Printer-friendly version

Morgan is entering his sophomore year in high school. The most beautiful girl in the class asks him to work with her on a special school project. This is extraordinary in that he is the smallest boy in class and her previous boyfriend is the star quarterback. Morgan is quickly up to his “cute little ears” in a unique learning experience.

This story is complete and will be posted in seven installments over the next few days.

Note for readers: This story is told from the points of view of eight different people. The name at the beginning of each chapter tells you which character is the first-person voice.

Peaches
By Amelia R and Angela Rasch

Note for readers: This story is told from the points of view of eight different people. The name at the beginning of each chapter tells you which character is the first-person voice.

“All Animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.” -
George Orwell

Chapter One — Morgan/Peaches
August 25th, Monday

What was Melinda Pryce doing? My head spun to check the house number. 368 Underhill Road — Yep, my house. What was up? Who cared? I was in awe of those lips forming actual words.

“ ... and I thought it might be fun for some of the sophomore class to have an end-of-the-summer swim.” One of the many things that scared me about Melinda was that she sounded so old.

I looked beyond her to the grille of a sable-black Jaguar sedan smirking in our driveway. It looked as out of place as Melinda. She was the filet mignon of Maple Ridge High School; I was the peanut butter sandwich. In another year I would be sweet-sixteen-and-never-been-kissed.

Why was she inviting me? There were 127 other kids in our class — all of them more likely to be invited. She had been in a bunch of classes with me over the years. We got along, but she was MELINDA.

“So — can you make it, Morgan?” Our eyes were almost level, even though she stood one step down from me.

“I thought I heard someone out there.” My mother peeked out from our living room. “Oh ... hi Melinda, I haven’t seen you since you got your adult library card. You’re still just as cute as you were when you were Alice in your blue and white pinafore in the fifth grade play. Ask Melinda to come in, Peaches.”

~Peaches! Couldn’t she have called me Morgan, just this once?~ My name was a mouthful — Morgan Buell Smith IV. The other two students in our high school named Morgan were girls — which was bad enough. But Peaches? Mom stuck me with the name Peaches when I was a baby, supposedly because of my peaches and cream complexion. I had managed to keep the use of my nickname to within my closest friends and family. Mouse and Zack called me Peaches when we were alone, but they had been careful never to use it at school. I could only imagine what would happen if they did.

“I can only stay a minute,” Melinda said. “Mom’s waiting in the car.”

“Please — ask Linda to come in out of that heat.” Mom said. “I haven’t seen your mother in years.”

“She can’t. She’s on the phone with Dad. They’re having their daily business crisis.”

I begged the wizard who had cast the spell on Melinda to cast another hex on Mom, so she wouldn’t do anything to mess up Melinda talking to me. At least, I didn’t have any zits. I wished I was wearing something nicer. I hoped I didn't look like too much of a geek….

Two minutes later, Melinda and I were on the sofa, sipping the Diet Cokes that Mom had served. Mom’s personal commandment about offering food at least three times had been trumped by Melinda’s refusal to eat anything containing a calorie. Mom was a librarian and was used to getting things for people. She continued to talk about nothing with Melinda, so I didn’t have to take part in the conversation — giving me time to think.

Why was Melinda at my house? Why was Melinda inviting a nerd like me to a party? And, why had Melinda chosen to sit on the couch right next to me when there was a perfectly good chair that she could have sat in? Before I came close to answering any of my questions, Mom left, and Melinda slid over next to me.

“You can make it then?” she asked. “It will be Mouse, Zack, you, and me. We’ll make plans so we can get off to a good start in school this fall.”

~We?~ I was too busy swimming for my life in her green eyes to think about her pool or anything to say. She was up to something. Whatever. Gawd, she smelled great.

The necklace she wore was tight, so the stone in front went up and down when she breathed. Her dangly earrings caught the sun coming through our living room window. As she signaled her excitement with her hands, her bracelets jingled. None of the other girls in our class dressed as grown-up as she did.

As I sat on the couch, my feet barely grazed the carpet. I prayed for Melinda to turn her eyes away just long enough for me to grow six inches taller.

Melinda must have interpreted my inability to find words as playing hard-to-get. She took my hand. “Please, Morgan? I would really, really like it if you came to my little party.” She slid even closer. For a second she looked scared, as if I had bugs or something.

“Okay. I’ll come,” I said.

She smiled. Her arms pulled me to her. Huh? Melinda was really in my living room, and our lips were really touching. I had imagined moments like this, but never in my wildest dreams had I ever thought it would be Melinda Pryce giving me my first real kiss. At first I wanted to pull away and run, and then I relaxed.

She had slipped her arms under mine, leaving my hands dangling in the air like someone singing in a gospel choir. I had closed my eyes and was afraid to open them, thinking I would wake up kissing my pillow. Who would have thought lipstick could taste or feel that good?

“Mmmmm, that was nice,” Melinda sighed, with her nose an inch away from mine. Her hair had perfume in it. “You’re as good a kisser as I thought you would be. See you tomorrow at one. We have loads to talk about.”

With that, her long dark hair and full smiling lips floated out of my house. I hoped my mom wouldn't come into the living room too quickly and see my “excitement.”

***

August 26th, Tuesday

I would have crawled the two and a half miles to Melinda’s over broken glass just to hear Melinda call her dog. My thoughts since our kiss had been on being at her house precisely at the appointed time.

I spent all morning preparing. My clothes were all wrong for an afternoon with Melinda. It was hard to find cool clothes in my size. Most of the things that fit me had little yellow duckies on them.

The shower I took when I first got up was followed by another — right before I left the house. Shaving wasn’t a problem, as I had no beard. My unruly, reddish-blond hair was brushed until it looked presentable. I was riding the luckiest streak of my life and didn’t want to blow it.

On my way, I hung out in front of Hanson’s department store. If I arrived at Melinda’s too early, I would appear over eager. The woman in the window was rearranging the display. She moved the wire frames they hung clothing on to create different displays. The frames were made so they could be used for either male or female clothing. What had been a businessman in a sports coat and slacks became a young mother in a skirt and sweater watching her children at play. It was incredible the difference a few pieces of stitched and dyed cloth could make.

After biking up the hill, I stopped by the Maple Ridge Cafe for a bottle of water. Young women were serving local businessmen sandwiches. The waitresses were separated from the men by a counter and a rigid world of differences. Maple Ridge High always talked about being socially conscious, but it reflected the town it was located in ... stuck in the past.

As I clattered past the bank on my old bike, the temperature and time attacked me.

85°.

12:47.

I had dawdled too long. Sweat that was stinging my eyes made me forget how dim-witted I looked. The only thing my bike was making a favorable impression on was the heat-softened tar that had been used last spring to fill potholes.

A bike is a constant reminder for a sophomore boy that he isn’t quite worthy of four wheels. My bike was as sorry as they got. Mom refused to spend needlessly. “The minute you buy a new bike, you’ll get your growth spurt and you’ll be too big for it.” We had been waiting on my growth spurt for almost four years. Being the smallest in the class — girl or boy — was a problem in grade school; in high school it became a curse.

The rhythm of my bike’s chain rubbing against its guard kept singing an old love song.

This guy’s — in love.
This guy’s — in love — with you.

Ta Ta — Ta Ta.
Ta Ta — Ta Ta — Ta Ta.

Mom loved that song. She played it over and over, often dancing to it alone in the kitchen as she helped me with the dishes. Mom kept asking me to dance with her. I didn’t want to look childish, even though dancing with her would’ve been fun.

As I passed by the town library, she was working in the street display window. Mom had just finished taping yellow block letters to a dark green background to spell out “Young Swains.” She was pushing books like “Cinderella” and “Beauty and the Beast” to the pre-teens. Mom had used a romantic word, swain, instead of boyfriend.

Had Melinda’s magic kiss transformed me from an ugly duckling into a swain?

Mom saw me, smiled, and gave me a big thumbs-up. Mom and I had had a good talk after Melinda left.

Judy Watson and her dad were going into Luigi’s Pizzeria for lunch. It would have been easy to join them and forget about Melinda — and our kiss. ~Forget about it?~ I stood on the pedals, forcing more speed out of my two-wheeled kiddy-car.

Luigi’s a good guy. So many people in our community didn’t get along. Not Luigi; he liked everybody. He always laughed when I did my impersonations for him. You had a friend for life with Luigi — if you respected his food. It wouldn’t have been so bad to stop. I could have helped Luigi make a sauce. I trusted Luigi. His food was simple, honest. I could’ve gone for some rigid Tony. That’s what I called his rigatoni, years ago when Dad was still alive and the three of us would eat at Luigi’s. Back then, I used to call him “Mr. Luigi,” but he told me, “Drop that mister stuff. You making me sound like an old man.”

My curiosity about Melinda kept me moving.

A block from Luigi’s, the football practice field loomed into view. Coach Ratzlaff wouldn’t get on their butts if they yelled at the girly-boy on the kiddy bike. Every boy in high school who didn’t play football was a “girly-boy” to them. I had been the equipment manager for the seventh grade team until one of the players said the wrong thing about my size. I landed a few good punches before he creamed me. Football brought out the worst in me.

