“Gerald. Would you mind telling me what you think you’re doing?”

Mum’s voice was quiet and controlled, and enough to make the blood freeze in my veins.

I swallowed hard and tried to think through the rising panic. To be perfectly honest, I had no idea what I thought I was doing, so answering the question was going to be a challenge.

Now what I was actually doing, that was easy. I was wandering about the house in Mum’s clothes, pretending – with limited success – to be a girl.

But why I was doing it; what I thought I was doing… I’m not sure there was much of a thought process going on there at all.

I’d been doing it for some weeks now, as and when the opportunity arose. I could vaguely remember the first time. Dad was at work, Mum had gone out shopping and I was alone in the house. There was nothing on TV and I’d been bored. Searching for something new to stimulate my brain, I’d wandered into the utility room and, before I realised what I was doing, I picked some of Mums clothes out of the ironing basket.

The first thing I’d found had been a shortish dress Mum liked to wear when she went out with Dad. It was bright red and made out of a deliciously soft, stretchy fabric. It wasn’t so much the softness of the clothes that attracted me though, but rather the feeling of softness that grew inside of me as I held it and contemplated…

I didn’t even think. Carried on a wave of sensation, I stripped out of my jeans and tee-shirt, and pulled the dress over my head.

It had been… There aren’t words. At least not words that are good enough. I felt like I was coming alive in a whole new way. The dress was too big; it hung loose on me, and fell to my knees, whereas on Mum it only came to mid-thigh. It didn’t matter though, this delicious, cool sensation washed through me, a little like terror, but not so strong, not so wild. It left me breathless and panting, and feeling wonderful. It was like anything was possible. I could do anything. I could fly, I could leap tall buildings, I could be… happy; content.

For a while.

I didn’t keep the dress on long that first time. I couldn’t remember how long ago Mum had left, and the thought of being caught was, well, not something I wanted to contemplate.

With a surprising amount of reluctance, given how recent the discovery and how short the time I’d indulged myself, I pulled the dress off over my head, and put my clothes back on. The dress went back in the basket, loosely folded like I’d found it, or as near as I could recall.

Back in the living room, I sat on the sofa with my knees hugged to my chest, still a little breathless from just the memory of how it had felt. Why had it affected me so much? Going to Alton Towers and riding Oblivion for the first time, or the Black Hole. They’d been exciting, exhilarating, all the things stuff like that should be. This was different; in a way, so much more intense. It was like waking up for the first time and realising I’d spent all my life till then asleep.

I don’t remember how long I sat like that, but I was still in the same position when I heard the key in the lock and Mum calling out that she was back. It was like time had stopped, except that the clock was telling me the morning was over.

I ambled out into the kitchen to help Mum put everything away, and the surreal quality of the day receded.

I couldn’t ignore what had happened though. The memory stayed with me all through the following week, nagging at me, demanding that I revisit the experience. I couldn’t do much about it during the week though, so instead, I planned for it, and when Saturday came round again, I was ready.

Dad went off to work, as usual. I plonked myself in front of the idiot box, as usual. Mum pottered about around the place, seemingly forever, but eventually, she gathered her things together and headed for the door.

I feigned indifference, pretending to be entranced by whatever junk Nickelodeon happened to be pumping out at that time until the door closed.

I was out of my seat and up the stairs as soon as she was out of sight. It’s as well she hadn’t forgotten anything, otherwise I’d have had to explain myself all the sooner.

I watched from my parents’ bedroom window until I saw her climb on the bus. I figured I had at least two hours, and I intended to make the best use of it that I could. I went through her drawers, looking for the things I knew were there to find. In retrospect, I have to admit what I was doing was a little creepy, but the anticipation of what I knew was to come had me intoxicated.

I went the full hog that first time; that first real time. Not just the red dress, but a silky satin burgundy camisole and a pair of sheer tights. The way they felt against my skin, the way they made me feel inside, I thought I would explode from the joy bubbling up inside me.

Two hours went by in a flash. Conscious of how people would react if they found out, I kept away from the windows; closed the curtains in some cases. I wandered around the house doing all the same sorts of things I’d normally do, watch TV, play with stuff, make myself a snack, that kind of thing, but it felt so different, so amazingly different.

The phone rang at one point. Just some telesalesman, but I could feel my heart thumping as I declined his kind offer to replace our boiler for free (or whatever). If only he’d known that the boy he’d been talking to had been wearing a dress…

Was that why this felt so amazing? I remembered something Dad had said one time about forbidden fruits tasting the sweetest. He’d explained what he meant when I’d asked. Did this feel so amazing because I was doing something that I shouldn’t be allowed to do; that other people would be upset if they knew about it?

No, it couldn’t be. I felt different in all sorts of ways. I felt softer, gentler, and strangely, more me.

I kept an eye on the clock, and after an hour and a half of heady delight, I went upstairs and changed back.

It was a harsh return to reality. Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened. One of Dad’s favourites. Dr Seuss, I think he said, and it does sound a bit like something the Cat in the Hat would say. Easy to say as well; much harder to put into practice.

I’d been careful to put things back exactly where I’d found them. The dress back in its place, the wardrobe door partially closed, just so. The camisole, folded as neatly as I could manage and back in its drawer. The tights, a little stretched from me wearing them, but I assumed, hoped perhaps, that they’d shrink back if I left them.

Mum came home an hour later. Enough time for me to get over the withdrawal.

That had become my pattern for the following weeks. Monday through Friday marking time and planning for my next excursion into girlhood. Saturday morning, waiting impatiently for Mum to go out so I could indulge myself. The rest of the weekend hanging onto the memories of the feelings.

It had all worked so well until today. Maybe I’d become complacent. Certainly I’d stopped watching and waiting for her to get on the bus, but what was the point? She always went into town shopping on a Saturday morning. She never forgot anything. So why was she back so soon today?

I needed some way to answer my mum, but all that filled my head were terrified proto-thoughts. Wondering how she’s caught me, what I’d done to give myself away, what she was going to say to Dad.

That was going to be the worst.

Knowing Dad, he’d listen in silence as I, with much prompting from Mum, told him what I’d done. He’d look sad and despairing, maybe ask a question or two. Then would come more silence.

That was Dad’s superhero power, the silence. It would have been easier to endure if he’d gone off on a rant, or introduced my head to the back of his hand. At least I imagined it would be. I had nothing to compare against except my imagination. Dad was too gentle; he wouldn’t, possibly couldn’t, so much as yell at me, and as for hitting me..?

There had been this one time he’d laid into me. Tried at least. I can’t even remember why. I’d done something wrong, something that merited more than the silence. So he’d hit me. I know he did because I’d felt something, but there hadn’t been that much to feel. Mum doesn’t have a lot of strength, not much more than an average woman, I suppose, but the few times she’d been mad enough to get physical, it had hurt a flipping site more than Dad’s pathetic attempt.

But even Mum at her worst never hurt as much as Dad’s look of silent disappointment.

Not helping. What could I say? Why was I wearing a dress and tights, and a pair of heels a couple of sizes too large for me? How on Earth had she caught me unawares like that?

I’d been so careful. I’d made sure the clothes went back exactly where they’d come from; same dressing table drawer, same gap in the wardrobe. I’d waited until Mum had said she was going out to the shops, I’d waited till she’d grabbed her keys and left, I’d waited another ten minutes to be sure she’d gone and wasn’t coming back in a hurry, so why hadn’t I heard her? How come she was back already when I should have had at least a couple of hours in my fantasy world?

Looking back, maybe I hadn’t been that careful. The tights still had that stretched look about them whenever I put them back, and try as I might, I’d never managed to fold her underwear as neatly as she did. Nearly but not quite, never quite enough.

I’d been acting differently too. I could tell because Mum had been giving me odd looks recently.

So it shouldn’t have been such a surprise that she’d noticed, set a trap, sprung it so neatly and caught me in my very secret identity.

An idea scratched at the edges of my brain. Some poor, bedraggled, half-starved and feral thought, pawing at the door, waiting to be noticed. Something I’d said. Maybe two somethings.

Superhero powers, secret identities. It was an answer of sorts, and it was on my tongue before I’d had a chance to review it for idiocy.

Worst luck.

“I’m being a superhero,” I announced.

It sounded stupid even as I said it, and Mum’s twitching eyebrow told me all I needed to know about what she thought.

The trouble is, once you’ve started with a lie, you have to follow through. No matter how poor the opening gambit, you have to build on it. The moment you change your mind, you’re caught in the lie, and you’ve lost control of the situation. Nothing you can say after that has any credibility. I had no idea how or even if I could pull anything off after such a disastrous start, but I had to try. My ever-fertile imagination kicked in, drawing, as was so often the case, the seeds of an idea from something I’d seen on TV.

“Yeah, my name’s Spandexia,” I struck what I hoped would be an impressive superhero pose, legs apart, fists planted firmly on my hips, jaw raised and jutting out proudly, “and woe betides any criminal I meet on the streets.”

There’s no way it should have worked. I mean what sort of superhero would go around in an elastane dress and oversized heels? Still, where Mum’s involved, cute and silly also has a chance of working whenever logic fails.

I certainly looked cute standing proud and defiant in that red dress.

Silly too.

Mum’s mouth began to twitch and I knew I’d won.

I just wasn’t prepared for the prize.

“Come on,” she said, pointing at the stairs. “I think I have something a little more suitable.”

I followed her up to her and Dad’s bedroom, clomping carefully along in her oversized pumps. It took me longer to climb the stairs than her, largely because of the footwear malfunction. I made it through her doorway in time to see her pulling down a suitcase from the top of the wardrobe.

“You’d better take those clothes off,” she said as she worked at the straps holding the old case closed.

I tried not to show my disappointment as I stepped out of the shoes and pulled the dress and camisole over my head. I was about to slide the tights off when she stopped me.

“You can keep those,” she said, “though I think we’d all be better off if you wear them with some pants. Yours probably won’t look right under the circumstances, so give these a go.”

She threw me a pair of pants from her dressing table. They were white and plain; a lot like mine except without a fly, and made of a stretchy material that was as soft as anything I’d found in Mum’s wardrobe. I pulled them on over the tights, grateful to be able to hide my bits, even though Mum wasn’t paying me any attention.

“Here we go,” she said pulling something out of the suitcase. “This would be much more appropriate for Spandexia don’t you think?”

She held up a hot pink catsuit in some soft, shimmering material. Sort of satiny, like the camisole, but stretchy. It was a kind of low cut at the front, but went all the way up the back, with long sleeves and legs.

“I bought this for a party a few years before you were born. I only wore it the once, and I doubt I could get away with it now. Try it on.”

I wasn’t about to say no. For one thing, Mum still had the option of getting angry with me and getting Dad involved. For another, just the sight of the costume had my adrenal gland working overtime.

It was easy enough to climb into. Big gap at the top and stretchy throughout, it was just a case of sticking my arms and legs in until they came out the other end.

Except they didn’t exactly.

There was enough length in the legs to cover me beyond my toes, and the arms were much the same. The arms were easy to fix as Mum just rolled back the cuffs until my hands appeared. The legs she pondered a little longer before diving back into the suitcase.

“I bought these to go with the catsuit,” she said holding up a pair of pink boots. I thought they’d be a bit big for you, but maybe with the legs of the suit over your feet as well. Let’s try something.”

She rolled the loose ends of the legs up until the material was smooth all the way down to my toes and I had a small amount of material at the end, then she slipped my feet into the boots, settled them until I said they felt comfortable enough, and zipped them up.

I stood up and almost fell straight back down. I hadn’t noticed the height of the heels until it felt like I was almost standing on tip-toes. It took a few moments, but I found my balance. The wad of material at the end of my toes served, not only to fill out the boots, but to give me some padding there as well. It felt weird, but comfortable, and oh so amazingly wonderful.

“No, that won’t do.” Mum was staring at my middle. I followed her gaze and found a bulge spoiling the appearance of my costume. “Probably why Superman wears his undies outside, don’t you think? I don’t have anything that would work like that, but we could try this.” She pulled out a piece of wispy, floaty material. It was light mauve – lilac, mum told me – and so lightweight it seemed to ignore gravity, floating about by its own set of rules instead. “It’s not big enough to make a cape, but it will serve for this purpose.”

She wrapped it around my middle, which was when I noticed the waistband and all the fixings on it. She stepped back, nodding approvingly to herself.

Grabbing me by the shoulders, she steered me in front of the full-length mirror in her wardrobe.

“So, Spandexia, what do you think?”

I think she was trying to humiliate me a little bit. There was something of smugness as well as quiet amusement about her face, but I didn’t care because what I really thought, where it mattered, was that I looked amazing. It wasn’t quite a fit, still a bit baggy in the crotch, but that was as much hidden by the wrap-around skater skirt as my embarrassing bulge. It didn’t matter that I had short hair, my features were still young enough, and I looked naturally girly enough, that all it took was the clothes to transform my appearance.

I couldn’t keep the delight from my face as I looked up at her, just as she couldn’t quite keep the concern from hers, given my reaction.

“Well, if you like them that much, you can keep them.”

I squealed. I’m not usually given to girly reactions like that, but it seemed appropriate.

