Printer-friendly version

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 6

Chapter 13: Inappropriate Activities

Any displays of affection between siblings and family members may be culturally appropriate, but must not infringe on others’ sensibilities or draw undue attention.

Having a cell phone was new to me and I wasn’t constantly checking it for texts like most girls, so it wasn’t until I got in the car with Mom that I saw the text from Rachel asking if I wanted to hang with her. I called her as Mom headed back home and Mom suggested we swing by and pick her up before hitting our mall for my sleepover thingies.

Rachel was ready and actually looked like she’d had a good week. She was in tight black jeans and Converse sneakers and a black-and-white striped top. I looked like a slob next to her with my cargo capris and oversized blouse, now with tomato sauce stains. I ran in her house with her and she tossed me a Kelly green top with a yellow under-cami and a denim skirt. It was one of those with the hanging tendrils of frayed denim; Mom doesn’t like the look—preferring hems—but understood the need to ditch the cargoes.

By the time we got to the mall, we’d discussed our plan of attack. First order was to get the gym bag and second order was to put things in it. Then we’d be cut loose to wander while Mom did her own shopping. We found a bag, dark blue with white splashes at a sports shoe store that was offering a deal. So I got a new pair of white-with-pink-trim trainers. I liked my flats with the skirt so the shoes went in the bag, along with some capri-length pajamas from Penney’s.

Mom said, “Not every slumber party is going to be baby dolls and facials.”

Rachel, of course, asked seriously, “Why would she want to give a baby doll a facial?” which earned her a snicker from Mom.

Mom’s theory was that I should have an ‘away’ bag all prepped. She said the flurry of last-minute packing and always leaving something behind could be eliminated—and confidence increased—by having a bag always ready. I’d put spare shorts, jeans, a sundress, swimsuit, and flip-flops in and leave them there along with one cute nightie and the new, more conservative pajamas. Plus toiletries; Mom said after she cut us loose she would hit the Target just off the mall for the travel sizes of the things I used.

So we were free to roam for one hour; Mom would join us at the food court and then I’d have a little bit of time to get ‘rested’, she said, before the sleepover. ‘Centered’ was maybe a better word for it. I was glad that between working downtown and hanging with Rachel, I didn’t have too much time to worry about tonight.

Rachel read me like a book and quizzed me on the girls coming, especially Jennifer. Contrary to Ken’s Aikido approach, Rachel was all for ‘hitting the bitch right between the eyes’ but was at a loss exactly how to do that. I favored the non-combative approach and changed the subject to how she was doing.

Her face lit up. “I met the coolest girl!”

“Really? True love or what?” We’ve always been able to talk this way, casual and teasing at the same time.

“Naw; not my type.”

“You have a type?”

“Or …flavor, maybe,” she grinned. “That’s what Trish calls ‘em.”

“Calls who? And who’s Trish, besides being the coolest girl?”

“She’s older; a senior. Almost eighteen. Been out since she was like, forever. And doesn’t look dyke-y. Everybody seems to know about her and it seems like it’s no big deal to the other girls. She’s really earthy, though, and she’s been around, and she had an older girl teach her and I met her in the library one day and she’s really cool.”

“Good. I was worried she wasn’t cool,” I said drily.

That earned me a good-natured punch in the shoulder. Rachel went on, “She was telling me about types of lesbians. She calls ‘em ‘flavors’. She actually asked me that, when I told her I was gay. ‘What flavor are you?’ and I didn’t know what to say.”

“What did you say?”

“I just shrugged and said, ‘Vanilla?’ like a question, and she thought it was so funny—but in a good way!—and I’m so glad I met her.”

“I am, too, Rach; I mean that.” I did, too. She needs someone to guide her; I can’t imagine the minefield for an openly-gay girl at an all-girls’ school.

“I know you do, Laur,” she grinned.

“So …flavors?”

“Ah. You know how kids are in cliques, like the Preppies and the Goths and the Jocks and all that?”

I nodded. “Not to mention the Sharks and the Jets.”

She did the opening notes of West Side Story, going ‘da-da-da-da-daaa …’ and did the finger-snaps. “So the flavors are like that for lesbians. And the funny thing, you know the show on TV, The L Word?” I nodded and she laughed. “A lot of the names she used were all with the letter ‘L’, too. Leather lesbians, Lace lesbians, Lit lesbians, Lugs—”

“Lugs?”

“It stands for ‘Lesbian-Until-Graduation’. Those are girls that aren’t really gay, but they publicly identify themselves as lesbians while they’re at college to keep the boys away so they can study.”

“They sound …kinda phony.”

“Well, they are, in a way, but it’s more marketing than a lifestyle …” She frowned. “God, that sounded shallow, didn’t it?”

“I get it, though,” I shrugged. “Leather and lace I get, but what’s a Lit lesbian?”

She grinned. “Those are the girls that are typically literary or artistic. The ones that read Jane Austen all the time and have a cup of tea. They’re artists a lot of times. Think of a girl in a white lacy dress on a cliff sketching the ocean, or curled up by a fireplace with Sense and Sensibility and a cup of chamomile tea.”

