Chapter 7 – Girl All the Boys

No matter how fashionable a teen guy or girl thinks they are, just add a decade or two of distance to their style and they immediately become ridiculous. Of course, I was a lost cause even then.

I didn’t hit any thrifty punk-rock chords. Clothes that looked beat up or oversized just came across as a waste to me. And I seemed immune to the spreading contagion known as “UGG”s. Let’s not discuss bracelets though.  

Beyond her leather boots, Heather didn’t really dress to stand out. She often wore typical corduroy pants and a variety of short-sleeved fuzzy shirts. I really liked one of hers which had the appearance of purple plumage. She’d forgotten where she bought it.

I liked purple back then, especially shades of lavender, but I never wore it. I tended towards blues, grays, and browns with jeans that didn’t make me feel like I needed the Jaws of Life to go to the bathroom every time I had a big meal.

It wasn’t till Heather finally found the book she was looking for that we released each other’s hand. Her acne scar had drifted away unseen again but there hadn’t been any further changes aside from that. Even when we weren’t touching, she hung close to me. I appreciated that.

Finding the book I needed was a little bit harder, but it didn’t take long. Together, we peeked out from our little sanctuary of shelves. The teacher had finished on the phone and was over by the librarian. I couldn’t hear their conversation at this distance over the muddled chatter of the rest of the class, but I saw he was looking where I’d been seated. It was probably time to head back.

Heather stayed close to me as she murmured to herself and leafed through her book. The teacher raised his head when we emerged from the small maze into the area of the Computer Lab.

“Miss Waller, come over here a moment.”

Still, Heather stayed with me. She drifted over to the librarian with some questions, but she wasn’t too far away when the teacher told me what was going on.

“That was a call from the office. Umm…now you’re not in trouble, but Vice Principal Aceves wants to hear what happened directly from you.”

I folded my arms and sighed. “What about my assignment and stuff?”

He gave a little frown and told me, “It shouldn’t take long. You already have your book, right?” I nodded and presented it to him. He seemed to like it. I left the book behind and he wrote a pass for me.

It felt wrong to walk out of the library alone even though the front office wasn’t far away. I explained my situation to the receptionist, and she pointed me to the VP’s office. I suppose it’s a good thing I’d never been to it before. The office was small, with some cabinets in the back, school spirit posters on every inch of wall space, and metal trays for paperwork. The linoleum was sticky as I stepped through.

Aceves looked like an accountant who’d lost his way in a high school. His suit was too glossy to be properly intimidating, but I was courteous. I told him my name, and he smiled the same smile everyone used at the dealership where my parents bought their minivan.

“Ah yes, please have a seat.”

Then, he made me wait. He got up and left the room for something. I just rubbed my eyes behind my glasses and tried not to let my brain seep out of my head from the assault of vapid slogans in the school tones of white, green, and black.

I scratched a rough spot on my wrist which always seemed to show up no matter how much hand cream I put on it. I used to be afraid of the school office. Once, when I was still really young, I was called out of class for a reason I didn’t understand and put in a higher-grade class with unfamiliar people. The teacher placed a strange book in front of me. I wailed.

I only found out later it wasn’t a punishment but an opportunity to do some more challenging reading because I was above grade-level. Still, I shivered with horrific imagery of being bumped up a grade for being too good a reader and having to leave all the people I knew behind forever. I probably wasn’t the smartest little kid in the world but then, technically, only one can be that.

The headrest on the chair wasn’t high enough to get comfortable, probably for a reason. It took several minutes, but Aceves finally returned with a manila folder and a few papers. He took a quiet moment before he spoke and explained, “I’m told there was an incident last period involving three of your classmates in Mr. Bledsoe’s biology class. Can you tell me what you witnessed?”

I gave him the short version. I focused on how weird it all was, how I had no idea what was going on, and how I was worried it was affecting me as well. He paused me there and asked, “Are you still experiencing anything you’d consider unusual?”