While I was still the equipment manager, the coach gave a speech quoting the Duke of Wellington: “The battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton.” He told us how the lessons we learned from sports would carry us through life. I got so excited I decided to write a report based on that famous quote. Imagine my surprise to find that the Duke probably never said those words. If he did, he probably didn’t mean them. Wellington didn’t think highly of his school. He labeled it “a last bastion of whiteness and maleness.” Writing reports gave me an excuse to hang out at the library with Mom. I felt safe relying on books. They didn’t change.

I didn’t like the whole football thing. Every other word was something about war; kill — hit — bomb. Football could be so much fun for everyone, if they would treat it as the game it really is.

Most of the football players were popular. I wanted to be one of the popular kids, but if I had to be petty, bigoted, cowardly, or untruthful to be accepted, I wasn’t willing.

My chest was starting to hurt. It clearly wasn’t the hurt you get when you're out of breath. The hurt I felt was more like twinges, around my pectorals. Pectorals?

To be more honest, they were tits. They bounced around as I pedaled my bike up the hill toward Melinda’s.

A few months ago, I had spent an awkward day. Mom had dragged me into Dr. Morrison's office several times over the years to see why I wasn't growing like the other boys. That particular visit to the doctor was devoted to our concern about my body overdeveloping — in the wrong places.

Doctor Morrison was okay. She was intelligent and sensitive. She had ruled out Klinefelter's Syndrome.

That was supposedly good for me, as there were physical problems with those two that either shortened your life or made it difficult. She didn't know exactly what was causing my enlarged breasts. “You're actually a lucky young man. Many people with gynecomastia have trouble with their liver. Others have one large breast and one small. You're a good-looking, intelligent person who has a great life ahead of you.”

Sure, I would have a great life. I would just make sure my wife never saw me naked with the lights on. Somehow, I would keep her hands away from my chest for the seventy-five years of our marriage. ~Yep … that's the plan. If I can ever find a girl willing to marry a short, “cute” guy with tits! ~

Dr. Morrison said that I could have surgery to reduce the size of my breasts in a few years, if my problem persisted. However, she thought the problem might resolve itself in six months to a year, as my puberty progressed. According to her, I would gain height and muscle mass while shedding body fat. She had been too polite to say I might get a little less pudgy. Pudgy Peaches! She suggested that I could avoid some of the twinges, if I wore a sports bra. ~Yeah, right, sure! Why don’t I just paint a target on my forehead?~

Mom told me sports bras weren't that feminine; they came in black, navy, and gray. She said a bra would protect my nipples; they had become quite sensitive and were easily irritated by my t-shirts.

Mom bought me a gray sports bra to try around the house. It really did help with the discomfort. I didn't have the nerve to wear it outside and never wore it if someone was coming over to see me. There would have to be a better reason than mere physical pain to get me to wear a bra to school. I was wearing it when Melinda kissed me. She must not have felt it, or she would have screamed at me and called me a pervert.

Maybe I was a pervert. I had tried on a regular bra weeks before Dr. Morrison suggested the sports bra. As my breasts grew, I had become curious. I wondered what it would feel like to wear one. I went into my mother's room when she was out and took one of hers from her drawer. It was a little big. I got somewhat excited seeing my tits in a frilly bra and feeling the silky smoothness on my nipples. A few days later, I tried another to see if maybe I had missed one in her drawer that would fit better.

I wasn't gay or anything like that. Sometimes, I had wondered what it would have been like if I were a girl, and then I got gynecomastia, which really made things confusing.

At first, my chest ached a lot, and then I noticed how sensitive my breasts and nipples were. I found that rubbing my nipples made them stiff and erect. It made my chest feel good and sent all kinds of great sensations down through my body. I would get a hard-on just by fooling around with them.

Sometimes, I would look down at my body in bed and wonder what I was. I couldn't help experimenting with myself. I figured that if I ever lost them and grew tall enough to attract a girlfriend, I would know how she felt when I fondled her breasts.

My shoulders were sore from hunching over, trying to hide my unwanted chest. Mom was on me constantly to stand up straight. When I did, I could no longer hide my boobs under a normal shirt.

As I passed the football field on my way to Melinda's, I saw Rich Betson. That S.O.B. had actually groped me one day last spring in the locker room. I really don't know what was worse, his feeling me up, or the giggles from the “sympathetic” girls in the halls, once they thought I wasn't looking. Rich's invasion of my body was a fairly typical day in my life last year. The Geneva Convention forbids handling war prisoners as badly as I had been treated. Dr. Morrison gave me a letter, which I gave to Principal Halsted, excusing me from physical education until my gynecomastia was resolved.

The team was down on one knee, with their helmets off, surrounding Rich Betson. He appeared to be giving them the standard captain’s speech. He would tell them how they’re the best — the pride of the school and everyone in Maple Ridge. Rich would be making those guys sound like heroes. No wonder they were such jerks. They thought they were better than anyone in the school. Of course, by the way things normally happened — they were.

Last spring, Rich had also thrown me into a big basket of smelly socks and jock straps. There were about a dozen losers in our school that went out of their way to pick on me.

After I crossed Highland Road, I saw Herman Mudd's tow-truck hooking up a disabled car. A lot of people in town hated Mudd's garage because of the way it looked, but that didn't stop them from giving him business; he was a good mechanic.

Maple Ridge High had a pecking order. Melinda, who was at the top, had invited three from the bottom — Zack, Mouse, and me — to party with her. ~With her — Melinda!~ I had to keep moving. Every second I wasted getting to her house was one more second before I would find out what that kiss had been all about.

It was a good thing that Zack and Mouse were invited. Zack was the most even-tempered person I knew. He hid his super-genius brain with a mad sense of humor. He was a lock to be awarded a college academic scholarship. Even though he was well on his way to becoming a research chemist, he never baffled you with his brains.

I was the only one that Zack talked to about his leg braces and the diapers he had to wear twenty-four hours a day. He never complained to anyone else. Not even Mouse. Swimming was great exercise for him, because of his spina bifida. It gave him an opportunity to put down his crutches, although he had to wear special diapers in the water.

Kat Mausser lived across the street, in the house next door to Zack’s. We all had been friends for as long as I could remember. Mouse was big and physical — not in school sports, but in outdoor activities. She was constantly hiking, climbing, camping; anything that got her out with nature and wildlife. Zack was super-strong through his shoulders. Mouse got mad at Zack once and challenged him to arm-wrestle. It went on for almost a minute before Zack finally won. She could beat any other person in our school, if she ever wanted to.

She was slightly taller than Zack, over six feet. She was as attractive as any other girl in our class, but she didn’t seem to know it. One Easter, she did wear a dress. I’m not sure she ever wore make-up. Her face was pretty without it.

When she needed to talk about something serious, she came to me. We spent our time together playing games, swimming, or reading books. I really missed her when she was at camp. Being around Mouse was like eating a bowl of corn chowder.

Mouse’s mother had just dropped her off as I turned into Melinda’s driveway. Zack and Melinda had never been friends; Mouse and Melinda had never been friends; and Melinda and I — had kissed!

Chapter Two — Mouse
August 26th, Tuesday
(The name at the beginning of each chapter tells you which character is the first-person voice.)

Melinda’s home was one of those huge, old British-looking houses, with small windows and lots of brick. The gardens and lawn were manicured. Mom and Dad put up with our weeds. They wouldn’t think of using lawn chemicals.

As I thanked Mom for the ride, Peaches arrived on his bike. He had acted funny when I offered to have Mom give us both a lift. He said something about having to have his own wheels. ~Yeah. Two of them.~

Peaches could be so mysterious, but he was such a great friend. He didn’t make me feel like some sort of freak for being so tall. He was cute with his big blue eyes. I had no interest in boys, or I might have gone for him. Boys were the primary topic at school, which excluded me; the girls left me out. I thought I liked girls, but hadn't met the right one... yet. Maybe I was agamogenetic, like those cells we studied in biology.

I never told Peaches he was cute. He got enough of that at school. Girls were always telling him he was “cute” in a demeaning way that made it sound like he was a kitten.

If Zack wasn’t at Melinda’s, Peaches and I would leave. Melinda was okay, but we didn’t have a thing in common. She was always so perfectly dressed; I couldn’t have cared less. One pair of jeans was like any other, so long as they weren’t those stretchy, designer jeans that aren’t supposed to have anything in the hip pockets. My idea of a great time was roaming around in the woods. Melinda wouldn’t do anything that might break a nail.

“Hey, Peaches. How’s it going?”

“Mouse! — How was Nature Camp?”

“It was great, as always, but I missed you. Have you talked to Zack?”

“Nope. I had to shop for my new pencil box, crayons, glue sticks, round-edged scissors....”

“I know... I almost forgot to buy a Big Tablet.” We laughed, happy to be back together after my six weeks at camp. “There’s music out back.” We went around the side of the house and found Zack in the pool. It looked inviting, almost as if it really was a pond with rocks and plants along its edges.

