Carrolwood Chapters 1-4 (Patreon)

Carl Bright and Sunni Linn did not dislike each other. They hated each other. And, some would say, for good reason. They were, after all, very much alike, being over-achievers of the highest order.

Carl and Sunni had battled to be named valedictorian of their class since freshman year at Carrolwood Extraordinary Day School. Each maintained a perfect 4.0. Freshman year, Carl had won the science fair with his project on the gravitation’s effects of the multi-verse on the surface of Pluto. The next year, Sunni had won for her project on quantum flubber, for which she had also received a patent. The next two year, they shared the prize, mostly because none of the judges had in any way understood what they’d been working on. Humbled and too proud to admit they were baffled, they had simply punted. 

Ah, but perhaps the reader is thinking that these two remarkable students were limited to only intellectual superiority? Not so. Carl served as captain of the boys’ soccer team (for those of you who are not versed in American, that would be the sport all the rest of the world rightly calls football.) Sunni served as captain of the girls’ soccer team. Carl competed in the Olympian sports of discus and javelin. Sunni in gymnastics and swimming. Both of them ran track.

Indeed, not only were these two stellar students so well-rounded as to make a hula hoop cry, but they also reigned among the students at Carrolwood as the two most popular students, somehow finding the time to involve themselves in numerous clubs while also partaking of the measured and genteel social life orchestrated by the fine faculty and parents of their elite academy.

Were these two perfect? No, for, perfection does not exist on this plane of existence. Carl, it was noted particularly among the females of the school, had a mole on the right cheek of his otherwise perfectly symmetrical and remarkably handsome face. Sunni, on the other hand, the boys noted, had a small scar on her chin.

All agreed, however, that these flaws only made the two all the more “dreamy.”

While the story of their first three years at Carrolwood is fascinating and full of operatic sturm und drang, the story of those years must be reserved for another time. This story is the tale of their truly incredible and impossible senior year. The year that they— changed.

Chapter One

It was two weeks into the fall semester, as I recall. The weather had cooled, and the trees had begun to lose the fervent iridescence of their summery youths, the first flaring golds and smoldering reds flaring amongst the fading green. In contrast to the towering oaks and elms that dotted the ancient campus, the sap in the students ran high as they hurled themselves back into the buzzing, busy life of the campus. The first singularity occurred at precisely 10:23 am, during Advanced Quantum Physics for Majors. Sunni had just finished covering the chalkboard in a remarkable jumble of equation, which demonstrated the third proof of Garylon’s multi-verse theory, correcting an error she had discovered and which had stymied all the best minds in the field for over half a century.

“Remarkable,” Professor Nancy Sharp said as the class applauded and Sunni did a little ballet bow— at least 43% of which she had clearly telegraphed as ironic, while the other 57% was just showing off. “Very impressive.”

“Oh,” Sunni said, waving off the compliment. “It’s just math.”

“Who,” Sharp said, addressing the class, “can tell me the implications of this correction for Galyon’ fourth proof?”

Carl’s hand shot into the air and remained there, straight as a ruler. Sharp scanned the rest of the class. She liked to at least give the other students a moment to consider. They all looked away, or busied themselves with rolling their pencils back and forth across their desks. Sharp nodded. “Carl?”

Carl explained the implications in precise, succinct language that so utterly clarified the implications that the eye of the other students lit up, and they eagerly jotted down his words in their notebooks. Carl’s deep, bass voice, which the girls called “sonic chocolate” filled the room, and many of the girls sighed as he talked, thinking how wonderful it would be to chat with him about— anything. Carl smirked at Sunni, who slit her eyes.

“Excellent,” Sharp said, as she, herself, felt enlightened and a little tingly after his speech.

Which is when it happened.

Carl opened his mouth and said, “It’s just math.” But instead of filing the room with his manly bass, the words came out in the most lovely, musical soprano voice. In fact, he had sounded exactly like Sunni, who was, of course, the best singer among all the girls at Carrolwood and had played the lead in every musical.

The class, failing to note Carl’s eyes go wide with the shock of betrayal as his hand shot to his throat, laughed. They thought he was making fun of Sunni and were delighted that he sounded JUST LIKE HER. 

