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Dress Code

A young man uses a protest against his school's dress code as an excuse to wear the dress he's always dreamed of.

by Czolgolz
czolgolz@yahoo.com

I wrote this back in 1999. Be kind.

If you review history, you'd be surprised to see how often a small event can have the most monumental results. If the driver of Archduke Ferdinand hadn't taken a wrong turn in 1914 he wouldn't have been assassinated and the world wouldn't have been plunged into The Great War. If Lincoln hadn't gone to the theater that night, he never would have been shot. If Hitler had been a really good artist, then he might not have entered politics and we all would have been spared a lot of grief.

I ended up exchanging the life I knew for a totally new and exciting existence due to an inconsequential event: Luthor Hugo's little brother, Pete, decided to wash his marble collection in the family washing machine.

Luthor was a classmate of mine at Fort Zummer High School (Ft. Zit to alumni) my sophomore year. We were casual acquaintances and had the odd class together. He was one of the few black students in the suburban St. Louis school district.

His kid brother, Pete, was in the fifth grade and really should have known better than to pull the marble stunt. Predictably, the washing machine's motor burned out. The repairman, flaunting the godlike power repair people hold over desperate customers, informed the family he couldn't come out for at least a week.

When the washer burned out, Luthor's laundry was already at a crisis point. He was forced to rummage through bottom drawers and the back of his closet for anything clean. The day before the washer was fixed, he wore the infamous 'Little Doobie' shirt.

It was an old T-shirt that someone had given him as a gag gift. Printed on it was a parody of the 'Little Debbie' trademark, featuring the innocent snack cake girl smoking a joint. He knew it was probably a bad idea to wear it to school, but, as he told me later, it was either that his father's 'Mondale 84' shirt.

Luthor managed to avoid the notice of his first period teacher. Unfortunately, he had Mr. Elmer for second hour biology. Mr. Elmer wasn't the sort of teacher to miss a rules infraction. He lived to send students to the office. Woe to the poor schmuck who was caught eating in the halls or loitering the cafeteria. Elmer's classes were among the most hated in the school.

Luthor ducked into class just as the bell ringed. Elmer looked up, probably to chastise him for being late, and saw the shirt. While what happened next would remain an area of dispute for years to come, I was there. I saw it all and I can tell you that this is exactly how it happened.

Mr. Elmer stared at Luthor's shirt for several seconds, as if trying to take in the hideous sight. "Mis-tar Hugo! Just what is the meaning of this?"

Luthor looked at his shirt and gave a hang-dog smile. "Yeah, I know. You see our washer..."
"I did not ask you about your washer, Mis-tar Hugo. Are you aware that garments containing drug-related messages are strictly forbidden by the school dress code?" Elmer, as you may have guessed, was quite familiar with the dress code.

Luthor was a big guy, even for his fifteen years. He was a JV wrestler and was not one to be easily intimidated. Yet for the first time since I had known him, I saw him look uncomfortable. No one liked to be on Elmer's bad side. It was nearly impossible to return to his good graces, and until you did he made it a point to make your life hell.

"Did you not think the school dress code applied to you? Or did you just not care that you would be providing an atmosphere non-conductive to the learning process?"

Someone giggled. Mr. Elmer shot a withering glance at the class. Everyone ducked their heads. I didn't bother. I blended in naturally. Teachers, classmates, pretty much everyone failed to notice me. I was a non-entity, John Doe, Jr. Not a nerd, not popular. The face in the yearbook that no one could quite place with a memory.

"Look," said Luthor. "Why don't I go to the bathroom and turn it inside out?"

Being presented with a logical solution to the problem seemed to infuriate Elmer further. "Because, young man, the school discipline policy is not there for be flaunted." Ah, Elmer's beloved discipline policy. Nary a day passed that he didn't quote from the damn thing. "Any student," he quoted, probably verbatim, "who violates the school dress code is subject to reprimand, detention, or suspension."

Mr. Elmer scribbled something on a piece of paper. "Take this to the principal's office, young man. I think Dr. Bailey will be very interested to see just what you've worn to class today." Personally, I thought Dr. Bailey wouldn't have given a rat's-ass, but I didn't tell that to Elmer.

Luthor groaned and turned to leave. Then he stopped. "Mistar Elmer," he mimicked "please enlighten me."

"Yes?" said Elmer, immediately put on his guard.

"You say I'm being kicked out of class because I'm wearing a shirt that promotes a drug, right?"

"That is correct, Mis-tar Hugo."

"Well," Luthor inexplicably grinned, "then no doubt you'll want to send Bill to the office with me!"

Bill Czolgolz (pronounced Shol-gosh) had been dozing on his lab table. He sat up at the sound of his name. "Huh? What?"

Luthor was enjoying the chaos he was causing. "You'll note that Mis-tar Cuzu...Cisz....that Bill is also wearing a drug promoting T-shirt."

Everyone, including Bill, looked at the offending shirt. It was black and showed a large model of a molecule. The caption underneath it read 'caffeine.' Bill had probably worn it in homage to his love for soft-drinks.

Bill was a smart guy, not many guys his age would appreciate the molecular humor. He was a computer expert, an honor society member, and a front-runner for the valedictorian spot. You'd think the teachers would have loved him. They didn't.

He was snide. He never paid attention in class, he was always sleeping or reading something unrelated. He cracked lewd jokes. He babbled about weird conspiracy theories. If he didn't like a teacher (and he disliked almost all of them) he would make it known. And he always championed the causes of the trouble making students.

"Well I’ll be damned!" said Bill, relishing the casual profanity. "Caffeine is a drug! Guess I'm off to the office too!" He stood up.

"Sit down this instant, young man! You can only be punished for clothes relating to illegal drugs." I think Elmer realized that he was about to lose control.

"Sit down?" asked Bill innocently. "But the dress code says drugs, period. Caffeine is a drug, it causes increased heart rate, nervousness, and prostate trouble!"

"I said return to your seat!"

"You mean I'm not going to be punished? And yet my crime is the same as Luthor's. Worse even, caffeine is addictive while marijuana isn't. Uh, so I've heard."

Luthor jumped in. "So why would I be punished, but not Bill?"

"We're the same age," said Bill.

"The same height," said Luthor.

"Ah, I know something different," said Bill, as if in a flash of inspiration. "I'm white and you're black!"

Luthor looked at his hands, as if shocked by this information. "Well, so I am. Guess it's off to the office with the colored boy."

"Guess so. I'll just stay here and enjoy the benefits of being Aryan-pure."

Of course racism probably had nothing to do with Elmer's decision, but Bill and Luthor knew a hot issue when they saw one. By the time Luthor had left, the entire class was glaring silently at Elmer.

"Don't worry," said Bill as he sat down, to no one in particular. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

Our principal, Dr. Bailey, was only mildly annoyed by Luthor's shirt. He received a two-hour after school detention and a warning not to wear the shirt again. Luthor really could have cared less, when you're fifteen, detentions are fairly common. Bill, on the other hand, saw it as a way to cause more trouble. By lunchtime he had spread word of Elmer's alleged racism throughout the school. After classes, I saw him in the commons area, ranting to a group of his friends. "Are we going to let him get away with this?" he hollered to the gathering of freaks, punks, Goths, stoners, skaters, nerds, hippies, alterni-chicks, and losers. It would have been a dramatic time for them all to shout 'NO!' but they were silent. "Well," continued Bill, "it's time for action. I say all of us come to school tomorrow wearing our wildest outfits yet! And here's the thing...nothing that violates the dress code! Imagine the look on his face when we all come here in Halloween costumes that don't violate his precious discipline policy!"

There were sullen grunts from the crowd. Bill's friends weren't exactly what you'd call 'highly motivated.' "Why bother?" asked one green-haired individual. "I mean, he'll just go down on us! I've got enough problems." There were cries of assent from the angst-ridden audience.

Bill was in danger of losing his following. I don't know what inspired me to leap to his defense, but I did. "Good thing," I shouted. "Elmer said you all were too scared to fight him. He said you all respected him too much to face up to him!"

That did it. The students might have been apathetic to a supposed injustice, but they weren't about to be called respectful. Soon Bill had convinced them all to wear something strange the next day.

After the crowd dispersed, Bill walked up to me. "Hey, thanks...uh, er," like most people, he didn't remember my name.

"Harvey Cambiar," I replied.

"Hey, like Lee Harvey Oswald! I like it! You'll go along with us, right? Wear something funky tomorrow?"

Wear something funky? Deliberately anger a teacher? It was so unlike my normal, non-aggressive self. But what the hell.

"Sure, I'm in."

"Thanks, dude. Man, tomorrow Elmer's gonna freak! Whoah, gotta run, computer club."

*

"Hey mom, I'm home!"

"Hey honey, how was school?" my mother called from her bedroom.

I tossed my things on the couch and walked into the kitchen. I paused to glance at the photo hanging on the living room wall. Though I had seen it every day for over fifteen years, my eyes were still drawn to it.

It was a photo of a good looking man in his thirties. He was tall, muscular, and square-jawed. The camera had captured him as he emerged from the woods, a shotgun over one shoulder.
Though I had never met him, I knew that he was my father. Mother had told me everything about him: their whirlwind courtship, their five happy years of marriage, his successful career as a police officer. About how happy he was when mom told him she was pregnant with me. About how he was shot to death during a routine traffic stop a month before I was born.

I tore my face from the picture and went to the fridge to make a snack. Dad's death (she had told me) had nearly destroyed her. The police survivor benefits had provided well. She was able to pull up roots from her native Los Angles and move to the comparative tranquility of the Midwest. To recoup. To start a new life with her new son.

Mom joined me in the kitchen. "So did you learn anything at school today?" she asked.
I smiled at her. She was a pretty woman, despite her forty plus years and graying hair. I enjoyed her company. I guess that's a strange thing for a teenage boy to say, but Mom and I had been through a lot together. Besides, it's not like I had tons of friends at school to hang out with.

"Not much in the classroom," I replied, "but listen to this..." I briefly related the story of how Luthor and Mr. Elmer had locked horns and about Bill's insane plan to get back at Mr. Elmer.

Mother smiled, I knew she would. She was kind of a hippie. She was drawn to anything that smelt of questioning authority. It was definitely a case of opposites attracting when she married my policeman father.

"So are you going to dress up tomorrow?" she asked excitedly.

"I dunno, I told Bill I would, but what's the point?"

"What's the point? C'mon, stand up for your friends! Fight the power!" Sheesh, most kids moms would be forbidding their children to break the rules, mine was actively encouraging it.

I still waffled. "Well, what could I wear? I haven't had a Halloween costume in years, and I don't really have any wild and crazy clothes." I was speaking the truth. Mom knew that I really wasn't concerned about what I wore, it fact it was always a chore for her to get me to go clothes shopping.

"I hadn't thought of that," said mom. "Do you know anyone you could borrow something from?"
I shook my head. Mother continued to think. Then she laughed. "Here's an idea. We're almost the same size. What would you think of wearing something of mine?"

"Why? Do you have an old costume somewhere?"

"No, silly. I mean wear my regular clothes!"

"You mean, like a dress? Be serious."

"I am being serious. I doubt the school dress code specifically forbids a young man to wear a dress and I'm sure it would really get your teacher's goat."

"But...but what would everyone think?"

"They'd think you had the nerve to stand up against an unfair rule. They'd think you were brave for doing the right thing!"

Now, before I go on, I think I should admit something. Something, that up until that point in my life, I had never admitted to anyone. You see, as long as I could remember, I had wanted to be a girl.

I don't know why I should have felt like that. I knew it was an unnatural, perverted urge (at least I felt that way at the time). But ever since I realized the difference between boys and girls, I felt I belonged firmly in the latter category.

