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I was a girl. I’d always been a girl. I’d always dressed like a girl. But then I went to school and they told me I was a boy.

Skirting the Dress Code, by Karin Bishop

Part 3

Chapter 6: Inappropriate Attire

No makeup or hairstyles that are considered distracting and/or disruptive will be permitted.

I was still walking on air when Mom got home. I told her all about my day and she said, “A possible girlfriend and boyfriend in only the second day!”

“Mom, he’s not my boyfriend,” I said, rolling my eyes, even as my heart was thumping.

“Right,” she smiled. I knew enough not to challenge that.

I had made lasagna for dinner, taking more interest because of Mrs. Boynton’s Home Ec class. I had no homework—yay, Study Hall! Even with Mr. Abrams!—so we watched a dance competition and part of The Devil Wears Prada again. Mom passed my room as I was doing my nails, and said, “You know, we never talked about what you’re going to do instead of PE. Gotta stay in shape. I’ve got a couple of ideas, or you can suggest something. I’m thinking something dance-oriented, or something martial arts-oriented.”

“Could I do both?”

“Both? Well, if it doesn’t cut into your schoolwork.”

“Mom, I’ve got Study Hall that gives me five hours a week to do homework that I don’t have to do at home. And I read fast; you know that. Um, if I can do only one, how about Aikido? It’s not aggressive, I would learn protection, and it’s a workout.”

“Good choice. I’ll look into a …what do they call it? Oh, yes; a dojo for teen girls.” She paused and grinned. “We might squeeze in dance later if you seem to be handling Aikido well.”

The next day was a bit more of a test for me, because I knew that I had only the two-week grace period of teachers calling me a disruption and action being taken. Which meant that I had to do my ‘disrupting’ in that time. So today it was to be pushing the makeup envelope. My clothing was simple; I wore a pink abstract designed top with a scoop neck and cap sleeves, which I really liked, blue jeans that flared a bit and white Chuck Taylors with pink laces. But I had been looking at the other girls closely and had a pretty good idea of how much makeup was acceptable. A bit more blush, a hint of eyeshadow, and light shiny pink lipgloss and I was ready. It was funny; I didn’t wear makeup at my home school, because even though it was completely gender-neutral and I could, it just wasn’t a part of my life there. But I did wear makeup everywhere else and going out nights with Mom, and what I had on now was still less than I usually wore, so I figured it was safe. I’d done my nails the previous night, and they were an iridescent pink and so pretty.

And wouldn’t you know it? I got busted, but not for makeup—Mr. Abrams claimed that my top was distracting. I was sent to the Principal’s office from Study Hall, of all things! Mrs. Danby rolled her eyes when I handed her the slip. She called Mrs. Halloran, who called me in. We sat and I waited for her to begin.

“So Mr. Abrams feels you’re wearing too much makeup …” She frowned.

“Um, no, ma’am—at least, that’s not what he told me. He said my top was ‘too plunging’.”

“Plunging?” she said like it was a foreign word. “Did you do anything to it? I mean, were you wearing it differently in class?”

“Study Hall, actually. And, no. I haven’t even touched it since he called me up to his desk.” I shrugged. “I’ve been reading the Dress Code and don’t see where this qualifies as inappropriate, but I won’t wear it again.”

“Says something here …Hard to read his writing. Something about a bra strap?”

It dawned on me. “Oh! My pencil rolled off the desk and I bent over to get it. It was right after I sat back up that he called me. I thought he was going to say I was too loud or something. But my bras fit and I don’t have loose straps, ma’am. We went to a bra fitter at Macy’s to make sure they fit right.”

We looked at each other and she sighed. “I think …I’m guessing that Mr. Abrams noticed you bending over; teachers in Study Hall tend to notice any change in posture much quicker than when they’re teaching. I’m guessing he caught a glimpse of your bra strap and that’s what this is about.”

“That I’m wearing a bra? But you already know that, ma’am; we talked about it with my mother.”

“Yes, but it was the combination of a scoop neckline, a dropped pencil, and the fact that you’re wearing a bra that has …disturbed Mr. Abrams.” She frowned. “I told them all about our two-week understanding.”

“And thank you for that, Mrs. Halloran. I’m hoping that before the two weeks are over, everybody will be used to me.” Even Abrams, I thought to myself but didn’t say.