“Not appropriate,” Sharp said, wagging her finger.

“I didn’t...” Carl started to object, but immediately stopped speaking as once more he heard that sweet and alluring feminine voice come from his throat.

The bell rang. A shocked and disturbed Carl gathered his books, quickly assuming his usual mask of confidence, eager to cover up his discomfort. He meant to find a private place to test his voice, maybe take a throat lozenge. His mind ran through all the known throat ailments, but he could remember none that would cause someone’s voice to— change. His plans, however, came to an abrupt end when Sunni planted herself in front of him, her hands on her hips, her eyes burning with fury as she stared up into his face. “It’s sexist to make fun of the way girls talk!” She said.

Carl focused. Carl concentrated. He placed- or tried to place— his voice deep in his chest, but when he spoke? “I’m not making…” Once more, that lovely soprano trilled from his lips. “I’m not making fun of how you talk!” He forced himself to say, appalled at how much he sounded like a snotty female.

Sunni put her hands on his chest and shoved him. “Jerk!” She said, spinning, ponytail flying as she stormed off.

Carl was not so embarrassed by his voice that he was able to fully ignore the way her long, athletic legs flashed as she walked away, nor the way her little, plaid pleated skirt swayed furiously from side to side. Indeed, he had long thought he would find her quite attractive if she weren’t— her. But for now, such thoughts quickly evaporated in the blazing heat of his new shame.

Carl’s friends, Ahmad, Jack and Lee, saw him in the hall, said their hellos. Carl gestured to his throat and shook his head, grimacing. 

In his next class, he said nothing, as he found himself newly afraid to speak. Halfway through class, he wrote a note explaining his throat hurt, and asking for a restroom pass. The teacher, Professor Acute, agreed without hesitation. Carl was, after all— well, Carl.

Entering the bathroom, Carl first checked the stalls to make sure he was alone. Confirming no one would hear him, he cleared his throat, took a deep breath and said, “testing. Testing.” He heard his pretty, feminine voice echoing off the sparkling tile of the always spotless bathrooms at Carrolwood Academy. This was the first time he had heard his voice, as it were, outside his head.  And, as awful as it had sounded inside his head, to hear the dainty and dulcet tones of his new voice from outside, was infinitely worse.

“What the hell?” Carl concentrated. He focused. Talk like a guy, he thought to himself. Talk like a guy. “Hey, bro,” he said, but his vocal cords had paid no attention to his mind. He still sounded like a girl. “Ugh!”

Two things then occurred to him. First, that this must be some prank that Sunni had played on him. Of course. He nodded to himself as the thought occurred, reluctantly admiring the act she had put on after class. No doubt, she had meant to throw him off the trail. The second thought, which had suddenly grown in urgency, was that he needed to relieve himself. It was, and I am afraid I must be a bit indelicate here, a #2. Therefore, Carl entered a stall and took a seat upon the commode.

As Carl took care of business, while also contemplating revenge on Sunni, the door to the bathroom swung open to the sound of squeaking hinges. There was a thud as it swung closed followed by the sound of echoing footsteps. Carl saw a pair of neatly polished leather shoes plant themselves in front of his stall. The door began to rattle, and in horror Carl saw that he had not fully closed the clasp. Terror grew. He wanted to tell whoever this was the stall was occupied, but— his voice! He couldn’t speak in this horrible voice. The clasp came free. Carl’s discomfort at having someone see him sitting on the can with his pants around his ankles overcame his newly found fear of speaking. A high-pitched little scream escaped him as he pushed himself to his feet, slammed his hands against the door and shouted, “There’s someone in here!”

A masculine laugh sounded from the other side of the door as Carl pushed the clasp back into place. “You know you’re in the men’s room?” 

He thinks I’m a girl? The realization shocked Carl. He knew he sounded like a girl, but it was a new level of mortification for him to have someone think he WAS a girl. He had finished his dirty work, so he quickly did his “cleaning” even as he heard the boy walk down and open another stall door. Carl had pulled up his pants and was tucking in his shirt when the other boy asked, “Who is that? Sunni?”

