Jenny shivered in the cold draft wafting through the Emerald Gymnastics Center gymnasium and hugged herself, tracing and stroking her bare hands, peppered with white gymnastics chalk, over equally bare and chalky arms and shoulders, legs and knees, then trying to rub some warmth into the white-powdered soles of her bare feet, then coming back to rest on the soft, smooth, form-fitting Lycra of her sleeveless gymnastics leotard.
It was a sparkling neon lime green, powdered silver with tiny sparkles and sequiny dots of reflective silver material like her bare feet and hands were powdered white with chalk, looked and was cut exactly like a girl’s one-piece swimsuit, and had been a gift from Derek.

She loved her leotard, it covered enough up- everything, with its detachable sleeves attached, but her hands, legs, and feet- to feel wholesome and decent, left enough uncovered for freedom of movement and practicality, and fit tightly enough to feel attractive and pretty, particularly around her rear end and crack, which often showed through the Lycra that was so tight it was almost transparent, but not uncomfortably so.

It had been a gift from Derek- It had been his sister Katelyn’s, when Katelyn outgrew it and their mom enrolled 5-year-old Derek in gymnastics class, his sister told him to put her leotard on and made him do so, telling him it was what the “Big Boys” wore, conveniently neglecting to mention that the Big Boys didn’t wear girls leotards, they wore boys’ leotards, and pants over theirs. The beaming, blond-haired little boy had happily walked unknowingly crossdressed into gymnastics class that first day in nothing but a leotard for girls only, and three extremely distinctive bulges in his leotard- one very masculine one between his legs, and two quite feminine bulges higher up on his chest, from the padding that Katelyn had put in for “protective padding.”

He had happily walked unknowingly crossdressed into gymnastics class that first day in nothing but a leotard for girls only, and two very feminine bulges in his leotard from the padding that Katelyn had put in for “protective padding.”

With his otherwise exclusively female team laughing at him behind his back through the first month and the unwitting girls in the other classes marveling from afar- where it was impossible to make out little details, like the very masculine little bulge at the front of “her” leotard, between “her” legs- at the skill of the beautiful little girl in the cute green girls’ gymnastics leotard. When Jenny was transferred to Derek’s teacher (who happened to be his evil sister, Katelyn, who was working as a junior coach and counselor) from another class on the last day of his first month in gymnastics, she was surprised and almost delighted to discover that the gymnast in green was not a girl, but a boy.

She had laughed her head and butt off at him with the other girls when he was out of earshot, but eventually felt sorry for him and told Derek the truth, that he was wearing a girl’s leotard. In his panic to get the leotard off and get back into boys clothes, Jenny had 1/3 seriously, 1/3 mockingly, 1/3 jokingly asked “If you’re done using this leotard, can I have it?” And it became hers.

Derek had threatened to tell on Katelyn, but at her and Jenny’s pointing out, three things prevented Derek from telling: One, she hadn’t lied, the Big Boys really did wear leotards, just not girls’ leotards and pants over theirs, Two, he had not been forced to do anything he didn’t want to- he didn’t mind the leotard until he learned the truth, in fact he was obviously delighted with it and was enjoying wearing it immensely and they all(Derek, Jenny, Katelyn, and the gymnasts on his team, and everyone else) knew it- and Three, if he did tell, he would have to admit that he fell for Katelyn’s trick, happily wore the girl’s leotard, and loved it.

Too embarrassed to admit, Derek kept quiet for 8 years and Kate got off scot-free even when he did tell. It had been a year since he told (to disastrous results, when he told their mom, from whom Katelyn had inherited her prankster qualities, who forced him to wear the leotard for an entire day and allowed him to wear nothing else, except flip-flops and a girl’s gymnastics warm-up tracksuit top, to make sure that the lesson stuck very, very hard forever in his mind to never, ever, be tricked into anything ever again) and Katelyn was in college on her way to the Olympic women’s gymnastics team, the leotard actually still fit Jenny, by some miracle- and brought together somehow, perhaps by fate, perhaps by their love of leotards and gymnastics, and perhaps by either good or bad luck in equal amounts, Derek and Jenny were boyfriend and girlfriend.