“Hey, Zack, where’s Melinda?” Peaches asked.

“Hi, guys. Melinda went in to check on the food. She said to have you wait here.”

A Scott Joplin ragtime tune was playing through outdoor speakers. “How did you ever convince Melinda to play our music?” I asked. The three of us considered his music to be ours. Zack was fantastic at playing it on his keyboards.

“Melinda was already playing it when I got here,” Zack said. “I thought maybe one of you two gave her a mix.”

“Not me,” I said.

“It wasn’t me,” Peaches said. “She’s amazing ....” ~Melinda amazing?~ Not according to me. I just wanted to have a swim and go home.

“This is quite a house, even for this end of the shire,” I said. They both nodded. “Zack, have you picked a project yet?”

We had heard about the sophomore project in elementary school and had lived in dread ever since. The school gave a full class credit for the project, putting it on the same level with physics, English, math, and history. Every student had to do something creative. The full faculty got involved, but the project supervisor was Mr. G, Gordon Grzywaczewski, an okay English teacher.

The research papers had to be at least twenty-five typed pages. A panel of teachers picked the top ten. Those ten were then awarded prizes and scholarships by the Maple Ridge Women’s Club. Everyone felt intense pressure to pick a good topic and make an outstanding effort. Last year’s winner had written a paper comparing the current Middle East struggles to those at the time of the Crusades.

“I’m thinking about a study of the quantifiable effect of participation in music on students’ grades,” Zack said. “It’s been proven that students involved in choir or band perform better academically, on average, than students who don’t take either. I would like to prove a direct correlation between Maple Ridge High students’ involvement in music and their grades in math and science. I’ll factor in IQs. I’ll need the school to provide blind data with grades and IQs.”

“I would like to do something about the environment,” I said. “Maybe I’ll do a project that studies ways the school could be more earth friendly? Maybe they could use wind generators, solar panels, or thermal pumps?” As I described my potential paper, it sounded like me: boring and lifeless.

“I'll probably do my project on how it feels to become a girl,” Peaches said, as he pulled his t-shirt tight to emphasize his breasts. They had really grown over the summer. He must have a full A cup, not big, but quite pointy. We laughed at his dark humor.

Peaches wasn’t a whiner. His mild complaint was unusual, but understandable. He was a target for every no-brain in school. If something strange didn’t change things, this year wouldn’t be any different.

“You would probably make a better girl than me, if you wanted to.”

“What do you mean?” Peaches asked. “You know you’re pretty… and you don’t even try to be,”

“Oh, I’m pretty all right… pretty ugly.” I answered quickly, doing my best to move on before Peaches caught on to my thoughtless remark about his feminine nature.

“No, you’re not at all ugly,” Zack said. “You’re as good-looking as anyone I know, but I understand what you mean about Peaches being able to be a girl. Peaches, you listen better than any other guy I know — better than most girls.”

“So?” Peaches hadn’t bit into the conversation — yet, but he was starting to get a little agitated around the edges.

“Listening is supposedly a girl thing, Peaches,” I said. Darn it. We were in it up to our ears. “Guys are too worried about impressing people to listen. They’re thinking about what they’ll say next and not really caring about what you say.”

“You think before you talk,” Zack added. “That’s something most males don’t do. You seem to be aware of how others will feel. You’re empathetic.”

“You’re also one of the few guys who looks me in the eye when you talk with me,” I said. “Most girls do that... most guys don’t.”

“So — to be a manly-man, I should quit listening to people, talk before I think, and stare at girls’ bodies.” Peaches’ face was flushed.

“Noooo….” Zack said. “Those are all positive qualities I would love to have in a girlfriend, but they're great to have in my best buddy as well.”

I placed my arm around his shoulders, pulling him to me. We had gone too far, as we often did when it was just the three of us. I would never treat the environment as callously as I sometimes did my best friends. “Don’t get me wrong. Your sensitivity to other people is a big part of why Zack and I like you so much. Unfortunately, it also makes you vulnerable to that darn teasing.”

“Gee! Thanks, you two!” Peaches said. “Now I not only look like a girl, but you two say I'm a girl on the inside as well. You’re ruining the confidence I need to deal with school.”

“What’s going on here?” Melinda had come out of the house and was standing five feet away — pouting. “Morgan just became my boyfriend yesterday, and today he’s in the arms of another woman.”

My arm dropped from Peaches’ shoulder. ~Melinda’s boyfriend?~ Zack’s face was a mask of confusion. Peaches’ eyes were glued to Melinda, in her cherry-red two-piece.

Melinda placed a tray of drinks and snacks on the table next to us and — kissed Peaches right on the lips! — There were a thousand questions I wanted to ask. The only one that would come out was, “Is that iced tea?”

“Yes. It’s instant, but I used sinful amounts of sugar. Mom will pick up the pizza in about forty minutes.” Her faux dismay had faded into hospitable warmth.

“Pizza ... Morgan ... tea?” Zack was a debater and pretty good at knowing precisely what to say. Peaches beamed. Melinda had lost her mind over the summer. Until they put her in a straitjacket, Peaches was in for the time of his life.

“Zack, the other pitcher is your ice water. Mouse, I’ll show you where to change. Morgan, you can use the cabana.” Melinda grabbed onto Peaches as if doing so was the most natural thing in the world.

Omigosh. I had slipped through a black hole on my way back from camp and ended up in the Twilight Zone. My world stopped shaking after we left Peaches at the cabana and she was no longer squeezing his hand.

Melinda’s room wasn’t what I expected. No stuffed animal zoo. No collage of annoying highly-posed pictures on her bulletin board. If anything, her room lacked personality. There were several books on the stand next to her bed. A Bible, the Quoran, books by the Dalai Lama and other philosophers.

“My Aunt Belle gave me those books this past summer. She said they would help me find myself.” She looked back to make sure the door was closed. “Isn’t he great?”

I started to strip. I had waited a few moments for her to give me privacy, but she showed no signs of leaving. “I think he’s the cutest little thing.”

~Cutest little thing?~ Was she playing a game?

My antennae went up. If Melinda was pulling something that could hurt Peaches, she would be sorry.

“You're so brown,” Melinda said, as I pulled off my top. “Holy cow! Is there an extra ounce of fat on your body… any place?”

From the way she was eyeing me, I wasn't sure if I was the only dyke in the room. Of course, I wasn't sure I was a dyke. Melinda looked adorable in her cherry colored two-piece. Her emerald earrings matched her green eyes. She really was quite beautiful. Nevertheless, I wasn't physically attracted to her.

“When did you and Morgan get together?” I asked. Zack and I had called Morgan “Peaches” for years when the three of us were alone. We were careful to call him Morgan when anyone from school was around.

“We really aren't 'together' yet,” Melinda said, “but I want us to be.” She paused, hesitating, and then asked, “Mouse, can you keep a secret? You can't tell a soul.”

~Oh... you mean a secret like not telling anyone I'm queer?~ I've kept that one for almost sixteen years. “Sure, you can trust me, Melinda.”

Before thinking, I pantomimed locking my lips and putting the key in my pocket. My childish gesture was completely wrong for the moment, but Melinda accepted it without comment.

“I had a rough summer. No one knows. — I have to tell someone. — Last spring, I dated Richie Betson. His parents are always at the country club with Mom and Dad. The four of them pushed us together.”

“He’s handsome.” That was about the only nice thing I could say about Richie.

“He is, if you like the Cro-Magnon kind.” ~Hey. Maybe I’ve misread Melinda. Maybe she has some sense to go with her looks.~ “He’s a real creep.”

I was caught half-naked. I wanted to console her, but I didn't feel right about hugging an unfamiliar person with my breasts bare. I hurriedly put on my navy blue one-piece suit and sat next to her on the bed, feeding her Kleenex until she composed herself. After what seemed like only a minute, she got up and walked to the window. She spoke looking away from me.

“Last spring — just after school got out — we were at a country club dance. Afterward, he took me to Summit Point. It was the first time I had been there with a boy. I naively thought it would be fun. He parked way off to the side, away from the other cars. For a while, I enjoyed the kissing and — ah — touching, but then he wanted more. He wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. He said he liked it when girls pretended they didn't want 'it', when they really did. He ripped my dress and panties. He had almost forced his ‘thing’ inside me, when I found the car horn and held it down until he quit trying to penetrate my.... The drive home was not pleasant. The next day he sent a dozen roses, which I threw in the garbage. I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. He called me a few times after that, but I wouldn't take his calls. I spent the summer at my aunt's lake cabin to get away from everyone and to get myself together.”

“I’m so sorry, Melinda....” She raised a hand to stop me from saying more, which was good because I didn’t know what else I could possibly say.

“It took me weeks alone — thinking — to realize I hadn’t led him on. That’s what Richie accused me of. About a month ago, I started having thoughts about Morgan. I want a boyfriend I can trust. I looked through the pictures of all the guys in the yearbook. Most made me sick to my stomach, thinking they would probably be like Richie was with me, but looking at Morgan’s face gave me a nice, warm feeling. He’s so kind and considerate. He’s the perfect boyfriend to help me set aside my fears.”