I hated sports, I loathed my boyish clothes. I hated the pubescent changes that had started in my body. I wanted to shave my legs, not my face. I wanted my voice to stay at its soft falsetto, not to deepen into a manly baritone. I wanted smooth, graceful curves, not the hard, chiseled features of a man. I wanted to grow breasts, not muscles.

At an age where most guys couldn't take their eyes off girls, I couldn't take my eyes off of them for another reason. Envy. Not lust, envy. I envied their skirts, dresses, and makeup. Their quiet, girlish ways. Their soft, yielding personalities.

I felt like I was utterly alone in the world. Who could I talk to? Not my mother; I could only picture the shame and sorrow such an admission on my part would bring. And if my father were still alive, it would go doubly. Tell that macho cop that his only son wanted to be his daughter? No way.

I had thought about telling Mr. Rogers, our school guidance councilor, but then thought the better of it. As Bill once remarked, 'I'd like to see things from that guy's point of view, but I can't cram my head that far up my ass.' Besides, I didn't know if I could trust him not to tell my mother. I had no friends, my age or otherwise, that I could confide in enough to tell. There was a peer help group at my school, but I didn't know if I could trust them to take me seriously.

And so, I turned to the only friend that someone who desperately needs anonymity can find: the internet. Among the thousands of 'hot transsexual pics' and 'chicks with dicks' sites, I ran across the occasional serious-minded transgender support page.

I learned all about my problem there. I realized I wasn't just a homosexual, who would be attracted to men but has no desire to be a woman. I wasn't a transvestite, who would get sexual pleasure from dressing as a woman, but had no desire to be one. No, I was a transgender. I wanted to be a woman. To live as one. To dress as one. To be treated as one. Maybe even find a nice boy who would love me as one.

All the support sites had one thing in common: they urged all transpeople to come to grips with their lifestyle as early as possible. The longer you waited, the harder it would be to have the life you wanted.

I wanted to tell my mom. I wanted to blurt it out that I wasn't a boy, that some accident of nature had stuck me in the wrong body. That I wanted to wear dresses and makeup from now on. That I would still be the same person, just of a different gender. But I knew I could never tell. After losing her husband, I couldn't heap one more tragedy on the head of the woman who had raised me. No, I knew I would have to suffer in silence forever.

I did dress in secret, though. Whenever my mother was gone I would slip down to the laundry room, grab whatever clothes happened to be there, and duck into the bathroom. I would have liked to have mixed and matched my own outfits, but I couldn't risk her noticing anything having been disturbed. Wearing clothes from the laundry also meant that I could dump them down the laundry chute if I should hear her car pull up.

Ah, those solitary hours alone in my mother's finery. Harvey disappeared, a teenaged princess took his place. Skirts, dresses, bathing suits, lingerie, jewelry...I could have stayed there all day. I learned how to create feminine curves with wadded up washcloths and to cover my penis with extra tight pantyhose. After I had fixed myself up the way I wanted to, I would stare at my reflection in the mirror. I'd look at myself from all angles, coquettishly flirting with my imaginary suitors. And I would cry to think how my encroaching puberty would soon take this girl away forever.

My excursions to the bathroom never sexually excited me like they would a transvestite. No, they just gave me a feeling of correctness, of normalcy, like this was the real world, and the outside world, the one with Harvey, was just a distorted reality. How I wished that were really the case! But it wasn't so. And even in the bathroom, things weren't perfect. My mom's clothes weren't quite in my size, I wished I could have my own. I could have purchased some somewhere, I suppose, but I was afraid. Though my mom respected my privacy, I always foresaw some disaster where she came across unfamiliar female clothes in my hiding place. That was too horrible to contemplate. Another problem I had was my lack of makeup. I wanted to make up my face, but I didn't dare disturb my mother's cosmetics. If she knew what I had done with them she wouldn't have understood.

How I wished, more than anything, that she would understand. My fantasy was to make myself up into a complete woman, so she would see how pretty I was, and then to wait for her to come home. For her to see me, but act like nothing was wrong. For her to take me clothes shopping the next day. For her to transfer me to another school where I could be her daughter full-time. For her to arrange for me to start on estrogen...

Life is cruel. That was a dream that would never come true. Though nothing could stop me from fantasizing, which I did, often.

Mom couldn't have possibly known what an effect her casual suggestion had on me. My mind was racing a mile a minute, there was a faint buzzing in my ears. She had suggested it! My mother had actually suggested that I go to school in a dress! Maybe she'd even let me wear makeup! And maybe, just maybe, she'd let me continue to dress like this, long after the dress code issue was settled.

No, that was ridiculous. Mom was just trying to think of an oddball costume for me to wear, nothing more. I couldn't jeopardize this by acting overly eager. I'd just have to play it cool, act like I was doing this because of my concern about the school's dress code, and enjoy it while I could. Afterwards, I'd always have the memory.

I steadied myself internally. "OK," I replied, managing to sound indifferent, "whatever."
Mom smiled and motioned me to her bedroom. She opened her closet and began poking through her various outfits; outfits I knew very well. Her green cocktail dress, her gray, skirted business suit, her black, backless evening gown. I grew dizzy, picturing myself in one of them. I nearly recoiled in horror when she pulled out a ludicrous, rayon-pink disco outfit with pictures of tropical fruit all over it.

"You can wear this silly thing," said mom. "Let's see, I think I have come old go-go boots and some gaudy costume jewelry..."

No, no, no! Not campy drag! I wanted to look like a woman, not like one of the Monty Python players in a dress. I knew I should keep my mouth shut, I knew requesting something nicer would be way too suspicious, but I couldn't hold my tongue. This was my only chance to be dressed as a woman somewhere other than the bathroom. To go out in public, to school! True, everyone would know who I was, but what of it? No, if we were going to do this, we'd have to do it right.

"Er, mom..." I ventured, trying to get my excuse straight.

"Yes?" she paused, putting down a stupid old-lady hat with flowers on it.

"I was just thinking, um...."

"Yes?"

"Well, the whole point of me doing this is to wear something that will make Mr. Elmer mad, but won't actually break any rules, right?"

"Right."

"Well, maybe we should tone it down a bit. I mean, if a girl wore that outfit to school she'd be asking for trouble from the administration. Maybe if I just wore, I dunno, something that wouldn't look odd on a girl, I'd have more of a leg to stand on. Like you said, the school rules probably don't forbid boys to wear girl's clothes, but if I go overboard it might cause problems."

It was a tense moment. Had I gone too far? Had I said too much? I silently prayed I hadn't ruined everything. Much to my relief, my mom nodded. "I see your point. Only cross the line as much as you need to and you're more likely to win. Okay, let's see what we can do for you."

Mom pulled out three or four likely candidates. "Well, I'm going to have to dress you from the skin out. Go put on some swim trunks or something and meet me in the bathroom." I ducked into my room and shed my clothes. I pulled on some boxers and went into the bathroom. Mom was still in her room, so I took the opportunity to examine myself in the mirror. There I stood, in all my male, fifteen-year-old splendor. My rust-colored hair hanging, unkempt, just past my ears. A little acne. No muscles, sunken chest. Not tall. Hair under my arms, around my groin, and that was about it. There was hair on my legs, but it was not coarse or dark.
I loathed and loved my body at the same time. Loathed it for the obvious reason: it was not a woman's body. It had no breasts, no vagina, no femininity. But in a strange way, I loved it too. It was soft, hairless, and while not too feminine, it was not too masculine either. I knew from experience that with a dress and some makeup I could make myself into a presentable woman. But it wouldn't last long. Soon I would be covered with hair and muscles. Then my trips to the bathroom would be too sad to contemplate: a young man in a dress where a pretty girl had once stood.

I wished I could stop my puberty. A lot of guys my age looked like men, thank God that hadn't happened to me yet. I knew from my internet research that if I started taking estrogen now, puberty would actually involve welcome changes: breasts, softer skin, silkier hair, curves...
"Am I interrupting anything, Mr. America?" I was startled to realize that my mom had been standing in the doorway, watching me stare at my reflection for some time now. From her point of view I had been preening. That Mr. America comment had been made to build me up, but it hurt. I'd never be Mr. America with this body. And being anything close to Miss America was an impossible dream.

I grinned, embarrassed. "Just wondering if I was ever going to get chest hair (and dreading it)," I said lamely.

"Don't worry," said mom, "it'll happen before you know it."

Ugh.

Mom passed me the first dress. "Try this one on, we'll see how it looks."

I examined it. It was a gray business number, hemline down to my ankles. It buttoned in the front, and was belted around the waist. Sleeves past the elbows, full around the neck. A little conservative, but it least it didn't have legs. I eagerly stepped into it and began buttoning it.

"Now watch it," my mother began, "The buttons..." she stopped short, when she realized that I already was familiar with garments with buttons on the left. Whoops. I had to remember to be bumbling and awkward, like I had never worn a dress in my life. With what I hoped was convincing fumbling, I finished buttoning it and slipped the belt on.

Mom and I regarded my new outfit in the mirror. "Something's not quite right," she mumbled. Well, I thought, for starters I could use some makeup. And some jewelry. And a new hair style. And some breasts. "What's wrong?" I asked her.

"Nothing important. It's just that you don't have a girlish figure." Estrogen would help that, I thought morosely. "Maybe we should try some padding?" I asked, keeping all traces of hopefulness out of my voice.

"OK," she said, "if it wouldn't bother you."

If it wouldn't bother me. Please.

Mom instructed me to remove the dress. She left and returned with some of her lingerie. I almost blurted everything out right there. It would have been so cleansing to say "Mom, as long as I'm putting on your lingerie, why don't I just buy some of my own? In fact, I'd kind of like it if I dressed this way from now on." Of course I said nothing of the sort.

Mom handed me a pair of black pantyhose. "These will cover up your leg hair. Unless you'd like to shave them, of course." We both laughed, though mom's laugh was the only authentic one. I remembered just in time to pull on the nylons boy style: like a pair of pants. I grabbed the waist and shoved my feet in, knowing full well I should bunch them all together, get my feet into the panty hose feet, and then roll them up my legs. My mom quickly told me the correct method.

I had to scrunch my boxers together to get them to fit in underneath. When I dressed for school tomorrow I'd wear briefs, or just forego underwear altogether.

Mom then looked at me tentatively. "You know, Harvey," dresses are built for women with breasts. I guess there's no way I could convince you to wear a padded bra?" she said this pleadingly, as if she was absolutely sure I'd say no but was hoping I'd say yes. Well, I certainly didn't need a lot of convincing. But better play it close to the vest...
"I dunno mom....but I guess if you really think it's necessary."

Mom smiled and gave me one of her bras, a matching black one. "It makes for a more complete package. Now remember, the clasp is in the front." Good thing she said that, I might have forgotten to pretend ignorance about that!

I stuffed the cups with facial cloths to give me a more realistic, albeit lumpy, chest. Mom looked me over, dubiously. "You're still not curvy enough. A corset would help, but I'm afraid I don't have one. Lucky you, eh?"

Oh, yeah, real lucky. I reached for the gray dress again. Mom stopped me. "That one was too businesslike. Let's try a different one."

Yes, and another, and another...we could make a weekend of it...or a year.

Mom selected another. "If we go with this one we'll have to get you a different bra, but try this on for size." It was mom's evening dress. I had tried it on many times. I used to love it when mom would go to formal affairs, that meant that this dress would soon end up in the laundry and I could try it on later. I really hoped we'd go with this.