“Mrs. Danby told me about your locker, and I’ve spoken with Vlad …” She smiled. “You seem to have made a friend in our custodian.”

“He seems like a nice man. I’m just sorry he has to do extra work to clean my locker.”

“Well, we’ll see if his magic paint will do the trick.” She took a blue notepad and wrote. “I’m clearing you to go back to class, and I’ll speak with Mr. Abrams later. I hope no other teacher objects to your attire. I’m supposed to remain neutral, but I must say that you look quite pretty.”

I smiled. “Thank you, ma’am. Just one thing; it might help you with Mr. Abrams. It might …shine a light on something. He used the word ‘sin’ to me.”

That brought a frown! “Sin?”

“Yes, ma’am. He said to ‘stop wearing girls’ clothes; it’s a sin’. Two days ago.”

“That has no place in teacher-student …” She seemed angry. “Very well; thank you for telling me that.”

“I hope it didn’t sound like I was complaining or anything; I just thought it might help explain his position.”

She nodded sadly. “You’re right; it does shed light on the situation.”

“Oh, I’m sorry; I’d like to ask a second thing, and I don’t know the procedure. Two kids yesterday asked me about drama …I don’t know what the school offers or when or if there’s a brochure or something?”

She smiled. “Have Mrs. Danby pull a sheet for you about trying out for the Fall Play. And, Laurie …I’m hearing very good things about you.” She held up Mr. Abrams’ note. “Present company excepted. I know it’s very early, but you seem to be getting along.”

“Yes, ma’am; I hope so. So far everybody’s been fine …well, except for the kid with the Sharpie!”

I got the play info from Mrs. Danby who smiled and said, “Such a pretty top!” and when I got back to Study Hall I was respectful when I handed the blue pass to Mr. Abrams. He didn’t look at me but waved to my seat with one hand, and that was pretty much the end of Study Hall, which meant I had homework to do that night.

Lunchtime; I went to put my books in my locker and Sharpie-guy (it could be a girl, but I think a girl would prefer rumors to tagging) had written ‘Fukin faggot’, removing any likelihood he was an Honors student! When I’d arrived that morning, my locker was clean and shiny. I’d brought a package of Handi-Wipes to leave in my locker so I tested the Anti-Stick. Wow, it worked great! One swipe of the wipe and the stuff came right off! A garbage can was across the hall and in less than two minutes from the time I saw my tagged locker, I was walking to lunch with a clean locker. I saw Vladimir across the quad and went over and told him; he grinned and nodded happily.

* * *

I sat down and Shannon bounced into place next to me. “Hey, everybody’s talking about you, damn it.”

“Why ‘damn it’?”

“Because they’re not talking about me.” And then she giggled. “Sorry; I couldn’t resist. That’s a line of dialogue from an old Thirties movie I watched last night. Hey, you like old movies?”

“Um …yeah …what’s all this about?”

“Nothing. Just …making small talk. And, duh, to find out if you like old movies.”

“Yeah, I do. So everybody’s talking about me?”

“Well, not everybody but …yeah, some.” She shrugged.

“And?”

She shrugged again. “Stupid stuff. You’re a boy, you’re not a boy, you’re a girl, you’re not a girl. Nobody knows and they’ve got nothing else to talk about. Oh, and that fight yesterday wasn’t anything. So until the first big fight or breakup or scandal …you’re it, Laurie.”

“Great. Well, I’ve got two weeks.”

“Two weeks?”

“My mom and I met with the Principal before school started. Mrs. Halloran gave me two weeks’ grace period to not get …I don’t know …ejected from class.”

“Ejected? What for?”

“Disruption.”

“Yeah, right; you’re such a rebel! Pretty in pink!”

“That’s me,” I agreed. I paused. “This thing with the records …it should have just been the Principal and us. So how did everybody find out?”

“I think she might have had to tell the teachers. You know, district regulations and all that. Because wouldn’t they get the district printouts? You know, for their attendance sheets?”

“Yeah, we figured that. All seven of them got it. But they weren’t supposed to …announce it or anything.” I sighed. “Tilden, Laurence, male.”

“Hey; I never asked or you told me and I missed it. ‘Laurence’ is wrong, duh; but what’s it supposed to be?”