Carl smiled. A little chance for revenge. “Yeah, it’s Sunni” he said. “Emergency. Don’t tell anyone!”

He heard the boy laugh. Carl made his escape.

Carl could not go home sick, as much as he now longed to make an escape. Indeed, he had perfect attendance going back to kindergarten, and he was not about to lose his perfect record now. Instead, he simply refused to speak, carrying around a note he’d written out explaining he had a sore throat. When lunch came, he snuck away from the cafeteria, not wanting to be around his friends, who would no doubt have heard about his “prank” in Quantum Physics. He did not want to be around people at all, and he had a more pressing need than his social life: finding a cure for whatever Sunni had done to him.

Carl made his way to the old Chemistry lab in Yarrow Hall, the oldest building on campus. Yarrow lab was now used largely for storage. Neat rows of alembics, test tubes and Bunsen burners lined the walls— for everything at Carrolwood Academy was kept neat, clean and carefully organized, even half-forgotten equipment in an abandoned room. 

Well, not abandoned. Carl and Sunni had used this lab for their private research, where they would not be disturbed by the more mundane concocting done by the smart and exceptional but not AS exceptional students. He sat down at the computer and began to research. He suspected that Sunni had used some chemical agent to tighten his vocal cords. It seemed the most likely method. Even as Carl researched, however, he found himself troubled by a confounding factor which challenged his theory. When he spoke, he had not only spoken in a higher register. In fact, his speech patterns had now the somewhat sing song delivery of a female. When he had shouted, ‘there’s someone in here” it had not sounded precisely like the monotone delivery of a male voice pitched female. It had sounded like, “There’s SOMEONE in HERE?” With a aggressively feminine lift at the end.

No, Car decided. He must be remembering it wrong. No doubt, his perceptions had been destabilized by the change in his voice. “I’m NOT talking like a girl?” He said, instantly annoyed as he once more heard the feminine speech patterns fused with his tea kettle timbre. He shook his head. “Whatevs,” he mumbled, forcing himself to focus on his research.

Among the joys of Carl’s young life, research ranked near the top. He loved learning, and he loved getting lost in studies and data, information, speculation. He instantly found himself in a happy place, unaware of time or stress as he buried himself in scientific journals, sagely devouring the lines of dense, jargon-laden text. The sound of footsteps racing down the hall snapped him from his reverie even as the door to the lab slammed open and Sunni charged into the room screaming, “You vile twerp!”

Carl looked up, eager to confront her, but froze, his mouth dropping open in shock. Sunni had a beard. A full, bushy Scotsman of a beard, thick and glossy to go with the handlebar mustache that curled beneath her little button nose.

“Sunni?” Carl squeaked. It was her. It was a shock, of course, to see such a pretty girl with such a massive masculine growth on her face, not least because not a single boy at the school was yet capable of such a display of pure manliness.

“Don’t act all surprised!” Sunni shouted, once more putting her hands on his chest, and shoving him. “I know you did this!”

‘Um, for your information?” Carl said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

“Stop talking like me!” Sunni said. “And FIX THIS!”

“You’re the one who did this to my voice!” Carl shrieked. “So, just, take a chill pill or something.”

“Me? What are you talking about?”

“I’m not doing this,” Carl said. “You think I want to sound like an airhead??”

“Did you just call me an airhead?” Sunni said.

“Um, I said you SOUND like an airhead?” Carl said, unable to stop the words from sounding extra snooty.

Sunni tugged on her beard. “Something strange is going on here.”

“I’m SO glad you finally figured that out!” Carl sniped back.

The bell rang. Sunni stared at Carl. Carl stared back. “Ugh!” They both said, heading for the door. They arrived at the same time, and Carl shouldered his way past Sunni, easily pushing her aside. “This isn’t over!” He called back over his shoulder, using his longer stride to easily outpace Sunni, who hurried along behind him.

He’s so tall, Sunni thought, admiring Carl’s broad shoulders, the way his body made a V-shape tapering down to his …. Too bad he’s a jerk, she thought. I am so going to kill him for this!