It was long and black. Totally sleeveless and backless. Mom was right, my bra showed through and would have to be changed. Still, I loved this feminine thing. The way it tied around the back of my neck, leaving just the right amount of flesh visible. The way it was so undeniably girlish, only a woman would look right in it. The way my fake chest extended the front, ever so subtlety.

"No, not right at all," said mom, and my spirits fell. "Too revealing." Too revealing? What did she care if her son's costume was too revealing? Unless...oh my God....could it be? That she was subconsciously thinking of me as a girl? That she didn't want her DAUGHTER to be dressed to provocatively? I barely dared to ask. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, too low cut in front. You can see you're all padding. Not that it matters I guess, but let's find something else." Oh, that was it. Realism, nothing more. Well, c'est la vie.

"Hey, this might be just the thing," said mom. And she was right. First came the simple, gray, pleated skirt. It came down to my knees, revealing my stocking-clad legs. Then came the sleeveless sweater. It was a brown, woolen number, leaving my arms totally bare to the shoulders. I liked the way it looked, but I couldn't say no when mom gave me a tasteful brown women's cardigan to complete the outfit.

The air rushing up my skirt. The softness of the material. The shear...girlishness of it all. But that wasn't really what felt so good. It was the naturalness of it all, like this was what I should be wearing every day, that I was pretending when I dressed like Harvey, trying to be something that I wasn't.

"Now, let's get you some shoes." I followed mom back to her room. She gestured to a pair of casual boots. "Give those a shot. They may be too small, you'll probably have to wear your own shoes tomorrow." The hell you say! They were too small, but I wasn't about to admit that. Tight or not, I was wearing them!

Mom stood back and looked me over. "Now don't you look darling." She was trying to tease me, but I took it as a compliment anyway. I giggled an exaggerated female laugh and spun around in a stupid manner, wishing I could let myself go and be a girl in demeanor as well as clothes.

Mom reached into her jewelry box and pulled out a pair of simple, black, plastic earrings. They were the clip-on type, she let me put them on myself. This was almost surreal. I wished I could slow time down, or stop it and replay it over and over. To savor the one time I could shamelessly wear the clothes I felt were part of my birthright.

"Well," continued mom, "you don't look half bad. And I'm sure you're teacher will have a stroke when he sees you tomorrow." Again, if only. "I guess you might as well change back."
I knew I should leave well enough alone, but I had to say it. It would make everything absolutely perfect. "Mom," I said, barely keeping my voice steady, "as long as we are doing this, maybe we should go all the way and have me wear makeup as well."

For the briefest fraction of a second, I saw suspicion in my mom's eyes. It was if she was thinking 'Just why is my son so into this? Is he enjoying this?' But then in passed. Mom smiled and agreed to make me over, as long as I'd be willing to get up at 5:30 so she could do it right.

Of course I didn't get a wink of sleep that night. I kept fantasizing about tomorrow. My dream was about to become a reality! Off to school in a bra, skirt, and makeup. Maybe mom would even do my hair up a little. And maybe the dress code thing would become a big issue! Perhaps I could dress like this for a month.

My fantasies were going wild now. Maybe the dress code thing would go on for so long that I wouldn't even bother changing to boy clothes when I came home from school. Maybe Mom would grow accustomed to her son in a dress. Maybe, after the protest was over, I could 'forget' and dress like a girl anyway. If Mom said anything I could just pass it off as a mistake of habit. But what if she didn't say anything? What if...I was really living in a dream world now...what if she said nothing? What if she just accepted my dressing as the status quo? And the next time we went clothes shopping, usually such a chore, we went to the women's department? And we gave away all my boyish clothes and I never had to be Harvey again?

I knew I was fooling myself, if I was lucky the costuming would last more than one day. But mine was a desperate, secret existence, and I knew that there was no harm in dreaming.
The next day, just after I showered, Mom made up my face. I could hardly restrain myself from hyperventilating or wiggling excitedly. For the first time in my fifteen years I felt like I was in my natural state. Just a young teenage girl getting makeup lessons from her mother. Dear God, if only!

I wanted to look in the mirror, to see every stage of my transformation. Unfortunately, it never occurred to my mom that any of this would be interesting to me, so I suffered in silence. Mom then brushed my hair back and pinned it up with two barrettes. She spritzed it with hair spray. Still without so much as a glance in the mirror she handed me my clothes, being careful to help me get on my sweater without smearing my makeup. As I laced up my restrictive boots, I could barely stop trembling from excitement. Finally, after what seemed like ages, I was able to get a good look in the mirror.

There she was. I had seen glimpses of her before, in my dreams, in my fantasies, and in my secret trips to the bathroom. But here she was in full. The teenage girl inside me, now on the outside. Her sweetly made up face. Her delicate clothes. Her womanly styled hair. Her small breasts. Her shy, almost terrified mannerisms. There she was...and she was me.

"Very sweet," my mom mocked. "One more thing." Just when I thought things couldn't get any better, they did. Mom carefully glued some press-on nails to my clipped and short real ones. Long, red nails. Just shoot me now, I have achieved a moment of true happiness.

"Well, it's crazy, but I know it will get under Elmer's skin," I said, dismissively. "But thanks for all your work." That didn't begin to express my gratitude, but it was all I should say.

"Try not to smear your makeup. Now off to school with you, young 'man.'"

As mom drove me from our apartment to the school, my feelings changed from that of expectation to dread. I had been so caught up in the prospect of wearing a dress that I hadn't stopped to consider the possible downside. What if no one else dressed up? My God, Bill had organized this, today he might have changed his focus to overthrowing the government or mandatory whale slaughtering or something. What if I was the only one dressed like this? Or if others dressed but still thought I was queer looking? Fat chance of me ever making friends then! I'd forever be 'that pervert in the dress.' Maybe I should have gone with the campy drag, at least then no one would suspect I was serious about this. Was it too late to back out? Yes, it was. If I didn't go today, I never would.

As I walked across the parking lot I could barely put one foot in front of the other. What had I gotten myself into? I took a deep breath and rounded the corner of the building to face the main entrance. That's when I realized that all my fears had been ungrounded.

Halloween came in March that year. A stream of becostumed students was pouring in through the front doors of Ft. Zummer. It was hilarious. Halloween masks, bathing suits, outdated 80's clothes, one guy even found a suit of armor somewhere. My God, something Bill had organized had actually worked. There was no way anyone would think there was anything odd about my skirt today.

Bill himself stood at the door, greeting his oddball legions. "Hey, looking good Drew, nice fangs Larry, Jim! you must give me the name of your tailor." Bill was wearing a straitjacket which seemed strangely appropriate. As I tried to pass by, he cornered me.
"Hey, how come you didn't wear..." then he stopped short. "Er, ah, I mean uh, nice costume, Harvey." He was blushing.

I walked to my first class on air. Bill had thought I was a normally dressed girl! Someone who knew me mistook me for a female, at least for a second. I wondered what a stranger would think.

Still elated over my deception, I stepped into my first hour history class. I counted five others participating in the great uprising: a guy in a leisure suit, a girl in a ballerina outfit, some dude with a Hawaiian shirt and a ukulele, a sports fan with his face made up in team colors, and Luthor, who was wearing his grandfather's Vietnam War uniform.

I took my seat. A guy near me looked at me oddly and I began to feel scared again. Bill was one thing, but would everyone believe I was don't this solely out of protest? Finally, he spoke.

"Uh, I'm sorry, I can't remember your name."

"Harvey," I replied.

"Ah, yeah, right. Great costume, Harvey." He quickly turned away and buried his nose in his history book. Now what was with that?

A warm glow covered me as I realized what had happened. He wasn't sure if I was Harvey dressed as a girl or some new girl. That's why he had pretended to forget my name. I wondered what he would have done if I had told him a woman's name.

Our teacher, Dr. Dumas, walked into the room precisely when the bell rang. I felt a little sorry for him. He'd taught for over thirty years, he'd probably teach for thirty more. He was tolerable, in a dull sort of way. I wondered how he'd react to our weird dress.

Dr. Dumas faced the class and squinted myopically at us through his glasses. He let out a long sigh, shook his head, and began writing on the board.

"As I mentioned yesterday, the Civil War left the United States in a state of discord and ruin..."

Most of my fellow students reported similar experiences: teachers who could care less about how we were dressed, as long as we didn't disrupt class. Most educators were like that; unwilling to make a big deal about things that really weren't a big deal. Of course, Mr. Elmer wasn't like most educators.

We all knew that Mr. Elmer's planning period was first hour, which he would invariably spend locked in the teacher's workroom. When he taught our class, it would be the first he'd see of the weird clothes we were wearing.

I nervously sat in the biology lab, regarding my fellow protesters. While there were only a few rebels in the last class, Elmer's students were decked out, almost to a man. As predicted by Bill, Elmer freaked.

You'd have thought we were all sitting there naked, the way his eyes bulged and his face reddened. He stared at us, as if we'd all whither and cringe under his gaze. Someone laughed.
"JUST WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS...THIS INSURRECTION?" bellowed the teacher of the year, no years running.

Bill was ready. "Why Mis-tar Elmer, if you'll take the time to familiarize yourself with the school's dress code, then you'd realize that none of us are in the slightest violation of..."

Elmer interrupted. "I am not interested in your juvenile shenanigans, Mis-tar Czolgolz. Get yourself to the office, AT ONCE! And that goes for any of the rest of you who feel that this school is an institute to be flouted!'

Bill grinned and marched to the door. Luthor quickly followed. He stood behind Bill at the doorway, and placed his hand on Bill's shoulder, prison style. Other protestors joined him. Soon the class was emptying. I was one of the last to get up. Elmer whirled at me.

"Get back to your seat, young lady! Only those who have worn...have worn..."

Realizing Elmer's mistake, the whole class, myself included, burst into laughter. "Young lady!" hooted one individual.

"Careful there, dude!" someone shouted at me. "Elmer might want you to stay after school for 'extra credit.'"

"Leave this classroom at once!" shouted Elmer, to cover his gaffe.

"ATTENTION!" bellowed Luthor, looking quite military in his uniform. "Ten, hut!" Hands on the shoulder of whoever was in front of us, we marched off to the office like an Alabama chain gang.

There wasn't room for all of us in Dr. Bailey’s office, he met us in the detention room. I smiled at our bald, sexagenarian principal and wondered what he'd do. Would be angry at us, or just pass this off as some dumb stunt? I had never been in trouble before, it was more than a little exciting.

"I've been teaching since the seventies," began Bailey, without preamble. "I've seen a lot of wild protests in my time. Wars, civil rights, women's rights, animal rights, the environment, whatever. Quite frankly, this is one of the lamest protests I've ever seen. The school dress code? I can't picture us having a more liberal one. I'm sure you only did this to annoy Mr. Elmer." He looked pointedly at Bill.

"I'm not going to punish you. However, I really don't feel like spending my time enforcing the school dress code. Don't waste my time. So here's the deal. Elmer doesn't want you to dress like that in his class, and since it's his class I don't feel I should overrule him. Anyone who continues this tomorrow will be suspended for a week. Return to class."

For the rest of the day, Bill tried to drum up support for a second day of crazy-dressing. There were no takers. A protest for a real cause was one thing, but annoying Mr. Elmer wasn't worth getting suspended over. A suspension could stop a good student from getting a scholarship and a bad student from graduating. The general consensus was that no one was going to risk that much trouble for one of Bill's doomed crusades.

At the end of the school day, I found Bill, still bound in his straitjacket, leaning against a post in the commons area.

"We were so close, Harvey. Just one week of this and we would have won." Won what, I wasn't sure of. "Now, no one is willing to take a stand."

I pulled up a chair, smoothed my skirt, and sat down. I took the opportunity to cross my legs in a lady-like manner; who knew when I'd get to do that in public again? "Couldn't find any takers, huh?"