“Sounds a little pretentious, but also nice and cozy and …really feminine.”

Rachel nodded. “Yeah. I think it’s a nice image. Trish said they can be fantastic lovers but agonizing breakups.”

“Maybe it’s all the Austen. Or the chamomile,” I teased.

She laughed. “Yeah, maybe; but better than a Leather dyke coming at you with a chainsaw!”

“That’s Leatherface from Texas Chainsaw Massacre, you goof! And I’m pretty sure he wasn’t a dyke!”

We were still laughing and I gave her a hug. Then she did a little jump.

“Ooh! Sale at Wet Seal!”

And we attacked.

* * *

Mom had given me one of her credit cards and I was really good and only bought a top. Rachel got a skirt and funny tights and we headed to the food court to wait for Mom.

We’d overheard a girl in the changing room at Wet Seal say to her girlfriend, ‘That’s so gay!” and that led us to talk about how stupid the term was, at least as used by middle-school girls to describe something they thought wasn’t fashionable.

“When everybody knows that being gay is trés chic!” Rachel laughed, putting a hand on her hip and one behind her head. Then she said, “If that girl actually knew who was gay in her class, she’d freak.”

“Maybe she was gay,” I suggested.

“Nope. Just stupid.”

“Oh, you can tell? Gay-dar?”

I was teasing, but she took it seriously and nodded, thoughtfully. “Kind of. Not as good as Trish, probably, but …I get a vibe. Usually right. But since I’m out, I can’t be embarrassed like a kid in the closet.” She waved her hands and spoke in a worried voice. “Oh, God; now they’ll think I’m gay.” She shrugged, back to normal. “And since I am gay, I don’t care. But publicly outing somebody is a bad way to start a relationship.” She paused. “But, yeah; I can usually tell.”

We were near the entrance to the food court and I put her to the test. “Okay, girl. Scan the court. Who is and who isn’t?”

“Gay?”

I nodded.

She laughed. “Well, the boy in the lime green wife-beater—”

“That’s Hector and you already know he’s gay!” I laughed. “Your ‘L Word’ thing. Girls. Teach me, oh great Mistress of All Things.”

She stood tall and looked down her nose at me. “And never forget that I am the Mistress of All Things.” Then she cracked herself up. Leaning against a thick white column, she said, “Okay. Um …six.”

“Sex?” I teased.

“Six, dummy!” she laughed. “I scan six confirmed and a couple of maybes.”

“Six. Just by looking.” I sounded skeptical.

“Six,” she nodded. “Look, it’s a code. I’m not being stunningly brilliant. It’s like …you see the guy with the Green Bay Packers jersey?” I nodded. “He’s into football.”

“Well, duh!” I laughed.

“But does he play chess? Probably not, if he’s so gung-ho about football that he wears a team jersey.”

I nodded. “Sure, but he could play chess. It could be his brother’s jersey.”

She snorted. “I’m not saying it’s foolproof! But look at it this way. If you felt the urge to talk about football and looked around the food court, who would you have the best chance of a football discussion with?”

“Packers boy,” I nodded. “I get it.”

“That’s all it is,” she shrugged. “Certain items of clothing, certain hairstyles, certain activities, or posture …I’m still learning about it from Trish but she’s been right on the money for the most part.”

“I understand now. And you said six?”

“Six,” she nodded again. “By Orange Julius, the three girls next to the trash can?” She pointed with her chin. “The one in black.”

“Let me guess. Leather?”

“Yeah. She doesn’t have a leather jacket, but the shirt …that’s a military cut, a guy’s undershirt. And her hair is …she’s experimenting and her friends don’t know it yet, so she’s got that short cut and I bet she can gel it back and then she’s definitely Leather.”

“Fair enough. Five more.”

“The one by the Cinnabon, in that satiny blouse?”

And she went on, describing the basic styles of the girls. It was kind of fun, and funny, and I wondered about girls that weren’t gay and didn’t know the dress code identifying a lesbian ‘flavor’ when Rachel began describing the Lit lesbian.

“It’s not a pot of chamomile, but I’d bet dollars to doughnuts that’s iced tea she’s drinking. Got her legs curled up under her. Peasant skirt. Comfy top and—God, is that a Peter Pan collar? Kind of a retro thing going on. She’s the artist, sketching away. Watch, she’s pretending to be in her own little world but she’s really checking out …um …that one, see the girl in the pink Hollister shirt? Over by Panda Express?”

I did see the girl in the pink Hollister shirt, but more importantly, I could see the Lit lesbian.

It was Rose.

I had this sudden …flash and acted without thinking things through; I just …went for it.

“Hey, I gotta pee. You wanna get Cokes and a table? It’s filling up.”

“Yeah, cool,” she said off-handedly and headed into the court.

I started towards the restrooms but got out of sight and pulled out my phone and called Mom. Fortunately, she answered right away.

I cut off her casual chat. “Mom, I need a favor and I don’t have time to explain. Nothing bad, just …something with the phone. I need you to keep your phone ready and I will call you again. You answer but I won’t; it’s just a signal, okay?”