“Uh-huh.” Peaches was perfect for her purposes. But who would be the perfect girlfriend for Peaches, to help him get over his hurt — once Melinda dumped him.

“We are going to have so much fun this year. Let’s go out by the pool with the boys and talk about some ideas I have for changing Maple Ridge High.”

~Changing Maple Ridge High? Why would someone as privileged as Melinda want to change our school?~

Peaches was already in the pool when we got back. He was wearing a t-shirt. He probably was trying to cover up his breasts. They had gotten bigger over the summer. I wondered if Peaches knew the theory behind a wet t-shirt contest.

Chapter Three — Melinda
August 26th, Tuesday

~What had I just done? What was there about Mouse that made me trust her?~ I couldn’t afford to be so impetuous. Mom and Dad had some big plans for me. I could attend the college of my choice, if I buckled down.

Being president of student council would help me get into a top college. Part of the reason I had agreed to date a guy like Richie, who was going to be a senior, was to better understand how things like student elections worked. Richie was on the student council.

“Hey, Zack ... Morgan ... come down to the shallow end of the pool so we can talk.” Mouse wouldn’t want her hair wet any more than I did mine. I needed to enlist all three to help me with my campaign. I also wanted them to help me shake up the social order at Maple Ridge High School.

I could see why Morgan had been wearing that sports bra yesterday when we kissed. He had cute little breasts that were visible through his t-shirt. They looked like mine had in the eighth grade. He really was precious.

“I’m going to come right out with it. Some things happened last spring that caused me to spend the summer thinking about life and what I want out of it. One of the things I thought about was who were my friends and why. I’m ambitious. It’s my goal for my senior year to be president of the student council.”

Mouse groaned, but didn’t leave.

I pushed on. “I won’t sacrifice anything to achieve that goal. I want to have fun in high school and learn as much as I can. To do that, I can’t continue on my present course. I have to do a better job picking friends.”

Morgan seemed open to hearing me out, but Mouse and Zack had the look of dogs sniffing at a dish of unfamiliar food.

“Is that what this meeting is about?” Zack asked. “Is this groundwork for your election campaign a year from now?” He frowned at me, as if his kibble had gone past its expiration date.

“Yes, in part. There’s so much more. I think we can do some very important things, but we need to know, like, and trust each other, or it won’t work.” All three of them were quietly waiting. Morgan’s forehead was scrunched. “Zack, do you have anything against a girl being elected council president?”

“There aren’t many girls I would like to see as our president, and there are even fewer boys.” Mouse and Morgan bobbed their heads as they exchanged glances.

“You three have such close friendship,” I blurted out. “I would do anything to be one of you.”

“Including kissing me?” Morgan asked. “Is that why you...? Are you using me, to become friends with all of us?”

“Do my kisses seem phony?” The minute I said it, I wanted to take it back. “You’re such a special person. All three of you are. You’re the best people in our class, possibly in the whole high school.”

“Oh, sure,” Mouse said. “That’s why we’re so popular.” Morgan and Zack grimaced in silent agreement with Mouse’s sarcasm.

“But you are popular. Not one of you is disliked by anyone I know.”

“Boy, that’s a stretch,” Morgan said. “Simply because we aren’t totally hated doesn’t mean we’re popular. We aren’t invited to the cool parties.”

“I think this party is cool,” I said. “Don’t you?”

“Sure, Melinda,” Zack said, “but you invited us because you want something.”

“Everyone wants something. What I want most from you three is your friendship. Is that so different from other invitations?”

“I would like to think some people invite us to their parties so they can have more fun,” Morgan said.

“Uh huh. And, some invite us because we invited them to our parties,” Mouse added, sitting up. She had been lying on her back on a towel, looking up at the clouds. She took off her sunglasses, and looked me straight in the eyes. “But, overall, I agree with Melinda. Party politics is a big part of the social scene.”

“Is it your plan to somehow reformulate us so we can join your group, the elite?” Zack asked. “If it is, I want no part of it. I don’t want to be one of those people.”

“That’s not it at all,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to change the three of you. It’s me who needs changing. I need to be mended, along with all the rest of the snobs; and not only the snobs. Can I ask you a tough question?” They all nodded. “Do you feel inferior?”

“Nope, not a bit,” Morgan’s face was serious, but then he grinned. “I guess ... ahhh ... I do sort of look up to everyone.”

We all laughed. By making a joke about his height, he had put the conversation back on a lighter and more positive note. He was so much shorter than me.

“It’s hard not to suffer some twinges of inferiority when you wear diapers,” Zack said.

His blunt honesty was embarrassing. I was impressed by the way he said things — no beating around the bush. He looked a lot like a movie star with his crinkly eyes and little boy grin.

“I only feel inferior when someone like you wanders by looking so perfect,” Mouse said. The designer label in my swimsuit was scratching my back. I did wear heels and dresses a lot, but that was to please my mother.

“I never intended to make you feel that way,” I said to Mouse. “I’m far from perfect. Do I make you two feel inferior as well?”

For a moment, I wasn’t sure Zack and Morgan would answer. Zack’s focus was on finding a good grip on the pool ladder. Morgan was following the flight of a jet several miles away. The pool filter running in the background was the only sound. The pebbles set in the concrete deck were digging into my backside. My new boyfriend responded to being on the spot by getting up and walking twenty feet away to his towel. He slowly dried himself while I patiently waited.

“For you, this is nothing but talk,” Morgan said, sitting down about a foot from me. “You don’t have to live every day of your life outside a candy store, looking in through the window at all the good things you’ll never have. Who wouldn’t want to be you?”

~Did they really believe my life was ideal?~

Zack was using an incredible amount of strength to push an inflated raft underwater. My gaze demanded an answer. He looked from Morgan to Mouse and then at me.

“It’s comical — someone like you thinking you could even begin to understand how I feel. How could you possibly imagine what it’s like to wake up every day knowing you’re different and there’s nothing you can do about it? You’re perfect and I’m — broken.”

Despite my sympathy for Zack’s disability, I had heard enough. I had prepared myself not to get angry if things didn’t go just right, but they weren’t being fair. “Perfect? Don’t you get it? That’s exactly why we have to work together to change things around the school.”

“Huh?” Zack asked.

“No one can make you feel bad about yourself unless you allow them to,” I said. “We’ve been giving the other kids our permission to run all over us. It doesn’t have to be that way. We have a right to be who we are, without people making assumptions about us.”

“What makes you so sure about that?” Morgan asked. Zack and Mouse appeared ready to leave. Morgan, at least, wanted to hear more.

“Because, I’m not a sexual prude!” I answered, more quickly than I should have.

Zack choked on his ice water. Morgan turned a brighter red than he had when I kissed him.

Mouse smiled. “What Melinda is saying is that she isn’t going to allow other people to put a label on her. All we really want is for the rest of the world to recognize that we’re human, too. I think you’re on to something, Melinda. We need to stand up for our rights.”

“All I really want is to be left alone,” Morgan said. “I don’t need everyone to think I’m wonderful. I just want people to quit making fun of me.”

“That’s all anyone wants,” I said.

“That can’t be all you want,” Zack said. “I want to know why someone who has everything is interested in social reform.” Morgan and Mouse nodded their agreement with his question.

“Because, I don’t have everything. It eats at me every waking moment. Sure, I’ve got it good. My parents have money, so I can wear the right clothes. I’m a cheerleader — I look good, but there has to be more. I want to be taken seriously. NOW. My mom and Aunt Belle both fought for years before anyone listened to them. That’s a crock. Why should I be treated any less seriously than any of the boys in our school?” I had said much more than I had intended. Much more than I had realized needed to be said. I was glad I had said it.

They were silent again.

“You’re right.” Mouse pulled me up, and then gave me a crushing hug. I felt like a rag-doll in her arms. Mouse smelled so wholesome, like sheets that had been hanging on a clothesline.

“I’m sorry,” Zack said. He and Morgan were making no effort to take part in the hug. “I see what you’re getting at. I guess we’re as much snobs, in some ways, as the rest of the kids.”

“Gee, Melinda, I didn’t realize.” Morgan said, “If it will make you feel any better, you can kiss me again.”

We laughed. Becoming friends fast-forwarded.

“I’ve given this a great deal of thought over the summer,” I said. “We’re told from the moment we’re able to understand that all men are created equal — all MEN. What about happiness? Aren’t we all supposed to be happy?”

“Aren’t the beautiful people happy?” Zack asked.

“Who do you mean?”

“The jocks, the cheerlead....” Zack’s voice trailed off. I was the only sophomore on the varsity cheerleading squad.

For a moment the warm feelings that had been developing between the four of us cooled, as we struggled to throw aside old ideas about each other.

