. Mom and Dad ran into my room to help me breathe while Sis called for an ambulance.”

“Your Mom and Dad helped you breathe?”

“Yeah,” confirmed Brandon. “Dad’s a physician and Mom’s a nurse. They both work at Saint Luke’s. In fact, Dad was working in the Emergency Room when Double Abby and Kelly came in Friday night.”

“Double Abby?”

“That’s the nickname for Abigail Abernathy.”

“How did she get a nickname like that?”

“When we were in grade school, we had two Abigails in our class and both went by Abby. Then she said that Abby could be a nickname for Abernathy as well. So to distinguish them, we called her Abby-Abby and the other girl just Abby. But by third grade, though, we were calling her Double Abby and it stuck, even though ‘Just Abby’ had moved away by fifth grade.”

The principal couldn’t help but laugh softly at the story. Indeed, each new class entering high school already has a deep history shared among most of the students. Yet she had the feeling that the shared history of this year’s freshman class was perhaps richer than she’d seen in a while. In other years, Brandon’s story would have seemed somehow peculiar, but not right now. She’d already heard a number of unusual stories from the new freshmen suggesting that she might encounter a plethora of such unanticipated issues before they would be graduated. A boy on the cheerleading squad? Just the first of many times that she’d set sail in uncharted waters. She turned her attention once again to the student in front of her desk.

“Brandon, earlier today, I punished a student for breaking several rules, one of them very serious, by requiring him to attend dressed as a girl for the rest of the semester.”

“Billy Danziger?” Brandon suggested. “I heard about what happened.”

“Yes, that was Billy Danziger,” she confirmed. “I ‘sentenced’ him to wear dresses and skirts, but here you are, thinking about volunteering to do it!”

“But if I do, it’s for the benefit of the cheer team and the school’s other sports teams,” asserted Brandon. “It’s not just about me.”

“And it’s noble and unselfish of you to think so,” she complimented the boy. “Still, it would be a mistake for you not to consider all the consequences this might have for you.”

“My new doctor at Saint Luke’s over the weekend said that I need to expand my comfort zone,” he argued. “She also said I should give myself permission to explore my feminine side, but I don’t think she meant for me to do it at school.”

“Well, cheerleading would definitely let you explore your feminine side,” remarked Dr. Lansing. “But there’s something else I want you to consider and it’s at the very heart and soul of cheerleading. You have to really commit to it and give it your all. So, if you decide to join the squad, you must be willing and able to keep at it for the rest of the school year. You can’t just abandon ship later if it proves tougher than you expect. And that means keeping your grades up, although I don’t think you’ll have any problems there. Coach San-Giacomo and all the other Jay-Vee cheerleaders will be relying on you.”

Until right then, Brandon hadn’t quite felt the weight of the decision that he had to make. He had gathered data about it and thought it through, but he hadn’t really felt it yet. Indeed, for Miss San-Giacomo, for Kelly, for Sheila, for Double Abby, and for all others at West Grove High School who took cheerleading seriously, his decision would be very important.

“Doctor Lansing, I’ve already discussed this with Doctor Van de Meer and Miss San-Giacomo this morning. I’ve discussed it with Kelly and my girlfriend Jenny and a few of my other friends over lunch. I’m discussing it with you now. Miss San-Giacomo has asked me to come to the Cheerleading One class this afternoon. If possible, I want to talk to my new doctor about it after school. Of course, I hope to discuss it with Mom and Dad at home. And Sis warned me that she has more to tell me about her experience as a cheerleader, too. Besides, I may even ask my best buddies and my girlfriend for more advice tonight. Then when I come to school tomorrow morning, I’ll have a decision to tell Miss San-Giacomo, Doctor Van de Meer, and you.”

“You seem to be navigating a course to a sound decision.”

“Well, I have to,” said the student. “You just raised the stakes for me.”

“Oh? How did I do that?”

“You said I couldn’t ‘just abandon ship later,’” he reminded her. “If I say yes, then you mean to hold me to it. That raises the stakes for me. I’m stuck if it’s the wrong call.”

