“We have a question for you.” It was the redneck Charles Dubois and two other guys who bore more than a passing resemblance to the hyenas in the Lion King, only without the witty repartee.
“Yeah,” one of them said. “we have a question for you.” As if Charles had been particularly clever in calling what the three of them were about to try to do to me a “question”.
“Are you a girl faggot? Or a boy faggot?”
“Yeah, what kind of faggot are you, faggot?”

~~~~~~~~~~
Ch. 7
After lunch I took the opportunity to retrieve my backpack from my first period class. It seemed unmolested as far as I could tell. My cell phone was still in the front pocket, which was good. I had a habit of sticking my cell phone there, because I didn’t always have a pocket for it in my trousers. I used my cell to call home.
“Hello?” my mother answered.
“Hi mom.”
“I think you might have the wrong number…”
Crap. I lowered my voice and tried again. “It’s me, Mom.”
“Ashley? That was strange; it sounded like a girl was talking to me before. What is it, honey?”
“There’s something I want to do after school so could you pick me up a bit later?”
“How much later?”
Hmm. Good question. I did a quick calculation. “Two hours?” That should be safe. If it came to it, I could always do homework to fill the time, but I wasn’t sure when I would be able to talk to Shaquonda. I might need to wait until after her practice.
“Okay, that’s fine. Everything all right?”
“Um…” No, mom, I’ve been de-sexed by a voodoo doll and given a serpent as a replacement penis, and now everyone thinks I’m a girl, and I’m not sure whether I really want to correct them anymore and… “It’s been a long day, Mom. I’ll tell you about it later maybe.”
“Okay. How about we eat in town today?”
“Sounds great, Mom. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
“Bye.” I pressed END.
I was not looking forward to that conversation. With any luck, maybe I could defy the odds and Shaquonda could reverse the curse and everything would be normal by the time Mom picked me up. The shrunken head Shaquonda used as a key chain was probably just a fake. Or maybe Rita was just making things up.
The snake moved a bit. It seemed its head was nudging at my waist band. I didn’t think there was any chance of it pushing through, the cargos I was wearing were, if anything, a size too small. Which meant that soon it would look like I had shat myself. Lovely.
The wrist brace on my left arm was kind of loose, and it was annoying me so I took it off to examine the damage. My left hand looked different. More like a girl’s hand. The wrist was thinner too. I could usually get my middle finger and thumb around my wrist and have my thumb reach about halfway down the fingernail. Now my thumb reached the first knuckle. The curse was not done with me yet it seemed. The good news though, was that my wrist didn’t hurt anymore. I put the brace in my backpack and walked out of the room to my locker.
The next class I had was gym. I didn’t have to go yesterday because of the pep rally, but the game was won and lost the night before and all the hurly burly was done so now everything was back to normal. My own predicament notwithstanding.
It really wasn’t that big a deal, gym. All we did most days was go to the field outside and walk along the track. If you were some one like Mike you ran along the track and timed yourself, but if you were someone like me, you purposely walked in the opposite direction to everyone else and read a book while you did it. Well, okay I usually made some attempt at speed at the beginning, but I have no stamina, as I might have mentioned. When the little fairy lights start to occlude my vision, I figure its time to take the road less traveled. It was a nice day that day and I still had half a Terry Pratchett book to get through. I was actually looking forward to it.
Of course I neglected to take into account my new found infamy.

“Hey.” Someone said. I kept reading. Whoever was talking probably meant somebody else. “Hey lesbo!” Well, now I was really sure they meant someone else. I had to fight to keep my eyes on the page. I wanted to see who they were talking about. But after a few years of kids doing the “Hey, idiot” trick to you, you learn not to react. “Hey, put your fucking book down I’m talking to you.”
Well now I was pretty sure I was being addressed, seeing as I was the only one with a book on the field. So hesitantly, I looked up.
“We have a question for you.” It was the redneck Charles Dubois and two other guys who bore more than a passing resemblance to the hyenas in the Lion King, only without the witty repartee.
“Yeah,” one of them said. “we have a question for you.” As if Charles had been particularly clever in calling what the three of them were about to try to do to me a “question”.
“Are you a girl faggot? Or a boy faggot?”