“Take that lot off before your dad gets home though, won’t you? I’m not sure he’s ready for something like this just yet. To be honest I’m not sure I am.

“And let me have it all back when you do change out of it. I’ll take it in a little for you.”

-oOo-

Spandexia spent the afternoon helping Mum. She – it had to be a she looking like this – hoovered the house from top to bottom, cleaned the bathrooms, unloaded the dishwasher. They were the kind of jobs that I usually did, or at least helped with, around the house, but this time I did them all with a will and smile. The heels became second nature after a while, but the novelty of being dressed like this didn’t wear off. The stretch of the fabric and the way it pulled against my arms and legs as I moved about, the occasional glimpses I caught of myself in mirrors and windows as I made my way around the house, they were all gravy on the roast beef of my day. I did keep half an eye on the clock, but it was Mum who let me know when playtime was over.

Again there was a sense of stepping back into the shadows as I climbed out of the lycra bodysuit and into my jeans and tee. I toyed with wearing the tights and pants under my jeans, but decided against it. The full experience was too massive, too important, to cheapen it with halfway houses.

Mum appeared at my door and collected the catsuit and boots. She had a tape measure in her hand and instructed me to strip down to my smalls again so she could figure out how big I was. A few minutes, a few measures, a few notes later and she backed out of the room. The dejection in my face didn’t pass unnoticed, and she offered me a sympathetic smile before nodding at the tights and pants on the floor.

“Don’t let your dad see those, eh? You can put them in the washing hamper in the bathroom, and I’ll make sure they’re ready for you for next Saturday.”

I dressed and did as I was told. By the time Dad came home, I was on the X-box, but not particularly enjoying myself. It was a good enough game, but I got to a bit that was too hard. I switched the machine off before I lost my rag with it.

The week went by much as usual. School wasn’t much of a challenge. I’d do the work I was set, then spend the rest of the lesson daydreaming. In the past, I’d asked for additional work, but now all I wanted to do was be Spandexia, and if I couldn’t be her for real, then I’d find ways of being her in my mind.

In English lessons, I’d write about her exploits, vanquishing her evil foes, most of whom were caricatures of some the less pleasant amongst my peers, their names usually poorly disguised anagrams of the original. Tom Marsh, for instance, became the Mmosh Rat in my stories. Our English teacher was either extremely dense or extremely wise though, because he never let on that he knew I was writing about my classmates.

Science, I’d do the experiment or whatever, then spend what remained of the lesson designing cool, futuristic weapons and gadgets for Spandexia. Geography, I’d read and write what I was told, then draw maps of Spandexia’s secret island hideaway. History, I’d learn the dates and names and events, then I’d work on Spandexia’s past.

Descended from the deposed Russian royal family, her great-grandparents had drifted slowly West into Europe, settling in Frankfurt and setting up a small pawn broker’s shop. Her grandfather had inherited the business, but he and his wife were later killed in a robbery, leaving their only daughter to be raised in an orphanage, where she’d grown to hate criminals and love the law. She’d trained as a barrister and indoctrinated her daughter with a strong sense of right and wrong.

The system didn’t work though. The legal process was flawed, allowing too many criminals to evade justice. One such, a high-level criminal, reputed to be a descendent of one of Rasputin’s illegitimate children, bribed judge and jury to escape punishment and vowed revenge on all who had opposed him, including Spandexia’s mother.

She wasn’t called Spandexia then. She had been christened Svetlana Panin-Metzger, and she’d been at school the day her parents died. Her father had gone to meet his wife for lunch, and both were inside the courthouse when the bomb exploded. There were sixty-two casualties of the blast. Sixty innocent strangers, and Svetlana’s two parents.

Like her mother, she finished her childhood as a ward of the state. Grief gave way to anger, and a drive to see justice served. Everyone knew who had been responsible for the bombing. He as much as admitted to it every time his arrogant sneer appeared on television, but there was never enough evidence to convict him. Her parents went unavenged, and the experience convinced her that the law was too weak to see the evil punished, so she committed herself, body, mind and soul to becoming someone who could do something about the situation.

She became a gymnast, and only failed to make the Olympic team because of an injury in practice a few weeks before the games. It didn’t matter to her; she wasn’t interested in accolades of that sort. Instead, she redirected her athleticism down the routes of the martial arts, becoming a proficient fighter in all every discipline she could find that benefitted from her flexibility and dexterity.

She applied her mind to mathematics, the sciences, engineering, languages, anything that would give her an edge in the war she intended to wage against crime. When she finally completed her formal education, she felt she was more than ready for the task she had set herself.

Shortly after she left school, she was contacted by a firm of solicitors. Other members of Svetlana’s family had been searching for her grandparents since shortly after they fled their homeland, and the publicity surrounding her parents’ deaths had brought her to their attention. They bided their time, checking her history and following her academic career closely until she came of age. Then they came forward, contacting her through their legal representatives, and welcomed her back into their midst. It meant she inherited a small fortune; enough to set her up with all the equipment and resources she needed to become a vigilante. It also meant she had a family again, but by then she’d lived alone long enough to develop a wilful independence, so she declined her grandparents’ advances and refused to become the debutant they wanted.

The little girl she had been the day her parents died had been suspended in time, even as the justice machine she turned herself into grew from that point. Her little girl’s love of pinks and purples was reflected in her costume, and the name she adopted. Adapting it from her real name, it was both playful and a little naïve. It worked for her though. The bad guys would be unable to take anyone with a name like Spandexia seriously, right up until the moment when they realised that maybe they should have.

By the time she felt ready to face the criminal world, Manfred Mösh, the man who had arranged the killing of her parents, and who was now known as the Mmosh Rat, had moved his operation to England. Spandexia followed, immersing herself in the anonymity of her new environment, she adopted the alter ego of a young man. She wasn’t so physically well-endowed as to find it difficult to pass as a member of the opposite sex, and it gave her perfect cover. As Spandexia’s reputation grew, anyone who wanted her dead would be searching for a young woman to kill. By jumping the gender gap, she was giving herself another layer of disguise.

You can see I had a lot of spare time in history.

Friday came, and with it the weekend. Friday night was usually family time. We’d order in and watch a couple of films from BlinkFilmFlix. The way it worked, I’d get to choose the first one, and Mum and Dad the second. That way if they chose something too schmaltzy, I could sneak off to my room and leave them to do whatever parents do when their kids really don’t want to know.

I chose Aeon Flux after considering and rejecting both Elektra and Catwoman. They went on the list as possible future Fridays along with the two Tomb Raider films.

Mum gave me a few concerned looks during the film. I mean it was usual that I’d choose something with a bit of action, but this was the first time I’d deliberately gone for one with a female good guy. I just returned her glances with a steady gaze. I knew what I wanted, and she’d actually shown me the way.

Mum and Dad’s choice wasn’t too bad for once, so I stayed up to watch it with them. They picked Inception, which had loads of cool effects and guns and fighting and all sorts of things. I’m not sure I followed much of the plot – something about people inserting themselves into other people’s dreams. All sorts of stuff about alternate realities. I enjoyed the action, but the storyline was about as confusing as the Matrix.

It was late by the time the credits started scrolling up the screen, and I was yawning like a hippo. It didn’t take much to persuade me to head off to bed.

-oOo-

I guess I’m kind of a morning person. It doesn’t seem to matter how late I go to bed, I’m usually awake before my alarm. Despite my tiredness the previous night, Saturday morning was no exception.

I’m not sure if I get it from Mum or Dad or a bit of both, because it seems the two of them are usually awake before me, no matter how early I get up.

The only time I remember this not being true was a Christmas a few years back. Mum and Dad remind me of it often enough, so I don’t think I’ll ever be allowed to forget it. Apparently, one year when I was too young to know any different, I had run into their room and bounced on the bed in my excitement because Santa had been, not realising that four thirty in the morning was not an acceptable time to wake them, especially since they had both been working hard preparing for Christmas until well past midnight, and had only slept a few hours before my interruption.

This Saturday held something of the excitement of that Christmas. I woke to the sounds of Mum moving about the house, and climbed out of bed to use the bathroom.

Mum was in my room when I came back. She was sitting on the bed, waiting, something pink and glistening in her hands.

I stopped in the doorway, the excitement bringing weakness to my legs until I didn’t trust them to carry me across the room.

“You know you don’t have to do this don’t you?” Mum seemed as nervous as me, but in a different way. “When I suggested this last week it was a sort of joke. I think I was interested to see how far you’d be prepared to go with it, but if you’d rather not…”

“Can I see it?”

A little uncertainly, she held up the shimmering spandex. I haven’t mentioned before, but Mum’s a whizz with her sewing machine. I’d been looking forward to seeing what she’d achieve, and she didn’t disappoint.

Whatever her feelings now, she’d evidently been caught up in the moment when she reclaimed the suit the previous week. Apart from the colour and texture of the material, it was almost unrecognisable.

Somehow she’d taken in the seams at the shoulders and sides, making the suit shorter in the body and tighter; closer to my frame. She’d shortened the sleeves to match my arms, and then she’d used some of the excess material to put a heel into the leggings, shaping and sewing them shut at the end so they had feet to them. The neckline was higher somehow, with an insert of thin lilac material from the skater skirt, so more of my chest would be hidden. The skirt itself had been shortened so it no longer overlapped, but formed a single, complete layer, sewn into the waist of the suit. As finishing touches, more of the reclaimed spandex had been sewn across the back to give a short, decorative cape, only long enough to hang halfway down my back, and she’d sewn another piece of the skirt – cut into a jagged S, a little like a lightning bolt – into the front.

It was perfect, and in my excitement, I all but snatched it out of her hands.

“Don’t forget these,” she told me, handing me the pants and tights from the previous week. She smiled, but there was an odd, concerned sadness about the expression. “You should wash your hair as well. It’s getting a bit greasy, and, well, it wouldn’t look right.”

I dropped the clothes on the bed and ran back to the bathroom, showering properly and doing the biz with my locks as instructed.

Mum was still waiting when I got back. I was impatient to try on the costume, but she wouldn’t let me put on anything more than the pants and tights; pants first this time. She made me sit down on the bed while she sprayed something on my hair and attacked it with a brush and hair drier. It took her longer than usual, and she seemed to be pulling it in all sorts of different directions. I trusted her though, so I sat as still as my fidgeting rear would allow, and let her do her thing.

When I finally put the catsuit on, it was like sliding into a second skin. It was tight against my body everywhere it covered, already different and so much better than last week. It felt more comfortable in the feet without the rolled up excess of the leggings at my toes, and, I don’t know, the whole thing just seemed so much more right.

The catsuit had a breast band sewn in. Somehow Mum had inserted two small pieces of stuffing. There wasn’t much to them, but they made all the difference in the world.

That amazing, cold feeling washed through me again. There was a catch to my breath as I settled everything into place and turned to Mum with a smile on my face a mile wide.

Her returned smile was a little wider than it had been, a little less tense, but it still didn’t reach her eyes. Not quite. I’m not sure I truly noticed that at the time, but I see it in my memories. Just then all I knew was that things weren’t quite right; Mum wasn’t quite happy, but she was trying to be.

She passed me a few extras, a small handful.

First were the boots. They weren’t Mum’s. Last week they’d seemed almost comically large, and without the rolls of legging in front of my toes, they wouldn’t have fit today. Instead Mum had bought me a new pair in my size.

They didn’t come as high up my calf as Mum’s had, and they only had dinky little heels, but they were mine; Mum had bought them for me, and that made them all the more special. They were as good a fit as the redesigned catsuit, and they felt so much better.

Next came a wide belt. Not entirely necessary, but it fit snugly around my waist, and it had pouches around its length. A bit like Batman’s utility belt, only in a lurid pink. Darker than the catsuit, but enough of a very similar hue to match it.

“Because I don’t have pockets,” I said grinning up at Mum, who nodded and widened her own brittle smile.

Last was a tiara, made from a thin band of golden metal, with a single, large lilac stone in its centre. I settled it into place, feeling the odd way my hair now stood away from my head.

She took me by the shoulders and guided me through to the bedroom she shared with Dad.

“I’m not sure Gerald’s appropriate anymore, is it?”

I couldn’t speak, so I shook my head slowly from side to side. Short as it was, there was a slight mobility to my hair. The rest was, well, so different.

“What do you think?”

I think she may have been hoping that I was enough of a boy to be horribly embarrassed by the pinks and purples, the tight clothes and the skirt. I would have liked to give her what she wanted, but I couldn’t. I felt amazing, and I couldn’t hide it.

“I think it’s perfect, Mum.”

“I could always make you a boys superhero costume if you prefer; Spiderman or Batman, or anything else.”

I couldn’t keep my eyes off my reflection. I shook my head, biting my lip a little as I stepped forward to take in every detail.

“I’m not sure I feel happy calling you Spandexia, and like I said, I can’t see a Gerald anywhere, can you?”

I couldn’t keep the smile off my face as I turned, shaking my head.

“How about Svetlana?” I asked, thinking about my extracurricular activities during the previous week.

“Svet… Where did you come up with that name?”

“It was just an idea I had.”

“Can we shorten it to Lana?”

Like Lana Lang from Smallville. She ended up as a superhero in the end, didn’t she? I liked it and squeezed a few more millimetres out of my smile. I’d have to stop soon as my jaw was beginning to ache.