“Are you in any trouble?”

“No, no; the signal is for you to turn right around and call me, okay? That way I’ll have the excuse to take the call and step away.”

“Is this something with Drake? Or the kids that have been giving you a hard time at school?”

“No, but …just please, Mom? Expect a cut-off call from me in about ten minutes or so and then you call me right back.”

“Alright. I hope this works for you, sweetie.”

“Hope so, too. Love you, Mom!”

“Now I know you’re up to something!” she laughed, but hung up anyway.

I quickly walked into the food court and then slowed, looking casual, putting myself in the line of sight between Rose and the Hollister girl. I looked around and acted surprised to see Rose, who smiled when she saw me.

“Rose! Hey!” I said as I walked up.

She gestured to a chair. “Do we only meet when there’s food around?” she chuckled. We shared no classes.

I said, “I’m here with …” I looked around. “There she is. I’m here with Rachel, my best friend from home school. She goes to St. Mary’s now.”

“Wow. That’s a tough school,” Rose said.

Rachel turned, drinks in hand and looking for tables, and I caught her eye and waved her over.

“This is Rose from my school,” I said. “We eat at the same lunch table. This is Rachel.”

They said hi and hello and Rose offered her table and sat up.

I said, “So, what are you drawing?” I turned to Rachel and said, “She’s really good. I’ve seen some of her work.”

Rose gave me a worried look but I kept a smile and she relaxed. “Just …doodling, really. No biggie.” She changed subjects. “Laurie just told me you go to St. Mary’s?” Rachel nodded. “I hear it’s really tough there.”

Rachel shrugged. “It’s not so bad if you’re fully armed.”

There was a beat while I worried that Rose wouldn’t appreciate Rachel’s humor, but she burst out laughing. “That’s really funny! I meant academically, but …yeah!” She was still chuckling.

I unzipped my purse and pulled out my phone. “Rose, I’m still getting to know kids at school, and phone numbers and stuff. Do you want to give me yours?”

“Sure,” she shrugged and read off the numbers.

I entered them in my phone and then laid it carefully just so in my purse. Then I gave Rose my number and she wrote it on the back of her sketch pad.

“So what are you up to?” Rose asked me. “Aren’t you doing that sleepover thing, or was that last night?”

“No, it’s tonight; last night I was …on a date.” I grinned.

Rachel leaned over to Rose. “She won’t tell me anything about it!”

Which was untrue; I’d told Rachel all about it, but I knew what she was up to.

Rose giggled conspiratorially with Rachel and turned to me. “Come on, girl, tell us! Was it with Drake Russell?”

“Yes! How’d you know?” I had no classes with Drake; we only saw each other on the bus.

Rose rolled her eyes. “Just things I heard, here and there.”

So I was off on a brief description of the date, veering it into the meeting with Brady and Jennifer, and then got Rose’s advice for tonight, which was either to avoid it altogether and plead illness, or something like Ken’s approach. Rachel snorted at that.

“I’m just pissed that some girl that doesn’t even know Laurie is threatening her,” Rachel said, with an angry edge. “I wish I could be there to take her on. Laurie’s too sweet.”

“She is nice,” Rose agreed, as if I weren’t there.

I said, “Hey, Rose, what were you drawing, if you don’t mind?”

She frowned and said, “I …um …my Art teacher has me doing heads. You know, studies of people’s heads?”

“Anatomy,” Rachel said, and Rose nodded.

“So do you want to show us?” I asked gently, getting my hand into my purse.

“Um …sure,” Rose said, reluctantly pulling her sketchpad back out and turning it to us shyly.

There was the Hollister girl; every detail was captured. The curve of her neck, the gentle swell of her cheek, a curl of hair over her ear …perfect. And loving.

Rachel stared in awe at Rose. “You’re really good!”

I triggered my speed-dial to Mom, counted to ten, and hung up. Aloud, I said, “Yeah, I said she was, didn’t I?”

Just then my phone rang. “Oh, hey, Mom. We’re in the food court waiting for you. What?” I faked having trouble hearing. “It’s so …kind of noisy here. Wait.” I stood up and to the girls, I said, “Can’t hear too good; sounds like she’s whispering in a store.”

I walked through the doors outside and turned, looking at the table. “Okay, Mom, thanks. Perfect!”

“Can you tell me what that was about?”

“There’s a girl at school that is a really gifted artist and eats lunch at my table.”

“Okay. Those two things aren’t necessarily connected, but I’ve learned to understand you,” she teased.

“Her name is Rose and I think …just from little things here and there …I think she might be gay. And if she is, she’s still in the closet, not like Rachel.”

“Ah. Rachel.”

“What does, ‘Ah, Rachel’ mean?” I said defensively, as I watched the two girls through the glass; Rose was turning pages in her sketchpad and their heads were close together.

Mom chuckled. “I meant, I’m betting that Rose is in the food court and you’ve let Rachel loose on her.”

“Well, essentially correct but I wouldn’t put it that way!” I giggled.