Then and there, Principal Lansing understood just how special, how bright, how thoughtful Brandon was. He was indeed more thoughtful and sensitive than his academic record suggested—more than such a report even could suggest. After all, he was willing to volunteer for this role when no one else could. He was right: she had upped the risk on him, even though she had intended only to motivate him to be careful in weighing his decision.

“Brandon, I’m sorry,” apologized Dr. Lansing. “I didn’t mean to add more pressure to your decision. I meant only to encourage you to make your decision carefully and to understand the level of commitment that’s expected of you. However, you already seem to appreciate those things.”

“But if I agree to be a cheerleader, things could still go wrong that aren’t my fault,” worried Brandon. “What happens then?”

The principal rocked back in her chair a moment. “So long as you’ve made a good faith effort to make it work, I won’t let it hurt you. After all, you’re tacking into the wind for the school’s benefit and I recognize that it might not work out, even if you do everything you’re supposed to perfectly. So I won’t let you be set adrift because you were willing to help out.”

“That helps,” admitted Brandon.

“Any more questions for me?” Dr. Lansing asked him.

“Just one,” he remarked. “Were you ever in the Navy?”

“No, but my father and brothers were all naval officers,” the principal told him. “Why do you ask?”

“I noticed the nautical metaphors in your speech,” he observed.

Dr. Lansing paused a moment and gently shook her head, laughing quietly at herself. “So, you do pay attention to what people say,” she approved. “Here’s another hall pass. Get back to class now.”

Fortunately for Brandon, the Girls’ Gymnasium had two offices, including one that had a door opening to the main corridor. Miss San-Giacomo had given him instructions to come to that door. He knocked on it.

“Welcome to Cheerleading One, Brandon!” Coach Brenda greeted him.

“Thanks and good afternoon, Miss San-Giacomo!” Brandon replied, nervously squeezing the handles of his gym-bag.

“You should call me ‘Coach Brenda’ like the other girls do,” she suggested, smiling. “I’m guessing that bag contains your phys-ed uniform?”

“Uh—yeah!” he affirmed. “But it’s my own gear—for boys, I mean!”

“That’s okay, Brandon,” the coach assured him. “I hadn’t intended for you to dress for the class today unless you want to. I mostly want you just to observe and get an idea of how the cheerleaders work day-to-day.”

“But if I want to change clothes, where do I go?”

“For today, you can use my office next door and if you decide to join the cheer team, we’ll work out a more permanent arrangement.”

“Then let me get changed so I’m able to watch as soon as your team gets going.”

With that, Coach San-Giacomo let Brandon into her office to change his clothes for the strangest physical education course that he’d ever try.

One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

“Hello, Mom?…” Sheila asked over the telephone.

“What is it, sweetheart?…” Elizabeth asked her daughter.

“You’re not going to believe this,” said Sheila, “but Coach Brenda has asked Brandon to join the cheer team!…”

“Are you kidding, Sheila?” asked her mother. “This isn’t one of Kelly’s silly pranks, is it?…”

“Oh no, Mom!” Sheila denied. “Kelly may’ve recommended Brandon to Coach Brenda, but she takes her cheerleading very seriously. The coach needs someone to take Abby Abernathy’s place. So this is no prank. Besides, we all discussed it over lunch today…”

“A high school having a boy on the cheerleading squad is certainly unusual…”

“Yes, it is, but it’s looking necessary. Coach Brenda asked him this morning in his counselor’s office, and I think he’s talked about it with Principal Lansing, too…”

“I hope he’ll ask your father and me for some advice…”

“I’m sure he will. And I need to talk to him about it, too,” continued Sheila. “By the way, could you get my old cheerleading uniform out of the closet? I’ll do the ironing, myself, but Brandon really needs to try it on…”

“Which one?…”

“Oh, that’s right!… Y’know, I think all my old uniforms are still together in the garment carrier,” mused Sheila. “Just get them all out. I may as well have him try everything on while we’re at it…”

“Alright, I’ll do that,” promised her mother. “But you and Brandon come straight home today. This is a lot to happen in one day and we need to discuss it together as a family, I think.”