“Well Lana. I know housework doesn’t sound exactly like the sort of thing a superhero would normally do, but how about it?”

Which is how I spent the morning. However much housework and superheroing didn’t go together, I still managed to do it all superfast, and by the time afternoon came round, I’d done all my chores and helped Mum with a few of hers. The house sparkled, and we both settled down for a well-deserved lunch together.

-oOo-

“I get the impression you’ve enjoyed yourself this morning,” Mum said, spearing a tomato and transferring it to her mouth.

I nodded my head enthusiastically and grinned around a huge mouthful of sausage sandwich.

“If you had the choice, do you think you’d like to be a girl all the time?”

My sandwich froze halfway into my mouth. I’m not sure why I thought I might avoid questions of this nature, given my recent enthusiasm for pink spandex, but somewhere in my apparently immense capacity for self-denial, I’d allowed myself to hope things might continue as normal.

It wasn’t just the question itself though. It was also her stillness and the quiet control in her voice which told me this wasn’t a question to be taken lightly. I withdrew the half-eaten sandwich and placer it back on its plate. It took a while for me to formulate a reply; long enough that Mum tilted her head on one side, watching me.

“I’m not sure,” I said, eventually. I know; well worth waiting for. “It’s complicated.”

“How is it complicated?” Another forkful of salad disappeared into Mum’s mouth. She was deliberately trying to keep things normal, to keep me at ease, emphasising how far from normal things actually were. A bitter, acrid taste was rising in my throat, threatening to throttle me. I swallowed it down with some difficulty and hunted carefully for my next words.

“I know I’m a boy,” I started slowly, carefully. “I have a willy and everything. Everyone else knows it as well, which means they expect me to behave like a boy. My friends, my teachers, you and Dad. As long as I do the things that other boys do, then I’m normal; I’m behaving the way I should and nobody’s upset.”

“But…”

“But when I’m dressed like this, everything’s different. I feel more… more normal to me, I suppose; more like the me I want to be. I feel more natural. It’s like I don’t have to try so hard to be the person I am when I’m like this.”

“So you would like to be a girl?”

I screwed up my face in frustration. I mean yes, of course I would, but it’s not just about me is it?

“The thing is, I don’t think you’re that happy about me being like this, are you? It’s been an amazing morning, and I’ve loved being this way, but there have been times, when you didn’t think I was looking, you kind of looked worried, or upset a bit.”

“Well surely that’s my problem, isn’t it? Gerald, I want you to be happy.”

“It’s not just you though. Last week you wanted me to change before Dad came home. I expect you’re going to want me to again today, so I’m guessing Dad would be even more upset.”

Mum opened her mouth to respond, but she couldn’t think how. A few seconds later, I continued.

“And my friends at school would all laugh at me if they saw me like this.”

“Well, maybe they’re not such great friends if they do that…”

“Except they’re all I’ve got, Mum. It’s not like there’s an unlimited supply of people lining up to be friends with me. I can’t just say, ‘All you losers who don’t like the idea of me dressing like a girl, stand over there,’ and then choosing from the ones who stay behind.

“And my teachers would seriously freak out. They’d say I was trying to disrupt the class, and it wouldn’t matter that that wasn’t what I was trying to do, it would have the same effect, and I’d get done for it.”

“When it comes down to it, I can either be Gerald, which isn’t too hard; I mean I’ve had a lot of practice.” I grinned to show I was kind of joking, “or I can be Svetlana, which I like more, but then I’d have to deal with everyone being upset with me because I’m not acting like a boy like they think I should.”

My appetite fled and I sat there staring at the unfinished remains of my lunch.

“Maybe I should get changed. Maybe it’s better if I’m Gerald all the time; that way no one will get upset with me.”

I stood up from the table and turned towards the stairs.

“So that’s it?” Mum asked my back. “You’re going to give up on what you want because it’s easier that way?”

I didn’t much care for her tone. She’d never spoken to me like that before. It was like she was taunting me; making fun of me.

“I’ve enjoyed having Lana around this morning.” Her voice softened, and the mum I loved was back. “I’ll admit it was a bit strange to start with, and I was worried because of what other people would think, and because I wasn’t sure why you were doing this.

“Lana, if being like this makes you happy, then I don’t want you to go away. We’ll find a way to make it work, with your Dad, with your friends…”

“What if we can’t? What if everyone hates me because of this?”

“Then everyone would be fools.”

I hadn’t noticed, but she’d come round from her side of the table. She was crouching beside me with her arms around me. I turned and buried my face in her neck, sobbing wildly and throwing my arms around her.

I could feel Dad’s disapproving glare, even though he wasn’t there. ‘Big boys don’t cry,’ he’d said to me often enough, and I wanted to yell back, “Why not!” Even though he wasn’t there.

“I just wish things could be different,” I managed to stutter through my tears.

“Me too sweetheart. Hey, maybe that could be Spandexia’s superhero power.”

I sniffed and felt her pulling me gently to arm’s length. I looked into her eyes. I wanted to be miserable, to lament the unfairness of life, but all I could see was her acceptance of me, regardless of who or what I was. I couldn’t fight the smile the came to my lips.

“It wouldn’t be much of superpower,” I said.

“Are you kidding? I’d love to be able to change the way things are. I could wish I wasn’t fat, or that your father didn’t spend so much time at work.”

“it wouldn’t be much of a story though, would it? Spandexia sees something she doesn’t like. She thinks really hard about how she thinks things should be. She opens her eyes and everything’s different; better.”

“And once again I have to ask, are you kidding? You could explore how every decision has deeper effects. Spandexia changes the thing she thinks needs changing, and immediately afterwards, this has a knock on effect and a whole bunch of other things happen which make the situation worse. Eventually, she learns to use her power only after considering all the consequences. That sounds like a story with some mileage.

“But anyway, what do you want to do this afternoon? We could go out. I asked your father if he’d mind taking the bus today, so we have the car.”

“I’d have to get changed.”

“Why? We could go a few miles out of town, where no one knows us; where if the people we come across think they’re meeting a little girl and her mother, then maybe we can just let them carry on believing that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not? Go and get your wallet while I find my shoes and bag.”

“My wallet?”

“Well, what would be the point of me taking my daughter shopping if she didn’t have the means to buy anything?”

I didn’t need telling twice. How is it Mums know just the right thing to say and do?

My wallet fit neatly into one of the pouches on my belt, and my mobile slid into another. I thought about other things that might be worth taking, but none of them was girly enough, and I didn’t want to give myself away.

Mum was ready and waiting by the time I reappeared. Our driveway goes down the side of the house, so getting into the car unseen was a no-brainer. My heart was beating fit to burst out of my chest as we pulled into the road. This was so much better than pretending to be a girl in the privacy of my home.

I hunkered down and hid when we drove past the park where a number of my schoolmates were kicking a football about. As we approached the edge of town, heading into unfamiliar territory, I became more complacent, sitting up in my seat so I could see better.

Unfortunately, if you can see out, it follows that anyone who’s outside can see you inside. I should have waited a few more minutes before sitting up because guess who came ambling around a corner right at the edge of town, just as we approached?

Dirty tee-shirt and genuinely distressed jeans, by which I mean jeans that had come by their tears and worn patches through the more conventional method of being worn outside, climbing trees and the like.

Still, it didn’t matter what he was wearing. What mattered was that Tom Marsh was walking down the pavement towards us as we approached. I couldn’t hide, not at that late stage. He’d have seen me duck down. I had to hope that he wouldn’t recognise me. I mean I did look a lot different from normal.

I kept my eyes looking further down the road, pretending to ignore him, and I fought hard not to let the rising panic show on my face. He looked up at me as we passed, giving me way more attention than I wanted. A second later, we were round that corner and gone, but it was a second too long in my mind.

I freaked. The last thing I needed right now was for Tom to go spreading it around school that he’d seen me dressed like this.

“Are you sure he saw you?” Mum asked, trying to calm me down.

“Of course I’m sure. He was looking right at me.”

“No. I mean, are you sure it’s you he saw? I mean you don’t exactly look like your usual self this afternoon, you know?”

“Why would he have been staring at me like that then?”

“You look pretty stunning Lana. I’m sorry, I should have warned you before we came out; you’re going to have to get used to being looked at like that this afternoon.”

I pulled the sun visor down and peered into the mirror. It didn’t give me that good a view, but I kind of saw what Mum meant. The tiara was a little odd – well the whole costume was, really – but despite that I did look a lot like a girl. I’d forgotten my reaction when I’d first looked in the mirror that morning. There was no way anyone but a girl would be seen in a getup like this, and working on the assumption that I was a girl, I did look pretty amazing.

I allowed Mum’s words to settle me. As we drove out into the country and our surroundings became less and less familiar, I actually found myself able to relax and enjoy myself.

After about thirty minutes, we pulled up into the car park of a smallish shopping complex. It was neither big enough nor close enough to home for any of my friends to be here, so I followed Mum into the main arcade, enjoying my nervousness more than being terrified by it. In my mind, I found the story I’d begun earlier in the week, and continued from where I’d left off.

‘England is such a strange place after Germany,’ I thought to myself. ‘Sometimes it seems there are more rules, more restrictions here, except that most people don’t pay attention to them; so instead, there are cameras everywhere. Speed cameras, security cameras, all sorts. On the one hand, they make part of my job easier; I’ve found the Mmoth Rat already. He caught sight of me too, but I don’t think he recognised me; I think my costume may have distracted him. He seems younger than I remember. Maybe the rumours about him are true; maybe he is aging backwards.’

The words, as usual, came easily. All you needed to do was pick up a thread – a piece of inconsequential information – and the rest kind of followed. Like picking up a trail through a forest, the hard part was finding the trail in the first place, so you’d wander around at random until you crossed one, even if it was nothing much. Once you were on it, the next step was easier, and the next. If I’d been at school, or even at home, I’d have found a notebook and started writing it all down, but who was going to read this rubbish anyway? This was all just mind games; a way to pass the time, and, perhaps more importantly, a way to boost my confidence so I could walk around this place dressed as a girl in a homemade superhero outfit and not feel self-conscious.

I glanced across at Mum, who smiled back at me with an encouraging, perhaps even indulgent, smile. Her phone rang. Default ring tone. Old people just don’t get modern technology.

“Hi. Is everything alright?” She turned away and I missed out on the rest of the conversation. It didn’t matter, I was too caught up in my narrative.

‘I’ve made contact with the couple who’ve agreed to act as my parents while I’m here. She seems really nice. Her husband works Saturdays, so I’ll meet him later, at dinner.’

I followed Mum into a large clothing retailer. As usual with Mum and shopping, I had no idea what was in her mind, so I just followed along. She’d make her plans known soon enough. Until then I had my imagination to keep me company.

‘The downside of all these cameras is that I’m going to end up on them as well, and in this Spandex suit, I’m going to stand out a bit.’

Mum was heading for the teens section, so I figured she thought I needed some new clothes. Generally she’d decide my stuff was worn out well before I thought it was, but some things weren’t worth the hassle of the argument. As long as I ended up with stuff I liked, or at least didn’t mind, it didn’t make much difference if it was new or old. Still, wouldn’t it be kind of cool if I could have some girl clothes of my own too?

Mum walked right through the boys section and into the girls. She grinned at me and raised an eyebrow suggestively, playfully. Was she serious? My heart skipped a beat as I looked around at the enormous array of colours and patterns.

“Really?” I asked in a quiet, almost reverent, whisper.

“Why not? Your Dad has to work late today, so I suggested that maybe we could meet up for a meal, and I don’t suppose you’re going to want to spend an evening in a restaurant dressed as Spandexia, are you?”

“I thought you didn’t want Dad to find out.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about that, and if Lana’s going to be spending more time with us, your father’s going to have to find out sooner or later, and that being the case, I’d rather it was sooner and at a time of our choosing rather than later by surprise, when he comes home early, don’t you think?”

That kind of made sense. My face must have said so because she seemed satisfied with my response despite my not having opened my mouth.

“We could, of course, buy Gerald some clothes for this evening instead,” she continued. “So the choice is yours. Either your dad meets Svetlana this evening, or we tell one of these shop assistants that there’s a boy underneath all this pinkness and glitter?”

That clinched it. I moved down the racks, pulling out skirts and dresses I thought might look good and holding them against me for Mum to comment. It wasn’t that I needed any encouragement; I mean this was what I wanted, after all. It was more that I needed permission, since a big part of me was still struggling with the idea that anyone else might be okay with me doing this sort of thing.

It didn’t take long for us to pick out quite a few things that both Mum and I liked, even though the whole ‘less is more’ thing seemed to be majorly influencing teen girl fashions. Neither of us wanted me in too short a skirt for obvious reasons, although in this matter, I think Mum’s tolerance was greater than mine. I had a selection of about a half dozen dresses and skirt-blouse combinations in my arms, and was beginning to wonder just how far Mum intended to take this latest crazy idea of hers, when she told me to keep hunting through the last couple of racks while she took care of something.

I’d about finished, and added another couple of things to the pile, when she reappeared at my side. Grabbing me by the elbow, she steered me across to the changing rooms. When I realised where we were heading, I dug my heels in.