“Hope you’re successful. Matchmaking can be playing with fire, but I know your heart’s in a good place. So what do you want to do?”

“I still gotta go to this thing tonight. Um …Just got an idea. Can you hold on?”

Mom said ‘sure’ so I went back in, cradling my phone against my shoulder. To Rachel, I said, “I’ve got to go to the darned thing tonight.”

“Yeah, your thing,” Rachel teased, and shared a smiling glance with Rose.

“Gotta leave now. I was going to meet her at Penney’s.”

“I thought she was coming here and we were going to eat?”

“Um …change of plans.” I gave her a direct look. “Have to leave now. But if you’re not done shopping …”

She got it. “Tell your Mom I can walk home; there’s a couple of places I want to hit and since you’re ditching me for Jennifer-what’s-her-face, I’ll just bury my sorrow in consumerism.”

“So that’s a ‘no’?” I teased. I put the phone to my ear. “Mom? Rachel’s gonna shop some more and leave on her own. Oh, I think her mother,” I said, giving Rachel a look which earned me a ‘thumbs-up’. “Yeah, okay.” I closed the phone and sagged a little. “Gotta go. Bye, you guys.”

“Bye,” Rose said. “Good luck with Jennifer.”

“You’ve got my number,” Rachel said. “I can be there with an assassination squad in five minutes.”

“I think your ninjas can take the night off,” I teased. “But thanks. Bye!”

I called Mom as I was walking. “Food court’s off limits.”

“I figured as much. Meet me at the car and we’ll stop off at McDonald’s.”

As I left the food court, I stole a glance back; the two girls were studying the sketchpad.

Chapter 14: Inappropriate Attire

No extremely low necklines (no cleavage).

To say that I was nervous was an understatement. And yet, I’d had lots of sleepovers and swim-overs (if there is such a word) at Amy’s house. She had a great pool, with a pretty high fence all around and trees overhanging the deck. And a hot tub! When we were little, Amy, Tricia, and I from home school would police each other to not pee in the hot tub. I still remembered my favorite swimsuit, hot pink with yellow piping. Ruffled straps. I wonder if Mom stashed it away somewhere? But I had shopped scrupulously for a new suit as soon as my body began developing and thought I looked great in it—a string tie, it was either white with royal blue splashes or royal blue with white splashes—but then every girl is nervous the first time she tries out a new bikini!

After getting home from the mall, showering and dressing, Mom had a fried-chicken salad for me and I wolfed it down. Until I start Aikido classes next week, the only exercise I get is running around The Beacon. So two hours after I left, I was standing at the door of Amy’s house, my overnight bag dangling, wearing my new bikini under a denim skirt and a white tank and white flats.

Amy answered the door in purple Soffe shorts and an orange bikini top under a white hoodie. She grinned. “Like old times, huh?”

I grinned back. “Yeah, but it’s like The Twilight Zone. Everything’s the same but everything’s different.”

As I followed her into the house, stopping to say hi to her mom, she said, “The other girls are cool with you. I mean, as far as they know you’re a girl. Typo-thing with your name wrong. No biggie.”

“And Jennifer?”

“Not here yet. Um …I’m kind of nervous, too.”

“About her?” Amy nodded. I shrugged. “Better the devil you know, maybe?”

“Yeah. I’ve heard all sorts of stories about her. I’m …” She frowned and then pulled me into the laundry room. “I probably should have said all this to you before, but I’m kind of making do as I go along. I’m kind of freaked, Laurie.” She bit her lip.

“Why, Ames?” I said, using our old pet name.

“There’s just …so many of them, you know?” I nodded, knowing the huge student population was jarring to some home-schoolers. She frowned. “I feel like I’m just barely keeping my head above water, you know? And the pressure …about which group to be. ‘What are you into?’ kids asked right off the bat. And I start telling them and their eyes glazed over and I realized they didn’t care; they just wanted to put me in a category.”

I nodded. “I noticed that, too. Are you doing okay?”

“I hope so.” She looked doubtful, though. “These girls …they seem like they’re okay. We get along and they’re not in any bad groups and I just figured that maybe I could fit in, you know?”

“I understand, Amy. And I’m starting to make friends with this girl Shannon, you know? And she said these girls are cool. One of them was Goth but not anymore. But cool, anyway.”

She nodded, still nervous. “Hope so. Mom thinks I’m crazy inviting Jennifer.”

I laughed. “On one hand, you are! From everything I’ve heard … you’re right about ‘keeping your enemies closer’ and all that. But right now is the only time you can invite her.” She looked confused. I grinned, “You’re a new kid! You can be excused for making wrong choices!”

It sank in and her face brightened. “You’re right! God, Laurie, you’re right! If anybody says, ‘Why’d you invite her?” I can say, ‘I didn’t know!’”

I nodded with her. “Yeah, but another week or two and you’ll be expected to know. So relax, enjoy the party and have fun!”

She hugged me. “You’re the best, Laur!” She pulled back and looked at me, concerned. “How are you doing?”