Dr. MacDonald knocked on the threshold of Dr. Windham’s office door, who was working at her computer, recording notes about her day’s patients. “Teri, Libby wants to know if you can come over to our place for dinner tonight?” Nathan invited her. “Brandon had quite an interesting problem arise at school today and would like to sound you out on it.”

“Oh?” Teri responded. “What kind of problem?”

“I don’t really know the details,” said Dr. MacDonald. “Besides, Brandon should be the one to explain it to you, anyway. But I think it’s more of what you two talked about over the weekend.”

Dr. Windham swiveled around in her chair and smiled at her friend and colleague. “It has been a while since we’ve got together outside the hospital,” she remarked. “So what time’s dinner?”

“About six-thirty…”

“Alright, Nate. Tell Libby I’ll be there.”

“Okay! She’ll like that,” said Nathan. “I’ll tell her you’re coming.”

Brandon and Jenny walked along the pathway home. Jeff, Mark, Melinda, and Sheila followed a discreet distance behind them in a separate group. Brandon’s smartphone rang and interrupted his conversation with his girlfriend, but when he saw who the caller was, he answered it.

“I should take this call, Jenny,” he excused himself. “Hello, Mom!…”

“Are you on your way home, Brandon?…” his mother asked.

“Yes, Mom,” he affirmed. “I’m walking Jenny home first. Sheila’s right behind us with Melinda, Mark, and Jeff…”

“Who’s Melinda?…”

“She’s one of Sheila’s friends and Mark’s new girlfriend…”

“Mark has a girlfriend?” exclaimed Mrs. MacDonald. “I can hardly believe that! But then I still have a hard time believing you already found someone…”

Jenny smiled at her boyfriend as she deduced the subject of the telephone call. He grinned back at her. “Mom, Jenny’s mother has invited me to dinner at five-thirty Wednesday evening. Is that alright?…”

“Of course it is, so long as Jenny accepts an invitation from us…”

“She’s already promised she would, Mom,” Brandon reminded her. “But we do have to suggest a date and time before she can accept it…”

Jenny giggled. Also, their other friends had caught up with them.

“Well, I’m calling about dinner tonight, son,” his mother told him. “Our friend Teri, whom you know as Doctor Windham now, will be joining us. Sheila called and told me what Coach San-Giacomo asked you to do, and I do think you should talk with Teri about it, if that’s alright with you?…”

“Actually, I was hoping she’d take my call tonight,” admitted Brandon. “How did you get her to come to dinner, anyway?…”

“Remember, she’s been a friend of your dad’s and mine for a long time,” his mother reminded him. “We were college roommates and she was a classmate of your dad’s in college and in medical school…”

“Mom, I meant to ask you if she’s the one whom Sheila used to call ‘Miss Window’?…”

“Yes, honey, and you would call her ‘Aunt Teasie,’” his mother reminded him. “You couldn’t quite say ‘Theresa’ or ‘Teri’ so that’s what you called her. You didn’t remember her at all?…”

“Vaguely,” he said. “But if she and you and Dad are all friends, why hasn’t she been around for so long?…”

“Well, it’s a long story,” recalled his mother. “She had to go away to do her psychiatric residency. When she completed that there weren’t any vacancies in her specialty here. When one came open here at Saint Luke’s, we helped her get the position. She’s really been quite busy since joining the staff, though…”

The Harrigan family had finished eating their dinner, so Caitlin began to clear the table since it was her turn to clean up. But almost as soon as she had started, her mother stopped her.

“Caitlin, go do your homework now,” Cat told her youngest daughter.

“But it’s my turn tonight,” she reminded her mother. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” affirmed Cat. “Your sister will clean up for you tonight.”

Caitlin glanced over at her sister. “Mom, is Kelly in trouble?” Kelly stared back at her little sister.

“Caitlin, you don’t need to know that just now,” Cat told her. “But your father and I need to talk privately with Kelly about a few things.”

Caitlin looked over to her father. He just nodded. “Sooner or later all will be okay,” Brian tried to assure his little girl, “for you and for Kelly. Don’t worry about your sister, okay?”

Caitlin looked at Kelly again, but her older sister smiled back and nodded. “Caitlin, I expect Mom and Dad wanna talk to me about some things,” said Kelly. “I did both some good and some bad things, but some of it’s just about growing up, too.”