He grunted. "Only Luthor. And I probably ought to tell him not to bother. If he gets suspended he could get kicked off the wrestling team."

"Are you going to go on with it?"

"I have to. Someone has to." He was almost obsessive with this quest. I wondered what would happen if he ever funneled his energies into something worthwhile.

"But that could cost you your valedictorian spot."

Bill only nodded. I guess he knew as well as anyone that when you are valedictorian, you can pretty much go to college for free.

I excused myself. "Wait," called Bill. "I don't suppose I can count on you to wear that skirt tomorrow?"

"No..." I began and Bill's face fell. But then I thought about it. God, what a day it had been! I'd been briefly taken for a woman three times at least, but what was more, I finally felt like a real person. Sitting in school in a skirt, with makeup, earrings, a sleeveless sweater...suspension be damned! You can't keep a good woman down.

"No," I continued. "Tomorrow I'll probably wear a dress."

Bill grinned. "If I didn't believe that religion was nothing but a shallow invention of the ruling classes to subjugate the masses, I'd say 'God bless you, Harvey.' Now could you unstrap me here?"

When I returned home, mom wasn't there. I knew the logical, nonsuspicious thing to do would be to wash off my makeup, remove my clothes, and change into something more gender-appropriate. But I couldn't make myself do it. After a day in a skirt, it wouldn't be easy to go back to blue jeans and a T-shirt.

Mom returned home to find me relaxing in front of the television, still wearing the hose, skirt, and other examples of feminine garments that I had worn for the whole school day. She seemed a little shocked. "I figured you'd have ditched those clothes the second you walked through the door."

"Well, I guess I was too lazy." God, did that sound ridiculous.
"So how did the protest go?"

I briefly outlined what had happened, finishing with the threat of the punishment we'd receive if we continued.

"So I guess you won't be doing it again tomorrow? Still, I bet it was fun to freak out your teacher like that."

"Actually mom, I was thinking about doing it again." Please, please, let her not think this is strange.

"Again? I don't know, Harvey. It seems like annoying your teacher isn't worth a suspension."
"Oh, it's not about getting back at Mr. Elmer. It's that Bill's risking giving up his valedictorian spot and Luthor's risking getting kicked out of sports. I figure if I go along with them we might stand a better chance than if they took on the powers that be alone." And therefore I have to keep dressing like a girl indefinitely, I mentally added.

"Harvey, I don't like the thought of you getting suspended..." mom began.

"Please mom, they're my only close friends," despite the fact that they didn't even know my name last week. "I really have to do this for them."

Mom was wavering. She had always been concerned about my lack of a social life, I hoped by playing that angle she wouldn't realize my true motivations.

"OK Harvey. Just one more day. I have to say I admire you for being so loyal to your friends. But enough's enough, you can do it tomorrow, but no more."

Well, one day was better than nothing. In order to keep mom from guessing the real reason I was so excited about wearing girl clothes, I quickly changed into some of my own things. I washed off the makeup and wistfully folded the skirt, sweater, and jacket that had made me feel like a girl, for one glorious day.

True to my word, the next day I did wear a dress. It was nothing spectacular, just a black outfit with a hemline down to my ankles, and sleeves to the wrist. It zipped up in the back, mom had to help me with it. When we were finished, I looked into the mirror and sighed. I was so close! If I dressed like this every day, if I shaved my legs and got some shoes in my own size, if I practiced and practiced feminine deportment, then being a woman was not such a ridiculous idea. I looked fine. One might have even said pretty. But I needed my own things. I needed to do this every day, all day. Just two days wasn't close to being adequate.

But I knew, deep in my heart, that this was not to be. I could never slap my mom in the face with my sick desires to live like a girl. I could never face the humiliation of having her ashamed of me. The best I could hope for was a few hours a week, alone in the bathroom, until age removed my soft skin and smooth face.

Well, if today was going to be the last day, then I'd make it a day to remember. I held myself with a confident air. For whatever reason the world thought I was doing this, in my mind nothing was unusual. Today, for the one time in my life, I was going to be a girl. Not a boy in a dress, but a girl. I looked like one, I was dressed like one, well by God, today I was going to act like one. Who cared if anyone thought I was odd, I had the rest of my life to convince them I was masculine. Today I was going to shine.

I snatched one of Mom's extra purses and a compact and walked out to the car where she was waiting. With a lovely smile, I slid into the seat, rear first, legs last, so as not to spread my legs or hitch up my dress in an unladylike fashion.

I think Mom suspected something, but I didn't care. I could be macho from now on, but I was going to enjoy today. Yesterday I had been nervous, well today I was going to be brave. I pulled out my compact and touched up my makeup. I didn't dare look in Mom's direction; that would have looked like I was gauging her reaction. Nope, today I was her daughter. If she asked me about it later, I'd act offended, as if she was questioning my manhood.

I slid out of the car, smiled and waved at Mother, and walked into school. Due to my countless hours on the internet I had read quite a few FAQs about how to walk, speak, and act like a girl. Today I was going to put them into action.

I remembered to stand up straight, wiggle my hips, not to swing my arms too much. When I came to school, I noticed several people turn and look at me. Most of them were protesters from yesterday, probably shocked that I'd actually wear a costume for two days in a row, especially after what Dr. Bailey had said. Well, let them stare! I'd just pretend they were admiring my lovely figure instead of wondering at my suicidal defiance of the school rules.
Luthor was still decked out in his uniform, but today Bill was dressed like a circus clown. I asked him what had happened to his straitjacket. He replied that it's not a good idea to restrain your arms while walking down stairs. I noticed the beginning of a black eye under his clown makeup.

Before classes, I just had to go touch up my makeup one last time. I wanted more than anything to go into the lady's room, but I knew that would be asking for trouble. I went into the men's room and admired my face in the mirror.

A guy came out of a stall, yelped when he saw me, and ducked back in. Then, he slowly and cautiously looked out. "Er, this is the men's room, right?"

"Yes, it is," I said, reapplying my lipstick.

"Then what are you doing here?" It was hard to hide my joy. Mistaken for a girl again. I was tempted to play along, but decided against it.

"I am a guy. I'm protesting the school dress code."

"Oh, Jesus, sorry dude!" the guy stammered. Why did he say he was sorry? Didn't he realize he had just paid me a great compliment? I excused myself to go to class.

During first hour, I noticed students looked at me over their shoulders when they thought I didn't notice. After the bell rang, a girl actually told me I looked rather natural. She said this nervously, as if she were afraid I'd take it the wrong way. I smiled and thanked her, hoping that she wouldn't think that was too bizarre a response.

Elmer's class was a different story. Bill, Luthor, and myself were the only ones who had worn a costume. Would Elmer actually suspend us?

When I walked into the room, I noticed that Paul Sanford was back. He had be absent for over a week, due to a bout with food poisoning.

Paul was a bit of an enigma in our school. He was a fundamentalist Christian, his entire life revolved around church, Bible reading, and an almost Puritanical self-denial. He had missed the entire dress code thing, but it wouldn't have really mattered. Paul's major daily wardrobe decision seemed to be 'gray shirt with black slacks, or white shirt with black slacks?'

"Excuse me," he said as I walked by. "I have been gone. Could you please tell me why Luthor and William are dressed in that manner?"

"Dress code protest. They're trying to annoy Mr. Elmer."

"I see. Thank you and God bless."

"Paul," I teased, "aren't you going to mention my costume?"

"Your...?" Paul did a double take. "Oh! I did not notice...no, that is a lie and lying is a sin. I am terribly sorry, but I briefly mistook you for a girl." He quickly entered the room without waiting for a reply.

As I took my seat, I noticed Paul was talking to Mr. Elmer. I heard Paul request a copy of the school dress code, which of course Mr. Elmer had in his briefcase. I couldn't imagine what for, it was not like Paul had anything to worry about.

As soon as the bell rang, Mr. Elmer directed Bill, Luthor, and I to go to the office for suspension. We probably would have been suspended too, were it not for help from an unlikely quarter: Paul.

"Mr. Elmer?" asked Paul, in his quiet, respectful voice.

"Yes, Mis-tar Sandford?"

"Why are these three gentlemen being ejected from class?"

"For violating the school's dress code."

Paul sighed. "Well, then I am afraid I shall be compelled to join them, as I too am in violation." People giggled, Paul's clothes were a study in bland.

"Do not try to be funny, Mis-tar Sanford. What possible way could you have violated the dress code?"

Paul stood up and walked towards Mr. Elmer's desk. Then, without warning, he drew back his fist and swung. For a second we thought he was going punch out the teacher; Elmer let out a yelp and ducked. But strangely enough, Paul punched himself in the back of the head.

There was a squashing sound and something seemed to fly from the front of Paul's head. With a deft gesture he caught it midair with the hand he had punched himself with. He then spun and faced the class, the object held in his extended palm.

It was a glass eye.

"If I may quote the school dress policy," began Paul, "' No student may wear anything on their face or head during school hours, with the exception of earrings or barrettes on the part of female students.' It does not say anything about ocular prosthetics, so I fear I must forgo wearing this."

If you've never seen an empty eye-socket, then you really shouldn't. It was absolutely disgusting; the empty, moist hole in Paul's head, the writhing ocular muscles, the way the eyelid twitched spasmodically over the pit...

Paul sat down and smiled at the girl next to him. She ran out of the room and threw up.
"PUT YOUR EYEBALL BACK IN THIS INSTANT!" shouted Mr. Elmer.

"Now there's a phrase you don't hear every day," quipped Bill.

"No," said Paul, "the Lord commands us to obey the law, and the school dress code is no exception. I am afraid that the eye goes."

"I'm sure we can make an exception in your case, Mis-tar Sandford."

Paul looked shocked. "Why in my case? Does my disability disgust you? Can you not stand to be in the same room with someone as vile as I? Does the sight of my mutilation instill in you a loathing so great that I must cover it up?" Paul had hit the nail pretty much on the head, but there was no way Mr. Elmer could admit that.

Elmer desperately tried to hold class, but it was ridiculous. Students were either covering their eyes to avoid glancing at the gaping hole in Paul's head, or staring at it like it was some sort of cool car wreck. Nothing was accomplished that day, and in the midst of all the hubbub we never did go to the office.

During fifth hour, I was called to the principal's office. Bill, Luthor, and Paul were already there. Bailey, as usually, was short and to the point. "OK you four. You've made your point. Here's the deal. You won't be suspended, but if you pull another stunt like this you will be. I rarely go back on my word, don't make me regret not punishing you. And Paul, put your eye in, that's disgusting!"

We looked at each other and nodded. We had pissed of Mr. Elmer for two days running, and his students would never forget it. No point in getting kicked out. "Okay," said Bill. "Normal clothes tomorrow." Even though I knew it was coming, I was sad. There went my only excuse to dress how I considered normally.

Paul, saying that he had to disinfect his eye before he could replace it, slipped on an eye patch and we left the office. Before I went back to class, I caught Paul.

"Paul, thanks a lot for doing that. You really saved us."

"Oh my friend, your true savior was crucified in Jerusalem, nearly two-thousand years ago."
"Uh, yeah. But what made you decide to get involved like that?"

"'Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes?' Matthew 6:25. Mr. Elmer was using his energies to worry about the clothing we wear, instead of spreading knowledge, which is his calling."

"Really?"

"Well that, and I was a little embarrassed for calling you a woman earlier. I wanted to make it up to you." He ducked into his class.

By all logic, that should have been the end. I should have enjoyed my brief time dressing the way I liked, and then buckled down and been a man for the rest of my life. But it wasn't the end.