“What is it?” Mum wanted to know.

“I can’t. I can’t go in there, Mum.”

“And why not?”

“You know full well why not.”

“Nobody else does, and there’s no reason why they should, unless of course, you carry on like this.”

We were whispering back and forth, and that more than anything seemed to be attracting attention. I glanced around at the curious looks being aimed in our direction and realised I had another decision to make. If I carried on making a scene, someone would find out for sure, and I’d be humiliated. On the other hand, I could just bite the bullet and get this done. The consequences of being caught were potentially worse, but at least there was a reasonable chance of getting away with it.

I gave in and carried my pile of booty across to the girl guarding the changing rooms. She counted out my items and handed me a plastic tag with an appropriate number on it.

“I’ve already paid for these,” Mum told her as she passed me a pair of sandals and a bra. She showed the receipt, but I doubted, from her bored expression, that the young customer experience enhancement specialist cared one way or the other.

I did though. It was weird how wrong this felt. Putting on a dress at home where there was no-one to see (most of the time) felt normal by comparison, as did wandering around town in a lurid pink catsuit. I mean, despite the skirt Mum had sewn onto it, it still felt a little like I was wearing trousers; like the bits I was most anxious to keep hidden were well covered up and protected. This was a whole new level of scary.

With the curtain drawn, I could as easily have been in a gent’s cubicle. There was a bench, a couple of hooks for hanging the stuff I was trying, and a full length mirror. I swallowed hard and bit the bullet.

The boots, belt and catsuit came off easily enough, and it didn’t take long to figure out what to do with the tangle of straps that constituted my new bra.

My new bra! What a concept. This had started a few weeks ago with a little curiosity on my part. I couldn’t quite understand how it had escalated to the point that I now owned a newly purchased, never used before piece of female undergarmentage. I still had on the pants and tights Mum had given me along with my costume.

‘Here goes nothing,’ I thought to myself, sorting through the things I’d brought in to try. I picked out the one I liked most, a bright, minty green dress with sleeves that ended about my elbows and a hem that came down to mid-thigh. There didn’t seem to be any fastenings, but the fabric was stretchy, so I pulled it over my head like a tee-shirt.

That was when I discovered my tiara all over again. I’d forgotten I was wearing that. I added it to my discards, and settled the dress into place before looking in the mirror.

I felt the whole blood running cold thing again, only this time it was a mixture of sensations. I could distinguish between them, just about. The exhilaration from wearing a dress in a public place like this was heady and exciting, whereas the terror of wearing a dress in a public place like this threatened to send me over the edge. They felt amazingly similar, whilst at the same time being poles apart. I just about managed to hold things together.

I looked stunning. Short hair and lack of accessories aside, I still believed a girl was looking back at me out of the mirror. The fizz of adrenaline that realisation brought was intoxicating. At the same time though, I was conscious of how short the skirt was, and how little a thing would have to go wrong before I was exposed, literally, as a guy. That fizz of adrenaline was sickening.

The curtain twitched and, before I could react, Mum’s head appeared.

“Well? Are you going to let me have a look? Wow! Step out here.” I followed her through to the larger area between the cubicles and she asked me to twirl for her. I complied, delighting in the way the skirts of the dress swirled around my nylon clad legs. “Shoes?”

“Huh?”

“The sandals? I gave them to you with the bra? Which looks good by the way. Does it fit alright?”

It felt as good as one of those things can feel, and I reported as such. Mum nodded, then pointed at my feet and made an impatient face.

The sandals didn’t take long to put on, and once more the overall effect met with approval. Even Miss Kill-Me-Now-Before-I-Die-Of-Boredom on the door looked over at me with an expression of mingled wistfulness and envy.

“I think we have a winner,” Mum was saying, “although, since we’re here, we might as well try the others on too.”

So I provided Mum with a fashion parade, doing my best catwalk impressions with all but one of the outfits. The one I vetoed showed considerably more skin than it concealed, and it probably wouldn’t take much more than a bad bout of hiccups to reveal what lay barely concealed beneath the pelmet of a skirt.

In the end Mum told me to climb back into the first dress I’d tried. It really was the winner, and felt positively Victorian after the one I’d refused to include in the parade.

While I was wriggling into it, Mum scooped up the unwanteds and returned them, with the tag, to the girl at the entrance. What I didn’t notice immediately was that she’d taken the rest of my clothes as well. I chased after her, and caught her holding the catsuit, boots, belt and tiara, and waiting for me.

“If it’s alright, my daughter would like to wear this one out of the shop,” she said to the assistant. Having received a bored what-do-I-care shrug, Mum, along with my stuff, disappeared out of the changing room.

Again with the tough choices. As nervous as I had felt changing in here, the thought of going out in public as I was added a whole new layer of terror to the day. Despite my reluctance, to display so much of myself to the world, my only alternative was to stay in the changing area, and that wasn’t really going to work. Mum had my phone and wallet in the utility belt, so I really had to go.

I caught up with her at the checkout. She’d taken the price tag out of the dress and had handed it across to the cashier, along with a small black handbag. Payment made, Mum put my few necessities into the bag and passed it across.

“I don’t know about you, but I could do with a coffee,” Mum said. “We still have a few hours before we’re due to meet your father, so how about we grab something to drink and see if we can come up with something fun to do with the rest of the afternoon?”

I smiled nervously and nodded.

“You look fabulous, Lana,” Mum said relenting a little from her afternoon of torture. “You have nothing to worry about. If I hadn’t had a hand in your transformation, even I wouldn’t recognise you.”

“But what if they…”

“They won’t. You look more like a girl now than you did when you were wearing this thing.” She indicated the pile of pink in her arms. “If you’re really that worried though, there are still a few things we could do to complete the disguise.”

The drink stop was delayed another ten minutes. I don’t know how much Mum’s ‘things we could do’ helped make me feel any better, but sitting – carefully, with my legs together – in the shopping centre’s café, my ears still stung a little where my new pair of studs pinched my earlobes, and the lips I dangled in my hot chocolate were pink and glossy, courtesy of the ministrations of the lady on the makeup counter we’d found. She’d done a few additional things to my eyes and cheekbones before exchanging a small bag of cosmetics for yet another swipe of Mum’s credit card. The cosmetics currently filled some of the remaining space in my handbag.

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” Mum took a sip of her coffee and let out a sigh of contentment as the caffeine found its way into her system.

What kind of question was that? I looked around nervously, but we’d picked a quiet corner with nobody sitting nearby. The café was nearly empty, affording us a little privacy.

“I would be if I wasn’t so scared,” I replied, still keeping my voice low. “I can’t believe how you’ve changed your mind so much about all this. I mean last week, and even this morning, you really didn’t like the idea of me dressing up, and now you’re buying me clothes and stuff so I can go out with you and Dad looking like this. I mean what’s changed? What’s Dad going to think when he sees me in this dress?”

“I imagine he’s going to have a hump to get over, the same as I did. The thing is, you were so different this morning. I mean don’t get me wrong, you’ve never complained about the things I ask you to do around the house, but today you seemed so much more cheerful than usual, and you worked like an absolute trooper. I liked the person I met this morning, probably as much as you liked being her.

“It’s a bit of a shame that she seems to have snuck back inside you again. I hoped that coming out this afternoon would give her a chance to really spread her wings. I still hope she’ll come back before we meet up with your dad because I’d really like him to meet her.”

“it’s still me, Mum. You’re talking about me like I was this whole other person.”

“Well, weren’t you in a way? Oh, I know you’re still you. You haven’t miraculously turned into someone else, but the way you behave, the way you express yourself when you’re being Spandexia, is so different from when you’re being Gerald. At lunchtime you said you felt more normal wearing that costume, and I could see that. You were more confident, more relaxed, happier. You had a different personality, one which you seem to prefer, and which I have to admit I do as well. And what is a different person if not someone with a different personality?

“I wanted to give that personality a chance to flourish, and I thought bringing her out into the world – bringing you out into the world dressed and behaving as Lana – would allow you to do just that. It seems I might have misjudged a little, and I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me, Mum. It’s just that I’ve been so scared all afternoon of someone finding out.”

Her face collapsed into a sad smile. “What am I going to do with you? How do you think people will find out? Dressed like you are, you look every bit a pretty young girl, and when you allow yourself to relax you act every bit like one as well. It’s only when you get nervous, when you stop believing in yourself, that you seem in any way different.

“Remember what I’ve told you in the past, sweetheart? Whatever you choose to focus on, whether it be your dreams or your fears, that’s what’s going to come true. This morning, in the house, and even when we first left home, you embraced being a girl, and you flourished. As soon as we started picking out clothes, when I sent you into the changing room, when I got you to walk out of the shop wearing that dress, that’s when the fears rose up. That’s when I saw the old you come back and those fears and worries took over from the carefree person who shared my morning.”

“Yeah, well Gerald’s the one who’s going to suffer when people find out that he’s been dressing up like a girl. It’s different at home. Wearing a dress at home isn’t scary; it’s safe.”

“But surely Lana’s going to suffer if she isn’t allowed to go outside and enjoy the world too. You can’t let your fear of something bad that may never happen hold you back from enjoying all the great things you can only experience if you take a risk.”

“But that’s just what I have to do. You can’t just decide whether or not to do something based on the risk; you have to think about how bad things would be if someone did find out.”

“Are you so sure they’d be that bad?”

“What do you think would happen if I got caught, if everyone I knew found out? People would either laugh at me or hate me. The kids at school would make my life a misery. Most would make fun of me, and the rest would pick on me, beat me up, spit on me.”

“Do you know that for certain?”

“No, but maybe I’d deserve it.”

“Ger… Lana, why would you think something like that?”

“I don’t know. I think being out here like this, all I can see, all I can feel is the way people would look at me if they knew. Or maybe it’s just the way I think people would feel. And if they all believe it’s so wrong, maybe it is. Maybe I deserve to be punished for being like this.”

Mum took hold of my hand and squeezed it. “Sweetie, don’t ever think that. I doubt most people would think it’s wrong.”

“Why not? You did.”

“I felt uncomfortable about it, yes, but then that’s human nature; we tend to feel uncomfortable when something happens out of the ordinary. But just because most of us feel something is right or wrong, doesn’t mean that’s the case. What is it your Dad says sometimes? ‘Maybe we should all eat cow poo because seventeen quadrillion flies can’t be wrong.’”

“Yeah, I never understood what he meant by that.”

“He meant… he means that just because most people think something is right or wrong, that doesn’t make it true. What I do know is true is that you do not deserve for people to hate you. You’re kind and considerate, and if wearing a dress makes you feel better about yourself, what right have I, or anyone else for that matter, to tell you you’re not allowed? It’s not as if you’re trying to make people feel uncomfortable, is it? It’s not as if you’re doing any harm.”

I shrugged. I couldn’t argue with her, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

“It would be easier if I could just be a girl though, wouldn’t it? I mean if I really were a girl, I wouldn’t have to worry. I wish I really was a girl.”

“Well, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. Just because you wish for something doesn’t mean it’s going to come true. Right now though, we need to make a decision. If you feel this badly about being outside in a dress, maybe we should go home. I could give your father a call and we could order in a pizza or something when he gets home.”

I shook my head, feeling the pinch of my new earrings. “That would be a waste of all the money you’ve spent on me this afternoon.”

“Well, as an alternative, we still have a couple of hours before we need to meet your dad; we could work on making you feel more comfortable being the way you are. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Lana, apart from looking like you’re going to burst into tears at any minute, you already look like my very beautiful daughter.”

I couldn’t help smiling at that, although the tears Mum was talking about still remained, filling the space behind my eyes.

“I have a friend who runs a beautician’s near here,” she continued. “I’m sure she could do something with your hair.”

“What you mean like a wig or something?”

“Maybe.” She looked at the top of my head speculatively. “It’s not that short though, not really, and there are a lot of really nice short styles that would look absolutely stunning on a young girl like you.”

Again I found myself smiling. Being called a girl and beautiful was doing a great job of dissolving the curdled mess of emotions inside me.

“I’m going to take that as a yes then. Maybe we’ll get your nails done while we’re at it, and who knows, she might even have a few better ideas about your makeup.”

One little niggle broke away and rose to the surface.

“What about Monday?” I asked. “What happens when I have to go back to school?”

“We’ll let my friend worry about that, shall we? That is if you don’t mind me telling her about you. I know for an absolute fact that she’ll be okay with it.”

“How?”

“How do I know? Because she has a daughter like you. I mean sort of the other way round; her daughter wants to be a boy. If anyone would understand, it would be her.”

Mum stood up, and I followed suit, smoothing out my dress and tugging self-consciously at the short skirt.

-oOo-

‘Near here’ happened to be about a ten-minute drive away in another small shopping complex. Mum’s friend was a pretty lady with her own idea on fashion; someone who actually managed to make different look good. Her hair was cut asymmetrically and dip dyed in a vivid blue on one side. She wore a sort of loose gypsy blouse over tight leather trousers and tan boots that came up to her knees. She smiled and greeted Mum by name when we came into her shop, pausing in her creative flow for the few brief moments such greetings seemed to require.