Kelly embraced her younger sister and kissed her gently on the cheek. “Okay, Caitie-Cat!” Kelly exclaimed, swatting her sister’s butt. “Go do your homework!” Despite the loud crack of the swat on Caitlin’s backside, she giggled and ran off to comply.

“Let’s adjourn to my study, then,” declared Brian. “It’s time to get this started.”

In his sister’s room, Brandon sat at Sheila’s vanity table, staring at himself in the mirror. Anxiously, he had donned one of the Jay-Vee crimson, royal blue, and white cheerleading uniforms that she’d worn the previous year. It actually fit him somewhat loosely, since she was slightly taller than Brandon and anything but flat-chested. Also, because her extra height was due to her shapely legs, the hemline of her skirt came about an inch (2.5 cm) or so lower on her brother. Nonetheless, he felt very much exposed wearing it. But so that Brandon wouldn’t feel quite as vulnerable, Sheila was wearing her pom-pom squad/dance team uniform. Besides, she enjoyed any excuse to wear the glittering, form-fitting costume.

“Now, let’s see what we can do with your hair,” said Sheila, kneeling behind her brother as she brushed his hair into bunches. “The two basic hairstyles for any cheerleader are pigtails and ponytails. When in doubt, you can, like, always get away with one of those. And you’ve grown your hair out just long enough for simple braids.” She continued to braid his hair and tied two pigtails off with white ribbons.

Brandon thought differently about braids than did his sister. Braiding was an exercise in topology for his mathematically oriented mind. That the purpose of Sheila braiding his hair was for him to appear cute and girlish was really lost on him.

The boy stared into the mirror to see a girl staring back at him. It had only been five days since ‘Brandi’ had shown up at school and won such praise—only four days after Brandon had been embarrassed to have shown his feminine aspect to the world. He was no less curious and excited than he’d been on Gender-Bender Day, but still he was just as anxious and disturbed—and embarrassed—as he’d been the following day.

“So, Brandi is back!” Sheila beamed at the figure reflecting her brother from the mirror. “The uniform is just a little too big, but it, like, suits you! You really belong in a cheer uniform!”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this!” Brandon denied. “You told me you had your own selfish reasons for wanting me on the cheerleading team. So what’s up?”

Sheila led her brother to the bed and sat him down, holding both his hands. To the casual observer, they would appear to be two sisters just having a heart-to-heart talk. And indeed, they were about to engage in such a conversation.

“I think I wanna call you ‘Brandi’ now,” said Sheila. “Is that, like, okay with you?”

I guess I do look more like a Brandi than a Brandon now,” he conceded.

“Yes, you do,” his older sister assured him. “And I’ve always wanted a little sister and now I’m giving you advice. It’s almost like a dream come true.”

“So what words of wisdom do you have for me?” Brandon asked with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“First, I promised to tell you, like, the selfish reasons why I want you do this,” Sheila reminded him. “To start with, I’ve always wanted a little sister to do things with and this is, like, as close as I’m gonna get.”

“Well, we already do things together.”

“Yes, but not like girl things,” his sister emphasized. “Now I have a chance for that, too.”

“Alright, Sis,” concurred Brandon. “I don’t regard that as selfish, though.”

“Well, you’re kind not to think so, but that’s not the only reason,” Sheila continued. “I want you to take over from Abby so they’ll quit pushing me to do it.

“What I told you and Jenny in your hospital room Friday evening is also quite true. I’m not very comfortable doing gymnastics and pyramids. Besides, I’m, like, happier with the pom-pom girls and on the dance line than on the cheer team.”

“I know, so that’s nothing new. What else do you need to tell me?”

“Just a couple more things,” said Sheila. “Next, I should remind you that cheerleading gets expensive. You’ll have to buy more than one uniform and pay for a lot of project materials out of your own pocket.”

“I did mention how you had felt about the frequent expenses to Doctor Lansing when I talked with her,” recounted Brandon. “But I would think the school should pay for the additional costs for approved activities.”