“I don’t know one happy person in the entire high school,” I said. “Those who supposedly are on top are continuously trying to create a group of students beneath them who can’t defend themselves. The beautiful people see everyone else as a threat to their position. Rich, smart, pretty ... they’re all comparative words. In order to be rich, there has to be poor. You’re only pretty in contrast to someone who isn’t.”

“I’ve never analyzed it that way,” Zack said.

Things I had discussed with Aunt Belle all summer needed to be said. “Even worse; the ones on top are always scheming to have the ones on the bottom tear each other down, so that they never do become a challenge.”

“Aren’t you getting a little negative?” Mouse asked.

“Not at all.” Morgan picked up my argument. “I spend most of my day trying to think of ways to be a little less embarrassed about who I am. I allow people to make fun of me, and my response is to try to hide someplace. Besides that, some of the worst things that have been said to me were by kids who were trying to bust into the elite group; kids that were being picked on themselves.”

“It’s a crime when someone as wonderful as you thinks of himself as somebody to be picked on.” When I said wonderful, Morgan winced and looked away. Was that because he was pleased, or had I hurt him somehow?

“Melinda,” Mouse said. “I think I know what got you started thinking about all this.” She looked at me as only another woman can when speaking of male aggression. “Yet, I need to hear you say that you’re serious about Morgan. Or, are you just playing him?”

Mouse sounded like someone from the old South. ~Beauregard, sir. Are your intentions honorable?~ Yet, the looks I received from all three told me I had to be careful how I answered.

“The fact that you even asked that question is your own answer. Morgan is cute, cuddly — kind, intelligent, good-looking — funny, caring — understanding, sensitive, respectful, and he’s a sexy kisser.”

Zack poked Morgan on the arm and puckered his lips at him. “You left out brave, clean, and an all-around good scout.”

When we quit laughing, I continued. “Even with all of that being true about Morgan, you doubt my sincerity in wanting to be with him. Doesn’t that sum up everything that’s wrong with our lives?”

Mother came out from the house carrying sodas and two pizza boxes. I would have preferred coffee, if Mother would let me. She would have preferred to listen to our conversation and meddle in what we were planning, if I would let her.

I suppose I should have been honored to have someone who owns dozens of clothing stores delivering my pizza. She had my future all mapped out. She hadn’t been too happy about who I had invited to my party. It was clear she thought I should hang with the kids from the country club. We waited until she left before resuming our discussion between bites of Luigi’s takeout.

“What can we do to make people be more tolerant?” Zack asked.

“Tolerance.” I was warming to the topic I had spent all summer studying. “That’s it. Total tolerance will be our goal. We’ll eliminate all contempt for diversity. You can’t force people to change their way of thinking. People have to want change. They have to see a need for change.”

“How do we make them do anything?” Morgan asked. “Who cares what we think or say?”

As I had hoped, Morgan ate only the vegetarian pizza. Zack was intent on eating the entire Meatza Pizza. Mouse ate like one. I ate with enthusiasm. I always did. My figure was 99% genetic and 1% personal discipline. My mother was always lecturing me that the day might come when I would pay for not attending to myself.

It was hard to keep on task when the pizza was so good, but I forced myself. “We’ll become irenic soldiers. Gandhi changed his entire country through passive efforts.”

“Who were the Irenes?” Zack asked.

“Irenic,” Mouse said, “are not a people. Irenic is an adjective that means peaceful.” I hadn’t over-estimated Mouse.

“I read a book this summer by Abbie Hoffman,” I said. “He was an activist back in the sixties who started a counter-culture movement. Once, he threw dollar bills down from the visitors’ gallery onto the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. He almost started a riot when the traders scrambled for the cash. He also persuaded over fifty thousand people to circle the Pentagon in an attempt to levitate the building with their psychic energy.”

Zack stopped eating with a third of his pizza left.

“I also read a book on passive resistance by Gandhi. He was a follower of Henry David Thoreau’s theories of civil disobedience. Gandhi actually called his brand of activism Satyagraha, which is Sanskrit for truth and firmness. Through truth and firmness we will find tolerance at Maple Ridge High.”

“Melinda, when did you start reading chapter books?” Zack asked. The way he said it was dripping with irony, but not at all unfriendly.

Unlike Zack, I wasn’t known for being the class brain. Everyone’s pleasant laughter gave me the courage I needed to go on.

“We need to borrow ideas from Gandhi, Thoreau and Hoffman. We need to shake up people by doing outrageous things. We will do nothing that will cause anyone any harm or damage any property. We need to do things that will make people think.”

If my goal had been to make those three think, I had already succeeded. They didn’t mind long periods of thought. My old friends desperately filled any amount of dead air with buzzwords and idle chatter.

For the next hour, we spoke of the necessary change we could encourage, while we soaked up sun and each other. Several times we let two to three minutes pass without saying a word. We set some long- and short-term goals. We devised a plan to reach those goals. And, we started down the road toward friendship.

***

“Morgan, could you help me in the cabana?” I asked, sensing our brains were fried.

As soon as we were in the privacy of the cabana, I asked him to reach up to the highest shelf for some more towels. As he stretched, I snuck in behind him. When he turned, I took him in my arms and kissed him again. Other than a slight hint of chlorine from the pool, Morgan’s mouth tasted wonderful.

“Melinda, I’m not objecting, but what the heck is going on?” For some reason he twisted out of my arms.

“Going on?

“Yeah. What’s going on?” Morgan asked. “Why are you all of a sudden kissing me?”

“Because I like you. Is that so hard to believe?”

The cabana smelled romantic. My father rarely used the pool towels, so my mother had spritzed them with Cabochard, a French perfume the two of us liked.

Morgan took his time to answer, searching the floor for the right words. “You do know that you’re beautiful?”

“I know that I’m not ugly.”

“No, you’re beautiful.”

“That’s so nice of you.”

“And, you’re smart and fun to be around.”

“Morgan, please....” Morgan’s compliments were the first I had received from a boy in some time. Richie had said sweet things he didn’t mean.

“Why would the beautiful, smart, fun Melinda be kissing a nobody like me?”

“Because I like you. I like you a lot, and I don’t think you’re a nobody.”

It was warm in the cabana, but not too hot. I pulled him to me for another kiss. My body wriggled in anticipation.

“Cut that out,” Morgan said. I dropped my arm and moved away a few inches. Morgan took a towel and draped it over his shoulders. It appeared he was trying to hide his chest. “We had better get back. Zack and Mouse are going to wonder what we’re doing.”

“Zack and Mouse know very well what we’re doing, Morgan,” I said. “Don’t you like me?”

“Like you? I think you’re....” He stopped. “I like you a lot.”

“Then, why does it bother you when I kiss you?”

Morgan squirmed. Everything about him was fascinating. We could hear Zack and Mouse in the pool. Evidently Mouse didn’t care about her hair.

“I like you, and I like your kisses,” he said. “But it doesn’t feel right when YOU kiss ME.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every time we’ve kissed, you’ve started it. You’ve kissed me.”

“And that’s wrong?”

“Yes.” He paused again. When he did speak, he muttered softly. “The boy’s supposed to kiss the girl.”

“What?” Maybe I had misjudged him.

“You know. In the movies, the boy always kisses the girl.”

“Is that what you think? Do you think a woman should know her place?”

If Morgan turned out to be a “get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed” kind of guy, I wanted no part of him.

“I don’t have a whole lot of kissing experience — almost none.”

Most guys would rather die than admit they aren’t big lovers.

“You would never know that by the way you kiss. You’re really a good kisser.”

“Really? You are too. A good ... er ... great kisser, but don’t you think it would be more natural if I put my arms around you? Don’t you think, maybe I should’ve been the one to ask you to a party? And, shouldn’t I have been the one to kiss you?” He stopped for a breath while his face turned red.

“I think we need to talk about some things. I think you and I could be very good for each other. I want to be with you, but I don’t want to worry about who does what to whom.”

I hadn’t realized how much I hated the strait roles in relationships. ~Why shouldn’t I be able to kiss him when I want to?~

“If I had done the girl thing of waiting for you to notice me, how long would it have taken for you to decide I was really interested in you, and then ask me out, and then get around to kissing me?”

He grinned. “I guess it probably would have taken quite a while. Maybe, it wouldn’t have happened at all.”

“I wasn’t willing to wait that long, or take the chance it maybe wouldn’t have happened. I’m glad I did what I did.”

“Melinda,” he said. “Before you came out of the house, Zack, Mouse, and I were talking about our projects for Mr. G. I told them I was going to do a project on what it felt like to change into a girl.”

“Why did you say that?”

“I have this condition called gynecomastia,” he said. “It's causing my chest to grow.”

“Really?” I didn’t want him to know that every kid in our class already knew that.

“Really,” he said. “Besides, I’m not tall for our age. When you put the two together, I’m starting to look a little like a girl.”

He blushed again and looked down at the floor. I wanted to take him in my arms again and tell him how wrong he was. I wanted to tell him how wonderful he was. I wanted to say something, anything, but I was lost for words and afraid to touch him again for fear he would leave.

“So, I told Zack and Mouse that I might write a paper on how it feels — to become a girl.”