“Pretty darned good, actually,” I said, thinking of my last sight of Mr. Abrams smiling and waving goodbye to me as he was stirring a stew and talking with Ken. And of Rose and Rachel, heads together.

“So let’s go get ‘em!” Amy grinned.

* * *

The girls were cool. They were Erika Lengstradt, a leggy blonde beanpole with a cute giggle; Ellie Corbett, who looked like she was prim and proper with short brown hair but had a wicked sense of humor; and Carmen Moreno, who was a curvaceous Latina with skin to die for. She’d been Shannon’s friend until she went Goth but there was no trace of it now. Everybody was in total casual dress, shorts or skirts and tanks.

We laid out sleeping bags in the huge family room—Amy’s family had some bucks—and got everything ready. It was non-stop chatter, about school, boys, girls, teachers, boys, movies, boys, new music, and boys. The hormones were really racing through these gals!

It looked like Jennifer was a no-show—that’s why we claimed ‘our turf’ with our bags—so we decided to swim first because it was still a warm evening. It might get cooler later but hey, that’s what the hot tub was for! We started stripping out of our outer clothes when we heard the distant doorbell. Everybody kind of froze and looked around at each other and Amy left to answer.

“We shall see what we shall see …” Ellie muttered. The other two nodded and shrugged.

I realized that they were just as concerned about Jennifer as Amy and I were.

Amy came back in with Jennifer, trying to be both hostess and completely casual. Jennifer wore a denim skirt like mine—which earned me a slight frown from her—and a pink hoodie. There was a little awkwardness where we were all standing in the room and every prime piece of real estate was staked out with our sleeping bags, gym bags, iPods and phones and things scattered around. No room for Jennifer.

Carmen started to move her sleeping bag to make room but Jennifer said, “We can do all that later. You have a pool, right?”

It was kind of a ‘duh’ since Ellie and Erika were in bikinis—Erika still had shorts on—and Carmen was in a one-piece with a wrap. I had only gotten my flats off and had been last to lay out my bag. I straightened up.

Jennifer looked at me and said, “Then let’s go swimming.” She unzipped her hoodie and quickly dropped her skirt and was standing there in a lime green bikini. And seemed to be daring me.

Amy was saying, “Bathroom’s down the hall if you need—”

But Jennifer cut her off. “Let’s see what Laurie’s wearing.”

Perhaps she thought it was innocent and ‘just wondering’, but it came off with malice. There was a noticeable chill in the room, like throwing a switch.

I saw Amy’s face crumpling but Ellie said, “God, Jennifer; don’t start …”

“What?” Jennifer asked. “I’m just curious what Laurie’s wearing. Aren’t you?”

Ellie frowned. “Why would I …”

Carmen said, “Screw this. Let’s just swim.”

“Sounds good,” I said casually. I pulled off my tank top. I was confident that my breasts, though small, were big enough—and my new bikini top small enough—that they were quite visible.

Jennifer did a small intake of air, almost a hiss, when she saw my breasts. She stood defiantly with her hands on her hips, still looking at me.

Everybody was already completely in the swimsuits except for Amy and I; Amy was still in her shorts. I unzipped my skirt and stepped out of it. I folded it and laid it next to my sleeping bag and stood.

“What?” I asked—as innocently as I could, under the circumstances.

“You …you …” Jennifer’s eyes were huge.

As casually as I could, I widened my stance, putting my weight on one hip and put my hands on my hips. She continued to stare.

“What, Jennifer?” I asked again.

“That’s …crap!” Jennifer sputtered.

Carmen rolled her eyes. “What’s crap?”

Erika said, “What’s up with you, Jennifer?”

Jennifer pointed at my crotch. “Make her take those off!”

“What?” the girls all cried.

“Geez, Jennifer,” I said sadly, shaking my head. “I’m not going skinny-dipping.”

“No! No!” she said, still pointing. “He’s a boy!”

“Yeah, right,” Carmen rolled her eyes again.

“He is! He is! Make him prove he’s a boy!” She was still waving her finger at me.

Erika said, “I heard something about that. It was all a mistake.”

Ellie said, “Maybe you should prove you’re a girl, Jennifer. You go first!”

Carmen said, “Sounds good to me!”

Amy said, “Guys, we’re—” Her eyes widened as she realized she might have added fuel to the fire by saying ‘guys’.

Jennifer seized on it. “She’s a guy! I mean, he’s a guy!”

“Right,” Carmen nodded sarcastically. “Looks just like a guy.”

Erika giggled. “Don’t think so!”

Jennifer took two steps closer, eyes drawn to my crotch. Suddenly she yelled, “Ooh!” and turned, swept up her clothes and stamped out. We heard Amy’s mother start to say something and then the front door slam.

Amy locked worried eyes on mine, but Carmen said, “What the hell was that?”

“That was Jennifer,” Ellie said calmly. “I don’t think we’ll need to rearrange the sleeping bags.”

Erika said, “Did you guys notice something?”

We all looked at each other.

Ellie said, “You mean, besides Jennifer?”