“Okay, ladies, let’s line up!” Coach Anna’s shout ricocheted off the walls of the Emerald Gymnastics Academy gymnasium, multiplying until there seemed to be not one coach, but dozens. Jenny snapped out of thoughts and dreams of her unintentionally cross-dressing boyfriend and darted forward with the other gymnasts. Dozens of pairs of bare feet, her own among them, slapped the blue foam mat as the girls rushed to take their positions in a blur of pumping limbs, bouncing hair, and brightly colored leotards. Coach Anna walked down the line of girls in her sky-blue leo, grey baseball cap, and whistle hung on a string around her neck, looking barely older than her twenty years, barely older than the girls, looking like a drill sergeant surveying a group of soldiers in brightly colored spandex fatigues. (Actually, she kind of was- she got in the army out of college and joined the army women’s gymnastics team- Jenny hadn’t even known there was a U.S. Army women’s gymnastics team.)

Coach Anna turned to face the girls and spoke. “Right, ladies, I’d like to thank you all for coming today. This is a big day, and I see that all of you who applied have come to try out. Do you know what that means?” Sixteen heads bobbed in unison. “Yes, Coach Anna.” “It means that we have exactly the number of you that we require-no more, no less. So that all of you will get your very own spot on the team for this season. Everyone of you will play all the way through all of the meets for this season.” Gasps and silent shock slowly gave way to excited muttering and giggling and then fist-pumping, jumping up in down in place, high-fives, dances in place, and group hugs, all set to a symphony of girly shrieks of joy. Coach Anna waited before continuing. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand…” her strict military discipline giving way to her flair for the dramatic. “Meeting the EXACT number — no more, no less,- of the National Junior Athletic Association regulation number means we can have a chance to go to the NJAA Championships in beautiful, sunny Miami this year!” This time the girls went absolutely nuts, jumping up and down, shaking hands, hugging each other, bumping chests, high-fiving each other again, slapping each other on the backs or backsides, or all of the above at once. Coach Anna blew on her whistle once and the chaotic noise of teenage girls talking excitedly quieted down. She gave her students a big grin. “It’s a big year coming up, girls…We've got a new assistant coach, too, and she's very excited for the chance to train students of her own. I see so many new and familiar faces among you, and I’m excited for the chance to meet and train you all.So enough chitchat, let’s get started!” She snapped her fingers and pulled out a clipboard with a pen attached by a thin chain.

“First things first. Roll call.” She put her pen to paper. “Shelly Anderson!” Shelly, a girl with and braided carrot-colored pigtails, raised her hand for “here.” “Paige Barnes!” A ponytailed, caramel-haired girl raised her hand. “Allison Cross!” A girl with freckles and light brown hair raised her hand. As Coach Anna went down the list, Jenny automatically, robotically ticked off a girl’s appearance, hair color, skin color, and leo color in her head- she had known most of them for so long she had the data memorized. “Danielle Estevez!” Dark shoulder-length hair, slight, attractive German-ish accent. “Janet Granger!” Slightly Goth girl with loose black curls, pale skin, eyeliner. “

“Are you sure about this?” The woman asked. The boy sighed. “Yes, I’m sure, Mom, we’ve been over this a hundred times.” The woman nodded. Her hands were steady on the red van’s steering wheel, but here eyes were filled with concern, and her hair swished as she nervously twitched her head, something she did when she was nervous. The swishing hair was short and dark brown, such a dark brown that at first glance it seemed black- the color of dark chocolate. The concern-filled eyes were green. The boy’s- that is, her son’s- hair and eyes were the same. “Are you outfitted correctly?” “Yes, mom. She’ll get me whatever I’ll need- and yes, I’m comfortable using it. Well, actually, no, I’m not physically comfortable using it, but I can tolerate it.” “Are you physically capable?” The woman had gotten her efficient checklist-style “interrogation” technique from double-whammy college degrees in journalism and psychology.”Yes, mom. She’s checked me out- she says I have a very good physique.” He yawned and stretched his arms, which like the rest of him, seemed lean and slim but were actually very strong, with an enormous amount of muscle distributed evenly along his body in most places. The only places that looked physically strong were his shoulders and hips, which seemed larger than the rest and so accentuated the thinness of his waist and gave an almost feminine curve and slimness to it.
“Are you mentally prepared?” She asked. “Yes, mom.” “You remembered what happened last time?” She warned. He hesitated. “Yes, mom…I made a big mistake last time. It won’t happen again.” A touchy silence filled the void of conversation in the car. The woman broke the awkward silence with another question. “What are your motivations?” She asked. He started to say something, then stopped. “I guess…I guess I really want to see her again. I like her, mom. I really do. And…I honestly enjoyed myself last time. I did.” “And you’re okay with everything? You’ll get teased; you know…you’ll be the only boy surrounded by girls.” He grinned. “I know. I’ll be the only boy, surrounded by attractive, athletic girls in tight clothing, with them all to myself and no other guys to bother me.” In the mirror, he could see her small smile. “That’s what I like about you, son… never afraid to try something new. Never something boring or ordinary, like ‘Mom, I want to try out for baseball,’ or, ‘Mom, I want to try out for basketball.’ You like to think outside the box.” She smiled, and this time the silence inside the car was a warm, companionable one, not an awkward, touchy one. And then she broke it, too. “Do you have any idea what might happen, son?” He sighed, then started to say something, then hesitated. “I…I don’t know, mom. I honestly don’t know.”