Her mind fixated on the moment she’d grown her beard.

She’d been at lunch with her friends. As so often was the case, the conversation had turned to the Notorious RBG. A couple of her friends were political science majors— like that was really a science— Sunni chuckled at the absurdity. Nevertheless, RBG was a woman to be admired, and it had been all going well when everyone had started to stare at Sunni. “What?” She’d said, a French fry halfway to her mouth.

“Your face,” Dani had said, pointing.

“Do I have ketchup or something?” Sunni had said, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand only to feel stiff bristles. “What the hell?” She said, touching her chin with her fingertips, immediately pulling them away as she once more felt— hair?

Kennedy, who it must be said, was a bit vain, had been checking herself out with her smartphone. She now turned it toward Sunni who shrieked as she saw her whole lower face was now covered with a stubby five o’clock shadow more suitable to a male model. Sunni watched as the stubble grew and grew, filling out and bursting from her face like a shrub. Within seconds, she was stating at a beard that would make a lumberjack jealous—

“Ahhhhhh!” Sunni screamed, grabbing the beard, yanking, trying to pull it off even as, adding to the absurdity, her newly grown mustache stretched out and curled into a handsome and impressive pair of handlebars.

“Omigod!” Kennedy said.

“Carl!” Sunni had shouted, leaping to her feet and bolting from the lunchroom. 

Now, racing along behind him, she wondered. Could he be telling the truth? Could someone else be behind this?

But who?

Chapter Two

Much like her bitter rival Carl, the thought of missing class disgusted and shamed her even more than her manly facial adornment, and she had steeled her will and forced herself to move amongst the students resplendently bearded, ignoring the comments and giggles that followed her down the hall.

To an extent, she had rejected the notion that Carl was responsible. As talented as he was, she did not believe him to be an actor capable of the performance he’d put on in the lab. More, his mocking of her voice did not seem in character for him. Then, she began to hear rumors of how a boy had caught her in the men’s room, and once more she was sure that this was, indeed, some elaborate prank orchestrated by her nemesis.

As Sunni waited for her mother to pick her up after school, she contemplated texting her Mom a warning as to her beard. It seemed unlikely her mother would believe her, so she bided her time using her smart phone to perform research. Much like Carl, it was one of her passions. A honk, honk broke her concentration. She looked up to see Mom in her silver Lexus, a bemused look on her face. Sunni climbed into the car, threw her backpack into the back seat and pulled the seat belt across her chest. Her beard got caught under the belt, and she pulled it free, grunting with annoyance.

Mom smiled. It was a quizzical, bemused smile. She raised an eyebrow. It was an invitation for an explanation. Sunni smiled. Mom started to put the car into gear, then stopped. “Um, you look nice,” Mom said.

‘It’s for a show,” Sunni said, grateful for the improv class she’d taken sophomore year. “I’m going to be playing …. A pirate. It’s Pirates of Penzance. I need to get in character.” In fact, the drama department was putting on Pirates of Penzance, though Sunni had actually been cast at Mabel. Of course.

“A pirate!” Mom gushed, always eager to support her daughter. “How interesting.” She started to put the car in gear. Stopped. “But, do you have to wear the beard all the time?”

Sunni put her hands up. ‘It’s my method,” she said. 

The car behind them politely honked. The Carrolwood parents were quite polite at all times. It was just a tiny little bit of a honk. The automobile version of, “hey, girl.”

“Argh!” Sunni said, putting on a raspy voice. “Better raise the main sail and get this wreck moving, lassie!”

Mom put the car in gear and pulled out. “You make such a cute pirate!” She said.

“Watch who you call cute, missy!” Sunni said, getting into the role. “You’ll be takin’ a trip to Davey Jones’ locker!”

“My little pirate!” Mom said, turning her attention to the road. ‘I can’t wait to see the play!”

“Operetta,” Sunni corrected her. Sunni was sometimes quite particular about being precise with her language. In any case, relieved that her mother had ended this line of questioning, she smoothed her skirt and then pushed her hand under her mighty beard, scratching her chin. Beards, she realized, were a bit itchy in addition to being completely inappropriate for a girl. Not, of course, that Sunni was bound by gender norms. She just thought she looked cuter with a smooth face.