Erika said, “That’s just it. Jennifer never even brought in a gym bag.” She looked at us. “She had no intention of staying.”

Amy said, “So she came just so she could get all weird over Laurie?”

Carmen shrugged. “It’s what she does, I guess.”

Ellie said, “God, the way she was pointing at your crotch, Laurie, I thought she’d gone all lesbian on us!”

They chuckled at that—I reserved any chuckle because of my friendship with Rachel—and Erika shrugged. “Guess she couldn’t handle somebody cuter than her.”

I grinned at her. Just then there seemed to be a confrontation outside and Jennifer stormed back in, Amy’s mother behind her, looking apologetic.

“Mom, it’s okay,” Amy said, and her mother retreated.

“So what is it this time?” Erika said to Jennifer.

Jennifer looked around. “You don’t know the truth! Laurie’s a boy! You’re going to be naked with a boy!” She looked at me with disgust.

Amy said, “Nobody plans to get naked, Jennifer,” trying to calm things down.

Carmen looked around. “I don’t know about the others, but it might be fun to get naked with a boy!” She giggled. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard!”

That got laughs all around, except for Jennifer, of course. Laughter is a bully’s worst nightmare.

“You don’t understand! He’s lying to us! He’s got a dick!”

They stared at her.

Ellie said disgustedly, “Give it up, Jennifer.”

“No!” Jennifer nearly shrieked. She pointed at me again and growled out the words. “Make him show us!”

“What the hell?” Amy cried.

“Damn, Jennifer!” Erika said. “Are you crazy?”

“Geez,” I said with moderate disgust. “If it’ll end this, I’ll do it.”

I untied the strings of my bikini bottom and let it fall. I stood before them, looking exactly like them—I mean, exactly like them—with my crotch in a smooth V, a gentle mound modestly dusted with pubic hair, and the tell-tale folds of labial lips between my leg.

Only Jennifer and Amy stared. Amy caught herself and grinned. The other three girls rolled their eyes.

I said, “Can I get dressed, now, please?” I put weary exasperation in my voice.

Jennifer’s eyes were huge. “You …you …”

“Gee, Jennifer; looks like we’re going to get naked with a girl!” Amy supplied with a huge grin.

“Screw this. Let’s just swim,” Carmen said, grabbing her towel.

Jennifer was still staring and pointing at me as I pulled up my bottom and retied the strings.

“But you’re not a girl!” she sputtered.

“Guess I actually am,” I said calmly.

“Jesus, Jennifer,” Ellie spat out.

Jennifer was on the verge of tears now. “But you’re not!”

“Yes, she is,” Amy said, and might have said more, but Jennifer yelled an ‘Argh!’ just like in comic strips, spun and stomped off, slamming the door for a second time.

Amy turned and grinned at me. “Yes, you are,” she said happily.

Chapter 15: Inappropriate Attire

Clothing with objectionable, controversial, double-meaning slogans/advertisements, promoting racial bigotry, nudity or sexual activities are strictly prohibited.

The reason I was able to stunningly confuse Jennifer was not because of my talk with Ken and Aikido strategy, but because of the very first talk Mom and I had with Principal Halloran. As we drove home, I told Mom that we’d pretty much gotten all that we wanted except for one thing. We couldn’t do anything about documentation at this point so that was something we hadn’t expected to win—Mrs. Halloran wasn’t going to take a magic pen and turn all the ‘M’s into ‘F’s. But I was bugged by one thing.

“Mom, the whole purpose is to make me not be a freak, right?” She nodded as she drove. “Yet I’m forced to use the Handicap restrooms. Which kind of shouts ‘freak!’ to the kids.”

“Yes, but you have to look at things from Mrs. Halloran’s side. The way people sue each other these days, over the least little thing …” She sighed. “To be brutally frank, the presence of a penis in the girls’ restrooms would not be tolerated. And before you jump in to say anything, the people suing are not going to be swayed by claims that it’s non-functional, or that you don’t think and feel like a boy towards girls. They’re just gonna freak.”

“Yeah, guess so,” I grumbled. “It’s just …it’s just that so much social stuff happens in the girls’ room, you know? And aren’t I supposed to be getting socialized with other girls?”

Mom was silent or the rest of the drive, thinking.

Two days later I had a regular appointment with The Specialists. After all the usual fluids were given and we had our usual ‘How’s it going?’ talk, Dr. Montague folded his hands and said, “Laurie, I’d like to discuss something with you. Your mother says that you are upset about not being able to use the girls’ restrooms when school starts.”

“Well, ‘upset’ is probably too strong a word for it, but …” I shrugged. “Yeah. I know from all of my girlfriends that in a lot of ways, the girls’ restrooms are the social hub of school. Where they talk about boys and each other and their problems and work things out. Either in line or at the mirrors.”

Dr. Olsen was smiling and nodding.