“Well, the cheer team does get some money from the school, but it’s not nearly enough to cover everything,” explained Sheila. “And you still have so many things going on. You gotta do baked sales and car-washes and other fund-raising projects. You can expect to spend a lot of your time with the cheer team outside school.”

“You were really busy with them,” he recalled.

“And that brings me back to the biggest problem you can have as a cheerleader,” she remarked, about to warn her brother. “Cheerleading takes over your social life. But since you’ve never had one before, it’s gonna be a new experience for you. And you’re gonna be expected to do things you might not want. Like, I got pressure to go out with guys I didn’t like. Cheerleaders are all expected to go on dates with athletes, especially football players. And I can’t be sure what that might mean for you.”

“Well, I’m already with Jenny and I hope to be going out with her soon,” he objected. “Besides, I’m not going with any guys.”

“Brandi, believe me when I say you don’t know what that pressure will be like,” warned Sheila. “That’s the main reason I like the dance team so much better. We don’t pressure each other like that.”

“So that put you off cheerleading, then?”

“Very much so!” Sheila confirmed. “But I wanted you to know. I still hope that it will be fun for you. I’m sure you can do the gymnastics that I couldn’t, but you need to pay attention to the other girls. Some will honestly be your friends, but cheerleading tends to attract divas and bitches. Look out for them!”

“I won’t be surprised,” concurred Brandon. “There’s gotta be a prima donna or two among any group of girls as large as the cheer team.”

“That’s certainly been my experience,” she confirmed for Brandon. “And they’re the ones who made the experience unpleasant for me.”

“Then how will they treat me?”

His sister thought for a moment before answering, “Prob’ly just like everyone else on the cheer team—really mean! I can’t say if they’ll push you harder ’cause you’re a boy, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they did.”

“So then whom do I watch out for?”

“Look out for Penney and Tillie,” warned Sheila, “and anyone else getting too friendly with ’em. They’re the co-captains this year and rumor has it that it’s gone to their heads. But don’t let ’em push you around. You’re too good for that.”

“I’m glad you think so,” conceded Brandon.

“I know I kid you a lot, but I do love you, Little Brother,” she professed, tightly hugging him.

Brian, Cat, and Kelly were all seated in his study around a low table, Mom and Dad on a sofa, the daughter in an armchair.

“You do know why we’re here, Kelly?” Brian asked his daughter.

“I do, Daddy,” she answered. “I had a lot happen over the weekend.”

“Yes, you did,” her father agreed. “Apparently you displayed both your best and worst behavior Friday evening.”

“What we need you to understand is that good behavior doesn’t always offset bad,” Kelly’s mother warned her. “Your father and I can’t let your underage drinking go unpunished. But you did confess it to me without my asking and you had already begun seeking medical intervention on your own. We are taking those facts into account as mitigating circumstances.”

“Still, you began drinking even before the beginning of the school year,” Brian reminded her. “Can you tell me why?”

“I was scared of starting high school,” confessed Kelly. “I’m so afraid of getting a low grade in a class. Like, getting a low score on even one test could ruin my future.

“And then, there’s a lot of trouble in the world that I can’t help. I mean, what can I do about any of it?”

“Honey, we do understand some of what’s going on here,” Cat assured her daughter. “We went through it with Maureen and then Connor. Now it’s your turn and Caitlin will begin going through it in two or three years. But your father and I are most able to help you because we have each gone through it ourselves.”

“You’ve become aware of injustice in the world,” noted Brian. “More than that, you’re sensitive to how it affects people. And it’s a good thing to know the pain that others feel. But we weren’t expecting you to become so sensitive so soon. We certainly don’t want you drinking to mask it, though.”

“You moved as fast as you could to try to protect Abby,” recalled her mother. “That was a completely selfless action. You made us proud even though I was frightened.”

“But why were you frightened, Mom?”

“Because you could’ve been hurt as badly as Abby was,” injected Brian. “That worries your mother.”

“Yes,” agreed Cat. “You often act impulsively, without thinking.”

“But I had to act. There wasn’t time to think it through,” Kelly defended herself. “I stand by my action. I know I did the right thing and I’d do it again. All I’d do differently would be to do it better. If I’d been faster, then I’d’ve gotten both Abby and myself out of the way in time for both of us to avoid injury.”