“Yeah, what kind of faggot are you, faggot?”
This sort of question confused me. Definitely a loaded question, but since at the moment I didn’t know whether I was a girl or a boy physically, did that make me a faggot? And was that a bad thing? I mean a word was only as bad as the thing it entailed, and if faggot simply meant someone of nonstandard sexual orientation, then that was me, as at the time I didn’t really have a sexual orientation. I was so caught up in the intellectual ramifications of the possible answers to Charles’s question that I neglected to pay proper attention to the flanking maneuvers being exercised by his cohorts.
They took me by the arms, my helpful classmates and gently guided me toward the empty refreshment shed on the side of the field. By “gently” I mean I had bruises for a week afterward
“Because if you’re a boy faggot we’ll just beat you up a little, but if you’re a girl faggot…”Here Charles’s cohorts did their hyena laugh, “we might just have other plans.”
There was a psychological study conducted to measure how people pay attention to things. The psychologists would have people look at a video of people playing basketball and have them count how many times the ball was passed throughout the game. Afterwards the participants were asked if they noticed anything strange about the video. Almost none of them mentioned the man in the gorilla suit that had walked right through the middle of the game. They weren’t looking for a man in a gorilla suit, so they didn’t see him.
The gym teacher was on the other end of the field on the bleachers, watching his students walk around in a circle. He wasn’t looking for Charles Dubois to accost anybody, and so he didn’t see it. That’s really the only excuse I can come up with as to why Coach Crown would let things progress as far as they did. Other than the man was irresponsible, an asshole, or both.
Of course what I was thinking at this point was that any minute Coach Crown would break this altercation up, and I didn’t want to be the one engaging in fisticuffs when that happened. I had a history of getting blamed for what other people did, and as far as I was concerned getting a little roughed up was better than getting detention or some other punishment. I had a red belt in Tae Kwon Do at the time, so I wasn’t completely helpless. But one of the things they continually tell you in Tae Kwon Do is that you are never supposed to use it unless you were sparring. And I had a bad habit of following directions.
Even as I was trying to figure out a way to escape that wouldn’t involve actual violence, I felt I was in complete control of the situation. “I’m flattered, but you’re really not my type.” I said, sounding like a girl.
“We don’t give a fuck what your type is.”

“Yeah”
They pushed me behind the refreshment shed out of sight. I was beginning to think that maybe I should do something. If I was born a girl, maybe I would have screamed. If I was more of a guy, maybe I would have tried to fight. But I was still trying to figure out a logical way out of the situation when suddenly I found myself on the ground. Instincts took over at this point. I naturally tried to get up, but of course my arms were pinned by Frick and Frack. “What the fuck are you doing?” I asked stupidly.
Next thing I knew I had a clump of dirt forced into my mouth. They were working on the pipes to the refreshment shed and there were mounds of top soil readily available. Dirt doesn’t taste good. It’s not like the oreo cookie stuff they sell with gummy worms at novelty shops. Dirt is maybe one notch above shit, and I’m only saying that because I’ve never tasted shit. I tried to spit it out, but there was a lot of it. My tongue couldn’t get away from it. I had to breath through my nose and I only had one nostril clear so I was gagging pretty bad.
Charles sat on my legs. He unfastened by belt as I was trying to get enough space in my mouth to yell out something. He unbuttoned my cargos. Unzipped them.
“Guthefuguffme!” I murfled as loud as I could and it would have been a scream at that point I think.

One of my legs got free and I tried kicking, at Charles, but I didn’t have any leverage. He sat on it again. And then he pulled down my pants.
“What the… OW!” The fangs of my trouser snake bit deep into Charles Dubois’s nose. He instinctively pulled away, and this was the wrong thing for him to do, as the fangs made ragged tears though his nose, leaving it a tattered and bloody mess. His two goons, startled, released my shoulders. The snake reared its head at them and hissed. I couldn’t see them from my vantage point, but they must have run away. I managed to get into a squatting position, the snake still hissing at Charles, who was holding his nose and backing away.