“Lilly, this is my daughter, Lana,” Mum introduced me. I wasn’t sure whether to offer my hand or curtsey or what, so I settled for a nervous smile and stayed close to Mum’s side. “I know I don’t have an appointment, but I was wondering if you could squeeze her in and do something with her hair. We’re going out tonight, and I’d like her to look as good as possible. She has to go to school on Monday though, so, you know…” There were a whole number of unspoken words that still managed to pass between them.

Lilly gave me a quick once-over. “I should be able to do something,” she smiled. “Jamie!” she called through to the back and a young girl about my age, wearing a pair of scruffy jeans and a plain white tee-shirt appeared. Her hair was short and she had no makeup on, but despite the attempt at androgyny, the girl still showed through. “Would you give Lana here a quick shampoo and rinse please?” She held the door for me and I ducked through into a small room with a chair and hairdresser’s sink against the wall – you know, the sort with a cut out for you to put your head in?

Jamie didn’t say anything while she lathered and rinsed my hair, and neither did I. If she didn’t want to talk, that was fine by me. Up close and personal like that, I couldn’t help noticing all the little details in her features which made it as hard, or possibly harder, for her to pass as a boy as it was for me to do the girl thing.

I closed my eyes and drifted as her slim, but strong fingers pressed into my scalp, conjuring a thick and creamy, sweet-smelling lather into existence from one of the many bottles lining the shelves. ‘Wouldn’t it be amazing,’ I found myself wondering, ‘if we could just swap bits?’ I could have her cute little nose and full lips, and she could have my slightly less feminine ones. All the little details that defined a person as male or female, that leaked through no matter how hard you tried to hide them. I wished for things to be different, for the world to work like that, if only for her and me.

The hair wash was done in no time. She wrapped a towel around my head and gave everything a good rub to get rid of the worst of the moisture, then draping a fresh, dry towel over my shoulders, to protect my clothes I guess, she gave me a guarded smile – a sort of ‘there you go mate’ kind of smile – and indicated I should head back through the door. I returned the smile, but filled mine with more softness and promise. I murmured a thanks as I ducked through into the main part of the shop.

Mum was sitting to one side with a coffee, and she, Lilly and the lady who was Lilly’s current focus of attention were engaged in a three-way conversation about something or someone or other. I found a seat myself and picked up a magazine. They were all girly, fashion sort of glossies, but some of them seemed to have been designed with my generation in mind. I’d often wondered what girly magazines had in them, and this seemed like a good opportunity to satisfy my curiosity.

Of course, Mum noticed and edged over. Lilly had just finished with her existing customer, and money was changing hands. I’d flipped my way through half the magazine and just turned the page as Mum appeared behind me looking over my shoulder. As chance would have it, the new page displayed an article on makeup, and on nail varnish in particular.

“Okay young lady,” Lilly said as her previous customer headed out, “shall we see what we can do with you?”

Mum reached over my shoulder and stopped me closing the magazine. When I turned to her, she had that look in her eye that I was beginning to associate with matters girly, in particular matters that involved me.

“Might we have time to fit in a mani-pedi as well?”

“Jamie?” Lillie raised her voice only a little, and my hair care technician from earlier appeared. I offered her an apologetic smile. This wasn’t my idea after all.

She brought over a box and went through a selection of bottles, offering me a range of different colours to choose from.

“Mum?” I wasn’t sure about this.

“It’ll come off for Monday,” she assured me, then feeling the need for an explanation, for Jamie if no-one else. “The school doesn’t allow makeup.”

Too right they didn’t. Not on boys especially.

“What about this one?” she asked holding a bottle against my dress. It was a pale pink – no surprise there – and it contrasted well with the minty green.

I nodded and allowed myself to be led to a chair.

“Shoes and tights off then please,” Lilly said. “Don’t worry, we’re all girls here.”

I caught the slightest of winces from Jamie and I felt bad for her. I knew something of what that felt like. I figured she’d probably hate me if she knew we were travelling in opposite directions.

I stepped out of my shoes and turned my back to everyone so I could lift my skirt enough to slide the tights down without showing my extras. The room felt a lot cooler with nude legs, but this wasn’t going to be for long, I hoped.

“Right, we don’t have a lot of time,” Lilly said. “I have a customer booked in about half an hour, so are you alright for me to just do what I think would work? I was thinking I might put in a little temporary colour. Don’t worry, it’ll wash out easily before you have to go to school.”

I looked nervously at Mum, who smiled encouragingly. “Er, sure. Please don’t make the style too girly though.”

Jamie smiled at that. She was already sitting on a low stool filing and polishing my toenails, and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from twitching about. Why is it that when I touch my feet I have no problem, but when someone else goes anywhere near them I can hardly keep still? Is that just me?

Lilly started, combing through my hair and trying it in different directions, testing the length and all sorts. The hair wash had removed whatever gunk Mum had used this morning, so she had a pretty blank canvass to work on. She made up her mind quite quickly and started clipping and cutting.

“So,” it turns out she was one of those hairdressers who couldn’t work unless she was talking. “Your mum tells me this is a new thing for you, wearing dresses. How do you like it?”

Jamie twitched slightly in response to her mum’s question. Even her least movement was magnified a thousand times though, by my overly sensitive feet, and I nearly upset her bottles.

“Sorry, I’m a bit ticklish. Yeah, I like it, kind of. I mean, I like wearing a dress. I like the pretty patterns and colours, the way the skirt moves, the way it makes me look. It makes me feel special, like I’m worth something. But at the same time, I feel kind of vulnerable. You have to be careful how you move and stand and sit. Walking in heels is a bit the same. It’s harder to balance, so you take smaller steps. It’s like admitting that you need looking after. By putting in the effort to look delicate and pretty, you’re making it harder for you to look after yourself, kind of inviting someone to come and do it for you.”

The scissors had paused and both my mum and Lilly were looking at me with open mouths. Not all the way letting in the flies kind of open, but enough.

Jamie sat back from her artistry, revealing one foot’s worth of toes glistening with pink.

“That’s kind of how I feel,” she said. “I mean I can look after myself, as long as I don’t have to wear a stupid dress or stupid heels. I mean why would you want to make things harder for yourself? Why do you still want to wear dresses?”

“Because I like feeling beautiful, and I guess for me that means looking and acting a bit delicate. I suppose it all comes down to how you feel you are inside. If you’re the independent sort who feels comfortable going out there and carving out your place in the world, then I can see that dressing like this would go against the grain. If, on the other hand, you want to be noticed and appreciated; if you want someone special to come into your life rather than go out looking for him or her, then making the effort to look pretty, and maybe a little vulnerable, works better.”

“What if you want it all? What if you want the independence and the feeling special?” This was Lilly who had recovered enough to start cutting again.

“I don’t know. It might be possible to have both, but I have a feeling that if you try, you’ll end up with a compromise which isn’t quite either. You’re better off choosing one thing or the other.”

“Yes, but a lot of women I know seem to have everything they want. A decent challenging job during the day, then they get to dress up to go out in the evening.”

“Do they have husbands or boyfriends, any of these friends of yours?” Mum asked.

“Most of them don’t, but who needs a man these days?”

I think Lilly must have forgotten I was there. It happened to be something that concerned me as well, and I’d spent a lot of time thinking about it, even before the whole dressing up thing started. More independent women meant fewer who were looking for a relationship with a man, which in turn meant that someone as far down the pecking order as me didn’t stand much of a chance.

“Sorry,” I said, “but I think that’s a bit of a short-sighted view. I mean, I know it’s fashionable these days to think of guys as little more than sperm donors; use once and discard sort of thing, but it doesn’t work like that.

“I have quite a few friends at school who come from single-parent families, and they’re all missing something. I think it’s better for a child to grow up with both parents, for the balance of temperaments if nothing else. I know I’m really glad I have both a mum and a dad.”

The room had gone quiet again. It hadn’t occurred to me that Lilly might have been one of those single mums and that her arguments might have been to justify her lifestyle, even though she probably hadn’t chosen it. Oblivious to the havoc I was creating, I barrelled on.

“Then what do these women do when their children have left home? I know that when I move out, Mum and Dad will have each other, which is great because there’s nothing worse than being lonely. What?” I finally noticed the silence.

Jamie was looking up at me from her low perch with an inscrutable expression, and I’d rendered Mum and Lilly speechless again. I craned my neck to look round at Lilly and was more than a little shocked at the slack face and glistening eyes I found.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to upset anyone.”

“No, it’s alright Lana. I never thought about it quite that way. I think you’ve given me some serious food for thought you know? Oh dear, look at the time.”

The conversation lulled into silence as Lilly concentrated on getting my hair done before her next customer arrived, though I’m not sure how much was her trying to avoid me talking further along the same lines.

It seemed incongruous that Lilly should hold such views and yet be in the business of making women look beautiful, but then again, in the modern world, a lot of women still made the same effort with their appearance, but without much thought to chasing after guys. Looking good could be its own reward. You were at least as likely to receive compliments on your appearance from other girlfriends as you were from guys, and if independence meant no relationship, then steering away from menfolk altogether made for a simpler life.

Lilly had just about finished when her next customer stepped through the door. I’m not sure what magic trick she’d used, but despite cutting bits off everywhere, it seemed like I actually had more hair. She’d put in some pink highlights as well, which she assured me all over again would wash out.

It looked amazing, and the delight must have shone out from my face because Lilly’s return smile was just as genuine.

“Thank you,” I said as she made to move onto her new customer. Jaime was still working on my fingernails, so I remained confined to my chair. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier; I didn’t think about how it might affect anyone else.”

“You don’t have anything to apologise for, Lana. Sometimes we need to hear the difficult truths, and it’s a rare friend indeed who’ll tell you what you should hear rather than what they think you want to. When you come next time, promise me you’ll do just the same.”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure it’s such a great idea, upsetting the person standing behind you with a pair of scissors.”

“What if I promise not to go all Sweeney Todd on you?”

“You could still do horrible things to my hair. I mean you didn’t today; I think is amazing. It’s perfect for now, and it’s not going to get me stared at on Monday morning.”

“Lana, whatever else I might feel tempted to do, I would never do anything less than my best on someone’s hair. And you’re very welcome. Now if you’ll excuse me, I should get started on Mrs Kerridge.”

That startled me. There was a boy named Paul Kerridge in my class at school, and I doubted it was that common a name. I glanced at her in the mirror and sure enough, I recognised her as someone who’d been in the school from time to time. I swallowed, my mouth gone suddenly dry. However long it was going to take Jamie to finish my nails was going to be very nerve wracking indeed.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Jamie said. “I doubt even your friends would recognise you after the number my mum’s done on your hair.” She gave me a smile and a conspiratorial sidelong glance before returning her focus to my nails.

“Do you know who I am then?” The dryness in my mouth leapt to Saharan.

“Your mum comes in here quite often. I know it’s rude to eavesdrop, but when there’s only a curtain in the way, you can’t help it sometimes. She talks about her son quite a bit, never her daughter, so I kind of put two and two together. I’d never have known otherwise. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure until just now.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Why should it? I think we’re kind of the same in some ways. I think it’s cool that your mum will let you do this, the same as my mum lets me do what I want. I only wish I could look the part as much as you.”

“Yeah, I probably won’t be able to for much longer though. I’m kind of a late developer, but I imagine my body will start changing soon.”

“You know there’s drugs for that nowadays?”

“Yeah, I only just started doing this. I’m not sure I’ve figured out what I want yet.”

“Well while you’re figuring, maybe we could hang out sometime. We could go see a film or something. Maybe tomorrow after lunch?”

A liquid warmth trickled through to the core of my being. I’d never had the courage to ask a girl out before now, and here I was being asked by one. I don’t know what level of aridity lies beyond the Sahara, but my mouth reached it. I couldn’t speak for several seconds.

“Or not.” I could hear Jamie trying to cover the disappointment in her voice. “I just thought it might be fun.”

“No,” I managed to squeak. “I mean yes, or whatever. I’d like that. I’d like to go out with you.”

Go out! I’d meant to say hang out. Not cool.

“Cool,” Jamie disagreed with me. “How about tomorrow afternoon?”

“I’ll have to check with Mum and Dad. I’m guessing it is me you’re asking and not…”

“Gerald? I’d rather it was Lana, but it would still be you, wouldn’t it? I mean I’m who I am regardless of what I look like, right?”

“I suppose, in a way. Mum was talking about something like that earlier, and I think she had a point when she said I was like a different person today. I’m not entirely sure I am who I usually am right now.

“Mind you if I can come tomorrow, I imagine it would be as Lana. It would be a shame to undo all the amazing things you and your mum have done after just one evening, and I doubt Gerald could rock this haircut or these nails quite like I could.”

She laughed. More of a snigger than a giggle, but it made me smile too.

“If you don’t mind me prying, this doesn’t seem like the sort of thing I’d expect you to enjoy doing.” I pointed at my fingernails, now glistening pink with Jamie painting on minty green tips and blending the colours together.

“A jobs a job; Mum pays me to do things like this, and it’s better money than I could get elsewhere. I’m kind of artistic anyway, and painting nails is as much fun as painting anything. Plus it’s kind of challenging because they’re so small.

“There, all done. What do you think?”

They were amazing. Ten works of art in miniature. I told her so.