“Jennifer Johnson!” Jenny raised her hand, then looked at her own bright lime green leotard, black curls, and tan skin. “Gina Kelley!” Silver leotard, very pale, white-blond hair. “Ashei Leonardo!” African-American girl, black hair in cornrows, perfect white smile, very cheerful. “Cho Mei Ling!” Chinese, fierce almond-shaped eyes, feisty, long black hair tied back in a ponytail. “Emily Overton!” , short, black curly hair in a ponytail. “Elizabeth O’Reilly!” Green eyes, redhead, Irish,whom everyone always called Lee. “Emma Stocks!” Short, round-faced girl, freckles, shoulder-length brown hair, brunette, . “Lauren Ton!” Short, California blue-eyed blonde, golden curls like a princess’s, , feisty. After Lauren raised her hand, the girls all relaxed visibly, glad that roll call was over and they could start practice now. Suddenly Coach Anna stopped and snapped her fingers. “That’s what I needed to remember! I almost forgot! Ladies, I have an announcement to make. Those of you with a sharp eye for details will remember that this year we meet the exact regulation number enforced by the NJAA. The exact regulation number requires a backup, which is why we weren’t able to compete for the last two years . This year, we have a new backup member of the team.” Gasps were heard, anxious glances were exchanged, bare feet were shuffled uncomfortably.

Two years before they had had a backup member of the team- a girl named Amber Crue. She was beautiful, with a long blond French braid, bright green leotard, and a beautiful smile. She was slim and lithe and delicate, so acrobatic she seemed half monkey and half eagle, and she was cheerful, friendly, respectful, and perhaps best of all, modest. She excelled at every event (so much that Coach Anna jokingly told the other girls to injure themselves more often so she could compete) but her best was at the uneven bars, where Jenny swore she could practically fly.
Then one day at the NJAA championships, at the end of her routine, she tried an incredibly difficult move, and Jenny, and all the other girls, along with the millions of people who were watching, discovered Amber could not fly.The doctors should have been able to fix the broken bone, but when she went into the hospital, there were complications and she never came out. Everyone on the team attended the funeral, but afterwards, all the girls swore an oath that they would never let anyone replace Amber.

Coach Anna noticed the girls’ discomfort. “If you remember correctly, the NJAA regulation number consists of sixteen gymnasts and a backup,” she explained. “Our newest team member is new to most of you- only a couple of you have met Dari, and that was a long time ago.” For some reason, Jenny had the odd, slightly uncomfortable feeling Coach Anna was referring to her.

The red van pulled up into the parking lot of the Emerald Youth Athletics Academy. The woman paused. “You’re absolutely sure you want to do this?” The boy in the back seat reached out and took her hand. “Yes, yes I really do. And I really do like her. No, I love her.” She nodded. “I would say that you’re a little young for that kind of thing, but, considering the age I started a relationship with your father, well…I don’t really have any room to speak.” She chuckled nervously. The woman and the boy got out and went in. At the front desk, the young receptionist looked up. Her eyes were greeted by a woman and a boy so alike they could have been brother and sister rather than mother and son. Both were wearing black jackets and charcoal-gray pants, both had tans, both had strong chins, and both had scruffy dark-chocolate colored hair a shade of brown that was very close to black. The boy was very handsome-she wondered if he had a girlfriend. He looked a bit young for her, sadly. She smiled at him as he checked in, and he smiled back. He had a very nice smile-white teeth that contrasted brilliantly with his dark appearance. Despite the dark clothing and appearance, he seemed very nice- friendly, caring, and a little shy, not fearsome at all.