I didn’t feel scared at this point. This is going to sound sick, because it is sick, but at that moment I felt really good. Better than I ever had before in fact. I stood up over Charles, this thrumming sensation running throughout my body. “You get what you give in this world,” I told him. “and you give what you get.” If I had been in my right mind, I wouldn’t have said that. If it weren’t for knowing what I know now I wouldn’t even think the phrase was applicable. I mean if it wasn’t for my having a curse Charles would have done what he did and gotten away with it, and he might have done worse to someone else. If anything the whole experience pointed out how unfair life is. But when I said the words I believed them. And because I believed them, they became true.
A few things which I'll mention now, because they aren't likely to come up again for a long while:
Charlotte Dubois’s nose never recovered, but she’s doing all right now. I see her every now and then at the supermarket. She works as a cashier. It’s like Karen told me. The same people who are the most susceptible to curses are the ones who are the most capable of giving them.
About a year ago Charlotte handed me an article about a man, Arnie Dubois, who died of asphyxiation in his trailor. The medical examiner said that the wounds seemed to have been caused by a large snake, like a python, but while animal control was called in, they couldn’t find any traces of it anywhere. Arnie Dubois was Charlotte’s father I figured, but I didn’t see the connection at first. Then she told me something I didn’t expect, though I guess maybe I should have.

She told me, “thanks.”
Charlotte got what she gave, but then, she gave what she got.
~~~~Ch. 8~~~~~~
Charles, as he would still be Charles for a few months after our altercation, scrambled away, and I was left behind the refreshment shed with a mouth full of dirt taste and snake that I had to somehow coax back into my trousers. I still felt giddy for some reason. I felt like taking the rest of my clothes off and running naked across the field, but I managed to restrain myself. I did take my hoodie off, because I felt uncomfortably hot. I had a black t-shirt on underneath , which made my lack of breasts obvious, but then again the shirt seemed to fit me differently than it did this morning. The neck line was exposing more of my chest then I was used to and the sleeves were an inch or so closer to my elbows. I didn’t have a mirror or anything, but I would guess that if anything, taking off the hoodie made me look more like a girl rather than less. Half the girls my age didn’t have breasts yet anyway.
I guess I should also point out that there were some guys my age who were just as scrawny as I was just then, and didn’t have a curse to blame for it. And the t-shirt kind of hid my burgeoning belly and love handles, the result of a largely sedentary existence while under the influence of male hormones. It wasn’t a pot belly, more of a saucepan belly, but if my t-shirt were tighter, or someone was looking at my stomach for some reason, the lack of breasts coupled with the fat deposits would have put me back in the boy camp. Though I would have still qualified for faggot status.
The snake dove back between my legs. I got my pants back on, found my book, and walked out and back onto the track like nothing happened. I felt like running still though. I stuck my book in to the lower pocket of my cargos and launched into a run. I was always told that I ran like a girl, but I figured, hey, now I have an excuse.
I actually managed to run the whole track Usually about a quarter through I start seeing stars but this time I kept on getting more energy. I was really sweating though, and even with the sweat I felt extremely hot, this was a little odd, it being fall and all. My knee hurt a little from the imbalance of the book in my pocket, but I was still going to try for a second lap when Coach Crown stopped me.
Couch Crown stepped in front of me. “Patterson, come over here for a second.”
“Okay.”
I followed him to his perch on the top of the bleachers, where Charles was sitting with a handkerchief over his nose. As I suspected I was going to get in trouble.
“Did you do this?”
“No.” I lied. It wasn’t really a lie. The snake did it, not me, but it felt like one. If I kept things simple I might get out of it.
“Dubois here seems to think that you did.”
I had a thought. “I was there, but I didn’t do it. There was this snake I found behind the refreshment stand. I showed Charles, but he got too close.” That was a good lie. I almost believed it myself.
“A snake?”

“Yeah. Look at his nose. It’s torn, not broken. He was trying to pull it off.”
“There aren’t any snakes around here.”
“Look, that’s what it was. If you don’t believe me, call a herpetologist or a vet or something.”

“Id her sdake!” Charles said.
Coach Crown frowned his bushy eyebrows at me. “Did you bring a snake to school?”
“No. I just found it. I was showing it to Charles. I didn’t think he’d be such a girl about it.” This was getting fun. I was out of the lying part and now I was doing improv. Calling Charles a girl warmed my heart cockles.