“Yeah, well,” she shuffled uncomfortably. “You should sit there for a few minutes and give the varnish a chance to set. I have to clear up a bit. When you’re ready, you can come through the back. You know? Privacy putting your tights back on?” She gathered her things and dived through the curtain.

Mum came over and handed me the magazine I’d been reading earlier. She offered me a knowing smirk, which I repaid with a rather more self-conscious one. Jamie was nice, and it felt amazing that she seemed to be interested in me.

-oOo-

We stayed in the shop another ten minutes. Five to make sure my nails were dry, three to get me fully dressed and to assure Jamie I’d call later to let her know about the following day, and another two for Mum to sort out payment. I hated to think what today was costing her, so I chose denial instead, waiting by the door so I couldn’t see the numbers that rang up on the till.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Mum said once we were back outside in the cooling summer afternoon. “We have about an hour before we need to get over to the restaurant to meet your dad. Any ideas?”

“Well, I know you’re spending a lot on me today, so I’m probably kind of pushing my luck a bit, but Jamie asked me out tomorrow, and…”

“…you need something to wear,” Mum finished with a grin. “There is definitely a girl inside of you, isn’t there, Svetlana?”

Mum chose a different shopping centre, one that was more on the way to where we were going to eat tonight. I didn’t want to push the overspend, but Mum had other ideas. We managed to use up all the available time, amassing a car full of clothes, and giving Mum’s credit card friction burns along the way.

I stayed with the green dress, mainly because my hair and nails had been coloured to match, but I was really looking forward to my options for the following day.

Dad was waiting for us when we finally pulled up at the restaurant. We usually came here when Mum had the car on a Saturday. It was just a short walk from his place of work and it meant he could ride home with us after we’d eaten.

Besides, it was a good restaurant, and when you find one of those, you like to stick with it. So my dad says anyway.

He rose to greet my mum with the usual peck on the cheek, then turned his attention in my direction.

“David, I’d like you to meet Svetlana. She’s going to be staying with us for a while, I think.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said with a slight curtsy and a totally unexpected Russian accent.

“What is this?” Dad didn’t seem too happy. The expression on his face was a mix of confusion and concern. He glanced at Mum. “Perhaps you’d like to explain?”

Mum, in turn, looked at me and raised an eyebrow. Apparently, this was to be my show.

Well, if it was going to be like that.

“Is exchange trip from Germany. My family is Russian, but we live in Frankfurt. Is last minute arrangement. Your son, he is gone to Germany, and I stay with you instead for a while. No-one must know about this, so I pretend to be Gerald when I go to school, yes?”

Dad’s eyebrows were up behind his fringe, and Mum was biting back a smile and trying not to laugh.

“Svetlana is a superhero, David. No, it’s alright Lana, you can trust him as much as you trust me. She’s quite the master of disguise. You’ll be amazed how much like Gerald she’ll look on Monday morning.”

An ominous silence followed. Dad was putting two and two together using his own complex form of mathematics. I don’t know what number he came up with at the end, but it certainly wasn’t four. His expression darkened slowly – bad weather on its way.

There was no grumbling thunder, no blinding lightning flash of sudden rage. When it came, it was quietly, with the icy tendrils of a winter cold front. His face was a mask, his voice low and level, crystalline with rigid control.

“I can’t believe you’d indulge something like this, Linda. For one thing, isn’t he past dressing up? For another, even if he were, clothes is one thing, but to go all the way like this? And then to bring him out in public? What were you thinking?”

Frost formed in the pit of my stomach, spreading with each chilling word. I’d been afraid of something like this happening, but I’d allowed Mum to persuade me. These were the worst kind of fights. Like the Cold War, no shots fired, but carrying with them the very real danger of apocalyptic destruction. I wished fervently that my parents wouldn’t fight. Not like this. Most especially not like this.

This was a fairly typical start: Dad taking exception to something Mum had chosen to do, and telling her in the most reasonable tones just how unreasonable he thought she’d been. If the argument followed its usual pattern, Mum would respond by making some comment about how much time Dad spent at work, and if he was interested in his family, wouldn’t he make time to be with them?

I tried my hardest to shrink inside of myself, and willed with all my heart for Mum to be more reasonable in her response.

“I was thinking of our child.” Mum’s voice was calm, but it quavered slightly with the strain of remaining so. “David, please don’t take this as criticism, but you’re not as involved in being a parent as I am. I know you work hard to make a good life for us, and I know that means you have to make sacrifices, one of which is that you’re not at home as much as any of us would prefer. I choose to trust you in believing that’s necessary, even though it’s hard on us all. I wish you would trust me to know what’s best for Gerald, given that I’m the one who is there for him every day.”

I glanced at Dad, wishing the same with everything I had in me.

Dad opened his mouth to respond, then snapped it shut, biting back whatever retort he’d lined up. Most likely he’d had it in mind to defend his working habits, and it took him a moment to realise that he didn’t have to. He paused to replay Mum’s words through again, glanced over at me squirming in my seat, and expression on my face caught somewhere between dread and pleading.

“You’re right, Linda. I’m sorry, I have no right to judge a situation where I’ve had so little involvement. Perhaps we can start again, and this time I’ll kick off with what I should have asked in the first place. Would someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Mum looked at me, but I was too shocked at what I’d just experienced. My parents had never backed down from one of their ‘civilised conflicts’ as they referred to them. After a moment Mum shrugged and turned back to Dad.

“A few Saturdays ago, I was putting some things away and noticed that some of my clothes had been disturbed. Nothing much, just a pair of tights that was a little more stretched than usual, and a few underthings that weren’t folded quite right. I only had the one suspect, but I wasn’t overly worried. I believe it’s quite common for young boys to be curious about such things.

“Anyway, I decided to check on my suspicions, and last Saturday, instead of going to the shops, I left the house as usual, but then came back in quietly a few minutes later. I found our son wearing one of my dresses and a pair of heels.”

Dad quirked an eyebrow at me, but dressed as I was it would have been a little redundant to show any signs of embarrassment.

“I decided to teach him a lesson. You remember that hot pink catsuit of mine? The one I bought for that New Year’s party round at the Harrelson’s?”

“You put him in that?”

“I figured he would either be so mortified he’d never go near my clothes again, or…”

“Or?”

“Or he’d show us how serious he is. Or perhaps that should be she.”

Both my parents were looking at me now, and that did make me want to squirm.

I hadn’t really been listening to Mum. I mean I knew or suspected pretty much everything she’d been saying, so what was the point? My mind had been distracted by how readily they’d made peace without the usual winter of discontent. Then there was that thing Mum had said about what Spandexia’s powers might be.

I looked up into the intense gaze of both my parents and snapped back to reality.

“What?”

“How serious are you about these changes, young m… lady?” Dad decided to try out the new label. I felt a thrill course through me at hearing him say it.

“I told Mum,” I responded after a quick gathering of wits. “This makes me feel good. Sort of like… I don’t know. You know that stretch Mr Fantastic you got me for Christmas a few years ago?”

“I remember finding it stretched out between your desk and the window when you went back to school,” Mum said.

“That’s kind of like me. The Gerald me, that is. I can stretch and stay stretched out of shape, but when I’m like this, it’s like I’ve had a chance to relax. Does that make sense?”

Mum and Dad shared a glance.

“I know this is hard for you,” I continued. “It’s like when I unstretch into what I want to be, it stretches you out of shape. So I’ve got a choice. Either I can be unstretched like this, and learn to live with how it affects you and everyone else I know, or I can squeeze back into being Gerald, and things alright for everyone.”

“Except you,” Dad said.

“Kinda. But I’m used to being Gerald.”

“You don’t have to be,” Mum said, looking at Dad, who nodded his head.

“Your mother’s right, Ger… Svet… What was it?”

“Lana’s good, Dad.” I couldn’t hide the smile.

“Your mother’s right, Lana. We’re your parents, and it’s our job to do what’s right for you, even if it means we’re a little uncomfortable with it. Is that why you chose the name Spandexia? Because you feel stretched out of shape?”

“No, it was just a silly name. When I told Mum I was being a superhero, I was making stuff up on the fly. The dress and tights I was wearing were kind of stretchy, and the name just sort of sprang to mind.”

“So, you’re not really a superhero?”

“Of course not, silly. That was just pretend.”

“But you are a girl? You do feel like a girl? That’s not pretend.”

“I guess not. Yeah, I guess I do feel like a girl.”

“Well, I suppose we’re going to have to give this some serious thought then,” Dad said, earning brownie points with both Mum and me. “But not right now. I’m starving, and I suspect both my lovely wife and beautiful daughter are too.” And that won him the prize.

-oOo-

“Lana’s been asked out on a date tomorrow night,” Mum said over her carbonara. She timed it quite well. Dad was midway through washing down a mouthful of steak with his glass of wine. He managed not to spray it everywhere, but he did have a coughing fit.

“Run that by me again,” he said once he’d regained his composure.

“Mum took me to see a friend of hers who did my hair,” I said. “Her daughters a bit the other way to me. She did my nails, then she asked me out.”

Dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, you’re telling me that my son, who may really be my daughter, was just asked out by a girl who wants to be a guy?”

“That’s about the size of it.” Mum gave Dad a sympathetic smile.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if Gerald took this… what’s her name?”

“Jamie.”

“If you as Gerald took this girl, Jamie, out?”

“Maybe easier,” I said, “but she specifically asked to take Lana out. I don’t think she’s really into boys.”

“But you’re a… No scratch that. You really aren’t, are you? I look a you now, and I don’t see anything of my son, and it has nothing to do with the clothes, or the hair, or the makeup.”

I smiled at him, perhaps a little shyly, perhaps a lot cheekily. “Is like I say.” Okay, so maybe I was hamming up the Russian accent a bit. “Your son, he is on exchange trip to Germany. I am Svetlana Panin-Metzger. I take his place for time being.”

He shook his head and smiled back at me, perhaps a little ruefully. “Welcome to England, Svetlana. Would you like some dessert?”

-oOo-

I was stuffed. Which was actually a bit odd when I gave it some thought, because I hadn’t eaten any more than I would usually have done. I sat in the back of the car, with my parents up front chatting away, and looked out the window. Once again, when as we approached out neighbourhood, I saw a familiar figure walking down the streets. This time he had two of his friends with him, both a lot bigger than him. He looked up as we passed, straight into my eyes. I couldn’t see any sign of recognition in there, but there was something. A sort of discontented, low simmering rage. Something else that struck me as unusual. I don’t remember his nose being quite so long, or him ever showing his teeth. He said something to his companions, both of whom responded with cruel smiles.

“This area is really going downhill,” Dad remarked as we drove past Tom and his companions. “I probably shouldn’t judge on appearances, but it wouldn’t surprise me if those three weren’t responsible for the spate of vandalism we’ve had in the area.”

Whether judging on appearance or otherwise, I didn’t think Dad was far off. Tom was as unpleasant an individual at school as he appeared out here on the streets. As for his two goons. Not enough brains between them to operate a knife and fork, but they were easily led and made up for it in muscle. Tom was the yin to their yang. He saw the potential in them on his first day at school, and befriended them. The reason most people were afraid of Tom Marsh had less to do with his quick temper and wiry strength than it did with his tendency to respond to any challengers by ambushing them and siccing his two henchthings on them. There was a rumour that he’d even attacked a teacher after school one day.

No, if there was nemesis material for Spandexia out there, Tom Marsh was definitely the top contender, even without any of the backstory my overactive imagination had constructed for him.

Back home after a Saturday night meal out would usually have meant Ninboxstation time until bedtime, but I didn’t feel much like obliterating pixels. I asked Mum if there was anything I could do to help her. Sunday lunch was typically an all the trimmings type roast dinner, and she was in the habit of preparing most of it the night before. My question earned me a couple of pairs of raised eyebrows from my parents, but Mum wasn’t about to pass up an offer like that. We started off by transferring all the day’s purchases into my wardrobe, and laying out my outfit for the date with Jamie, then Mum suggested I change into something a little less dressy. I didn’t want to, but ten minutes later, I was glad I had given that I was up to my elbows in rubber gloves – to protect my nails you understand – pealing and slicing potatoes.

“So what’s brought this on?” she asked. “Not that I’m complaining, mind. It’s just…”

“Not usual?” I responded. “I don’t know. I don’t much fancy like playing games right now. This feels more sort of right.”

It took less than half the time Mum usually spent on it, and was actually fun. We didn’t chat about anything of consequence – nothing about my recent changes or how I was getting on at school – but focused on little bits of trivia. Mum wanted to know what I planned to wear for my date with Jamie, and we chatted through the different options. It was weird. Before Spandexia, I’d never really spoken to Mum, except maybe when I wanted something. I hadn’t spoken to her when I was lonely, or when I had things I was worried about. Now here I was talking about nothing in particular – well okay, my date with Jamie was actually quite a big deal – and I’d never felt more close to her. I felt I could tell her anything.

Once we’d finished with the preparation, Mum put the kettle on and made us all drinks. Dad was watching the news when we joined him in the living room. It had just switched to local news, and was reporting on yet another burned out car.

“That’s not far from where we saw those three kids on the way home.” He said as Mum settled next to him. “Do you know them, Ger… I mean Lana?”