They checked in, then went down the hall until they came to a red door with sign over it that read “GYMNASIUM” in block capitals. This was slightly redundant, and the gym was actually one of several at the academy. They stopped at the door. The woman rested her hand on the door handle. “Are you..” The boy sighed, interrupting her. “Yes, I’m absolutely sure about this, mom. I really want to do this.” The woman nodded. “That’s good, but…that wasn’t what I was going to ask you. Will you…Would you… Are you…Are you going to wear…” For a journalist/psychiatrist/professional argument-winner, she fumbled over her words, badly. “What, mom?” The boy’s tone wasn’t annoyed. It was kind, and curious. “Will they make you wear a leotard?” She blurted out. The boy paused in reaching for the door handle, caught off guard. “I…I don’t mind if they do, mom. But I don’t know, mom. I just don’t know. His hand rested on hers, and on the door handle, for the briefest second. He squeezed her hand in that instant. Then, with a quick twist of the wrist, he turned the handle and pushed the door wide open.

“Dari Varrigan!” Silence in the gym. Not one of the girls spoke. “Dari Varrigan!” No answer. Dari Varrigan!” Coach Anna shouted for a third time. No answer, no one said “here.” A shadow of a scowl flickered across Coach Anna’s face. “Well, ladies, it looks like you needn’t be uncomfortable about our backup gymnast, because it appears our backup gymnast hasn’t showed up. Then her usual closed-mouth grin returned. “I’ll call it out one more time, not because I believe Dari will show, but because I’m too naively optimistic to realize the opposite. Dari Varrigan!” No answer. “Just as I thou-“ “Here.” Seventeen heads turned around in shock. The voice had come from behind them, from the entrance to the gymnasium, what was more, it was male.

The boy the voice belonged to was stepping through the doorway with one hand on the door handle and another on the strap of a backpack slung over his shoulder. He was very good-looking, with dark, casually scruffy hair so dark brown it seemed black, a strong chin, a tan, and brilliant green eyes staring intently and intensely at something about waist height-Jenny realized it was her backside. He was dressed- sadly- not in a leotard, but a dark leather jacket and charcoal colored pants. Despite the dark hair, intense eyes and biker jacket, the whole effect was not of fierceness or intensity, but a surprisingly soft, casual, quiet attitude. In fact, as she looked closer, the attitude and appearance started to look almost exactly like that belonging to… “Derek?” She asked. “That’s me.” He smiled his brilliant white smile.

“Mom, when do I get to take this off?”, Willy whined, one hand behind his pink-clad hip, the other hand on the bent knee of his bare, chalk-dusty leg. Light reflected off his shiny pink leotard as bright camera bulbs flashed in his vision, causing him to blink his mascara-shadowed eyes.

His mom adjusted the focus on her camera, squinting through the viewfinder at the skimpily-dressed figure before her. To the casual observer, the petite, demure young child, standing in front of a featureless black photographer’s backdrop and highlighted by large mounted lights, would have appeared a female gymnast, a cute young girl, blond, with twin curly braids, and dressed in a shiny pink leotard with black x-marks down the right side. Any random passerby would have considered the girl the picture of feminine cuteness—and cute Willy was, but a girl he was not, his feminine appearance merely the result of hours of laborious trimming, cutting, curling, painting, dabbing, and styling, from his mother—the work of a master makeup artist.

Willy’s mother nodded, proud of her work. No one would ever suspect that the sweet little gymnast was in fact a very unhappy boy, crossdressed against his will as a punishment for earlier crimes. His mother worked as a photographer for a gymnastics wear company, and had pulled some strings to get Willy’s sister Sally a modeling job. Willy had made the poor choice of stealing his nearly-identical twin sister’s pink leotard the day before she was due to wear it for a modeling photoshoot. When Willy’s mother caught him, she decided that, to teach him a lesson, he would be taking his sister’s place in the photoshoot—as a girl.