At dinner, Sunni’s father seemed disturbed by Sunni’s thriving facial growth. He watched as she carefully slipped her food under her mustache, or when she, without even thinking, grabbed the base of her beard and used it like a napkin to wipe her lips. ‘It’s glued on pretty well, isn’t it?”

“Amazing new adhesive,” Sunni said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s a little off putting,” Dad said. “Maybe you can take it off for dinner?” 

“It’s her method,” Mom said. 

“Actors,” Dad said. “I’ll never understand them.”

“We’re weird,” Sunni agreed. “And don’t get me started on pirates. Yargh!”

After dinner, Sunni went back to her room and closed the door, sighing with relief. She didn’t know how long she could keep this act up. She needed to get rid of the beard. Despite what the evidence suggested, she decided to try shaving it off, reasoning that perhaps whatever chemical agent Carl had used to stimulate her follicles had a time limit of some sort. But no. Even as she filled her sink with thick, curly hair, she watched in the mirror as her beard sprouted anew. ‘Puzzling,” she said. 

Going back to her room, she resolved to more research. But first, she decided to make one more attempt with Carl. She got out her phone. “One chance. Send me the cure or things will get worse for you.”

“You fix my voice” Carl texted back, followed by a string of emojis which seemed to mean nothing.

Sunni thought, toying with her mustache, curling the end around her little finger. 

For now, Carl had had an easier time of it. Most of the kids at school had thought he’d been putting on the voice in class to tease Sunni. For the rest of the day, he’d simply shown people his sign saying he’d lost his voice. The same tactic had worked with his parents, though it had taken some effort and a lot of writing to convince them not to take him to the doctor. He’d actually been able to almost forget about it as he’d studied in his room, then had gone to take a shower. Studies came first, and he had fought off the urge to continue researching his vocal predicament, as he had a big test coming up in biology, as well as a book report in Super Advanced Elite College Prep English. As he soaped up, he started to sing, as was his habit, not even conscious of his high-pitched voice while he rapped:

Got a big gun gonna get some fine bitches…

In fact, so distracted and lost in thought was he that he actually found himself admiring how clear and pretty his voice sounded, bouncing back to him with the gentle echo of the bathroom. 

Wearing a push up bra and a miniskirt… 

He stopped, jarred that he had changed the words from “strap on my guns and an extra clip” to “push up bra and a miniskirt…”even as his boyish shame rushed over him as he suddenly became aware of not just his voice, but how he’d once again taken any masculine edge off the articulation, singing it cute, more like a cheer chant than anything a male would ever do.

“What’s wrong with me?” He whispered, once again flinching at how feminine he sounded. He toweled off and put his bathrobe on, opened the door and froze. His younger brother, Dan, was standing there, staring at him curiously.

“I thought you lost your voice?” He said.

Carl nodded, even as he felt himself blushing. He gestured toward his throat and shook his head.

“Then how come I heard you singing like a girl?”

Carl made a face and walked away. Omigod. He knows!

“Mom!” Dan called as he ran down the hall. “Carl sounds like a girl!”

I hate my little bro sometimes!  Carl thought, humiliated. He almost ran after him to shut him up, but instead he just went to his room and closed the door, his heart racing. He would just deny it. In writing. His Mom wouldn’t believe Dan. It was ridiculous. Carl sounding like a girl? Even if it was true. 

But, Dan had something over him now, which Carl did not like. Three years older, he’d always been bigger and stronger than little bro. It was his privilege as the older bro to, let’s say, wrestle with his younger brother and remind him who was boss. Oh, very well, let me put it more bluntly. Carl would sometimes beat up his little brother in a show of dominance, a habit not uncommon among male siblings of the human species. Dan had experienced a growth spirt during his 14th year, and his lanky, youthful body had begun to bulk and bulge with muscle. Carl, still taller and stronger, could still pin him, but it was beginning to take a lot more effort than ever before. In their eternal struggle for dominance and parental approval, Dan seemed to be catching up, and he knew it. Carl sounding like a cheerleader would not help him to maintain his position as boss boy in the house.