(continued)

Description
Dress Code

A young man uses a protest against his school's dress code as an excuse to wear the dress he's always dreamed of.

by Czolgolz
czolgolz@yahoo.com

I wrote this back in 1999. Be kind.

If you review history, you'd be surprised to see how often a small event can have the most monumental results. If the driver of Archduke Ferdinand hadn't taken a wrong turn in 1914 he wouldn't have been assassinated and the world wouldn't have been plunged into The Great War. If Lincoln hadn't gone to the theater that night, he never would have been shot. If Hitler had been a really good artist, then he might not have entered politics and we all would have been spared a lot of grief.

I ended up exchanging the life I knew for a totally new and exciting existence due to an inconsequential event: Luthor Hugo's little brother, Pete, decided to wash his marble collection in the family washing machine.

Luthor was a classmate of mine at Fort Zummer High School (Ft. Zit to alumni) my sophomore year. We were casual acquaintances and had the odd class together. He was one of the few black students in the suburban St. Louis school district.

His kid brother, Pete, was in the fifth grade and really should have known better than to pull the marble stunt. Predictably, the washing machine's motor burned out. The repairman, flaunting the godlike power repair people hold over desperate customers, informed the family he couldn't come out for at least a week.

When the washer burned out, Luthor's laundry was already at a crisis point. He was forced to rummage through bottom drawers and the back of his closet for anything clean. The day before the washer was fixed, he wore the infamous 'Little Doobie' shirt.

It was an old T-shirt that someone had given him as a gag gift. Printed on it was a parody of the 'Little Debbie' trademark, featuring the innocent snack cake girl smoking a joint. He knew it was probably a bad idea to wear it to school, but, as he told me later, it was either that his father's 'Mondale 84' shirt.

Luthor managed to avoid the notice of his first period teacher. Unfortunately, he had Mr. Elmer for second hour biology. Mr. Elmer wasn't the sort of teacher to miss a rules infraction. He lived to send students to the office. Woe to the poor schmuck who was caught eating in the halls or loitering the cafeteria. Elmer's classes were among the most hated in the school.

Luthor ducked into class just as the bell ringed. Elmer looked up, probably to chastise him for being late, and saw the shirt. While what happened next would remain an area of dispute for years to come, I was there. I saw it all and I can tell you that this is exactly how it happened.

Mr. Elmer stared at Luthor's shirt for several seconds, as if trying to take in the hideous sight. "Mis-tar Hugo! Just what is the meaning of this?"

Luthor looked at his shirt and gave a hang-dog smile. "Yeah, I know. You see our washer..."
"I did not ask you about your washer, Mis-tar Hugo. Are you aware that garments containing drug-related messages are strictly forbidden by the school dress code?" Elmer, as you may have guessed, was quite familiar with the dress code.

Luthor was a big guy, even for his fifteen years. He was a JV wrestler and was not one to be easily intimidated. Yet for the first time since I had known him, I saw him look uncomfortable. No one liked to be on Elmer's bad side. It was nearly impossible to return to his good graces, and until you did he made it a point to make your life hell.

"Did you not think the school dress code applied to you? Or did you just not care that you would be providing an atmosphere non-conductive to the learning process?"

Someone giggled. Mr. Elmer shot a withering glance at the class. Everyone ducked their heads. I didn't bother. I blended in naturally. Teachers, classmates, pretty much everyone failed to notice me. I was a non-entity, John Doe, Jr. Not a nerd, not popular. The face in the yearbook that no one could quite place with a memory.

"Look," said Luthor. "Why don't I go to the bathroom and turn it inside out?"

Being presented with a logical solution to the problem seemed to infuriate Elmer further. "Because, young man, the school discipline policy is not there for be flaunted." Ah, Elmer's beloved discipline policy. Nary a day passed that he didn't quote from the damn thing. "Any student," he quoted, probably verbatim, "who violates the school dress code is subject to reprimand, detention, or suspension."

Mr. Elmer scribbled something on a piece of paper. "Take this to the principal's office, young man. I think Dr. Bailey will be very interested to see just what you've worn to class today." Personally, I thought Dr. Bailey wouldn't have given a rat's-ass, but I didn't tell that to Elmer.

Luthor groaned and turned to leave. Then he stopped. "Mistar Elmer," he mimicked "please enlighten me."

"Yes?" said Elmer, immediately put on his guard.

"You say I'm being kicked out of class because I'm wearing a shirt that promotes a drug, right?"

"That is correct, Mis-tar Hugo."

"Well," Luthor inexplicably grinned, "then no doubt you'll want to send Bill to the office with me!"

Bill Czolgolz (pronounced Shol-gosh) had been dozing on his lab table. He sat up at the sound of his name. "Huh? What?"

Luthor was enjoying the chaos he was causing. "You'll note that Mis-tar Cuzu...Cisz....that Bill is also wearing a drug promoting T-shirt."

Everyone, including Bill, looked at the offending shirt. It was black and showed a large model of a molecule. The caption underneath it read 'caffeine.' Bill had probably worn it in homage to his love for soft-drinks.

Bill was a smart guy, not many guys his age would appreciate the molecular humor. He was a computer expert, an honor society member, and a front-runner for the valedictorian spot. You'd think the teachers would have loved him. They didn't.

He was snide. He never paid attention in class, he was always sleeping or reading something unrelated. He cracked lewd jokes. He babbled about weird conspiracy theories. If he didn't like a teacher (and he disliked almost all of them) he would make it known. And he always championed the causes of the trouble making students.

"Well I’ll be damned!" said Bill, relishing the casual profanity. "Caffeine is a drug! Guess I'm off to the office too!" He stood up.

"Sit down this instant, young man! You can only be punished for clothes relating to illegal drugs." I think Elmer realized that he was about to lose control.

"Sit down?" asked Bill innocently. "But the dress code says drugs, period. Caffeine is a drug, it causes increased heart rate, nervousness, and prostate trouble!"

"I said return to your seat!"

"You mean I'm not going to be punished? And yet my crime is the same as Luthor's. Worse even, caffeine is addictive while marijuana isn't. Uh, so I've heard."

Luthor jumped in. "So why would I be punished, but not Bill?"

"We're the same age," said Bill.

"The same height," said Luthor.

"Ah, I know something different," said Bill, as if in a flash of inspiration. "I'm white and you're black!"

Luthor looked at his hands, as if shocked by this information. "Well, so I am. Guess it's off to the office with the colored boy."

"Guess so. I'll just stay here and enjoy the benefits of being Aryan-pure."

Of course racism probably had nothing to do with Elmer's decision, but Bill and Luthor knew a hot issue when they saw one. By the time Luthor had left, the entire class was glaring silently at Elmer.

"Don't worry," said Bill as he sat down, to no one in particular. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

Our principal, Dr. Bailey, was only mildly annoyed by Luthor's shirt. He received a two-hour after school detention and a warning not to wear the shirt again. Luthor really could have cared less, when you're fifteen, detentions are fairly common. Bill, on the other hand, saw it as a way to cause more trouble. By lunchtime he had spread word of Elmer's alleged racism throughout the school. After classes, I saw him in the commons area, ranting to a group of his friends. "Are we going to let him get away with this?" he hollered to the gathering of freaks, punks, Goths, stoners, skaters, nerds, hippies, alterni-chicks, and losers. It would have been a dramatic time for them all to shout 'NO!' but they were silent. "Well," continued Bill, "it's time for action. I say all of us come to school tomorrow wearing our wildest outfits yet! And here's the thing...nothing that violates the dress code! Imagine the look on his face when we all come here in Halloween costumes that don't violate his precious discipline policy!"

There were sullen grunts from the crowd. Bill's friends weren't exactly what you'd call 'highly motivated.' "Why bother?" asked one green-haired individual. "I mean, he'll just go down on us! I've got enough problems." There were cries of assent from the angst-ridden audience.

Bill was in danger of losing his following. I don't know what inspired me to leap to his defense, but I did. "Good thing," I shouted. "Elmer said you all were too scared to fight him. He said you all respected him too much to face up to him!"

That did it. The students might have been apathetic to a supposed injustice, but they weren't about to be called respectful. Soon Bill had convinced them all to wear something strange the next day.

After the crowd dispersed, Bill walked up to me. "Hey, thanks...uh, er," like most people, he didn't remember my name.

"Harvey Cambiar," I replied.

"Hey, like Lee Harvey Oswald! I like it! You'll go along with us, right? Wear something funky tomorrow?"

Wear something funky? Deliberately anger a teacher? It was so unlike my normal, non-aggressive self. But what the hell.

"Sure, I'm in."

"Thanks, dude. Man, tomorrow Elmer's gonna freak! Whoah, gotta run, computer club."

*

"Hey mom, I'm home!"

"Hey honey, how was school?" my mother called from her bedroom.

I tossed my things on the couch and walked into the kitchen. I paused to glance at the photo hanging on the living room wall. Though I had seen it every day for over fifteen years, my eyes were still drawn to it.

It was a photo of a good looking man in his thirties. He was tall, muscular, and square-jawed. The camera had captured him as he emerged from the woods, a shotgun over one shoulder.
Though I had never met him, I knew that he was my father. Mother had told me everything about him: their whirlwind courtship, their five happy years of marriage, his successful career as a police officer. About how happy he was when mom told him she was pregnant with me. About how he was shot to death during a routine traffic stop a month before I was born.

I tore my face from the picture and went to the fridge to make a snack. Dad's death (she had told me) had nearly destroyed her. The police survivor benefits had provided well. She was able to pull up roots from her native Los Angles and move to the comparative tranquility of the Midwest. To recoup. To start a new life with her new son.

Mom joined me in the kitchen. "So did you learn anything at school today?" she asked.
I smiled at her. She was a pretty woman, despite her forty plus years and graying hair. I enjoyed her company. I guess that's a strange thing for a teenage boy to say, but Mom and I had been through a lot together. Besides, it's not like I had tons of friends at school to hang out with.

"Not much in the classroom," I replied, "but listen to this..." I briefly related the story of how Luthor and Mr. Elmer had locked horns and about Bill's insane plan to get back at Mr. Elmer.

Mother smiled, I knew she would. She was kind of a hippie. She was drawn to anything that smelt of questioning authority. It was definitely a case of opposites attracting when she married my policeman father.

"So are you going to dress up tomorrow?" she asked excitedly.

"I dunno, I told Bill I would, but what's the point?"

"What's the point? C'mon, stand up for your friends! Fight the power!" Sheesh, most kids moms would be forbidding their children to break the rules, mine was actively encouraging it.

I still waffled. "Well, what could I wear? I haven't had a Halloween costume in years, and I don't really have any wild and crazy clothes." I was speaking the truth. Mom knew that I really wasn't concerned about what I wore, it fact it was always a chore for her to get me to go clothes shopping.

"I hadn't thought of that," said mom. "Do you know anyone you could borrow something from?"
I shook my head. Mother continued to think. Then she laughed. "Here's an idea. We're almost the same size. What would you think of wearing something of mine?"

"Why? Do you have an old costume somewhere?"

"No, silly. I mean wear my regular clothes!"

"You mean, like a dress? Be serious."

"I am being serious. I doubt the school dress code specifically forbids a young man to wear a dress and I'm sure it would really get your teacher's goat."

"But...but what would everyone think?"

"They'd think you had the nerve to stand up against an unfair rule. They'd think you were brave for doing the right thing!"

Now, before I go on, I think I should admit something. Something, that up until that point in my life, I had never admitted to anyone. You see, as long as I could remember, I had wanted to be a girl.

I don't know why I should have felt like that. I knew it was an unnatural, perverted urge (at least I felt that way at the time). But ever since I realized the difference between boys and girls, I felt I belonged firmly in the latter category.