“Guess what, Willy?” She had said cheerfully at the time. “Don’t be sad. I’m not going to punish you for stealing your sister’s leotard. Since you clearly liked it so much, I’m going to let you wear it for the photoshoot instead! Won’t that be fun?”
No, Willy had thought, it would not be fun, and he was not having any fun right now.

Since Willy and Sally were twins, of the same age, weight, and height, and when made up, even their faces were hard to tell apart—unluckily for Willy. With Sally’s help, his mother had worked for hours on Willy’s makeup to totally transform him into the image of his female twin. She even had a special garment for him to wear underneath his leotard that totally disguised his masculine bulge—a choice that his mother considered quite generous, since the hiding of his true gender from the world would also spare him from utter humiliation when she posted the pictures of him en femme online.

“When we’re finished taking pictures of you, dear,” she said in response to his question, then made a frown, in response to her son-cum-daughter making the same expression. “Don’t grimace so much, Lily. It’s unladylike.”

“If you wouldn’t squirm so much, Lily, this wouldn’t take so long,” Ms. Bush was saying. Willy grimaced and tried to hold still as her makeup brush jabbed into the skin at the corner of his eye. He wanted to open his eyes so he could see what she was doing—but he’d warned to keep them closed, and he didn’t fancy the idea of getting powder in his eyes. Worse than that, his nose was itching and he desperately needed to sneeze—but he didn’t, terrified that a single sneeze would blow off all the powder and he’d have to go through the whole ordeal all over again.

He was sitting in a plastic chair in his sister’s dance studio, with his hair in braids and his face done up like a girl’s. The athletic center where his sister Sally did ballet and gymnastics had been rented by an athletics wear company, and they’d chosen Sally’s gymnastics team to model their new leotard catalogue. The basketball court had been converted into a photography studio, with black back-drops and lights set up everywhere, gymnastics apparatus set up for the girls to pose on, and girls in leotards everywhere—having their pictures taken, hanging out in giggling groups, comparing their leotards, doing splits, handstands or cartwheels, sitting down and playing on their phones or padding barefoot across the room to the photo stations. Clad in nothing but a tight pink leotard that left his arms, legs, and shoulders bare, with the makeup and his mother’s “special” underwear hiding all traces of boyishness between his legs, to anyone else he was just another girl—“Lily”. Only he, his sister, and his mom knew the truth.

This wasn’t the first time Willy had been dressed up like this—he’d first had to go through it after he stole his sister’s leotard the day before a photoshoot, and his mother made him take his twin’s place. He had learned his lesson and thought that it was over after that—so he had not been happy when he learned that he was so popular with the photographers and the other mothers that his mother had decided to bring “her daughter Lily” back again for the next shoot. As a “reward” for good behavior, his mom had promised him that she would tell the other moms he was a girl. He had protested and asked, “Mom, I don’t wanna be a girl!” She had smiled sweetly and asked “Would you rather I tell them you’re a bad boy who likes to steal his sister’s leotards?” He, horrified, had clammed up after that and solemnly resigned himself to wearing more leotards.

Not that wearing them was necessarily a bad thing. It was the strangest thing he’d ever worn, sort of like a single-piece bathing suit, and felt very alien to him. The material was so soft, thin, and light, he felt like was wearing a cushion of air—it made him feel rather naked, particularly with the cold air conditioning in the court brushing chilly breeze past his bare arms, legs, and shoulders. It didn’t’ seem to feel like there was anything between him and the cold air or the furniture. He felt the hard plastic of the chair on his back and under his butt as clearly as he traced the cold floor with his bare feet. It made him wish he had one of the tracksuit jackets like some of the other girls wore over their leotards—but no one had offered him one and he was afraid to ask an adult, for fear his voice would give him away. He felt very exposed, like every nook and cranny of his body was visible, and frightened that any minute now, someone would look between his legs and find out he was a boy.

However, though skimpy, it was very comfortable, fitting tight to his body and leaving all his limbs free to move in quite a refreshingly unrestricted way. When he sat down, flexed, or bent over, it stretched over his body without ever feeling uncomfortably tight. He liked watching the little creases the material formed over his body when he moved, and rubbing his hands over the soft, shiny material gave him the pleasurable sensation of moving from spandex to skin with little difference between the softness of his body and of the garment. He understood why Sally and the other girls liked them—somehow, it didn’t restrict his movements the way his regular clothes did, and he felt very airlight, and floaty, almost fairy-like, exhilaratingly free to move around in. He almost felt the urge to get up, dash across the gym and start doing some gymnastics moves , just to take advantage of his newfound feeling of freedom. He only wished that he was free to wear it somewhere where no one else could see him.