Kelly’s parents remained silent a moment, then her mother nodded. “Yes, honey, you did do the right thing. But even so, a mother can’t help but feel scared by it.”

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” Kelly apologized. “I didn’t mean that to happen.”

“I know, honey,” Cat assured her daughter. “That’s okay now.”

“Well, we need to get back to the main topic,” declared Brian. “Again, Kelly, your mother and I can’t let you get away with underage drinking. You’re very lucky to’ve been caught by Nate MacDonald at Saint Luke’s and not at school. There, you might’ve been suspended or even expelled.”

“But you do have mitigating factors in your favor,” her mother (and judge) continued. “First, when you were confronted by Doctor MacDonald, you immediately accepted his medical opinion and presented yourself for treatment. Next, you ’fessed up to it without me even asking. I think you expressed honest, heart-felt remorse. And I certainly understood when you explained to me how growing up was getting to you.”

“That’s right, sweetheart!” her father affirmed. “Again, remember that you’re not alone. Everyone has to go through changes growing up. Mistakes are a part of the process. How you handle a mistake and what you learn from it are very important.”

“Also, this is a first offense for you. So, we’ve taken all that into consideration,” Cat pointed out. “We want you to avoid doing this again. So, we’re giving you a punishment similar to what I might sentence another teenager in like circumstances—a fine, treatment, and community service. Your dad will assess your fine.”

“It’s maybe more like damages than a fine,” Kelly’s father explained. “Since you took one of my favorite single malts from the liquor cabinet, you will pay for its replacement. But you should know it was a more expensive Scotch that you took.”

“How much does it cost?” Kelly asked.

“When I got it, the price of the half-bottle was seventy-five dollars,” he told her.

“What?” the girl exclaimed.

“You should’ve picked a less costly liquor,” joked Brian. “But remember that you must replace it at whatever the current price. Its price will’ve gone up. And as a fine, I’m assessing treble damages—three times whatever that price is. So, that means you will make two donations of the same amount. One will be to the Church. It can be our parish, the diocese, the school, or any of the charities or other ministries associated with the Church, but you can’t count it for your regular offering. The other donation will be the same amount to where your mom’s arranged for you to do your community service.”

“When do I hafta pay it?”

“Before New Year’s Day.”

“Can you just take it from my allowance?”

“Well, I could do that with the restitution for the Scotch,” he allowed. “After all, you can’t buy it legally at the store for me yourself. But because I give you your allowance by direct deposit, it would really be less hassle for us both if you just pay me in cash or by check. You’ll have to do that for the donations, anyway. Besides, your mother and I will need to see proof of payment by a receipt, a bank statement, or a copy of a cancelled check.

“Why so formal?” Kelly wondered.

“This is a punishment,” Brian reminded his daughter. “We’ll need to monitor your compliance. And—believe it or not—the day may come when you’ll want a momento of it.”

Kelly mused a moment about what her father had meant. “Why would I, like, keep a souvenir of punishment?”

“For the same reason you’d keep a souvenir of an injury,” stated her mother. “You showed me the Lladró that Rhonda gave you. How many of your friends have already signed your cast? You and your friends all gave Brandon that doll. He’ll remember. Those souvenirs remind us not only of the pain, but also of the recovery and those who supported us through it.”

“Perhaps some little momento might remind you of how you made things right and how your character grew as a result,” her father continued. “Your mother and I have faith in you that you’ll complete your punishment and be better for it.”

“So I should explain what else you have to do,” said her mother. “I usually have sentenced offenders to treatment when substance abuse is involved in what they’ve done in addition to other sanctions. This is especially so with first-time offenders. Yet you’ve already taken the initiative to seek treatment yourself, so your dad and I simply ask you to follow up with that and we’ll take you at your word that you’re doing so. How do you feel about that?”

“I think I drank because, like, I don’t really know how to deal with what I’m going through,” confessed their daughter. “I’d rather have a more effective way to handle it, anyway.”