I hated sports, I loathed my boyish clothes. I hated the pubescent changes that had started in my body. I wanted to shave my legs, not my face. I wanted my voice to stay at its soft falsetto, not to deepen into a manly baritone. I wanted smooth, graceful curves, not the hard, chiseled features of a man. I wanted to grow breasts, not muscles.

At an age where most guys couldn't take their eyes off girls, I couldn't take my eyes off of them for another reason. Envy. Not lust, envy. I envied their skirts, dresses, and makeup. Their quiet, girlish ways. Their soft, yielding personalities.

I felt like I was utterly alone in the world. Who could I talk to? Not my mother; I could only picture the shame and sorrow such an admission on my part would bring. And if my father were still alive, it would go doubly. Tell that macho cop that his only son wanted to be his daughter? No way.

I had thought about telling Mr. Rogers, our school guidance councilor, but then thought the better of it. As Bill once remarked, 'I'd like to see things from that guy's point of view, but I can't cram my head that far up my ass.' Besides, I didn't know if I could trust him not to tell my mother. I had no friends, my age or otherwise, that I could confide in enough to tell. There was a peer help group at my school, but I didn't know if I could trust them to take me seriously.

And so, I turned to the only friend that someone who desperately needs anonymity can find: the internet. Among the thousands of 'hot transsexual pics' and 'chicks with dicks' sites, I ran across the occasional serious-minded transgender support page.

I learned all about my problem there. I realized I wasn't just a homosexual, who would be attracted to men but has no desire to be a woman. I wasn't a transvestite, who would get sexual pleasure from dressing as a woman, but had no desire to be one. No, I was a transgender. I wanted to be a woman. To live as one. To dress as one. To be treated as one. Maybe even find a nice boy who would love me as one.

All the support sites had one thing in common: they urged all transpeople to come to grips with their lifestyle as early as possible. The longer you waited, the harder it would be to have the life you wanted.

I wanted to tell my mom. I wanted to blurt it out that I wasn't a boy, that some accident of nature had stuck me in the wrong body. That I wanted to wear dresses and makeup from now on. That I would still be the same person, just of a different gender. But I knew I could never tell. After losing her husband, I couldn't heap one more tragedy on the head of the woman who had raised me. No, I knew I would have to suffer in silence forever.

I did dress in secret, though. Whenever my mother was gone I would slip down to the laundry room, grab whatever clothes happened to be there, and duck into the bathroom. I would have liked to have mixed and matched my own outfits, but I couldn't risk her noticing anything having been disturbed. Wearing clothes from the laundry also meant that I could dump them down the laundry chute if I should hear her car pull up.

Ah, those solitary hours alone in my mother's finery. Harvey disappeared, a teenaged princess took his place. Skirts, dresses, bathing suits, lingerie, jewelry...I could have stayed there all day. I learned how to create feminine curves with wadded up washcloths and to cover my penis with extra tight pantyhose. After I had fixed myself up the way I wanted to, I would stare at my reflection in the mirror. I'd look at myself from all angles, coquettishly flirting with my imaginary suitors. And I would cry to think how my encroaching puberty would soon take this girl away forever.

My excursions to the bathroom never sexually excited me like they would a transvestite. No, they just gave me a feeling of correctness, of normalcy, like this was the real world, and the outside world, the one with Harvey, was just a distorted reality. How I wished that were really the case! But it wasn't so. And even in the bathroom, things weren't perfect. My mom's clothes weren't quite in my size, I wished I could have my own. I could have purchased some somewhere, I suppose, but I was afraid. Though my mom respected my privacy, I always foresaw some disaster where she came across unfamiliar female clothes in my hiding place. That was too horrible to contemplate. Another problem I had was my lack of makeup. I wanted to make up my face, but I didn't dare disturb my mother's cosmetics. If she knew what I had done with them she wouldn't have understood.

How I wished, more than anything, that she would understand. My fantasy was to make myself up into a complete woman, so she would see how pretty I was, and then to wait for her to come home. For her to see me, but act like nothing was wrong. For her to take me clothes shopping the next day. For her to transfer me to another school where I could be her daughter full-time. For her to arrange for me to start on estrogen...

Life is cruel. That was a dream that would never come true. Though nothing could stop me from fantasizing, which I did, often.

Mom couldn't have possibly known what an effect her casual suggestion had on me. My mind was racing a mile a minute, there was a faint buzzing in my ears. She had suggested it! My mother had actually suggested that I go to school in a dress! Maybe she'd even let me wear makeup! And maybe, just maybe, she'd let me continue to dress like this, long after the dress code issue was settled.

No, that was ridiculous. Mom was just trying to think of an oddball costume for me to wear, nothing more. I couldn't jeopardize this by acting overly eager. I'd just have to play it cool, act like I was doing this because of my concern about the school's dress code, and enjoy it while I could. Afterwards, I'd always have the memory.

I steadied myself internally. "OK," I replied, managing to sound indifferent, "whatever."
Mom smiled and motioned me to her bedroom. She opened her closet and began poking through her various outfits; outfits I knew very well. Her green cocktail dress, her gray, skirted business suit, her black, backless evening gown. I grew dizzy, picturing myself in one of them. I nearly recoiled in horror when she pulled out a ludicrous, rayon-pink disco outfit with pictures of tropical fruit all over it.

"You can wear this silly thing," said mom. "Let's see, I think I have come old go-go boots and some gaudy costume jewelry..."

No, no, no! Not campy drag! I wanted to look like a woman, not like one of the Monty Python players in a dress. I knew I should keep my mouth shut, I knew requesting something nicer would be way too suspicious, but I couldn't hold my tongue. This was my only chance to be dressed as a woman somewhere other than the bathroom. To go out in public, to school! True, everyone would know who I was, but what of it? No, if we were going to do this, we'd have to do it right.

"Er, mom..." I ventured, trying to get my excuse straight.

"Yes?" she paused, putting down a stupid old-lady hat with flowers on it.

"I was just thinking, um...."

"Yes?"

"Well, the whole point of me doing this is to wear something that will make Mr. Elmer mad, but won't actually break any rules, right?"

"Right."

"Well, maybe we should tone it down a bit. I mean, if a girl wore that outfit to school she'd be asking for trouble from the administration. Maybe if I just wore, I dunno, something that wouldn't look odd on a girl, I'd have more of a leg to stand on. Like you said, the school rules probably don't forbid boys to wear girl's clothes, but if I go overboard it might cause problems."

It was a tense moment. Had I gone too far? Had I said too much? I silently prayed I hadn't ruined everything. Much to my relief, my mom nodded. "I see your point. Only cross the line as much as you need to and you're more likely to win. Okay, let's see what we can do for you."

Mom pulled out three or four likely candidates. "Well, I'm going to have to dress you from the skin out. Go put on some swim trunks or something and meet me in the bathroom." I ducked into my room and shed my clothes. I pulled on some boxers and went into the bathroom. Mom was still in her room, so I took the opportunity to examine myself in the mirror. There I stood, in all my male, fifteen-year-old splendor. My rust-colored hair hanging, unkempt, just past my ears. A little acne. No muscles, sunken chest. Not tall. Hair under my arms, around my groin, and that was about it. There was hair on my legs, but it was not coarse or dark.
I loathed and loved my body at the same time. Loathed it for the obvious reason: it was not a woman's body. It had no breasts, no vagina, no femininity. But in a strange way, I loved it too. It was soft, hairless, and while not too feminine, it was not too masculine either. I knew from experience that with a dress and some makeup I could make myself into a presentable woman. But it wouldn't last long. Soon I would be covered with hair and muscles. Then my trips to the bathroom would be too sad to contemplate: a young man in a dress where a pretty girl had once stood.

I wished I could stop my puberty. A lot of guys my age looked like men, thank God that hadn't happened to me yet. I knew from my internet research that if I started taking estrogen now, puberty would actually involve welcome changes: breasts, softer skin, silkier hair, curves...
"Am I interrupting anything, Mr. America?" I was startled to realize that my mom had been standing in the doorway, watching me stare at my reflection for some time now. From her point of view I had been preening. That Mr. America comment had been made to build me up, but it hurt. I'd never be Mr. America with this body. And being anything close to Miss America was an impossible dream.

I grinned, embarrassed. "Just wondering if I was ever going to get chest hair (and dreading it)," I said lamely.

"Don't worry," said mom, "it'll happen before you know it."

Ugh.

Mom passed me the first dress. "Try this one on, we'll see how it looks."

I examined it. It was a gray business number, hemline down to my ankles. It buttoned in the front, and was belted around the waist. Sleeves past the elbows, full around the neck. A little conservative, but it least it didn't have legs. I eagerly stepped into it and began buttoning it.

"Now watch it," my mother began, "The buttons..." she stopped short, when she realized that I already was familiar with garments with buttons on the left. Whoops. I had to remember to be bumbling and awkward, like I had never worn a dress in my life. With what I hoped was convincing fumbling, I finished buttoning it and slipped the belt on.

Mom and I regarded my new outfit in the mirror. "Something's not quite right," she mumbled. Well, I thought, for starters I could use some makeup. And some jewelry. And a new hair style. And some breasts. "What's wrong?" I asked her.

"Nothing important. It's just that you don't have a girlish figure." Estrogen would help that, I thought morosely. "Maybe we should try some padding?" I asked, keeping all traces of hopefulness out of my voice.

"OK," she said, "if it wouldn't bother you."

If it wouldn't bother me. Please.

Mom instructed me to remove the dress. She left and returned with some of her lingerie. I almost blurted everything out right there. It would have been so cleansing to say "Mom, as long as I'm putting on your lingerie, why don't I just buy some of my own? In fact, I'd kind of like it if I dressed this way from now on." Of course I said nothing of the sort.

Mom handed me a pair of black pantyhose. "These will cover up your leg hair. Unless you'd like to shave them, of course." We both laughed, though mom's laugh was the only authentic one. I remembered just in time to pull on the nylons boy style: like a pair of pants. I grabbed the waist and shoved my feet in, knowing full well I should bunch them all together, get my feet into the panty hose feet, and then roll them up my legs. My mom quickly told me the correct method.

I had to scrunch my boxers together to get them to fit in underneath. When I dressed for school tomorrow I'd wear briefs, or just forego underwear altogether.

Mom then looked at me tentatively. "You know, Harvey," dresses are built for women with breasts. I guess there's no way I could convince you to wear a padded bra?" she said this pleadingly, as if she was absolutely sure I'd say no but was hoping I'd say yes. Well, I certainly didn't need a lot of convincing. But better play it close to the vest...
"I dunno mom....but I guess if you really think it's necessary."

Mom smiled and gave me one of her bras, a matching black one. "It makes for a more complete package. Now remember, the clasp is in the front." Good thing she said that, I might have forgotten to pretend ignorance about that!

I stuffed the cups with facial cloths to give me a more realistic, albeit lumpy, chest. Mom looked me over, dubiously. "You're still not curvy enough. A corset would help, but I'm afraid I don't have one. Lucky you, eh?"

Oh, yeah, real lucky. I reached for the gray dress again. Mom stopped me. "That one was too businesslike. Let's try a different one."

Yes, and another, and another...we could make a weekend of it...or a year.

Mom selected another. "If we go with this one we'll have to get you a different bra, but try this on for size." It was mom's evening dress. I had tried it on many times. I used to love it when mom would go to formal affairs, that meant that this dress would soon end up in the laundry and I could try it on later. I really hoped we'd go with this.