“Lauren.”

“Yeah, I can see how those two letters screwed things up. Lauren’s a cool name. But Laurie’s better,” Shannon grinned. “And female’s way better!”

“Yep,” I said and returned her grin.

“Hey, you wanna hang out Friday? Do the mall or something?”

“Sure you want to be seen with the Boy-Who’s-Not-A-Girl?”

“Or the Girl-Who’s-Not-A-Boy? How about that?” She shrugged. “I thought you were pretty sharp yesterday. Might be fun at the mall.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” I smiled.

* * *

On the bus home, I found myself sitting next to Drake. I had found an empty seat towards the back and was finishing up my Social Studies reading that I didn’t get finished in Study Hall because of Mr. Abrams freaking out. I looked up just as Drake was standing at the seat, gesturing.

“Okay with you?”

I nodded. And smiled.

He slid into the seat and we made small talk about ‘rough day’—even though mine had been fine, Abrams excepted. He noticed my book.

“Are you one of those A students, always studying?”

“I’m not a grind. I’m a pretty good student.” I looked at the book in my lap. “I have Study Hall and get everything done then. I had to go to the Principal’s office for something and didn’t finish today. So I just did.”

“Whoa! Getting sent to the Principal’s office on the third day! You must be an outlaw or something.”

So today I’m a rebel and an outlaw, I thought. I shrugged, and said, “Mr. Abrams said I was violating the Dress Code.”

“What? But you’re …well, it seems pretty conservative, the way you’re dressed now. What were you wearing before you changed?”

“That’s just it!” I blew out some air. “This! I was wearing what you see.”

“That’s just crazy. I mean, I don’t know chapter and verse of the Dress Code, but …”

“Mr. Abrams got upset because he could see my bra strap when I bent down to pick up a pencil.”

“That’s just silly! It’s not like you flashed it or something.”

I liked that he was automatically taking my side. I smiled and said, “I think if I hadn’t been wearing one, he would have written me up, anyway.”

“What does he have against you? Like I said, it’s only the third day.”

I shrugged. “I offend him. He can’t get past what it says on his attendance sheet. About me, I mean.”

“Why doesn’t he just think of it as a typo? I mean, if your last name was ‘Jones’ and they left the letter ‘O’ out, would he pronounce your name ‘Jnes’ and send you to the office if you said your name was Jones?”

I laughed at the ‘Jnes’ sound he’d made. “I like the way you think.” Then I sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s a religious thing with Abrams. He said what I’m doing is a sin.”

“What you’re doing …you mean being a girl?” I nodded. He shrugged. “Then it’s his problem. Just keep your head down.”

Chapter 7: Appropriate Attire

Dresses, skirts, shorts, skorts, and capri pants must clearly reach below the length of the fingertips (arms extended down straight to the side).

Once again I was happy after talking with Drake. And happy that Shannon seemed to want to be my friend. I made a nice chicken-and-rice dish for dinner, and in my pink sweatpants and a cami, cuddled up with Mom for some TV and chat time.

When I put on my nightie, I critically examined my breasts, and I could swear I see that they were a little bit bigger than they had been. I giggled to myself, wondering if they were standing up proudly in defiance of Mr. Abrams! I slept well and dreamed of Drake, of course.

The next morning was the first I took the bus. I got a window seat and hoped …but it filled up at the next stop and when Drake would have got on, I already had a seatmate but Drake wasn’t there. I didn’t know if he was sick or whether he didn’t take the bus in the mornings, and it kind of bummed me out.

I wore straight black jeans, black-and-white checkered slip-on Vans, a white t-shirt and black vest. My t-shirt was a girls’ v-neck and once on, it seemed to be less obviously a t-shirt and more of a top. I wore a dusting of makeup and my pink nails, of course. All day yesterday I was waiting for somebody to comment on my nails and nothing.

The nails went unnoticed today, too, except for Rose, one of the girls at our lunch table, asking me what the color was and where did I get it. Rose was a cheerfully gloomy type—or was it gloomily cheerful?—with frizzy black hair and Tina Fey glasses. Shannon and I chatted about ‘malling’ tomorrow; Mom had given her approval.