“Now, we get to what may be the most important part of your punishment,” her mother announced. “I’ve arranged for you to serve eighty hours of community service at Union Charities Mission. You will meet with the director there and agree on a schedule for whatever duties she assigns you. This will, of course, cut into your personal time after school or during weekends, but you must complete the eighty hours by December thirty-first.”

The girl thought about her pre-existing commitments. They were demanding enough. How would she ever squeeze eighty hours of community service into her already overbooked schedule? And the holiday season would be coming up, too. This could easily derail many of her plans.

“Môm, how am I going to manage that with all my other commitments?” Kelly complained. “And you know, like, I gotta keep my grades up.”

“You’ll just have to give community service first priority in your schedule,” her mother told her. “This isn’t a suggestion, Kelly—it’s a requirement.”

“I know eighty hours may sound like a lot right now,” her father observed. “But over ten weeks, it’s only eight hours a week. You should be able to arrange for most of that on weekends, with maybe a couple of hours on a less busy weeknight. Will your injury free up any time from cheerleading?”

“No. Not really,” answered Kelly. “Although I can’t do, like, any gymnastics right now, I can still yell, sing, and dance, so I’m still required to be at our games and support the team. Besides, Coach Brenda already has me working on administrative things. And remember cheerleading is not an extracurricular activity for us. It counts as our physical education course and we get grades for it. We can’t, like, just not show up for a game or other activity unless we clear it with Coach Brenda ahead of time. She can cut our grades for no-shows.”

“I knew it counted for your physical education credit,” said Cat, “but I didn’t realize that you actually get graded for it. I thought you just received a pass or fail mark.”

“Oh yeah, Mom! The regular ‘Pee-Ee’ courses are all just ‘pass/fail,’ but Cheerleading One is graded ‘Ay’ through ‘Eff.’ We even have homework assignments and a written exam every term.”

“I didn’t know that,” admitted her mother.

“What’s on your written exams?” Brian inquired.

“Our first exam covered a variety of topics, like the rules of football, especially how playoffs are organized, health and safety in the gym, and first-aid for training injuries,” enumerated Kelly. “We had questions about the history of cheerleading and school traditions. Cheerleading has its own lingo we had questions about that, too. And Coach Brenda even gave us a creative writing question where we had to compose an original cheer.”

“That’s not how it was when I was a cheerleader,” said her mother, reminiscing somewhat. “It was simply an extracurricular activity that you tried-out for and you only stayed in so long as you kept your grades up.”

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, Mom!” Kelly announced. “You still gotta have the grades to get in, though. And Coach Brenda can, like, cut our grades for cheerleading if they drop in our other classes. And if you get kicked out of cheerleading, you flunk the class.”

“Do you have a textbook for your cheerleading course?” her father asked.

“We have two. One’s a book about physical fitness, health, and safety, like, for gymnasts. The other’s about the practice, history, and culture of cheerleading.”

“I get it, Kelly,” her mother assured her. “You can’t really let go of your cheerleading responsibilities any more than your other classes.”

“No, I can’t,” the girl agreed. “And I shouldn’t.”

“Look,” continued Cat. “I want you to put real effort into doing your community service getting it done by the end of the year. It’s important for you, maybe more than you can guess right now.”

“Môm, all I can promise is to do the best I can.”

“And that’s all we ask of you,” Kelly’s mother reminded her.

Sheila guarded the way behind her brother as he descended the stairs reluctantly. She had convinced him to appear at dinner dressed in a cheerleading uniform, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he might turn suddenly and dash back up the stairs. So, Brandon surprised her when he stepped onto the landing and continued towards the dining room, although he went perhaps more with resignation than with resolve.

“Good evening, everyone!” Sheila cheerfully addressed their parents and Teri Windham as they entered the dining room. “Doctor, please meet Brandi, my younger sister.”

“Nice to meet you, Brandi,” Dr. Windham answered the introduction, offering her hand. When the boy accepted it, she could feel her young patient trembling, so she thought to assure him. “You’re a strikingly cute young lady!”

“Um—th-thank you, Doctor—I think,” the boy stuttered slightly. “Do I really look alright?”

“Just like another cheerleader,” she affirmed. “If I didn’t know who you already were, I’d think you were any other girl. By the way, when I’m here, ‘Doctor’ is way too formal.”