It was long and black. Totally sleeveless and backless. Mom was right, my bra showed through and would have to be changed. Still, I loved this feminine thing. The way it tied around the back of my neck, leaving just the right amount of flesh visible. The way it was so undeniably girlish, only a woman would look right in it. The way my fake chest extended the front, ever so subtlety.

"No, not right at all," said mom, and my spirits fell. "Too revealing." Too revealing? What did she care if her son's costume was too revealing? Unless...oh my God....could it be? That she was subconsciously thinking of me as a girl? That she didn't want her DAUGHTER to be dressed to provocatively? I barely dared to ask. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, too low cut in front. You can see you're all padding. Not that it matters I guess, but let's find something else." Oh, that was it. Realism, nothing more. Well, c'est la vie.

"Hey, this might be just the thing," said mom. And she was right. First came the simple, gray, pleated skirt. It came down to my knees, revealing my stocking-clad legs. Then came the sleeveless sweater. It was a brown, woolen number, leaving my arms totally bare to the shoulders. I liked the way it looked, but I couldn't say no when mom gave me a tasteful brown women's cardigan to complete the outfit.

The air rushing up my skirt. The softness of the material. The shear...girlishness of it all. But that wasn't really what felt so good. It was the naturalness of it all, like this was what I should be wearing every day, that I was pretending when I dressed like Harvey, trying to be something that I wasn't.

"Now, let's get you some shoes." I followed mom back to her room. She gestured to a pair of casual boots. "Give those a shot. They may be too small, you'll probably have to wear your own shoes tomorrow." The hell you say! They were too small, but I wasn't about to admit that. Tight or not, I was wearing them!

Mom stood back and looked me over. "Now don't you look darling." She was trying to tease me, but I took it as a compliment anyway. I giggled an exaggerated female laugh and spun around in a stupid manner, wishing I could let myself go and be a girl in demeanor as well as clothes.

Mom reached into her jewelry box and pulled out a pair of simple, black, plastic earrings. They were the clip-on type, she let me put them on myself. This was almost surreal. I wished I could slow time down, or stop it and replay it over and over. To savor the one time I could shamelessly wear the clothes I felt were part of my birthright.

"Well," continued mom, "you don't look half bad. And I'm sure you're teacher will have a stroke when he sees you tomorrow." Again, if only. "I guess you might as well change back."
I knew I should leave well enough alone, but I had to say it. It would make everything absolutely perfect. "Mom," I said, barely keeping my voice steady, "as long as we are doing this, maybe we should go all the way and have me wear makeup as well."

For the briefest fraction of a second, I saw suspicion in my mom's eyes. It was if she was thinking 'Just why is my son so into this? Is he enjoying this?' But then in passed. Mom smiled and agreed to make me over, as long as I'd be willing to get up at 5:30 so she could do it right.

Of course I didn't get a wink of sleep that night. I kept fantasizing about tomorrow. My dream was about to become a reality! Off to school in a bra, skirt, and makeup. Maybe mom would even do my hair up a little. And maybe the dress code thing would become a big issue! Perhaps I could dress like this for a month.

My fantasies were going wild now. Maybe the dress code thing would go on for so long that I wouldn't even bother changing to boy clothes when I came home from school. Maybe Mom would grow accustomed to her son in a dress. Maybe, after the protest was over, I could 'forget' and dress like a girl anyway. If Mom said anything I could just pass it off as a mistake of habit. But what if she didn't say anything? What if...I was really living in a dream world now...what if she said nothing? What if she just accepted my dressing as the status quo? And the next time we went clothes shopping, usually such a chore, we went to the women's department? And we gave away all my boyish clothes and I never had to be Harvey again?

I knew I was fooling myself, if I was lucky the costuming would last more than one day. But mine was a desperate, secret existence, and I knew that there was no harm in dreaming.
The next day, just after I showered, Mom made up my face. I could hardly restrain myself from hyperventilating or wiggling excitedly. For the first time in my fifteen years I felt like I was in my natural state. Just a young teenage girl getting makeup lessons from her mother. Dear God, if only!

I wanted to look in the mirror, to see every stage of my transformation. Unfortunately, it never occurred to my mom that any of this would be interesting to me, so I suffered in silence. Mom then brushed my hair back and pinned it up with two barrettes. She spritzed it with hair spray. Still without so much as a glance in the mirror she handed me my clothes, being careful to help me get on my sweater without smearing my makeup. As I laced up my restrictive boots, I could barely stop trembling from excitement. Finally, after what seemed like ages, I was able to get a good look in the mirror.

There she was. I had seen glimpses of her before, in my dreams, in my fantasies, and in my secret trips to the bathroom. But here she was in full. The teenage girl inside me, now on the outside. Her sweetly made up face. Her delicate clothes. Her womanly styled hair. Her small breasts. Her shy, almost terrified mannerisms. There she was...and she was me.

"Very sweet," my mom mocked. "One more thing." Just when I thought things couldn't get any better, they did. Mom carefully glued some press-on nails to my clipped and short real ones. Long, red nails. Just shoot me now, I have achieved a moment of true happiness.

"Well, it's crazy, but I know it will get under Elmer's skin," I said, dismissively. "But thanks for all your work." That didn't begin to express my gratitude, but it was all I should say.

"Try not to smear your makeup. Now off to school with you, young 'man.'"

As mom drove me from our apartment to the school, my feelings changed from that of expectation to dread. I had been so caught up in the prospect of wearing a dress that I hadn't stopped to consider the possible downside. What if no one else dressed up? My God, Bill had organized this, today he might have changed his focus to overthrowing the government or mandatory whale slaughtering or something. What if I was the only one dressed like this? Or if others dressed but still thought I was queer looking? Fat chance of me ever making friends then! I'd forever be 'that pervert in the dress.' Maybe I should have gone with the campy drag, at least then no one would suspect I was serious about this. Was it too late to back out? Yes, it was. If I didn't go today, I never would.

As I walked across the parking lot I could barely put one foot in front of the other. What had I gotten myself into? I took a deep breath and rounded the corner of the building to face the main entrance. That's when I realized that all my fears had been ungrounded.

Halloween came in March that year. A stream of becostumed students was pouring in through the front doors of Ft. Zummer. It was hilarious. Halloween masks, bathing suits, outdated 80's clothes, one guy even found a suit of armor somewhere. My God, something Bill had organized had actually worked. There was no way anyone would think there was anything odd about my skirt today.

Bill himself stood at the door, greeting his oddball legions. "Hey, looking good Drew, nice fangs Larry, Jim! you must give me the name of your tailor." Bill was wearing a straitjacket which seemed strangely appropriate. As I tried to pass by, he cornered me.
"Hey, how come you didn't wear..." then he stopped short. "Er, ah, I mean uh, nice costume, Harvey." He was blushing.

I walked to my first class on air. Bill had thought I was a normally dressed girl! Someone who knew me mistook me for a female, at least for a second. I wondered what a stranger would think.

Still elated over my deception, I stepped into my first hour history class. I counted five others participating in the great uprising: a guy in a leisure suit, a girl in a ballerina outfit, some dude with a Hawaiian shirt and a ukulele, a sports fan with his face made up in team colors, and Luthor, who was wearing his grandfather's Vietnam War uniform.

I took my seat. A guy near me looked at me oddly and I began to feel scared again. Bill was one thing, but would everyone believe I was don't this solely out of protest? Finally, he spoke.

"Uh, I'm sorry, I can't remember your name."

"Harvey," I replied.

"Ah, yeah, right. Great costume, Harvey." He quickly turned away and buried his nose in his history book. Now what was with that?

A warm glow covered me as I realized what had happened. He wasn't sure if I was Harvey dressed as a girl or some new girl. That's why he had pretended to forget my name. I wondered what he would have done if I had told him a woman's name.

Our teacher, Dr. Dumas, walked into the room precisely when the bell rang. I felt a little sorry for him. He'd taught for over thirty years, he'd probably teach for thirty more. He was tolerable, in a dull sort of way. I wondered how he'd react to our weird dress.

Dr. Dumas faced the class and squinted myopically at us through his glasses. He let out a long sigh, shook his head, and began writing on the board.

"As I mentioned yesterday, the Civil War left the United States in a state of discord and ruin..."

Most of my fellow students reported similar experiences: teachers who could care less about how we were dressed, as long as we didn't disrupt class. Most educators were like that; unwilling to make a big deal about things that really weren't a big deal. Of course, Mr. Elmer wasn't like most educators.

We all knew that Mr. Elmer's planning period was first hour, which he would invariably spend locked in the teacher's workroom. When he taught our class, it would be the first he'd see of the weird clothes we were wearing.

I nervously sat in the biology lab, regarding my fellow protesters. While there were only a few rebels in the last class, Elmer's students were decked out, almost to a man. As predicted by Bill, Elmer freaked.

You'd have thought we were all sitting there naked, the way his eyes bulged and his face reddened. He stared at us, as if we'd all whither and cringe under his gaze. Someone laughed.
"JUST WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS...THIS INSURRECTION?" bellowed the teacher of the year, no years running.

Bill was ready. "Why Mis-tar Elmer, if you'll take the time to familiarize yourself with the school's dress code, then you'd realize that none of us are in the slightest violation of..."

Elmer interrupted. "I am not interested in your juvenile shenanigans, Mis-tar Czolgolz. Get yourself to the office, AT ONCE! And that goes for any of the rest of you who feel that this school is an institute to be flouted!'

Bill grinned and marched to the door. Luthor quickly followed. He stood behind Bill at the doorway, and placed his hand on Bill's shoulder, prison style. Other protestors joined him. Soon the class was emptying. I was one of the last to get up. Elmer whirled at me.

"Get back to your seat, young lady! Only those who have worn...have worn..."

Realizing Elmer's mistake, the whole class, myself included, burst into laughter. "Young lady!" hooted one individual.

"Careful there, dude!" someone shouted at me. "Elmer might want you to stay after school for 'extra credit.'"

"Leave this classroom at once!" shouted Elmer, to cover his gaffe.

"ATTENTION!" bellowed Luthor, looking quite military in his uniform. "Ten, hut!" Hands on the shoulder of whoever was in front of us, we marched off to the office like an Alabama chain gang.

There wasn't room for all of us in Dr. Bailey’s office, he met us in the detention room. I smiled at our bald, sexagenarian principal and wondered what he'd do. Would be angry at us, or just pass this off as some dumb stunt? I had never been in trouble before, it was more than a little exciting.

"I've been teaching since the seventies," began Bailey, without preamble. "I've seen a lot of wild protests in my time. Wars, civil rights, women's rights, animal rights, the environment, whatever. Quite frankly, this is one of the lamest protests I've ever seen. The school dress code? I can't picture us having a more liberal one. I'm sure you only did this to annoy Mr. Elmer." He looked pointedly at Bill.

"I'm not going to punish you. However, I really don't feel like spending my time enforcing the school dress code. Don't waste my time. So here's the deal. Elmer doesn't want you to dress like that in his class, and since it's his class I don't feel I should overrule him. Anyone who continues this tomorrow will be suspended for a week. Return to class."

For the rest of the day, Bill tried to drum up support for a second day of crazy-dressing. There were no takers. A protest for a real cause was one thing, but annoying Mr. Elmer wasn't worth getting suspended over. A suspension could stop a good student from getting a scholarship and a bad student from graduating. The general consensus was that no one was going to risk that much trouble for one of Bill's doomed crusades.

At the end of the school day, I found Bill, still bound in his straitjacket, leaning against a post in the commons area.

"We were so close, Harvey. Just one week of this and we would have won." Won what, I wasn't sure of. "Now, no one is willing to take a stand."

I pulled up a chair, smoothed my skirt, and sat down. I took the opportunity to cross my legs in a lady-like manner; who knew when I'd get to do that in public again? "Couldn't find any takers, huh?"