In Social Studies we got divided into study groups, and I had Ashley, one of the cheerleaders; Monica, a serious Korean girl; and Bill, a wood-shop type. You know, the type where that’s the only class that they can do? We’re working on the World War II Japanese internment camps. Bill had to be reminded that Monica was not ‘a Jap’, as he’d called her, and Ashley lived up to or down to her stereotype by playing with her hair and saying ‘whatever’ a lot.

No problems with Mr. Abrams in Study Hall; I still felt his glare but was meek and mild and refused to get into his game. He glared at me on the way out but it was fine.

All of my classes were pretty good, actually. I had a little trouble pronouncing the difference between the ‘tu’ and ‘tous’ sounds in French, and then I found where to ‘put’ the sounds in my mouth and nose, and felt like I’d achieved something.

Drake was at the bus stop ahead of me, grinning. I asked about the morning and he said his older brother drops him off ‘most days’ but I was glad he rode home with me. We talked about movies and TV and I think he was trying to guess if I would go out with him to a movie.

I just want to go out with him! All he has to do is ask!

Well, and for Mom to approve …

I told Mom that night, and she smiled and advised me to wait a bit longer. She didn’t mean it in the way of mothers telling their daughters to wait about boys. She meant that these first few weeks were critical to my acceptance at school and to focus on getting accepted as a girl before I could be accepted as a girlfriend. And to not be too surprised or too hurt if Drake suddenly got cold feet about being with me. I couldn’t really say no to that, because as it was I was a bit surprised he was so interested so soon.

Then I told Mom my second topic: I wanted to wear a skirt to school on Friday. She made a nervous face.

I said quickly, “Mom, I’m thinking of this in a practical way. I only have the two weeks’ grace, right? And Friday is the half-way mark. I thought the point was that any so-called disruptions I might cause are …disrupted and forgiven in the two weeks, and smooth sailing from then on?”

She nodded. “It’s …yes, that’s pretty much my understanding, too, honey.” She furrowed her brow. “But I thought you’d wait until the end, you know? To give everybody time to get used to you?”

“I kind of thought so too, Mom. But a funny thing happened. I had clear nail polish and then pink, and nobody said anything. Wait! I take that back; Rose said she liked the color. Maybe I’ll get a reaction when they’re red or dark plum or something, but I got the feeling …” I was spinning my hair around my little finger. “Mom, I was getting the feeling that it all …it’s all kind of coming together, and then I think that it’s only been four days, but it’s this feeling of sort of belonging already.” I shrugged. “Maybe I’m lulled into a false sense of security, but the only problem’s been Mr. Abrams.”

Mom pointed her spoon at me. “And your graffiti person, remember.”

I frowned. “Oh …yeah. Forgot about him.”

“Or her.”

“I think it’s a him. It’s a guy thing; girls would probably do nasty letters slipped into the locker.”

Mom grinned. “You’re right about that! I remember letters I got …”

“You got nasty letters, Mom?”

“Every girl gets them. Or most, anyway.” She took on a bitter, sing-song voice. “You think you’re so special! Who do you think you are, anyway? Why don’t you stop thinking you’re better than everyone else?”

“But you are better than everyone else!” I grinned. “You’re my mom!”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, baby!” Then she laughed.

I laughed, too, and then got serious. “I was thinking that if any teacher had a problem with me in a skirt, they might be less apt to do anything about it because it’s a Friday, you know? And if any kids had problems, like graffiti boy, they’d usually retaliate the next day, but it would be the weekend.”

“There’s a lot to that, actually,” she nodded. “Well, I think you’ve made a valid case. So are you thinking a skirt or dress?”

“I think a skirt first. Conservative top and a denim skirt, simple flats. Next week, if all goes well, at some point, I’ll wear a dress. I was thinking about that blue plaid with the buttons down the front?”

“Oh, I love that one; you’re so pretty in it!” She was smiling and then sighed. “You are so pretty, Laurie.”

“You think you’re so special!” I teased in a sing-song voice.

* * *

I wore a perfectly legal denim skirt and carefully measured so it was about a half-inch past my fingertips, fully extended, yada- yada - yada. I wore a plain white embroidered long-sleeved top with the sleeves pushed up a little. I also decided on a loose braid for some reason, but I thought it worked.