“All of this is strange, sir. I dunno. But I think I’m okay.”

He folded his hands together on the desk and leaned forward. I finished my little story by saying that I accompanied my classmates because…insert reciting some school virtue thing of helping classmates in need. Then, I reiterated how I didn’t want to be late to my next class, but I took time and care to relay what I knew of the situation to Mr. Bledsoe.

For an idle second, I wondered if he was going to pass me off to someone else to tell my story again. Maybe I was just an amusing anecdote like, “Dude! This student here…You gotta hear her story! It’s crazy! Guys turning into girls….We should have the superintendent hear it. He will totally shit himself!”

But he kept a calm poker face like I figured he did with every “incident” he heard about and asked, “Is that all?”

I nodded and told him a polite, “Yes, sir.”

I didn’t pry. I didn’t ask how the others were. I wanted it to be known that it was none of my business. I was fine. I didn’t have any involvement. I didn’t want any involvement. I was just your average good student. Nothing going on.

He thanked me for my time, and I thanked him back. Once out of the room, I glanced around the area. Most of the doors were closed. The nurse’s office was open and empty. With a shrug, I left the front office through a glass door on the side.

My English teacher didn’t ask me anything when I returned, and I didn’t volunteer. However, I did ask the librarian if I could switch to another computer because the next section involved a little bit of group work, and I was an exile off on my own. My teacher seemed suddenly distracted by some loud students.

It didn’t really matter anyway, because he immediately used his classic tactic of moving people around (and therefore punishing everyone at once for the actions of a few). I was randomly placed between Wes and Heather.

Heather immediately made me scoot my chair closer to her, while she scooted closer to me. The teacher still wasn’t watching. Her scar was back at first but soon vanished halfway into our conversation.

With arched eyebrows, she asked, “So?”

I shrugged a single shoulder and told her, “I just said what happened.”

She leaned her head a little. I waved my hand and added, “The boring version. And stuff.”

Wes leaned towards us and asked, “What’s happening?”

Heather looked from him to me. I turned and offered, “Uhh…just something weird from last period. I dunno…” I clenched my mouth.

From the look on her face, I had a sense that Heather really wanted me to say more, and her slowly opening mouth suggested she was going to tell him even if I wasn’t. So, I quietly told Wes, “Two guys at my table slowly changed into girls when I was around. I might’ve caused it, but I don’t know how…”

Wes gave me a flat look, but curled his lips up slowly as he answered, “A whimsical jape but implausible. What’s the axiomatic truth?”

Quickly and quietly, Heather offered her support, pointing out the vanished scar on her face. Still, Wes asserted he was “aporetic”. Groaning to herself, Heather gave me and my chair a shove in his direction and angrily whispered, “Then just sit there and find out!”

I clung to the seat and darted out my legs. The teacher noticed us but was busy with one of his protracted “shh” sessions. Heather slammed her palms against the side of her chair. I looked back and forth and then at my cursor on an empty, white screen. I had no idea why I was the one who had to be punished…

Casting a scowl at Heather for nearly throwing me at Wes in frustration, I found she refused to meet my eyes. Instead, she focused intently on her screen as she fiddled with her scroll wheel. I looked back at Wes.

If I squinted then maybe his adolescent black fuzz was a little thinner than usual. His hair didn’t seem any longer though. Nor did his clothes appear to fit any differently.

More than anything, he looked bored as he asked Heather, “Are we nominal to proceed?” I often wondered if he was skewering the definitions of some words, but I never bothered to check him against a dictionary.

Slumping in her chair, Heather dipped her head and whispered at me, “Sorry…”

I was a little annoyed, but I still told her, “It’s okay…”

From there, we kinda started working together on our assignment, but Wes was the only one who had any sort of focus on the "task". Even then, he seemed more curious about us than anything. He probably figured we had some inside joke going on.

If only he'd gotten far away from me...

Art by Alexis Rillera/Anirhapsodist