He grunted. "Only Luthor. And I probably ought to tell him not to bother. If he gets suspended he could get kicked off the wrestling team."

"Are you going to go on with it?"

"I have to. Someone has to." He was almost obsessive with this quest. I wondered what would happen if he ever funneled his energies into something worthwhile.

"But that could cost you your valedictorian spot."

Bill only nodded. I guess he knew as well as anyone that when you are valedictorian, you can pretty much go to college for free.

I excused myself. "Wait," called Bill. "I don't suppose I can count on you to wear that skirt tomorrow?"

"No..." I began and Bill's face fell. But then I thought about it. God, what a day it had been! I'd been briefly taken for a woman three times at least, but what was more, I finally felt like a real person. Sitting in school in a skirt, with makeup, earrings, a sleeveless sweater...suspension be damned! You can't keep a good woman down.

"No," I continued. "Tomorrow I'll probably wear a dress."

Bill grinned. "If I didn't believe that religion was nothing but a shallow invention of the ruling classes to subjugate the masses, I'd say 'God bless you, Harvey.' Now could you unstrap me here?"

When I returned home, mom wasn't there. I knew the logical, nonsuspicious thing to do would be to wash off my makeup, remove my clothes, and change into something more gender-appropriate. But I couldn't make myself do it. After a day in a skirt, it wouldn't be easy to go back to blue jeans and a T-shirt.

Mom returned home to find me relaxing in front of the television, still wearing the hose, skirt, and other examples of feminine garments that I had worn for the whole school day. She seemed a little shocked. "I figured you'd have ditched those clothes the second you walked through the door."

"Well, I guess I was too lazy." God, did that sound ridiculous.
"So how did the protest go?"

I briefly outlined what had happened, finishing with the threat of the punishment we'd receive if we continued.

"So I guess you won't be doing it again tomorrow? Still, I bet it was fun to freak out your teacher like that."

"Actually mom, I was thinking about doing it again." Please, please, let her not think this is strange.

"Again? I don't know, Harvey. It seems like annoying your teacher isn't worth a suspension."
"Oh, it's not about getting back at Mr. Elmer. It's that Bill's risking giving up his valedictorian spot and Luthor's risking getting kicked out of sports. I figure if I go along with them we might stand a better chance than if they took on the powers that be alone." And therefore I have to keep dressing like a girl indefinitely, I mentally added.

"Harvey, I don't like the thought of you getting suspended..." mom began.

"Please mom, they're my only close friends," despite the fact that they didn't even know my name last week. "I really have to do this for them."

Mom was wavering. She had always been concerned about my lack of a social life, I hoped by playing that angle she wouldn't realize my true motivations.

"OK Harvey. Just one more day. I have to say I admire you for being so loyal to your friends. But enough's enough, you can do it tomorrow, but no more."

Well, one day was better than nothing. In order to keep mom from guessing the real reason I was so excited about wearing girl clothes, I quickly changed into some of my own things. I washed off the makeup and wistfully folded the skirt, sweater, and jacket that had made me feel like a girl, for one glorious day.

True to my word, the next day I did wear a dress. It was nothing spectacular, just a black outfit with a hemline down to my ankles, and sleeves to the wrist. It zipped up in the back, mom had to help me with it. When we were finished, I looked into the mirror and sighed. I was so close! If I dressed like this every day, if I shaved my legs and got some shoes in my own size, if I practiced and practiced feminine deportment, then being a woman was not such a ridiculous idea. I looked fine. One might have even said pretty. But I needed my own things. I needed to do this every day, all day. Just two days wasn't close to being adequate.

But I knew, deep in my heart, that this was not to be. I could never slap my mom in the face with my sick desires to live like a girl. I could never face the humiliation of having her ashamed of me. The best I could hope for was a few hours a week, alone in the bathroom, until age removed my soft skin and smooth face.

Well, if today was going to be the last day, then I'd make it a day to remember. I held myself with a confident air. For whatever reason the world thought I was doing this, in my mind nothing was unusual. Today, for the one time in my life, I was going to be a girl. Not a boy in a dress, but a girl. I looked like one, I was dressed like one, well by God, today I was going to act like one. Who cared if anyone thought I was odd, I had the rest of my life to convince them I was masculine. Today I was going to shine.

I snatched one of Mom's extra purses and a compact and walked out to the car where she was waiting. With a lovely smile, I slid into the seat, rear first, legs last, so as not to spread my legs or hitch up my dress in an unladylike fashion.

I think Mom suspected something, but I didn't care. I could be macho from now on, but I was going to enjoy today. Yesterday I had been nervous, well today I was going to be brave. I pulled out my compact and touched up my makeup. I didn't dare look in Mom's direction; that would have looked like I was gauging her reaction. Nope, today I was her daughter. If she asked me about it later, I'd act offended, as if she was questioning my manhood.

I slid out of the car, smiled and waved at Mother, and walked into school. Due to my countless hours on the internet I had read quite a few FAQs about how to walk, speak, and act like a girl. Today I was going to put them into action.

I remembered to stand up straight, wiggle my hips, not to swing my arms too much. When I came to school, I noticed several people turn and look at me. Most of them were protesters from yesterday, probably shocked that I'd actually wear a costume for two days in a row, especially after what Dr. Bailey had said. Well, let them stare! I'd just pretend they were admiring my lovely figure instead of wondering at my suicidal defiance of the school rules.
Luthor was still decked out in his uniform, but today Bill was dressed like a circus clown. I asked him what had happened to his straitjacket. He replied that it's not a good idea to restrain your arms while walking down stairs. I noticed the beginning of a black eye under his clown makeup.

Before classes, I just had to go touch up my makeup one last time. I wanted more than anything to go into the lady's room, but I knew that would be asking for trouble. I went into the men's room and admired my face in the mirror.

A guy came out of a stall, yelped when he saw me, and ducked back in. Then, he slowly and cautiously looked out. "Er, this is the men's room, right?"

"Yes, it is," I said, reapplying my lipstick.

"Then what are you doing here?" It was hard to hide my joy. Mistaken for a girl again. I was tempted to play along, but decided against it.

"I am a guy. I'm protesting the school dress code."

"Oh, Jesus, sorry dude!" the guy stammered. Why did he say he was sorry? Didn't he realize he had just paid me a great compliment? I excused myself to go to class.

During first hour, I noticed students looked at me over their shoulders when they thought I didn't notice. After the bell rang, a girl actually told me I looked rather natural. She said this nervously, as if she were afraid I'd take it the wrong way. I smiled and thanked her, hoping that she wouldn't think that was too bizarre a response.

Elmer's class was a different story. Bill, Luthor, and myself were the only ones who had worn a costume. Would Elmer actually suspend us?

When I walked into the room, I noticed that Paul Sanford was back. He had be absent for over a week, due to a bout with food poisoning.

Paul was a bit of an enigma in our school. He was a fundamentalist Christian, his entire life revolved around church, Bible reading, and an almost Puritanical self-denial. He had missed the entire dress code thing, but it wouldn't have really mattered. Paul's major daily wardrobe decision seemed to be 'gray shirt with black slacks, or white shirt with black slacks?'

"Excuse me," he said as I walked by. "I have been gone. Could you please tell me why Luthor and William are dressed in that manner?"

"Dress code protest. They're trying to annoy Mr. Elmer."

"I see. Thank you and God bless."

"Paul," I teased, "aren't you going to mention my costume?"

"Your...?" Paul did a double take. "Oh! I did not notice...no, that is a lie and lying is a sin. I am terribly sorry, but I briefly mistook you for a girl." He quickly entered the room without waiting for a reply.

As I took my seat, I noticed Paul was talking to Mr. Elmer. I heard Paul request a copy of the school dress code, which of course Mr. Elmer had in his briefcase. I couldn't imagine what for, it was not like Paul had anything to worry about.

As soon as the bell rang, Mr. Elmer directed Bill, Luthor, and I to go to the office for suspension. We probably would have been suspended too, were it not for help from an unlikely quarter: Paul.

"Mr. Elmer?" asked Paul, in his quiet, respectful voice.

"Yes, Mis-tar Sandford?"

"Why are these three gentlemen being ejected from class?"

"For violating the school's dress code."

Paul sighed. "Well, then I am afraid I shall be compelled to join them, as I too am in violation." People giggled, Paul's clothes were a study in bland.

"Do not try to be funny, Mis-tar Sanford. What possible way could you have violated the dress code?"

Paul stood up and walked towards Mr. Elmer's desk. Then, without warning, he drew back his fist and swung. For a second we thought he was going punch out the teacher; Elmer let out a yelp and ducked. But strangely enough, Paul punched himself in the back of the head.

There was a squashing sound and something seemed to fly from the front of Paul's head. With a deft gesture he caught it midair with the hand he had punched himself with. He then spun and faced the class, the object held in his extended palm.

It was a glass eye.

"If I may quote the school dress policy," began Paul, "' No student may wear anything on their face or head during school hours, with the exception of earrings or barrettes on the part of female students.' It does not say anything about ocular prosthetics, so I fear I must forgo wearing this."

If you've never seen an empty eye-socket, then you really shouldn't. It was absolutely disgusting; the empty, moist hole in Paul's head, the writhing ocular muscles, the way the eyelid twitched spasmodically over the pit...

Paul sat down and smiled at the girl next to him. She ran out of the room and threw up.
"PUT YOUR EYEBALL BACK IN THIS INSTANT!" shouted Mr. Elmer.

"Now there's a phrase you don't hear every day," quipped Bill.

"No," said Paul, "the Lord commands us to obey the law, and the school dress code is no exception. I am afraid that the eye goes."

"I'm sure we can make an exception in your case, Mis-tar Sandford."

Paul looked shocked. "Why in my case? Does my disability disgust you? Can you not stand to be in the same room with someone as vile as I? Does the sight of my mutilation instill in you a loathing so great that I must cover it up?" Paul had hit the nail pretty much on the head, but there was no way Mr. Elmer could admit that.

Elmer desperately tried to hold class, but it was ridiculous. Students were either covering their eyes to avoid glancing at the gaping hole in Paul's head, or staring at it like it was some sort of cool car wreck. Nothing was accomplished that day, and in the midst of all the hubbub we never did go to the office.

During fifth hour, I was called to the principal's office. Bill, Luthor, and Paul were already there. Bailey, as usually, was short and to the point. "OK you four. You've made your point. Here's the deal. You won't be suspended, but if you pull another stunt like this you will be. I rarely go back on my word, don't make me regret not punishing you. And Paul, put your eye in, that's disgusting!"

We looked at each other and nodded. We had pissed of Mr. Elmer for two days running, and his students would never forget it. No point in getting kicked out. "Okay," said Bill. "Normal clothes tomorrow." Even though I knew it was coming, I was sad. There went my only excuse to dress how I considered normally.

Paul, saying that he had to disinfect his eye before he could replace it, slipped on an eye patch and we left the office. Before I went back to class, I caught Paul.

"Paul, thanks a lot for doing that. You really saved us."

"Oh my friend, your true savior was crucified in Jerusalem, nearly two-thousand years ago."
"Uh, yeah. But what made you decide to get involved like that?"

"'Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes?' Matthew 6:25. Mr. Elmer was using his energies to worry about the clothing we wear, instead of spreading knowledge, which is his calling."

"Really?"

"Well that, and I was a little embarrassed for calling you a woman earlier. I wanted to make it up to you." He ducked into his class.

By all logic, that should have been the end. I should have enjoyed my brief time dressing the way I liked, and then buckled down and been a man for the rest of my life. But it wasn't the end.

(continued)