The bus was crowded and I sat with the chubby girl, who I finally got to know was named Marie and was a huge Twilight fan. I let her do the talking, and she actually became quite pretty when she got smiling and animated. I had read a little bit about the casting changes for the various movies and asked her about it; she was very passionate and we were laughing by the time we got to school.

Marie had said things that were meaningless to me, like “Rachel was a better Victoria” and I realized that I had better read the Twilightbooks—not just in case we sat together again, but I knew Marie wasn’t alone. Lots of girls were into that series and The Hunger Games—another one that I had was clueless about—and I realized the downside of home schooling: Population. Since ours was small with relatively few changes, there wasn’t the huge melting pot of other kids’ interests. I knew from passing magazine racks that Twilight was hugely popular, but I didn’t read a lot of ‘pop’ fiction, preferring history and other nonfiction books.

Obviously, I was going to have to learn about vampires and hungry games and whatever else everybody was buzzing about. With our home school, we saw everybody everyday and didn’t get into Facebook—something else I was going to have to learn about. Oh—and Twitter.

It was a good thing that I’d sat with Marie and had these thoughts, and she’d capped the good experience: On the way out, she said, “I really like your braid, Laurie!”

Nothing about a skirt. Good!

And it stayed that way, but of course I was worried about Study Hall. And it wasn’t really a very fair test, because I was in my seat before Mr. Abrams appeared. He scanned the room and I couldn’t tell if he lingered on me or not, but it was answered when the buzzer announced the end of class and start of lunch. We all stood and gathered our things and I heard Mr. Abrams call out, “Tilden!”

Now, when somebody was in trouble, he always called girls ‘Miss Whatever’ and boys he called ‘Mister Whatever’. But just ‘Whatever’?

I walked up to him, my books cradled in my arm, and was very conscious—for the first time—of my skirt swinging. “Yes, Mr. Abrams?”

He frowned. “Is this to be the way things …are to be?”

“Sir?”

He pointed to my skirt. “You’re wearing a skirt.”

“Yes, sir. It’s within the Dress Code. I mean for length and everything.”

“You …” His face went kind of still. “You mean to keep doing this?”

I was aware that we were alone. I said, “Mr. Abrams, please. May we speak freely?”

“Certainly.” He sort of straightened.

“I am a girl.” I said nothing else. We looked at each other.

“Not according to the records,” he said.

“I agree.” He didn’t seem to be expecting that; he seemed startled. I nodded. “Not according to the records.”

“Well?”

“Mr. Abrams, I’d like to ask you a hypothetical question. Your eyes are brown, correct?”

“Yes, but …”

“And if the records stated that your eyes are blue, then I must ask you—what color are your eyes?”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“I appreciate that, but if you don’t mind, sir, could you answer the question, please? If your eyes are brown and the records say they’re blue, what color are your eyes?”

“Miss Tilden, I don’t need to—” He broke off, realizing that he’d automatically said ‘Miss’.

I pounced. “Mr. Abrams, you do need to look at me. Talk with me. This is my reality, my brown eyes so to speak, not the blue eyes the records say.”

He looked at me and frowned. “But this is a different matter. The color of eyes is very different from the sin of wearing the clothes of the opposite sex.”

“Mr. Abrams, I won’t pretend to know the Bible, but if I understand you correctly, if I were a boy, it would be a sin to wear a skirt. Is that right?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“But if I am a girl, it’s not a sin to wear a skirt, correct?”

“Correct.”

“But I am a girl, so there’s no sin involved.”

He frowned.

I quickly said, “Forget the records.”

He frowned deeper and said, “I’ll take that under advisement ...Miss Tilden.”

“Thank you, Mr. Abrams. That’s all I can ask.”

I turned and went to lunch, knowing my skirt was swinging.

When I got to lunch, Shannon said, “Where were you?”

I just said, “Study Hall conference.”

“Ah. Abrams and sin.”

I spun and stared. “You know?”

“There’s some Born Again bozos that he’s in with. I mean, they had their first meeting and he’s the advisor. First order of business was you.”

“How do you know this?”

She grinned. “I went.” On my reaction, she chuckled, “I wanted to see who they were and what they were up to. I don’t like anybody being self-righteous or holier-than-thou, and I like you and they don’t even know you so I was curious. It’s not like I’m going back or anything.”