“I don’t mind you calling me Gerald, Dad. I mean I’m still going to have to be him most of the time anyway. Yes I do know them. They’re not the nicest kids in school.”

“Should we call the police?” Mum asked.

“And tell them what? That we saw three kids a few roads over from where that car was torched? It’s hardly evidence.”

“Well, I hope you’ve put our car in the garage.”

Dad gave her a what-do-you-take-me-for look, and turned back to see what tomorrow’s weather might bring. It promised to be summery, which is to say sun if we were lucky, rain if we weren’t. Dad turned off the TV and suggested we all get an early night. There was no particular reason for it, but we’d all had a pretty long and eventful day, and a good night’s sleep wouldn’t go amiss.

“Besides,” and something of his usual twinkle was back behind the weariness in his eyes, “I know how you women are, and it’s going to take you the best part of the morning to get ready for your date.”

I threw a cushion at him, but I couldn’t keep the smile from my face.

-oOo-

I wanted to prove my dad wrong. I woke up early, but as I think I said before, I never beat my parents. I headed downstairs in my pyjamas – we hadn’t gone so far as to update my sleepware the previous day – and found my mum clattering about in the kitchen, with my dad already out in the shed doing something or other.

“Hello sleepyhead,” Mum greeted me. It was kind of a joke, because she knew how much better at mornings I was than pretty much any of her friend’s kids. “Breakfast?”

I managed a bleary smile. I mean, I was up. That didn’t mean I was fully functional. I do have hormones after all.

She paused on her way to the fridge and looked back at me.

“You look different,” she said.

I gave her a ‘well duh!’ look. I mean I did still have the spikey pixie cut that Lilly had given me, complete with coloured highlights. Admittedly, it was a bit tousled from the night’s battle with my pillow, but even so.

“No,” Mum insisted. “You look different from yesterday. You’re not wearing makeup, are you?”

“Where would I get makeup?” I asked. “And how would I know what to do with it?”

“I don’t know. I wondered if Jamie had given you something.”

“Jamie’s not exactly a makeup sort of girl, Mum. I mean, yeah, the nails and everything, but that’s hardly the same, is it?”

She had me curious though. I probed my cheeks and nose gently with my fingers for a moment before realising how pointless that was. I’m not in the habit of poking myself in the face, so I’m hardly likely to know what it feels like, am I? I left Mum transferring milk and OJ, cereal and other things to the kitchen’s breakfast bar, and headed for the downstairs loo.

She was right. The face that looked back out of the mirror was different. Not very, but just enough to notice. It was still very definitely me, but my eyes seemed just a little bit larger, and my nose smaller and more upturned. I kind of liked it; it was cuter than the face that usually greeted me, and when I smiled, I had dimples.

I never had dimples before.

Back in the kitchen, I downed a glass of OJ and a bowl of cereal without tasting much. Fortunately, taste wasn’t essential, and by the time I was scraping the pattern off the bowl, the carbs and sugar had started to kick in and I was functioning more like a human.

“Mum, did I ever have dimples?” I asked.

“Not that I recall,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

I smiled at her.

“Good grief. How are you doing that?”

I shrugged. “Kind of the usual way. Just reach for the happy place and let the corners of my mouth defy gravity a bit.”

“But you do have dimples,” she said moving closer to examine them. You didn’t yesterday.”

Again I shrugged. “I do now. I kind of like them. I think my nose is a little different too, and my eyes.”

She sat down next to me, visibly deflating. “How is this even possible?”

“Do you think maybe puberty’s catching up with me at last?”

“I have no idea. I wasn’t expecting these sorts of changes though.”

“What do you mean? What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know. Squeaky voice for a few weeks while you adapt, growth spurt, broader shoulders, a bit of body hair growing. Other stuff of a slightly less pleasant nature. I wouldn’t have expected an increase of cuteness.”

“Maybe I’m turning into a girl,” I said. “Wouldn’t that be the coolest thing ever?”

Her face suggested she didn’t share my enthusiasm.

“Sweetie…”

“It’s okay Mum. Just a fantasy. It would be cool though.” I couldn’t help the wave of sadness that washed over me. For just that moment, I really did wish for it to come true though. Maybe Jamie and I could swap a few more bits.

Jamie!

“Mum, I have to get ready for my date.”

“Yes you do, but it’s only half past seven. You have more than six hours before you’re due to meet up, and I doubt it’ll take you more than an hour.”

“But…”

“But nothing, dear. You need a shower, and you need to keep your hair dry while you take it. Lilly sorted you yesterday so that most of this will all wash out. That’s colour and style.”

“But how…?” I’ll say this for Mum. She always knows how to distract me.

“You can use one of my shower caps. I’ll hunt one out for you if you like. Give yourself a good scrubbing all over. You can use my shower cream for today. It’ll give you a bit more of a girly smell.

“Even if you do have the sort of girl genes that might cause you to hog the bathroom, I doubt it’ll take you more than thirty minutes to wash and dry yourself. Then you get to climb into your clothes, and you’ll be ready.”

“What about makeup?”

“For one, you don’t have any, and you wouldn’t look right in mine, even if I was happy sharing, which I’m not. For two, you don’t need any. You have a gorgeous complexion, and covering it with gunk will actually make it look worse. For three, if you think for one second I’m going to let you out of this house looking like a cheap tart, you have another think coming your lady.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll have to spend a little while restoring your hairstyle, but it’s not going to take more than an hour to get you ready, whatever your dad might think.”

“Oh.” Again. “Okay, so is there anything I can help you with?”

“Is your homework up to date?”

“I do have a bit, but it’s not due till Tuesday.”

“So get it out of the way. That way if something crops up tomorrow night that you’d prefer to do, you’ll be able to do it.”

“Oh.” For the third time. It all made sense. So, who says women can’t do logic? My mum rocks at it.

“I’ll find you that shower cap so you can wash and get dressed first. Don’t put on the clothes you’re going to wear on the date just yet though. You’ll want them to be fresh and unwrinkled.”

Like I said. Rocks at it.

-oOo-

Mum’s shower cream really was amazing. It didn’t just smell of coconuts and wild flowers, but it made my skin feel softer as well.

Washed and dried, I followed her advice and put on one of the other outfits she’d bought me the previous day. The material was softer and felt wonderful. Just wearing a skirt and top made me feel so much better than usual, which in turn meant that I didn’t even mind doing my homework.

Part of it was math, which I enjoy anyway. Usually it’s kind of easy, which makes it boring, but we were looking at quadratic equations, and I was already ahead of most of the class. Miss had given me some extension work to do for homework, which meant that while most of my classmates were still struggling with simple factorisation, I was using completing the square to work out problems that didn’t have neat answers. Miss had suggested I try to go as far as I could using surds, then only use my calculator for the last step. It was challenging, but I thought I’d figured out what she meant.

The other part was English, and creative writing. Two page essay on a subject of our choice. I, of courses, chose to pit Spandexia against the Mmosh Rat who was fire bombing a neighbourhood in an attempt to extort money out of them. I’d never been that happy with the Rat’s name. The double M seemed far too contrived, and made it obvious that it was an anagram. This time I had an idea, and gave him a stutter, which kind of fixed the problem. At least it did in my head.

I played with Mum’s idea of Spandexia being able to stretch reality. There always has to be a downside to superpowers though, otherwise it’d be too easy. The Superman stories would be thoroughly boring if there weren’t such a thing as kryptonite. I decided that Spandexia had to be careful how much she stretched reality. If she went too far, then it would snap back to something like what it had been to start with, only worse, so she was always careful to use her abilities as little as possible, and relied on her physical strength and dexterity more than her superpower.

I wrote the story to introduce her power. How she’d discovered it when things she wished for more than anything started coming true. How, when she realised what was happening, she tried to change the past so her parents weren’t in the courthouse when the bomb exploded. How for a few short, blissful minutes, she had her life and her family back, but then reality snapped back to the way it had been. It couldn’t sustain the new form, since with her parents alive, she had not reason to train as a vigilante, no reason to become as fit and strong as she was, no reason to stand up against the Mmosh Rat, who’s criminal empire had grown considerably without her to stand up to him. When reality snapped back, she was back to being her old orphaned self, but the Rat was far more powerful than he had been.

I guess I got carried away. By the time I was bringing the story to a close, it ran to about ten pages and Mum was knocking on my door to tell me it was lunchtime.

I ate slowly and carefully, much to Mum’s approval and Dad’s dismay. I hadn’t changed into my date clothes, but that was not reason to risk messing these up. Lunch was, as always, amazing, and I excused myself as soon after I’d had my obligatory piece of apple pie to finish.

I allowed myself a second quick shower to freshen up, and changed into the dress I’d chosen for my date. I wasn’t sure if I liked it as much as the minty green one from the previous day, but it was still really nice. It was a short – less than mid-thigh – beach dress in peach with a pattern or pink, yellow and blue flowers – roses I think. It didn’t have sleeves, but the straps were quite wide, and so both comfortable and effective at hiding the straps of my training bra.

Mum found me in her and Dad’s room, tugging at the hem of the skirt, and looking at my reflection from every angle, trying to convince myself it worked.

“You look gorgeous, sweetie,” Mum said to me, then steered me over to her dressing table and plonked me down on the stool, where she attacked my hair with the brush. It seemed unnecessary for her to brush it in quite so many different directions, but I sat patiently and endured until she declared herself done.

Once more, I was delighted with the results. I guess my concerns over my appearance had more to do with my hair than anything, because suddenly the dress was perfect. I smiled my newly dimpled smile and imagined Jamie falling head over heels in love with me.

Two minutes later we were downstairs waiting for Dad to get his shoes on. It was funny. He’d been looking forward to standing impatiently by the door waiting for us to get ready, and here we were – well, I was, I suppose – doing the waiting, while he had to dash about getting ready.

We had loads of time. Jamie and I had agreed to meet up at two-thirty at the shopping mall near her Mum’s salon. It was only a ten-minute drive away, and we had twenty, even once Dad finally sorted himself out.

-oOo-

Jamie had made an effort. It had probably taken her all of ten minutes to get ready, but she was wearing a clean tee-shirt and smart jeans. She looked good, and somehow… different.

“Yeah, Mum noticed too,” she answered my unspoken question. “It’s the nose and the eyes more than anything.”

“What happened?”

“Search me. Hormones and stuff, I guess, though not the changes I was expecting. I kind of like it though. Make me look less precious. I don’t plan to spoil it by overthinking it. You look amazing, by the way. I love the dress.”

“You can borrow it if you like.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. Skirts and dresses are really not my thing. Even if they were, I doubt I’d ever be able to enjoy wearing that.”

“Why not?”

“’Cos I could never look half so good as you do right now.”

I dimpled up, blushing furiously.

“Life’s not fair sometimes,” she said. “You make such an amazingly beautiful girl, all I want is to be the guy you deserve.”

“You’re not doing so badly so far.”

“I take it you already ate lunch?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Yeah. So what do fancy doing? There’s a bunch of films we could choose from, or we could hit the arcade, or dare I suggest shopping?”

The way she cringed when she said that, it was obviously not her thing.

“I’m about shopped out for now,” I said, enjoying her sigh of relief. “Mum and I blitzed a place a couple of miles away yesterday. I’m guessing Dad’s going to have to work late for a few weekends to cover Mum’s credit card bill this month.”

“Arcade, then? I hear you’re quite the gamer.”

“Not really feeling it today. Sorry. How about a film?”

“What do you fancy? I mean I don’t know there are any decent chick flicks on at the moment.”

“I was thinking more the latest Marvel offering if you haven’t seen it already.”

She grinned and we had a plan.

We joined the ticket queue and had made it halfway to the front when a familiar and unwelcome face appeared. Well three faces, strictly speaking, but only one that was truly unwelcome.

“Hey, J-J-Jamie,” Tom Marsh’s high pitched squeaky voice carried across the large foyer. “Does your g-g-girlfriend now you’re a g-g-g-g-girl?”

Beavis and Butthead sniggered dutifully.

“Oh no,” I said turning my back on the trio.

“Or is she a lezzer too?”

He was moving closer. He would recognise me if he got too close, and then life would truly be over. I willed him not to see me, not to see Gerald.

Bony fingers grabbed my arm and swung me round. “Let’s see w-w-w-what kind of girl l-l-little J-J-Jamie l-likes then, shall w-we?”

Up close, his nose really did look long, but it was more that the rest of his features seemed to have pulled back away from it, or maybe that he had pushed through his face so hard to reach the tip of his nose, that he’d left most of it behind. He had quite a significant overbite, and no chin to speak of, and his forehead sloped back to greasy, mousy brown hair. He looked down his lengthy proboscis at me, giving me the impression that he was sniffing at me.

“I know you, I’m sure of it.”

Please, no. I’m not Gerald. Please don’t see Gerald. I’m…

“You go to my s-s-school. Yeah, you d-d-do, d-don’t you?”

I squirmed in his grasp, but he held tight. I’m not Gerald. Don’t see Gerald. I am…

“You’re that new g-g-g-girl, aren’t you? That Russian g-g-girl with the f-f-funny name. S-S-S-Sv-something or other. W-w-what d’you see in this w-w-weirdo?”

“Please let me go,” I whimpered.