I said, “I’ve already experienced this with my girlfriends at the mall or at the movie theatre.” I looked at my two male doctors. “You guys think all we girls do is stand quietly in line, patiently waiting our turn, and then get out of there as soon as we’re done?” I shook my head. “Nuh-uh. It’s like the whole ‘Gotta powder my nose’ thing. It gives us a chance to chat, regroup, whatever. And so I’ll be missing out on that part, which affects me, and the instant that somebody sees that I’m using the special Handicap restroom, it affects everybody because it kind of puts the lie to the idea that I’m just another girl.”

“She’s right,” Dr. Olsen said. “On all counts.”

The way the two men nodded made me realize that they’d already discussed all this but, like so much of what we did in our ‘talks’, they wanted me to tell them.

Dr. Montague nodded again and turned to Mom. “You are in favor of this?”

“Absolutely, if she agrees.”

“What? What?” I asked, looking from Mom to The Specialists.

Dr. Kawasaki said, “There is a procedure that we can perform. It’s non-surgical, does not require court approval, is reversible, and has no adverse affect on future surgeries.”

I smiled. “Sounds like it doesn’t actually exist.”

Dr. Kawasaki laughed once. “Yes, I suppose the way I described it, it does.” He seemed tickled by the idea.

Dr. Olsen said, “Laurie, the problem is the presence of a penis in the girls’ restroom.”

I thought of Mom’s exact words when we’d discussed this, and grinned. “Feel free to take it off anytime. Right now, preferably!”

That earned me chuckles all around—more embarrassed than honest, but I think Dr. Olsen’s was genuine. She continued, “Your testicles are out of the way, still in your abdomen, so they’re not a problem.”

“They are to me,” I muttered. “Shouldn’t be there.”

Dr. Olsen started, “Now, your penis …” She trailed off.

There was one of those head-swiveling things between The Specialists and I realized it was like, ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ sort of things.

Dr. Kawasaki said, “It’s certainly feasible.”

Dr. Montague pushed a button on his phone. “Monica? Get me David Langam in Legal. Thanks.”

He sat back, his forehead furrowed in thought.

Dr. Olsen said, “All at once? Makes sense?”

Mom said, “Can we ask what—”

She was interrupted by the chirp of the desk phone. Dr. Montague picked it up and said, “Yes, David, thanks for getting back so soon. Uh …hold on. Better yet, I’ll come see you. In your office?”

He was nodding to the phone, hung up and stood, announcing, “I’ll be right back. Doctors, do you want to discuss this with the Tildens?”

Dr. Olsen shook her head. “Not until David confirms it.”

“I concur,” Dr. Kawasaki said.

Dr. Montague went out of the office and the four of us stared at each other. Finally, I said, “So who’s got the deck of cards?” which got a laugh from everyone.

Dr. Olsen said, “This might all seem mysterious to you.”

“Not ‘might’,” Mom said. “Very mysterious.”

Dr. Olsen smiled. “This regards something we’d discussed among ourselves awhile ago and never followed up; it seemed premature. I don’t want to say much more because if we can’t do the procedure, there’s no point in even discussing it.”

Mom said, “I’m confused, Doctor. I thought you were saying it was non-surgical and didn’t require court approval?”

“Ah,” Dr. Kawasaki nodded. “That’s correct, but Dr. Olsen directed us to another procedure that we’d discussed, as she said.”

Dr. Olsen said, “While Dr. Montague wrestles with our Legal Department, I’ll fill you in on the procedure we were starting to tell you about. This is the non-surgical, reversible one.”

“Pardon me,” Mom asked. “But why is reversible so important?”

“A very good question, but I’ll answer that at the end because it’ll make more sense.” Dr. Olsen stopped for a moment, pursing her lips. “Alright. In one sentence, Laurie, we can manipulate your penis more or less into your body and hold it in place with surgical glue.”

“Yes,” I said.

“That’s right,” Dr. Olsen nodded. “And it’ll be like—”

I interrupted. “Uh, Dr. Olsen? I said, ‘yes’. I’ve read about the procedure on the internet. You numb my groin, insert a catheter, squish the penis back up and glue it in place, using the scrotal sacs to simulate labial lips.”

They stared at me. Dr. Kawasaki murmured, “That’s right.”

I grinned. “Doctors, I want my penis gone and I want a vagina. But I can’t have it until I’m eighteen. So I’ve been reading up on every alternative I could find. And my answer is, ‘yes’. Do I want this procedure? Yes. Or I should say, ‘Absolutely!'”

Dr. Olsen nodded once and straightened up with a smile. “Well. You are full of surprises, Laurie. But then, you’ve always been!” She chuckled. “Mrs. Tilden?”

Mom beamed. “I have absolutely no objections. Whenever you can do it, we’d like it done.”

Dr. Kawasaki said, “We can actually perform the procedure today if you have nothing scheduled later this afternoon or evening.”

“Nope,” Mom grinned.

“Where do I sign?” I joked.

Dr. Montague reentered on that line. “Hold off on the signing.”

“It’s a no?” Dr. Kawasaki asked.

“It’s a yes,” Dr. Montague smiled, “but there’s paperwork. David’s generating it now, and we can sign all the documents at once. Did I hear you talking about performing the procedure today?”

Dr. Kawasaki nodded. “Can we do both? It would make more sense.”