“Are you serious about writing a paper like that?”

“No. I guess not. People would laugh at me.”

“How do you know people would laugh?”

He had told me something embarrassing and the world hadn’t come to an end. We were starting to build trust in each other.

“I know what makes people laugh. They’ve been laughing at me for years.”

“I’ve never laughed at you. I’ve laughed at your jokes.”

Morgan was the funniest boy in our class. Unlike some of the other boys, his humor didn’t make someone a target.

“Plenty of people have laughed at me.”

He was the bull’s-eye for a lot of jokes by those stupid jocks.

“Morgan, other than my being the aggressor, do you like kissing me?”

“Are you kidding me?” he asked.

All of a sudden he reached for me and yanked me to my feet. Like some oversexed Hollywood actor on steroids, he shoved his mouth against mine. I thought back to that night with Richie. Morgan’s aggressiveness wasn’t like Richie’s, but his forceful kiss wasn’t as nice as the other one we had shared.

“Was that better for you?” I asked, after we separated.

“Not really — actually no. I could be better with practice.”

“Or, you could just be you and let things happen naturally.”

I leaned into him and kissed him gently. I was five or six inches taller than Morgan and had to turn my head down to his. That kiss seemed more natural.

“MMMMmmmmm,” he said.

“What do you think?” I wanted him to like me, to like my kisses.

“I think ... any guy who can think while you’re kissing him isn’t giving the kiss the attention it deserves.”

I giggled. He had said exactly what I needed to hear.

“How did you ever learn to kiss like that?” he asked. “Did you read a book?”

“No. I just do what feels right to me. Does it really matter to you who starts the kiss?”

“No. It might even be better at times if you do.”

“Even if that sort of makes me the guy?”

“Even if that sort of makes me the girl.” He blushed.

“Maybe we should work on your project together. We could put a twist on it that would shake up the system. That’s something Gandhi would have done. What if you and I swapped roles?”

“You mean you would always be the one to kiss me?”

“Not always, but most of the time,” I said. “But there would be many other things. I would open doors for you and walk you home from school. Things like that.”

“No way.” Morgan cringed.

It did seem a bit much. Maybe it was a really bad idea, but it offered so many possibilities for making people think about who they are.

“I wouldn’t expect you to be cowardly.”

“I’m not a coward,” he exclaimed.

“I know that. I’ve seen you stand up to some huge guys. You would be taking my role, and I would be taking yours. Think of it as play-acting. You do great impressions. Think about pretending that you’re the girl and I’m the boy.”

“I won’t act like a sissy.” His eyes were wandering again, looking toward the brass on the mahogany door.

“No, and I don’t want you to. I especially wouldn’t want you to be like they make gay guys act in movies. No walking funny, or lisping — none of that stuff. Everything you would do would be subtle, the less obvious the better.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he said.

“You’re a great mimic, so you know how to study people. You could carry a notebook and keep track of how girls act and speak differently than boys, then do those things.”

He was pleased I respected his acting talent. His look of concern had changed to a mischievous half smile.

“That might be fun. I would find out more about the differences between boys and girls.”

“And, we wouldn’t have to worry about who kissed who,” I said. My smile was filled with promises I intended to keep.

“Do you think Mr. G would allow us to do that for a project?”

“I think Mr. G would ask you if you were comfortable doing it. Then he would say, 'A man can’t be comfortable without his own approval.'” Mr. G was a Mark Twain fan, so was I. “He’ll think it’s a great project.”

“Ummmm.... It sounds good, but.... let’s talk it over with Zack and Mouse and see what they think.”

“No matter who plays what role,” I said, “I want you to be the one I kiss and go out with. Unless. Unless there’s someone else you would rather be with. Is there?”

“I can’t think of anyone I would rather be with — than you.”

I was relieved. Everything was going the way I had planned. Morgan’s idea for a project would fit right in. I couldn’t imagine what could go wrong. The perfume from the towel had settled into his skin, leaving him with a hint of violets. It was a good scent for him. Sweet, innocent, and sincere.

Chapter Four — Zack
August 26th, Tuesday

What were Peaches and Melinda doing? We had things to talk about. More to the point, I needed to use the cabana to change my diaper. Spina bifida had left me with little sensation below my waist. I had complete control of my bowels, but I did have some bladder control issues. My normal diapers had chemicals to deal with the odors. I needed to get out of my swimsuit and into them before something happened I would regret. Not a big deal, just one of those things I had to do.

I led a fairly normal life. I had been blessed with substantial upper body strength, which afforded me good mobility on flat surfaces. If I watched my liquid intake — avoiding caffeine — I rarely had problems that required a diaper. Baggy pants and shirts allowed me to camouflage them so few people even realized I wore them. I kept spares in the bottom of my backpack.

Since I had little feeling in my legs, I had to look down to see how they and my braces were set up. I sometimes lost track of where I was going. Moving through a crowded corridor at school could be like a demolition derby. Mouse and Peaches were in nearly all my classes; they had a habit of watching out for me.

“What do you make of all this?” I asked Mouse. When they hadn’t immediately come back, Mouse and I had gotten into the pool to beat the heat.

“I think Peaches is in deeper water than we are.”

I laughed. We were resting in the shallow end of the pool in about thirty inches of water. “Do you trust Melinda?”

Mouse’s nose had been crinkling while Melinda was talking. That was a dead giveaway that Mouse thought Melinda was trying to deceive us.

“I don’t know,” she said. “All the years we’ve been around Melinda, she’s never done anything I would call dishonest. Yet this overnight romance is hard to take. Melinda is intelligent, but she doesn’t seem to think things through.”

“Peaches is a sharp dude. Every girl in school would be after him if he was a few inches taller.” ~Well, several inches.~ “But I know what you mean. Peaches has never had a date, and now the most popular, best-looking girl in our class is crawling all over him. That’s hard to accept.”

“Melinda told me some things. She might really like Peaches. Even so, I’m going to keep an eye on her.”

Mouse could be intimidating. She hated cruelty, even to the smallest of creatures. I didn’t want to think about what she would do if someone hurt her best friend.

“I don’t know, Mouse, the worst thing I can say about Melinda is that she’s pushy. I don’t really think that’s so bad, as long as we don’t let her talk us into something we’ll later regret.”

As a member of the Debate Club, I was sure I could recognize the flaws in her arguments.

“I’ve never thought about what it would be like if the three of us weren’t together.” Mouse, Peaches, and I had been inseparable for years. I couldn’t even begin to estimate the number of hours we had spent together as kids, making things with Lego bricks. “I guess I just assumed we three loners would be best friends forever.”

“Maybe we won’t be losing a Peaches. Maybe we’ll be gaining a Melinda. At least, we know the Pryces don’t waste energy heating their pool.”

“The water is — ah — refreshing.” I involuntarily shook.

Mouse stared over my shoulder toward the cabana. I turned and saw Peaches and Melinda coming toward us.

“I saw you shivering,” Melinda shouted. “Mom likes the pool cold. She says it’s more natural. She likes to come out covered with goosebumps. Then she says, ‘Nature is what we’re put on this earth to rise above.’ I almost like my mother when she says things like that.”

“Your mom sounds okay,” Mouse said.

“She is, when she’s not worried so much about her standing in the community. Morgan and I have been talking about our project.”

“Did you decide on something?” I directed my question to Peaches.

“Maybe.... We’re thinking about doing one together; we just might do the one I told you about before: about what it feels like to be a girl.”

“You can’t be serious.” Mouse glared at Melinda, apparently blaming her for our friend having lost his mind. “The kids in school would tear you apart.”

“I would have to agree, Morgan,” I said. “There must be something else. You can’t do that.”

“How do you know?” Melinda said. “He hasn’t tried ... yet.”

“Do you think all there is to changing into a girl is growing breasts?”

The moment Mouse said “breasts,” she realized she had violated a taboo. Peaches turned beet red and hung his head. I wished there was something I could say or do to put that embarrassing genie back in the bottle.

“I don’t mind your breasts, Morgan,” Melinda said. “If your girlfriend doesn’t mind them, who else matters?”

My estimation of Melinda was raised another ten notches. Peaches instantly perked up.

“That’s right,” Peaches said.

“The school matters,” Mouse said. “There must be rules against a project like that.”

“If you obey all the rules,” Melinda said, “you miss all the fun.”

“The kids would go crazy!” Mouse said.

“Yes. — They will,” Melinda said. “I can’t wait for all the fun.”

“Neither can I,” Peaches added. “It’s time to make waves. Maple Ridge High has sexist attitudes. It needs a kick in the butt. If I can help make a change by taking a little heat, I’m ready to do it. We don’t always have to stay hidden in our little group.”

Peaches was right. Our small group lived by a passage out of a Terry Pratchett book. “You run away a lot. That is good. You are a survivor.” I hated to think of myself as someone who runs away.