But then again, he reflected, it had, in a strange way, worked out perfectly. His mom was right. He had taken his sister’s pink leotard without asking—and now he was getting to wear as many as he could ever have hoped for. He just wished that he wasn’t being forced to wear them.

In a strange way, he was grateful for what his mom had done. At least no one thinks I’m a boy, he thought. The humiliation of being forced to dress up like and pretend he was a girl paled in comparison to the idea that everyone here knew he was a boy. He just hoped his mom had kept her promise—the way the other girls’ moms smiled at him and gushed over his cuteness was quite flattering, but at the same time, horrifying. Did they really think he was a girl? Was he just that feminine-looking? Or had his mother told them he was a boy, and were those sickeningly sweet smiles and compliments of “You’re such a pretty girl!” and “Your daughter is adorable!” thinly veiled mockery? He wasn’t sure which was worse.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now!” Ms. Bush said. He opened them to find her smiling at him. “You look very cute, sweetie,” she said. He almost said “Thanks” but stopped himself before he could reveal his masculine voice, and merely gave her a smile instead. She led him over to one of the photography stations, where they had him stand on a trampoline and strike some girly poses—embarrassing, but no worse than he’d had to do before. He just hoped that the makeup on his cheeks hid the blush of his embarrassment.

Someday, Willie hoped to himself, as the photographer snapped his photo, maybe this won’t be so embarrassing.

“Turn around now, honey! Don’t be shy! Let’s see some booty!”

With a grimace, Willy turned away til his pink-clad back was facing towards the camera, which flashed in his made-up eyes as the moms took several pictures. As much as he’d gotten used to wearing it, his cheeks turned as pink as the leotard he was wearing when the other girls giggled as he slipped into the “sassy” pose. “Nice wedgie!” one of them called out, confirming his fears. “Lean over a little!” one of the moms called. “Show a little hippage!” He nervously obliged, leaning over to place one hand on his knee, with his other foot trailing pointed-toes along the ground. SNAP. “That’s a wrap!” The photographer lady called. Another one of the moms waved at him. “Good work, Lily! We’re done over here, c’mon over and join the other girls!”

Willy obligingly hopped off the little trampoline and dashed across towards the other girls, enjoying the breeze of the wind rushing past his bare legs in the cold gym, and wishing that he could enjoy it more often than this—without anyone knowing about it, of course. His sister padded over to him, beaming triumphantly, and took his hand. From a distance, the two of them were completely identical, pretty, cherubic little girls with their hair in blonde braids, differing only in the colors of their leotards—Sally’s was blue, while Willy’s was pink. “Lookin’ good, sis!” she said and he blushed deeply, wishing that she wouldn’t try so hard to make this uncomfortable. She leaned in close and whispered in his ear.

“You know, Lily, if you’d wanted to wear a leotard, you should have just asked.”

And it was true. After returning home from one of her practices, his sister had been chatting excitedly nonstop about the photoshoot coming up. She was going to get to wear her favorite pink leotard and pose for a professional photographer and have her picture in a catalog she could show off to all her friends at school. She seemingly couldn’t shut up about how much she loved her leo and how much fun was to wear, so much that even Willy got a little bit curious. So when he found it lying, fresh out of the dryer and lying among a heap of his own clothing, he thought nothing about taking it into his room and examining it for a little while. He sat for a long time there, legs dangling over the edge of his bed, running his fingers over the soft, crinkly fabric, enjoying its smooth, warm, slick feel, until he got bored and left it under his pillow. He thought nothing of it until a couple days later when at the next practice, his sister came wailing in to their mother complaining that she couldn’t find her favorite leotard. Mom calmed her down and told her it was probably just misplaced somewhere, and for the next several days his sister scoured the entire house up and down looking for it. Several times, she even accosted him, asking “Did you steal my leotard?” “No!” he said indignantly every time, and his sister would return to her despairing search. Eventually, she gave up on it, until the night before her photoshoot would happen.