“Okay, Dubois, go over to the nurse’s office. Patterson, I still need to talk with you.”
Charles left for the school and I was alone with Coach Crown. “What kind of game you’re pulling?”
“I’m not pulling any kind of game, sir. I found the snake. It didn’t look like it was hurting anybody.”
“Not about that. Didn’t think that was done by a human anyway.”
“Then what is it?”
“You’re not Ashley Patterson. Or at least you’re not the Bruce Ashley Patterson that’s enrolled in my class.”
“What do you mean?”
“Stop playing stupid. Ashley Patterson is a boy. You’re his twin sister or something. It’s time to stop playing around.”
Oh crap. I had no idea how this was going to affect the curse. Would I go home to find a new twin brother taking my place? No. That would be way too complicated. There would have to be a whole history for that other person. Still, bad things could happen if I wasn’t careful. I used my male voice, which in retrospect I should have been using already, except it wasn’t my normal voice anymore and I had forgotten that. “I’m Bruce Ashley Patterson, sir. I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”
Coach Crown looked confused. He took off his hat and rubbed his bald head. “Are you a boy or a girl?”
Coach Crown seemed local, maybe I could tell him the truth. “You know anything about curses, sir?”
His eyes bulged a little. He backed up into the bleacher behind him causing him to sit down involuntarily. He held his hands up. “Alright. I get it. That makes sense. Please don’t touch me. Last time one you cursed kids touched me I couldn’t win a game the whole season.”
I blinked. I never saw a grown man afraid like that before.

Coach Crown coughed, calming himself. “Okay. So what is this. Standard sex change curse? Nevermind I don’t really want to know. I thought the government had stamped out this crap.” Crown sighed. “The thing is… there is a girl’s change room and a boy’s change room, and when we start on inside sports in a week you’re going to have to go to one or the other, and I’m going to have to be able to stifle any arguments.”
“I’ll just keep going to the boy’s side. It’s no big deal,” I said , “I’m hoping to get cured soon anyway.”
“Nobody gets cured, Patterson. Curses run their course or they’re there forever.”
“Your curse only lasted for a season.” I pointed out.
“But I’ll never get that season back. I almost lost my job. I used to have a full head of hair and I lost it all that year. You’re never the same after you get cursed. Things never go back to the way they were.”
“I gotta try don’t I?”
“I don’t see you trying all that hard, kid.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I was kind of enjoying myself.
“ Listen, we have a week. Just talk to your parents about it. Come up with something plausible, like maybe you’ve been taking hormones , or you’ve been a girl the whole time or something, I don’t know. But make it good. Boy’s and girl’s locker rooms may not seem like a big deal to you, but you haven’t been grilled by the PTA about it either.”
Shit. “My parents don’t know about it yet.” I said, slipping back into my girl voice.

“Jesus! How long did you think you could put it off?”
“Hey, this morning everything was normal, when was I supposed to tell them?”
Coach Crown’s jaw actually dropped. “That’s…That’s really fast. Whoever did this to you must be really powerful.”
“Yeah but she doesn’t know what she’s doing. At least that’s what Karen, I mean Nurse Garibaldi told me.”
“Ashley. I like you. You’re a good kid, I think, and I’m sorry you’re going through this. So don’t take it the wrong way when I say I don’t want you anywhere near me. You probably have wild magic shooting all over the place. Probably infected half the school with it. Go away now.”
I swallowed and turned to walk back down the bleachers.
“Wait,” Coach Crown said
I stopped.
“It was Shaquonda who cursed you?”
I turned. “Yeah, I think, but please don't do anything to her. At least not yet.”
“Why not? She ruined your life. She's probably going to ruin someone else’s too. She needs to be stopped.”
“No,” I said, “Not until I talk to her myself. “
Coach Crown was silent for a moment. “Fine. You aren’t being honorable, though. You’re just being stupid. You should talk with Carl Lockley. He’s the janitor, and the school’s hoodoo specialist.”
“Great. Thanks!” I said and for the rest of the period, I sat on the opposite side of the field and tried to read my book. I was a bit distracted by what Coach Crown had said. I would never be a normal boy again? What if he was right? Three people had said essentially the same thing. What was I going to do about it?
And why wasn’t I more upset?