Peaches sounded like Sir Lancelot preparing to rescue his lovely Guinevere from burning at the stake. With his long hair, he looked more like Guinevere than Lancelot. A barber had treated him like a child because of his size. He kept asking him where his “mommy” was. What made it even worse was that Peaches knew the barber wasn’t trying to be funny. It would be a long time before Peaches would go back.

“I have nothing to lose,” Peaches said. “If Melinda’s ready to put her reputation on the line, I’m in.”

“What exactly are you going to do for research for your project?” Mouse asked.

“We’re going to reverse our roles,” Peaches said. “Melinda will be the aggressor in our relationship. She will do all the things a boy would normally do, and I’ll do things a girl does.”

There was no doubt that Peaches could pull off the acting part. The trick would be for him to stand up to the adverse reactions. Neither Mouse nor I was sold on the idea, but since Peaches wanted to do it, we would be there to support him.

After we talked it over, Melinda said it for all of us. “We might be right ... or, we might be wrong ... but at least we won’t be avoiding life.”

One moment I wanted to grab Mouse and Peaches and escape Melinda’s evil clutches. The next instant I was wondering how Peaches got so lucky. He was going to do just about anything Melinda asked. Was that good? Was I being loyal by supporting him, or should I have sent up flares and sounded alarms?

I needed a hypothesis. No. This wasn’t an assignment. This was real life for Peaches. I didn’t need to make it another science experiment. All I needed was a clear idea of where he was going so I could help him.

We used Melinda’s computer to create a tri-fold to distribute at school, to explain their research. Melinda and Peaches would role-play for a day without explanation. Once the questions started flying, Mouse and I would give a leaflet to every kid in the school.

Students of Maple Ridge High School

• If you understand what Morgan and Melinda are doing, please help them with their project.

• If you don’t understand what they’re doing, ask.

• If you do understand, and have a problem with it, simply look away, but you might ask yourself why you have a problem.

• If Morgan or Melinda’s role-playing makes you feel uncomfortable, that’s good.
“Honest disagreement is often a good sign of progress.” — Gandhi

• What role are you playing? Are you satisfied with your role? Can you do things differently and make things better for everyone?

We left Melinda’s house that afternoon convinced that Melinda wanted to make sweeping changes at Maple Ridge High. It would be a risky venture. It reminded me of something Stephen Hawking said. “God not only plays dice; he also sometimes throws the dice where they cannot be seen.” We were going to play dice with the school. I needed some time alone to think everything through.

Chapter Five — Mouse
August 26th, Tuesday, Late Afternoon

My family was straight out of the sixties and out of step with the world, which I didn’t mind at all. Nevertheless, things sometimes happened that made me wish I were more like everyone else.

Peaches wanted to try to be different. What a joke. The three of us had always been different. It was what we did best. Our second-best skill was fading into the background. Every once in a while Peaches would use his sense of humor and ability to mimic to make the class laugh. But mostly we were non-entities.

Melinda rode into our group with her hair and legs. The next thing you knew, she wanted us to do things that would put us, and mainly Peaches, on center stage. She and Peaches would stir things up with their game. Even I found it unnatural when she kissed him. There was no doubt about who was the lead dog. Yet there was something genuine in her affection. Maybe everything could work for them.

I did like the way she had handled Peaches’ gynecomastia. There’s a social stigma about talking about breasts. They're just parts of the body. What’s the big deal? Guys call them boobs. Boobs ... a boob is an imbecile, a dolt. Breasts aren’t stupid. They’re just glands.

If? — If what?

As soon as I got home from Melinda’s house, I changed into heavy denim jeans and a long-sleeved flannel shirt. It was warm, but I was going on a hike and needed the protection if I went into the brush. I also got out my high-top Timberland boots and heavy socks. Thinking required serious hiking.

I told Mom I would be back before dark and not to worry about dinner. She ate only to exist. When she was firing her pottery, she didn’t even do that.

My bike took me north along Underhill Road, over to Grove Street, north to Millwood Avenue, then east to Broad Street, where I went north again.

Judy Watson waved to me from her parents’ car. Judy and I had played soccer together until the seventh grade. The coach always played us at defensive backs because of our size. Our team had gone undefeated. We won most of our games 1 - 0 or 2 - 1. We had only given up a total of four goals all season. Judy and I were fiercely proud of our defense.

Someday I might forget what the coach said at the awards banquet. She had just given out the trophy for the girl who scored the most goals. “There’s no trophy for being the scariest. If there were, I would have to split it between Judy and Mouse. When the other teams got a look at our two giants, they didn’t even want to try to score. Judy was twice as big as any girl we played against, and at least three times as big as most of the strikers who dared to bring the ball downfield against her. As long as these two enormous girls play for me, I’m sure I’ll win plenty of league championships.”

The parents and players laughed at the coach’s comments. She had made it clear that Judy and I were good because we were giants. If it had been a slip of the tongue, or something said when everyone was crazy during a game, it wouldn’t have bothered either of us. But it was exactly how the coach felt. Not wanting to go on being giants, neither Judy nor I played soccer after that. That coach didn’t win another championship.

Judy had put on a lot of weight after she quit soccer. Some people said she had a chip on her shoulder. I felt sorry for her. Not so much because she was heavy, but because of what she had allowed her weight to do to her personality.

Judy spent much more time on her clothes than I did. She asked me one time if I had trouble buying clothes that fit. She said she rarely could find anything she liked. I didn’t have a problem, because my jeans and flannel shirts came from the men’s department.

I continued north on Broad Street. When I was small, I got excited when my parents took me down Broad Street. It meant we were going for ice cream or homemade candy. A movie theater was right next to the ice cream parlor. I had been there a few times to see foreign films with my mom. If we wanted to see a current film, we had to go to the Cineplex, which was about five miles east on the state highway in Center Park.

Eventually I found myself at the ravine north of the country club. The ravine had once been a rail bed for a commuter line. It contained some of the most natural countryside our area had to offer.

I chained my bike to a tree, across Broad Street from Betson Chemicals, and walked along the sandy, dry gorge. To the northwest was our town’s eyesore, Mudd’s Diesel and Towing. Everyone who came into Maple Ridge from the highway had to pass right by Mudd’s. Funny! Our town got all up-in-arms over Mudd’s clutter, while Betson Chemicals could do whatever it wanted.

To the southwest was the country club. The ravine ran between the golf course and Mudd’s. The maple, birch, and poplar were waving gently in the almost motionless air. I had accidentally rubbed my hand in the resin of the cedar tree I chained my bike to — the scent was better than any cologne.

The air was alive with Nature exchanging her spring greenery for something a bit more golden. Middle-aged Summer was trying to hide her swiftly aging body. Flowers were giving way to browning grasses. The upcoming harvest would feed all the animals through the long winter. I was looking forward to hiking with the Outing Club. I already missed the long hours I had spent in the woods at Nature Camp.

I worked my way along the ravine until I found a rock that was a perfect perch. A garter snake coiled on a smaller flat rock a few steps away had the same idea of basking in the sun. The songs of the thrushes, robins, wrens, sparrows, and chickadees helped me gather my thoughts.

What was the proper course of action? Sure ... if Melinda stuck by Peaches, it was possible for him to play whatever game it was she had in mind. Melinda had the clout to back down almost anyone in our high school. No one was going to think less of Peaches for doing whatever was needed to hang onto her. The boys would be too jealous to say much. The girls would be envious of Melinda’s control over Peaches. But — if she dropped him — if she got tired of her game and moved on — he would be dead meat.
When we were ten, Peaches and I had ridden our bikes to the ravine. I wanted him to explore it with me. He had taken one look at it and said, “No way. That’s Wilderland.” He eventually overcame his fears, and it became one of our favorite hangouts. In the fifth grade, he wanted Zack and me to call him ‘Bougainvillea Foxburr of Underhill,’ a hobbit name he had created for himself. Hobbits are easily hurt.

~Hey. He didn’t ask for my permission to kiss Melinda.~ If he wanted to climb out on a limb to pick the best fruit, that was his choice. Even so, he had always been there when I needed him.

He was right to be scared. Relationships can be like a walk in the woods. If you’re careful, they can be fun. There’s nothing better than a hike, but you have to wear your pants tucked into your socks to prevent tick-bites that might cause Lyme disease.

There was about an hour of sunlight left. Soon, I would have to start home.
The butterflies were riding the late afternoon thermals like kites in the wind. They moved aimlessly through the sky. It was late in the year for butterflies. Because of our cold, damp summer the second hatch had been delayed nearly three weeks. Butterflies intrigued me. I was hooked by the first lepidopterist who lectured at Nature Camp. The whole idea of metamorphosis appealed to me. It would be wonderful to go through the chrysalis stage and emerge a new and beautiful being.

A barn swallow swooped in and attacked the butterflies. The swallow grabbed one of them in its mouth. In the struggle, bits of the butterfly fell near my feet; nearly a complete wing. At first, I thought I had stumbled on a rare Karner Blue. We had studied them at Nature Camp. They’re an endangered species and the subject of extensive conservation in at least five states.