Dr. Montague agreed. “Assuming the Tildens agree, it does make sense.”

I was about to explode, wanting them to talk to us, but I was kind of used to the way the three of them discussed things, often like Mom and I weren’t in the room. But good old Mom asked.

Dr. Montague resumed his seat. “I believe that Dr. Olsen has discussed the procedure with you in detail.”

Dr. Olsen chuckled and said, “Laurie was way ahead of me. She already knew all about it and is in favor.”

“You bet!” I grinned.

Mom said, “But you were going to explain about the ‘reversible’ part, Doctor.”

Dr. Olsen raised an eyebrow to Dr. Montague, who nodded and spoke. “The expected course of events for Laurie is that as soon as she turns eighteen, she’s going to want full sexual reassignment surgery.”

“Absolutely!” I said.

He nodded. “And we fully expect that, based on her psychological profile and her successful assimilation and socialization as a female. And although every person in this room is certain that she could benefit immensely from SRS right this minute, the law is very specific regarding the genitals of minors. So any …removal is frowned upon.”

Dr. Olsen nodded. “As long as the procedure is reversible, it slips under that court’s radar banning surgery on minors. That’s why it’s so important that it’s reversible, not that we expect Laurie to suddenly decide she wants to be a boy.”

“Got that right,” I said, thinking of Brenda’s pet phrase.

Dr. Kawasaki added, “And in SRS, we like to have penile tissue to line the vaginal walls. The procedure allows us to have that tissue available when we need it.”

“Makes sense,” Mom said, and we looked at each other and nodded.

Dr. Montague said, “But there is a procedure that we can perform that also rather slips under the radar, so to speak. Orchiectomy, or its more common name, castration.”

I said, “I think the common name is gelding? Or, ‘cutting your balls off’?”

The doctors chuckled and nodded.

I pointed out, “But I don’t have any balls to cut off!”

“My daughter is very observant in these matters,” Mom said drily.

Everybody laughed—Dr, Kawasaki slapped the desk, he was laughing so hard—and Dr. Montague finally continued. “That’s precisely the point. You are in a …God forgive me for the atrocious pun that this may seem, but Laurie is in a ‘no-man’s land’, legally. There cannot be a typical orchiectomy, a castration, since, as you ‘observed’, there are no testicles to cut. And that’s the magic word, getting around the surgical loophole.”

“We can’t castrate you in the typical manner due to legal reasons,” Dr. Kawasaki said, “And we can’t castrate you in the typical manner anyway because there’s nothing to …as you said, to cut off.”

Dr. Olsen added, “But we can castrate you, chemically. This is a tricky legal area and that’s why I wanted to consult with our Legal Department. As soon as the documents arrive, we can proceed. In the meantime, I’ll explain. The procedure—”

“Which procedure?” Mom asked. “The first one or the other one?”

“Not the orchiectomy, the, uh, other one,” Dr. Montague said.

I raised a hand slightly. “Why don’t we call the one with the surgical glue gun, ‘Nip/Tuck’, you know, like the TV show?”

They blinked a couple of times, which meant to me they’d never heard of it, but Dr. Montague nodded.

“Very well. Nip/Tuck and the orchiectomy. Alright. For the Nip/Tuck we’d give you a slight sedative and then use a topical anesthetic at the site. But if we do both procedures, we’ll induce what some people call ‘twilight sleep’.”

Dr. Olsen chuckled. “Or at least they did until the vampire movies came out!”

We chuckled politely at that, but Mom said, “So Laurie won’t be unconscious?”

“No. It’s not a general anesthetic; she’ll be awake and dimly aware and not terribly lucid, but it eliminates a lot of complications with a general anesthetic. And it wears off quicker and cleaner; she’ll go home fairly well stoned,” he grinned. “But she’ll be home and fine tomorrow, if a little sore.”

“I’m cool with that,” I said. “So …chemically castrate?”

Dr. Olsen nodded and said, “We will inject a solution directly into your testicles, inside your abdomen. We’ll use ultrasound and go in through the abdominal wall, straight through into the testicle. The procedure, at least in the mechanics, isn’t much different from when an amniocentesis is performed on a pregnant woman.”

Mom said, “It was like sliding a needle into a balloon but not popping it; I remember almost a rubbery sense.”

Dr. Olsen nodded. “I know what you mean.”

“And my testicles will be dead?” I asked with growing excitement.

“Yes. At the time of your SRS, the tissue can be removed. But they will cease to function, and you will not be subjected to the testosterone they’ve been manufacturing, although at tiny levels.”

“So my body will be manufacturing all my hormones at normal female levels?”

They nodded, and Dr. Kawasaki said, “With the supplemental hormones we prescribe until you’re fully balanced, yes.”

I looked all around, and saw a tear in Mom’s smiling eyes. I smiled warmly back at her and then grinned at The Specialists. “Well, I said it before …where do I sign?”

End of Part 6

---

If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudo!
Click the Good Story! button above to leave the author a kudo:
And please, remember to comment, too! Thanks.