“Wow,” I shook my head. “Thanks, Shannon.”

“That’s what friends are for, duh?”

With the teasing way she’d said that, I knew that we were friends.

* * *

No hassles of any kind; I think wearing the skirt at school went over well and I was delighted. And even more when Shannon met me at the bus stop and we began walking to the mall. We were talking and laughing about this and that. Immediately, it was Shopping Time! I was so glad I was wearing a skirt because it was easier trying things on. Shannon had worn a blue denim tiered skirt and tie-dyed top to school but after the first store she stuck to a pink camisole that was really cute on her—and a major violation of our Dress Code! Under her urging, I found myself buying and wearing a really shiny and lacy—at the same time!—camisole and a much shorter-than-Dress-Code black skirt. Mom had given me a charge card and a warning not to go crazy. Okay, and I got some spiky sandals—but everything I got was discounted and way cheaper than most department stores. By the time we were in the Food Court, sipping smoothies, we looked fifteen or sixteen.

“Ah! I feel human again!” Shannon sighed.

“I’m feeling a little exposed,” I said. “But it’s a great feeling!”

We ‘clinked’ our smoothies and cemented our friendship.

I noticed something and pretended not to notice. “Hey, don’t look, but there’s a couple of cute guys by the hot dog place.”

“Eating or just passing by?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you like hot dogs?”

“Not particularly. I mean, I’ll eat ‘em.”

“Same here. I don’t know any girl that loves hot dogs. But guys do.”

“So?”

“So …if they’re eating hot dogs at the hot dog place, they’re just dudes. You know, out with the boys. If they’re just passing by the hot dog place, perhaps they have more …mature tastes.”

I chuckled. “Well, it looks like they’re just drinking Cokes.”

“Ah, savvy shoppers!”

“What?”

“The hot dog place—and the fish place at the far end—charge like a quarter less for their drinks.”

I shook my head, smiling. “You don’t miss a trick, do you?”

“A girl’s gotta do …”

“Like a fish needs a bicycle,” I tossed at her, mixing platitudes wildly.

She snorted, her hand flying to her mouth and nose. “God! Now look what you made me do!” I handed her a napkin and she giggled. “Now I’m going to have raspberry snot all day!”

We howled at that, and that’s how things went between us.

Mom had not just given me the card; she’d said that she’d swing by the mall after work ‘for a spot of shopping’ and could give us a ride home. I think it was a bit of a test, and I passed, I guess. Mom texted that she was in the Macy’s parking lot just now. I told Shannon about it and asked if she wanted to meet Mom and she agreed. I texted Mom that we were in the Food Court and Mom said she’d be right there, and not two minutes later she was walking towards us. She was being cool and not waving and yelling, ‘Yoo-hoo! Laurie, sweetie! It’s Mom!’ or anything.

Shannon swiveled to see her. “She’s pretty,” she commented.

“Thanks. I couldn’t see it for the longest time. I mean, she was just Mom, you know?”

“Yeah, it’s weird. I was looking at my mom and had that thing one day, where the blinders fell, and I thought, ‘Omigod, she’s a dumpy, frustrated woman’ but she still had this magic glow around her; she was My Mom, right?”

“Yeah. But I’m sure she’s not dumpy.”

“You haven’t seen her yet.” She shrugged. “Yeah, kinda harsh. But she is frustrated.”

At that point Mom got to us and I introduced Shannon and they seemed friendly. We chatted a little and she complimented me on my purchases but frowned.

I held up a hand. “I know, I know; not acceptable Dress Code. But I had to have some fun clothes …” I trailed off, not wanting to sound whiny.

“Well, they’re very cute on you. Make you look a little older, and that—” She looked past me and then down. “They make you look older, which is why the cute guys over there are checking you out.”

“Mom!” I burst out.

Shannon’s back was to them, but she said, “Blue plaid shirt, yellow jersey?”

Mom grinned. “You already spotted them?”

“Yes,” I admitted. I blushed a little, looked at Mom, and we both burst out laughing.

Mom said, “Hey, I haven’t read the Dress Code as thoroughly as Laurie. Shannon, maybe you know …what’s their policy on tights?”

End of Part 3

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