As Carl mulled his problems with Dan, his phone buzzed, and he and Sunni exchanged texts. This exchange having been related in the previous narrative passage, there is no need to return to it now. When he was finished, he put the phone down, sighing prettily. Then, he threw himself back into his research, falling asleep with his smart pad in his hands.

****

Sunni’s parents were in bed, each one reading by the bed lights. “I don’t know what to make of the beard,” Dad said.

“She’s playing a pirate,” Mom said. “It’s for a play.”

Dad nodded. “I find her kind of intimidating now,” he admitted.

Mom patted him on the hand. “You’re still the man of the house, dear.”

“I’m thinking of growing a beard.”

“Whatever you need to do,” Mom said, turning off her reading lamp and pulling on her eye covers. “Whatever you need to do.”

Chapter Three

Sunni combed out her beard in the morning, disgusted to see crumbs scattering on the bottom of the sink. Gross, she thought. 

After, she brushed her long, luxurious, silky hair. She loved the way the light shone off her hair as she worked the brush through it, her tresses pouring down over her slender shoulders like water. In truth, Sunni was a very attractive young woman. The other girls often remarked at how unfair it was that she was so smart and so pretty. Sunni’s long, beautiful hair was a point of pride with her, and she cared for it with the same care and attention a loving mother would give to a newborn baby, using all manner of lotions and oils. Even the food she ate was chosen with care to maximize the benefit to her skin and hair.

She knew the girls called her lucky. Lucky? She scoffed. They had no idea the effort she put into herself. Of course, that was partly because whenever she was asked for her secrets, she always said, “It just grows like this,” in a breezy, offhand manner.

Hair brushed, she fixed it with barrettes and hair pins, carefully sculpting it to look carefree and natural, while also keeping her long bangs out of her eyes.

When she went downstairs for breakfast, she found Dad in his business suit looking scruffy. He was usually clean shaven, considering it a mark of professionalism in the lawyerly world. “Letting it grow out?” Sunni said, strangely interested in her father’s facial hair.

Dad chuckled. ‘Yeah. I figured why not grow a beard for the winter? Hahaha. Something different.”

“It makes you look more masculine,” Sunni said. “You should grow it.”

Dad sat back. Was this his daughter talking to him? Her comment about looking more masculine stung. Had he looked— effeminate before? In any case, it sealed the deal. He was definitely growing a beard. He couldn’t let his little girl out manly him.

Carl stood at the mirror, looking himself over for any signs of additional change. As an athlete, he hit the weights pretty hard, and he was pleased to see his angular, hard body seemed unchanged. He flexed his bulging biceps, hunched over and flexed his shoulders.  Nope. Still all studly, he thought. He touched the thin little patch of curly hairs growing on the center of his chest. Lifted his arms and admired the dusting of armpit hair. He checked his balls.

Yup. Still all there. He leaned close to the mirror and examined the thin suggestion of a mustache that had appeared on his upper lip overnight, just like always. It was more a wisp, or a shadow, but it was something. Normally, he shaved it off because he thought it made him look like a dork, but today he decided to keep it. Remind everyone he was a dude. In case they, like, forgot.

To his relief, Dan seemed to have forgotten all about the singing incident. He was too busy eating and playing Fortnight to be his usual annoying self. Carl’s Mom was full of ominous foreboding, as she made it very clear that he WOULD see a doctor about his throat. Carl pretended to be okay with it, giving her a hug and a thumbs up, but he was thinking, “As If.”

School was hell. Not due to any lingering effects of his vocal performance the previous day. Life moved fast in the hyper-connected world of Carrolwood Academy. The minor little incident of him making fun of Sunni’s voice had already been eclipsed by all the latest news about who was seen kissing who, who was breaking up, who was together, whose parents were getting a divorce…. And on and on and on. In the connected world, news that would have taken a week to spread around campus in the more genteel days of old, now whizzed around the world in mere hours. The gossip line had become a 24-hour news cycle, and even the great mystery of Sunni’s beard had largely played out.