That was the night Willy made his fatal mistake. “Hey, Willy! I’m having trouble sleeping, can I borrow a pillow from your room?” His sister’s voice called from the other room. “Sure,” he said while brushing his teeth. He heard her footsteps enter his room and were lost in the low buzz of his toothbrush until she let out a piercing shriek so loud Willy jumped about a foot in the hair. Their parents came roaring out of the other room ready to kill whatever it was that had scared their daughter, and Willy exited the bathroom. He crashed into her as she came tearing out of his room. “What the hell is this?” she screeched, holding up a wad of bubblegum pink fabric, and as Willy’s eyes focused in on it, he realized his life had come to an end.

“Sally! Don’t swear!” their mom scolded, then looked up. “You found your leotard, Sal! Where on Earth did you find it?”

“In his room!” She cried, pointing a finger at him like a witness at a murder trial. “He had it the entire time!”

Their parents stared at him in a kind of flat disbelief. “Willy, is that true?” His mother asked in her horrifyingly emotionless “I’m not mad at you, just disappointed” voice. Under her gaze, Willy melted like a popsicle in the summer sun. “N-n-n-n-n-n-NO,” he finally managed to stammer out, confirming that exactly the opposite of his words was true. Their dad just shook his head slowly. “Son, what the actual heck? Aren’t you getting a little bit old for playing dress-up?”

Ms. Bush folded her arms and just stared at him. “Willy,” she said. “I can’t imagine why you stole your sister’s leotard, and frankly I don’t much care. You lied to her, you lied to all of us, and you caused everyone a lot of grief.”
“You nearly ruined my photoshoot!” Sally cried. “This is my favorite leotard, and you know it!”
“So? Couldn’t she just have worn another one?” He whined.

“That’s not the point and you know it, Willy. The point is that you lied to me, and your sister, repeatedly. And I can’t imagine why you’d lie to us, and that breaks my heart. Liking pink stuff is final, Willy. Stealing from your family members and lying about is not. If you’d told the truth from the beginning, we wouldn’t have been mad at you. If you wanted to see her leotard, you should have just asked.”

Once they’d gotten Sally calmed down, his parents sent the two of them off to bed, but Willy couldn’t sleep, and spent almost the whole night laying wide awake, staring up at the ceiling and contemplating what his punishment would be. Taking away his computer, his phone, and all his video games? Making him do Sally’s chores for the next three months? Calling school and getting him assigned extra homework forever? Selling him to the circus?

As it turned out, his eventual punishment was both much more lenient than anything he’d contemplated, and so, so much worse.

On the day of the photoshoot, their dad took Sally out for icecream and the mall, while their mom spent hours brushing, teasing, shaving, and combing “Lily” until she was “ready for her closeup”, as Mom said. It was the most humiliating experience of his life –at least until she warned him that if he tried to fight it, she’d let everyone know it was him, and then it would only be the second most humiliating. At first, Sally complained about him taking her place, whining that their mom was punishing her for something Willy had done—at least, she complained until she saw the pictures of Lily, and couldn’t stop laughing for the next hour and a half. And for the entire rest of that day, he had a new nickname – he was no longer Willy, or even “Lily”. Instead, to her, he was only “Leotard Girl”.

Passing him in the hallway. “Morning, Leotard Girl.” Calling from outside their bathroom. “Hey, are you done in there, Leotard Girl?” Knocking on the door of his room. “Hey, Leotard Girl, I think I left one of my books in your room, can you look for it for me?” Sitting at the dinner table. “Hey, Leotard Girl, can you please pass the mashed potatoes?” Until Dad put his foot down and reminded Sally that “Honey, Lil—Willy does not go to gymnastics practice five days a week, three hours a day, and spend all of that time in a leo. So if there’s anyone who ought t have that name for running around all day in a goofy pink leotard, it’s you.”
“It’s not goofy!” Sally cried and so on it went.