The caterpillar of the Karner Blue feeds only on the leaves of the wild lupine, which were growing around me. The markings were similar, but the coloration was all wrong. Had they been Karner Blues, I wouldn’t have tried to collect a sample. You need a permit from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service to legally collect a Karner Blue.

I was wearing a T-shirt; so I used my flannel shirt to catch a specimen. I placed it in the breast pocket of my shirt, buttoning it to assure it wouldn’t escape. It would die on the way to my house, even though I had been as careful as possible.

When I got home, I carefully pinned the dead specimen to a pasteboard backing and got out my books. I spent an hour before admitting I couldn’t identify it. The thought that I might have found a new species flickered through my head. New species are identified now and again, but seldom in the United States. We’ve classified nearly everything of any number and size.

Out of curiosity, I took several pictures with my digital camera and e-mailed them to an entomologist who had lectured at Nature Camp. Professor Kjellen of State College had asked that we send him images of anything we found that might be interesting.

As I was finishing my work, Zack came over.

“A new species? Not very likely.” Zack wasn’t the naturalist that I was, but we had talked a great deal about the Karner Blue over the past two years. Zack was interested in pollution and its impact on the environment. He was aware how fragile nature could be. “This definitely isn’t a Karner Blue. At least it’s not like any Karner Blue I’ve ever seen. You were only a half-mile from the Betson Chemicals plant, right.”

“So?”

“It’s possible what you have found is a mutant.”

“A mutant? Like one of those frogs those kids from that charter school in Minnesota found? I hope you’re wrong. Mutants are a clear indication of how much damage we’ve done to Earth. I’ll know more when I hear from Professor Kjellen.”

“I really don’t like the Betsons,” Zack said. Rich Betson was the only one in school who had ever overtly made fun of Zack. “I’ll bet Rich’s dad is responsible for this mutant, just like he’s responsible for his teenage mutant son.” Hmmm. Zack usually looked for the good in everyone. “We need to forget about Rich and move on to something that matters. Are you okay with what Melinda and Peaches are going to do tomorrow?”

“We have to trust them both to handle what happens and give them our support.”

“I hope they know what they’re doing.”

“Do you always know what you’re doing?” I asked.

“Good point.”

I wanted to do what I could to heal the wounds we have given Mother Nature. I would love to hold up my specimen to the world and say, “Hey, look. Look at what Mother Nature has done. Isn’t she grand? Isn’t she worth protecting?”

If I couldn’t protect Mother Nature, maybe I could at least protect Peaches.

Chapter Six — Morgan/Peaches
August 26th, Tuesday, Late Evening

“Are you ready for school?”

“School? Is that starting already?”

Mom knew I liked school and eagerly anticipated the first day. I always acted as if I had forgotten, so she could pretend to be a concerned mother.

“Do you have everything you need? Have you set out your clothes so you won’t be rushed in the morning?”

When I was little, I would put out whatever I was going to wear the next day on the floor of my bedroom. I would lay them out in the form of a boy with my shoes at the bottom with socks tucked in them ... all the way up to a baseball cap where the boy’s head would be.

“Mom, did you ever do anything really strange in high school?”

“Strange?”

“Did you ever deliberately do something so that everyone in the school would be talking about you?”

“When I was in school, the last thing anyone ever wanted to do was to draw attention. There were a few showoffs who were constantly acting up, but no one thought much of them.”

“It’s the same way now. Everyone tries to blend in. Do you think it’s good everyone tries to be the same?”

“It’s always nice to fit in, to feel comfortable with who you are. But it depends on what you’re forced to do to be part of the group.”

“Is this turning into a lecture about drugs and alcohol?”

“I hear plenty at the library about the house parties.”

“You don’t have to worry.” I had enough trouble handling sober fools.

Then Mom and I talked through what Melinda and I had planned.

The phone rang at nine forty-five. It was odd for it to ring after nine. Zack and Mouse would come over, if they wanted to talk.

“Oh, hi Melinda,” Mom said. “Yes, it was a beautiful day. Thank you so much for having Peaches over to your house. He told me it was a stimulating afternoon. I understand you and Peaches are going to do a little acting at school tomorrow. Uh-huh. — Oh, that will be interesting. — Just be careful. Be careful. — Both of you could look silly. Okay, Honey, I’m sure you will. — Sure. — He’s right here. Bye, Melinda. Nice talking to you. Say hi to your mother for me. Stop by the library; there are some books you might find helpful if you two are sure you want to take on this project.”

I had to clear my throat several times before taking the phone.

“What did you tell your mother about this afternoon?” Melinda asked.

“Nothing, really.” I hadn’t betrayed Melinda in any way.

“Nothing? Is that what this afternoon was to you — nothing?”

Melinda was teasing me. Her voice made me feel attractive, something I hadn’t experienced. “No, it was something, something wonderful. I can’t wait to see you again, tomorrow.”

I peeked around the corner to check where my mom was. It was new to want to hide anything from her. She wasn’t in the kitchen. I heard a noise from the basement. She was doing laundry.

“Are you worried about tomorrow?” Melinda asked. “Please don’t be. We’ll go slowly at first to make sure there isn’t a riot or anything.”

“A riot?” Since she first came to my house, I was either totally confident, as someone with Melinda for a girlfriend should be, or I was scared stiff.

“It’s going to be fun. You’ll see. The school will be our stage. Everyone will know soon enough that we’re actors.”

“Except I’m going to be the actress.” Somehow I didn’t see myself as Julia Roberts or Catherine Zeta-Jones. “You make me think amazing things I’ve never thought before.” I was talking more than I should, but I couldn’t help myself.

“You’re the amazing one.”

~Dang these phones.~ It was easier to talk to Melinda without the pressure of looking in her eyes, but there was no way to hug her over the phone.

“I really like your friends,” Melinda said. “I thought I knew them before, but now that I know them they're even better than I had thought.”

“They’re cool. Zack’s so smart he’s scary. Mouse is my best friend. She and I have had great times together.”

“Is she a good kisser?”

~Why is she asking me that?~

“Mouse? A good kisser? I wouldn’t know. Mouse a good kisser — that’s a good one. What do you think? Would Mouse be a good kisser? You know a lot more about kissing than I do.”

~Oh gee.~ I had made Melinda sound cheap. Talking to Melinda was like walking on an ice-covered lake.

“Mouse is easily the most real person in our class. I liked it when she quoted Thoreau today. ‘It is never too late to give up your prejudices.’ That’s what we have to do — we have to give up our prejudices.”

“I’m willing to try.” ~Whew.~ I hadn’t fallen through Lake Melinda’s ice. “I don’t think I have many prejudices.”

“We all have prejudices. If we didn’t have preconceived notions of what would happen, we would probably be too scared to do anything. I love it when your mom calls you Peaches. It sounds so loving, so sweet.”

~Darn. She had noticed.~ “I guess I don’t really mind when Mom says it.”

Lying in my bed, looking up at the ceiling, I spotted things I hadn’t for a few years; cracks I thought looked just like the state of Ohio. I had been too busy to stare at my ceiling. My bed felt really good while I was talking to Melinda.

“Would it bother you terribly much if I called you Peaches? I would really like to. I think it’s so sweet — just like your kisses.”

~Sweet, am I supposed to sound sweet?~ I wasn’t too sure if I wanted to be sweet. Being called sweet made me want to swear, or something.

“Peaches is sort of a family thing.”

“Are your family members the only ones who call you Peaches?”

Melinda’s cross-examination was putting me into a corner.

“I guess Zack and Mouse do.”

“They do? I’ve never heard them calling you Peaches. I’m sure I would remember that if they did.”

“They only call me Peaches if no one from school is around.”

“Would it be okay if I called you Peaches when no one’s around? Please? I think it would be nice.”

~As if I could stop her?~ “Sure, go ahead. Do you have a nickname?”

“Dad calls me ‘Snickernose,’ but I hate it. Mom used to call me Bunny, but she has a friend at the club that’s still called Bunny and she’s in her forties. Mom thinks it sounds preposterous to call someone in their forties — Bunny. So, Mom doesn’t call me Bunny anymore.”

“How about if I call you Mel?”

“Okay, Peaches.”

“Okay, Mel.”

We were definitely becoming more than friends. I closed my eyes and put myself back in Mel’s arms. I could taste her lipstick and smell her hair. ~Girls are nice ... mmmmmm.~

“It’s past ten.” Mom had re-entered my life.

~How long has she been there and how much has she heard? Had I said anything she shouldn’t have heard?~ I went from Mel’s arms to the reality of being a fourteen year-old who had to go to bed at a decent hour.

“Okay, Mom. Mel, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you in front of the school tomorrow morning.”

“Bye, Peaches. I can’t wait. We’re going to have a great time this year. School is going to be more fun than ever. Bye now.”

I went to sleep thinking of little else but Melinda and our project.

***

Watch for Peaches Chapters 7 – 12

What had been theoretical planning moves into the reality of the first day of school. How will the jocks react to Morgan and Mel’s gender-bending?

Amelia R and I would like to thank Jezzi, Jenny, and Geoff for their comments and help.

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

---

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.