“W-w-why should I? I’d be s-s-saving you from this creep.”

I looked around for Jamie, but Tom’s goons were holding her back. Her face was a study in frustrated fury.

“Look, we were just going to watch a film together,” I pleaded. “Why can’t you leave us alone?”

“Hey g-g-guys,” Tom stuttered. “Sh-sh-she d-d-doesn’t like us. W-w-what sh-should we do about that?”

Bruiser one twisted Jamie’s arm. Her face contorted in pain, but she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of hearing her cry out. Probably better if she had though. Where were the mall’s security guards when you needed them?

“W-w-why don’t you come for a little w-w-walk with me, Russian g-girl? It w-w-would be a shame for your f-f-f-f-f-f-friend to get hurt.”

“Please, just leave us be.”

The queue had melted away. For some reason, no-one was coming to help us. I couldn’t give in to Tom. I had no idea what he had in mind, but if it involved exploring under my skirt, I was really up the polluted river.

“I don’t w-w-want to leave you alone. I w-w-want to w-w-work on my international r-r-relations.”

He traced a dirty, cracked fingernail down my face. My leg turned to jelly as a primal terror rose up inside me. I hated the way he made me feel.

“Please, we don’t want any trouble. Security will be here soon.”

“No they w-w-won’t. They know to l-leave me al-l-lone. L-l-last time they m-messed with me they had a bomb scare to deal with.”

The terror was gone. Like a flower in a furnace, it shrivelled and died, transforming into a raging fury as my mind’s eye relived an explosion in a courthouse a hundred miles and over ten years away. Something automatic in me took over, and I grabbed hold of the arm that held mine, spinning, crouching, pulling, using my weight to shift his. The move seemed so natural, and the Mmosh Rat flew towards a nearby stand of rubbish bins.

The two goons holding Jamie were too stunned to react immediately. I lashed out with a foot, catching one of them below the knee. He cried out and let go of Jamie, who took advantage of her freedom by swinging round and landing a left-handed haymaker squarely on her other captor’s nose. Tweedledum staggered back and tripped over Tweedledummer who was crouching over his smarting shin, and the two of them tumbled into a heap.

“Could be a good time to run,” Jamie said to me and grabbed my hand.

We were outside in the mall’s main atrium in seconds. There weren’t that many people about, given it was a Sunday afternoon, but we did find a couple of security guards. By the time Tom and his cronies had found their feet and followed us, we were over the other side of the mall, in full view of the uniforms. Whatever instructions they’d been given with regard to the three miscreants, they wouldn’t be able to ignore us being attacked right in front of their eyes.

Tom realised this and held his two stooges back. He sneered in our direction and drew a finger across his throat, promising revenge, then they disappeared off into the crowd.

“That wasn’t fun,” Jamie said, letting out a long sigh of relief. “Nice moves, by the way. Where did you learn to do that?”

“I don’t know. I was just kind of making it up as I went along. How do you know Tom?”

“He used to go to my school until he was chucked out a couple of years ago.”

“Oh. He goes to mine now. I was sure he was going to recognise me when he came over.”

“No chance of that. You look too much like a girl. Besides, the older kids don’t tend to pay much attention to the younger ones, unless they’ve decided to bully them.”

“He’s in my year though.”

“Really? He was a year above me in my school. I guess they made him repeat a year.”

That was possible, but there was something nagging in my mind.

“Did you hear what he said to me?”

“Yeah, and it doesn’t surprise me. I wouldn’t put it past him to actually plant a bomb in this place, not just phone in a scare. You know, I’d lay odds he’s behind all the firebombings we’ve been having. I heard at least two of the cars that were destroyed belonged to teachers.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean sure, he has to be prime suspect for all the unpleasantness going on around here. But he said he did recognise me. He said I went to his school, that I was the new Russian girl.”

“So what? Lucky guess is all. I mean do you have a Russian girl at school now?”

“Not that I know. Only…”

“Only what?”

It was too crazy. I couldn’t voice the idea that was bouncing around at the back of my head.

“Nothing. Shall we go see if we can still get into the film?”

“I didn’t think you’d still want to see it after that.”

“Of course I do. I’m not going to let a little upset like that ruin my afternoon. That would be like giving him power over me, and I’m not prepared to do that.”

-oOo-

So anyway, Doctor Strange really lives up to its name. Definitely on a par with Inception and the Matrix. Jamie and I walked away from the cinema complex later that afternoon, both of us deep in thought. She reached out and put an arm around my waist, and I leaned into her.

“What are you thinking?” I asked, more to fill the silence than anything.

“I was thinking about Tom,” she answered.

Mood killer much.

I pulled away and looked at her. She half grinned apologetically.

“He’s a kind of revenge-seeking sort of guy. I’m worried he might chuck a brick through my mum’s window or torch her car for what we did to him today.

“Oh. That probably means he might do something to us too.”

“Unlikely. He didn’t seem to know much about you. Certainly didn’t recognise you as, you know…”

I wasn’t totally mollified. I mean if he somehow had it in his head that I was Svetlana, maybe he had an idea who I was staying with. No, that was crazy. How could he think I was Svetlana? The only people who knew about me by that name were my parents, and maybe my English teacher if he’d got round to marking last week’s essay, and if – big ask – he’d decided it wasn’t the fiction it so obviously was.

“Could you call the police?” I asked, trying to focus on Jamie’s problem. I moved in and put my own arm round her waist. She put hers back where it had been. I leaned my head on her shoulder, only then realising that she was taller than me.

“And tell them what?” she asked. “’Hello officer, we had a run in with the guy we think is responsible for all the arson attacks. No, we don’t have any evidence.”

“I guess so. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. My bedroom’s at the back and Mum parks the car out front. She’s a light sleeper, so there’s no way I could sneak out in the night to keep an eye on things.”

“You could at least tell your Mum.”

“And what would that achieve? She probably wouldn’t need much convincing. Tom’s reputation was that bad, everyone at the school knew about him. But what could she do? I mean if he does come calling, all she could do would be call it into the police, and they’d take forever to respond, like usual. If he doesn’t, she’s had a sleepless night for nothing, and no guarantee that he won’t come tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have fought him.”

“Don’t you dare apologise. He’s had it coming for a long time. And I guess if he does come calling, we can at least give his name to the police as a person of interest.”

“Yeah, but that won’t achieve much, will it?”

“What else can we do?”

“Maybe you’ll have a superhero watching over you tonight.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. You have to believe in something though.”

“Superheroes are for comics, and halfway decent films. What did you think of Dr Strange?”

“It was kind of weird, but in a good way. Loved the CGI. And Benedict Cumberbatch. I could go for someone like him.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“I doubt it. He’s nearer my dad’s age than mine, and he’s way out of my league. He has amazing eyes though. So intense!”

“He looks weird though. Really thin face and those unusual lips.”

“You are jealous, aren’t you? That’s so weird. I’d have thought you’d be more into him than me.”

“Hey, there’s only one person I’m interested in right now, and she’s right next to me.”

I gave him a hug and we walked on to the bus stop in silence. Yeah, the pronoun choice is deliberate. I’d been struggling with it all afternoon, because Jamie’s as much a girl as I am a guy, which is to say physically not at all, though could pass with effort. Mentally and emotionally, well, complicated. He kind of uncomplicated it all with that last comment though.

He saw me back to my place. I didn’t want him to get off the bus since it would mean he’d have to wait for the next one or walk back to his place, and given it was Sunday afternoon, that probably meant walk. He insisted though, which was really sweet. We paused outside my front door.

“I had a great time,” I said.

“Yeah, just what every girl wants on her first date – a punch-up with the local thugs.”

“Hey, I had a great time despite that. Besides, it was kind of fun giving them a bit of their own.”

“I guess. I still don’t know where that came from. I mean the way you were all scared and stuff, I was ready to do anything to get out of that without making it worse, then all of sudden you went all icy cold and chucked him in the bins. It was way cool, but totally unexpected.”

“He said something that reminded me of something horrible. I suppose I reacted without thinking. Tell your mum I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Well, you know, if anything bad comes from this, it’ll be kind of my fault.”

“Hey, don’t start that again. If Tom decides to be unpleasant about this, it’s entirely on him, not on you.”

“You don’t throw rocks at a wasp’s nest.”

“Sure, but we weren’t looking for trouble, were we? He started the confrontation, and you know, to stretch your analogy, if people are being stung by wasps, then maybe someone ought to do something about the nest.

“Look, I’m sorry I bought it up. I’m kind of ruining this. Despite that run in with Tom and Co, I had a great time too. Would you like to do it again sometime?”

I melted a little on the inside. My voice, when it came, was a little short on breath.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Maybe see if we can go somewhere where we won’t be disturbed.”

“That’d be really nice. Do you want to come in for a bit? I’m sure Mum and Dad wouldn’t mind.”

“No, it’s okay. It’ll take me a while to get home, so I should get going.”

“Dad would run you back.”

“And my mum would have words to say about that. I’ll call you.”

“Okay. You might find that a little difficult though.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t given you my phone number yet.”

“Mum has your mum on her books though. Of course, if you want to give me your number…”

I pulled out my mobile and brought up the number. Jamie typed it into his then sent me a text to make sure it worked – and to give me his number. He reached in and kissed me while I was adding him to my contacts.

“Hey!” I said.

“What?” He stepped back nervously.

“Wait till I can give you my full attention please.” I finished what I was doing with the phone, put it back into my bag and reached two arms around his neck. “Now try again.”

-oOo-

Mum wanted to know why I hadn’t invited Jamie in. Dad wanted to know what I’d been thinking, letting a girl walk home alone. Apparently, it was all very well my pretending to be a girl, but when it resulted in me putting a friend at risk…

I endured all of thirty seconds of Dad’s lecture mode before running upstairs in a flood of tears. Less than a minute later, I heard the front door close and our car start up.

It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t I be the girl? Why couldn’t Jamie be the guy? That’s what we both wanted. Besides, what did Dad expect from me? If I had walked Jamie to his front door, then it would have been me walking home alone, in a dress.

There were times when I hated my parents. I mean okay, Mum hadn’t done anything wrong, but when your hormones do the fighting, logic is usually one of the first casualties. I sobbed into my pillow and wished I really was the orphaned Svetlana, here on a privately arranged exchange.

Mum knocked on the door at one stage, but I didn’t answer. I felt the door open and heard her say something very quietly. I kept still and didn’t respond. I had no real desire to speak to her or anyone else just then. Mum closed the door and left me to my tears.

It was over half an hour later when the door opened again. This time it was Dad, and he wasn’t quite so wary as Mum. I felt him sit on the bed, but I wasn’t in the mood to respond. If he wanted to talk, he was going to have to work at it.

“I apologise, Svetlana,” he said. “I let me anger get the better of me. I hope you understand, the streets around here aren’t that safe at present. There have been acts of vandalism all over the neighbourhood. Now I’m sure someone like Jamie is quite capable of handling any unpleasant situation, but there’s no reason to go looking for trouble. In the future, would you please allow me to drive any of your friends home? At least until this unpleasantness has settled a little.”

I lay still and let the silence stretch until it felt awkward. So did Dad. Like I say, it’s his superpower.

“Okay,” I said quietly, not quite muffling my words in my pillow.

It was enough. I felt Dad’s weight lift of my mattress. He paused at the door.

“Dinner will be in half an hour, in case you’d like to freshen up before you come down.”

He closed the door quietly.

-oOo-

Dinner was a light salad. Nothing special after the lunchtime roast, and it wouldn’t’ have taken much effort to put together. I managed not to feel guilty about leaving Mum to put it together by herself. After all, I didn’t usually as Gerald.

Mum tried to make light conversation, asked about our afternoon. I told them about our confrontation with Tom Marsh and his friends and gave Dad the perfect opening to give me an I-told-you-so lecture. Mum tried to warn him off with a look, but he wasn’t listening.

I gave him a minute this time before abandoning my half-eaten salad.

Mum came up ten minutes later with a cup of tea and a slice of cake. She found me laying out my Spandexia costume.

“What are you doing, dear?”

I must have looked guilty because she called down to Dad, who appeared in my doorway just a few seconds later. You could tell from his expression he wasn’t best pleased. I steeled myself, preparing for the full onslaught.

“I can’t say I like the idea of your going out, Svetlana, but I suppose it is why you’re here. Don’t forget, you need to be in school tomorrow, so don’t stay out too late.”

What?

I thought he’d been using my girl name as a way of trying to reconcile things, but after all his lectures, here he was, ready to let me go outside into our currently dodgy neighbourhood wearing my hot pink catsuit. Was this some kind of weird parental lesson he was trying to teach me?

He disappeared from the doorway to be replaced by Mum who offered me her old nurse’s cape. It was a dark navy blue with a dark red lining and would reach down below mid-calf on me.

“Mum?”

“It’s alright dear, you don’t have to pretend when it’s just the three of us. I wondered if this might help a little. That costume of yours is going to stand out a little otherwise, and I’m sure you’ll appreciate having some help keeping hidden in the dark. It’ll keep you warm as well. The evenings are a little chilly at the moment. Do please keep your phone on you, won’t you? And let us know if you need us.”

I took the cloak and watched, dumbstruck, as Mum backed out the door. What on Earth was going on?