“Should we go back to Aunt Teasie or Auntie Window?” Brandon asked in jest. Both Theresa and Sheila giggled at the suggestion.

“No,” said Dr. Windham, “but ‘Aunt Teri’ or even just ‘Teri’ would be fine.”

“So, did Mom or Dad tell you what they asked me to do at school?”

“No,” answered Teri. “We all agreed I should wait for you to tell me, but from how you’re dressed, I’m guessing they want you to be a cheerleader?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” he confirmed. “The cheerleading coach, Miss San-Giacomo, asked me to substitute for the girl who was hurt in the Homecoming game Friday night.”

“But why did she ask you instead of another girl?” Dr. Windham asked.

“Kelly told her that I was good at gymnastics and, well, she said they couldn’t find any girls who were both qualified and available,” explained Brandon. “Apparently, all of the more athletic girls were already committed to whatever else.”

“So you agreed to take the injured girl’s place?”

“Not yet, but I am leaning that way.”

“I’ve, like, tried to encourage Brandi to do it,” said Sheila joining the dialogue. “That’s why I had him try my old cheer uniforms on.”

“But it’s also to stop them from pressuring you to rejoin the cheerleaders,” objected Brandon to his sister. “That’s what you were telling me, anyway.”

“That’s true,” admitted Sheila. “But I do prefer to stay on the dance team. They’re easier to get along with, and I look prettier in this, don’t you think?” She twirled around quickly to show off her uniform. “Besides, Brandon is too cute as Brandi, like, not to be a cheerleader.”

“I’ll grant you that,” declared their mother. “Maybe I should have dressed Brandon as a girl from birth?”

“Môm!” Brandon sang out in objection as Sheila giggled and the adults laughed. “You too, Dad? But that’s not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair, son,” his father reminded him. “I have to see results of life’s unfairness every day and very often fix them. Let me ask you, was it fair that your classmate, Abby, was so severely injured at the game? ”

“Of course not!”

“But at least you’ve been asked if you want to do this,” Nathan explained. “No one’s requiring you to fill in for Abby, although you’ve impressed someone with your skills well enough that they thought to ask you.”

“Kelly!” Brandon protested. “It was Kelly who told Miss San-Giacomo about taking gymnastics with me.”

“And I can understand why,” his father defended the girl. “You were very good at it and telling her coach about you makes sense, even though you’re a boy.”

“Pardon me for interrupting,” announced Elizabeth, “but let’s all sit down at the table and continue this discussion over dinner. You girls can come with me and help bring out the soup and salad.” When Theresa began to move toward the kitchen, Elizabeth held a hand up. “No, Teri! You’re our guest. I meant Sheila and Brandi.”

Brandon felt strange to have been included with his sister as one of “You girls” by their mother. Stranger still, everyone else seemed accepting of him in that role, if not outright encouraging. Couldn’t someone object to him dressing as a girl? But then, how would he feel if anyone did?

“Môm, I’m sorry!” Billy whined. “I didn’t mean to get caught. Do you think I wanna dress like this until next semester? I mean, if I hadn’t worn it today Principal Lansing would never’ve thought to use it for a punishment.”

“Be thankful she did,” said Patricia. “Otherwise she may’ve simply expelled you. That’s why I agreed to it for you.”

“And so I’m screwed now,” he kept on whinging. “Thanks again, Mom!”

“Billie, if dressing like a girl for a few weeks is the worst that ever happens to you, you’ll lead very much the charmed life!”

“But this is so embarrassing,” pled Billy, fighting back tears. “How’m I gonna get through it?”

Patricia stretched an arm around her son and drew him closer, squeezing his shoulder in assurance and smiling, “You’ll get through it one day at a time!” With that she kissed him on the cheek.

“Girls, would you go bring the desserts, please?” Libby asked. The adults at the table all noticed that “Brandi” immediately got up together with his sister in response. The two deftly cleared the empty dishes of the entrée from the table and quickly took them away to the kitchen.

“Libby, Teri, please excuse me while I get something from my study,” Nathan said as he rose from the table.

“Are you getting The Yearbook?” Libby asked.