The first time his mom dragged him into the gymnastics studio, and that sorrowfully, shamefully, he kicked off his pink flip-flops, pulled off his “Gym Princess” hoodie, and stepped out of his Hello Kitty athletic shorts, he felt like he was going to die. When he stood there in nothing but his sister’s bubblegum-pink leotard, with all the other girls and gym moms cooing and “awwwing” over how “Lily” looked in it, he felt sure he was going to die. But he didn’t die that day. He didn’t die when he first pulled the leotard on and felt how soft and tight it was all over his body. He didn’t die when they made him do all kinds of super weird stretches that he’d never done before, and never thought he could do. He didn’t die when they had him grab his foot with his hand and lean forwards on the other foot, all pretty and stuff. He didn’t die when the other girls complimented his painted nails and makeup. He didn’t die when his mom spent what felt like hours teasing her hands through his hair, tying it into long, blonde, girly braids and intricate knots that felt cute and practical all at once. He didn’t die when they gave him a whole bunch of pretty, soft, lovely leotards to wear, besides the pink one that was so girly and embarrassing. He didn’t even die when the photographer told his mom they were so impressed with his modeling, they’d like Sally’s “twin sister” to come back next time, and when she said yes without even checking with him first. He lived, through it all. And each time it happened, he learned to enjoy it a little more.

In retrospect, it was kind of a win-win situation for all of them.

“C’mon, Lily! Come over to the trampoline,” his mom called as he emerged from the changing room in a royal blue sheen. “Sasha and Kira want a photo!” His mom called. Lily eagerly obliged, running quickly over to join the two older girls on the little mini-trampoline thing. Sasha and Kira were almost a decade older than him, both very pretty. Sasha was the taller one, with an All-American figure and supermodel’s smooth face, and long blonde hair that looked great in contrast to her bright pink leotard. Kira was the workhorse, with huge muscular hips and shoulders, and limbs to match, with a slightly rounder face, but a super-friendly smile. Her leotard was a cool silver-grey, and her hair was light brown. Lily’s not-quite-pubescent mind was still too young for girls, and would have instantly rejected any notion that he found them, or any girls, so pretty—but his almost-pubescent body was not nearly so adamant, and although Willy did not yet properly know of such things, years later he would be grateful for the cup-underwear he was wearing underneath his leotard, especially when each of them got on either side of
him, placed a strong, soft hand on each of his shoulders, and clamped his body between their hips as he put his hands on his own and smiled.

“You are so adorable!” The tall pretty blonde girl said. “I wish my sisters were as well-behaved as you.” The other smiled down at him, then it faded to a look of concern. “Oops. Looks you’ve got a wedgie problem.” Kira expertly leaned down and picked the fabric out of his buttcrack, until it snapped back against his butt with a little smack that made him squeak in surprise. The others laughed, and he felt ashamed until they both put a hand on each of his shoulders and squeezed up close to him, til the three of them were almost snuggling. Between their warm, strong, muscular bodies, strong arms wrapped protectively around his shoulders, he felt comfortable and safe, like a little baby bird in a nest or something. Comfortable and free and safe to be a boy who wore leotards, and had his hair and makeup done, and nobody knew about it, and
he wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.

“Oh, you know, my other one’s the real diva. Loves the spotlight, always has to be the center of attention. Lily here’s the quiet one, very shy. Makes her that much cuter, don’t you think?” his mom replied to Sasha’s mom.

“She’s so elegant, you oughta enroll her,” Sally’s gymnastics coach was saying. “I’m sure Sally would be thrilled to have her twin on the team with her.” “I might have to,” Mrs. Bush said, laughing.
“Would you like that, sweetie?” The teacher asked. “We can get you started in gymnastics and you can practice with your sister. I taught her everything she knows, I’m sure you’ll pick it up right away.'"

“I’d like that,” he said, unthinkingly, then his face flushed in horror when he realized he’d said it out loud. Willy was, as boys always are, supremely confident in his own outward masculinity. Fortunately for him, what he never considered was that his still prepubescent voice sounded little different from his sister’s—and wearing her leotard, nobody was likely to question whether he was a girl. His terrified embarrassment registered only as delicate shyness. “Oh, now, don’t be shy,” Miss said, laughing. “There’s nothing to worry about!”

And inside, he knew she was right.

“Only girls so far, I’m sure she’ll be delighted to know. No icky boys to give them cooties!”

“Mom, will you tell them I’m not a girl?” He asked, when the others weren’t listening. Only Sally heard, and gave him a reassuring, but still slightly evil smile.

“I don’t know, Sweetie. But one thing is for sure, you can be a girl any time you want to b a girl. And your sister, your father and I are totally okay with that. And one thing I can say for sure…..you’ll be wearing leotards either way.”

And some, Lily thought he was okay with that.