“Seriously? A year?”

Looking straight ahead with a grim expression, I said, “Yep. A whole year. My whole senior year. August 1st to August 1st.” We walked out of the courthouse.

My friend Tony shook his head in disbelief. “That’s crazy. When I heard that the law was changed last year, I really never thought anyone would be affected by it. It’s just too crazy.” Mom and Dad were walking behind us. Dad was actually crying.

“Tough break, kid,” said my court appointed lawyer. “I did everything I could.”

I scowled at the lawyer. “You didn’t do shit. You might as well have not even been there!”

The lawyer, I didn’t even know his name, chuckled. “You get what you pay for, kid. See ya in the funny papers.” He turned and walked toward the court parking lot.

We stopped walking. The afternoon late July sun beat down on us. It’s 2035 for crissake. Who’d thought this stupid law would ever be used. And I wasn’t even guilty of anything except I knew the guy who did the assaulting. So did most of the school. Karl, the football captain assaulted Angie, the lead cheerleader at an end of school party in June. While it was just this side of rape, Karl admitted what he did and everyone, including me thought the book should be thrown at him. And it was. A year in jail and large fine. Case closed, right?

I was nearby and accused of assisting in the assault even though I had no idea what was going on and didn’t even witness it. My buddy Roger got the same charge. His family could afford the fine. We couldn’t, so the judge, anxious to try out this new legal form of punishment, sentenced me to, get this, one year… twelve whole months… of being a girl. That’s right. I’m required to be a girl. Not just dress in funny clothes. But a complete change of legal status of my gender along with a list of requirements I must do in order to truly experience being female. Nothing gets lopped off, but there is a surgical tuck to give me a female shape along with hormones to keep me from getting excited. And of course, breast implants. They told me everything is reversible.

Now the judge claimed that me being sentenced to being a girl was not punishment. She didn’t want me to think that being a girl was punishment. No. It was to teach me a lesson and make me understand on a more intimate level just how wrong my behavior towards girls was. Except I didn’t do anything.

Angie who is both a long time friend as well as the victim of the assault, tried to explain to the judge that I was not involved. She should know, right? No. The judge wanted her example. The decision isn’t even appealable until the November following the end of the sentence. So I’m totally screwed.

Squinting in the sun, Tony looked at me and asked, “What are you going to do, Jason? Is there no way out?”

I frowned and pointed at the retreating lawyer. “Mr. Asswipe there, my brilliant legal council said there wasn’t. He did say there was a bill up for a vote in the next session to repeal it, but it wouldn’t change anyone currently sentenced. At least Angie said she’d help with girl things. To start at least.”

We walked on to my Dad’s car. Tony asked, “Can’t you just wear panties or something and call it good?”

I huffed. “I wish it was that easy. No. You have to present totally as a girl twenty-four seven just as if you were born that way. It’s going to be a pain just to get all my documents set up. Everything has to declare I’m female.”

Tony looked down at his feet. “Sucks, man. That’s completely insane. Let me know if I can help. I gotta run. Take it easy, man.”

Since there is only a week before the August 1st deadline, the court will grant some leeway, but I can’t drag it out. My surgery for the tuck and breasts are scheduled for tomorrow. While recovering, I can get my documents changed. I just have to show the court order and boom. No questions asked.

School starts August 15th. Now that’s going to really suck.

Dad pointed at his car. “Get in the car son. I can still say that, right?”

I frowned. “For another week.”

I got in the car and we went home.

“Hey Angie. Thanks for coming over. I’m going to need the help.”

Angie smiled at me. “I’m happy to, Jason. I kinda feel responsible for your situation.”

I closed the door behind her. “Don’t. It’s not your fault. And don’t forget. I’m Cindy now. That shit starts today.”

Frowning, Angie said, “Well, I still feel bad. I don’t know why that judge wouldn’t listen.” She hefted a couple plastic bags. “Anyway, I brought you some clothes. I can’t wear them anymore. Oddly they’re too small for me, but they seem to be in your size. Tops, skits, dresses, bras and panties. Don’t worry, they’ve all been washed. At least until you can get your own.”

I took the bags from her and held them up to try to look inside them. “Thanks Angie.”

She held up another bag from a drug store. “These are new. They’re for you. Again, I feel bad so I just went ahead and bought them. All the girls on the squad chipped in. It’s make-up. Just to get you started. There’s foundation, a compact. A few cheap brushes. Mascara and liner. An eye shadow palette. And three lipsticks. And some other stuff you might want.”

I smirked. “A feller could have a pretty good time in Vegas with all that stuff.”

Angie looked at me funny.

I wave my hand dismissively. “An old movie line. Really old. You’re going to show me how to use this, right? Mom wanted to know if she was going to show me.”

It was Angie’s turn to smirk. “Trust me. You don’t want your mother teaching you how to wear make-up. All the girls on the squad have said they’d help when they can.”

I stepped aside. “Well, come on in. We’ll go back to my room.”

Mom stepped into the living room from the kitchen. “Jas… Cindy. What’s going on out here? Oh, hi Angie. Are you here to help Cindy with her make-up?”

Angie nodded. “Yes ma’am. What time is her hair appointment?”

Mom grinned. “Two thirty. Do you know where?”

Angie nodded. “Same salon I use. I’ll have her ready to go.”

I frowned at Mom and then Angie. “Do I have to get my hair done? I mean, really?”

Angie and Mom both said “Yes” at the same time. Angie continued, “You need to get that fright wig of yours under control.”

Mom chuckled. “I’ll let you girls get to it.”

As we entered my room, Angie giggled. “I think your mom is enjoying this.”

I sighed. “Ya think?”

Angie set the bag of make-up and other stuff on my bed as we both sat down. Angie dumped the contents of the bag on my bed and she suddenly looked serious.

Angie said, “Now, the first important thing for you to start doing, because I can see you don’t already, is take better care of your skin. It’s very important you moisturize. Not just your face, but all over. Look how dry your hands are. A boy isn't going to want to hold that.”

For the next hour and a half, Angie continued to scold me on my poor skin care regimen as well as show me how to use the various cosmetics she insisted I start using. I have to say it was an eye opening experience. I really had no real idea what women put themselves through in the name of beauty. I learned a lot, but I just didn’t really care much about what I learned. It just all seemed frivolous to me.

Angie grinned when she stepped back to admire her handiwork. “All I can say is wow, Cindy. You got this. We’ll have to see how things go in the behavior department, but as far as looks go, honey you’re beautiful.”

She had me stand up to look into the large mirror. I actually gasped. “Is that me?”

Angie smiled. “Sure is. It helps you still have those boyish looks instead of a more masculine face. Get used to it, girl. You’re going to be a boy magnet.”

“Terrific,” I frowned. I kept looking at my reflection in utter disbelief. “Girls really go through all this every day? Seriously?”

Angie laughed. “This is just your every day going to school look. As you do it every day, it will get easier. But just wait until you have those special occasions, like a dance or a date. Your make-up will play a bigger role.”

“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that too much,” I smirked.

“Don’t be so sure,” said Angie with a wry smile. “You might be surprised. Come on. Put on these clothes and then we’ll go show your mother.”