No, it was not the gossip and inane chatter which made for Carl’s living hell. It was remaining silent. Carl was, as we have seen, always with his hand up, eager to answer every question posed. It was, as those of us who are not among the Carl’s of the world know, quite annoying, even for the teachers, who longed to engage more than one student. However, of course, they forgave even this little peccadillo as Carl was so smart and handsome and charismatic it was impossible not to see even his small faults, eventually, as delightful. And so, in first period history class, when the teacher asked for a volunteer to explain the Holly-Smoot Tariff Act, Carl fought against years of habit, his whole body shaking as he kept his hands under his desk, clawed together as he strained not to raise his hand and answer what was a ridiculously easy question.

“Anyone? Anyone?” Doctor Ben asked, looking around the room. “Anyone? Anyone?”

The class sat in silence; eyes averted.

Come on!  Carl thought to himself. It’s, like, so obvs?

Having paused an awkwardly long time and processed his disappointment at the class sitting there mute in the face of something they should have just read about for homework, Dr. Ben let his eyes go to Carl, and they filled with a need, a need for Carl to come to the rescue as he so often did. Dr. Ben, as it were, had taken a seminar some years before in which he had learned that if a teacher answers his own questions, he will train his students to simply wait for him to get around to it. So, he had a firm policy to never answer his own questions. Which meant Carl needed to do it. “Carl?” He finally asked, voice full of hope.

Carl was shaking, straining with the effort to keep his hand down, to keep from blurting out the answer in his sing song voice. He shook his head. Held up the sign he’d made and SHOWN TO Dr. Ben before class explaining how he’d LOST HIS VOICE.

“Oh, yes. You’ve lost your voice. I forgot.” Dr. Ben collapsed into the chair behind his desk. He waved toward the students in defeat. “Read chapter three. You obviously need to review the material. Quiz the last ten minutes.”

The class groaned. “Thanks a lot,” Ahmed hissed from the next row over. 

Carl sank down in his chair. He was not the guy who let people down. He KNEW the answer, but he could not speak.

Quantum Math was worse. Sunni answered every question. Seeing Carl sitting there, quiet as a mouse, she’d even taunted him, waiting to raise her hand, watching him shake with the strain of keeping his mouth shut. At one point, she’d even raised her hand, and when the teacher called on her, she’d pretended to reconsider. “You know, this is really more Carl’s area. Carl, you want to handle this?”

Carl glared at her, shaking his head. He held up his sign.

“Oh, that’s right. You lost your voice. My, my. Well, I am sure he doesn’t actually know the answer. Probably didn’t even study.”

Carl, outraged at the suggestion he had failed to study, almost spoke, but the shame of his perky piping held him back. He made a fist. The teacher stepped in, admonishing Sunni, who went on the answer the question, reveling in her performance. 

After class, Carl was at his locker when Sunni sidled up to him. “I like the new you,” she said. “Se meek and quiet. It really suits you.”

Carl glanced around to make sure no one else was in earshot, then leaned down and hissed. “At least I don’t have a beard!” He sounded just like any mean girl.

“At least I don’t have a beard,” Sunni squeaked back, mocking him.

“Ugh!” Carl slammed his locker and walked away.

Sunni watched him, once more admiring his shape. He worked out, and it showed. Clearly, though, the voice thing was real, which meant— someone else was behind all this. But who?

Both Carl and Sunni spent the day pondering the author of their misfortune. It had become clear they were not each other’s nemeses in this case. It had also become clear that whatever science had been used to alter their bodies was not commonly known to — well, science. Someone at their school had made a breakthrough. Now, it may seem unlikely that a mere student would invent something so groundbreaking and incredible. You must remember, dear reader, that Carrolwood populated itself with only the most extraordinary pupils. Indeed, rare was the student who graduated without owning at least one patent, and most had also published their first works before their 12th grade year. So, it is no leap of logic for our two protagonists to suspect a fellow student. Nor would it be an easy task to narrow the list of suspects. 

It was during soccer practice that the next changes occurred. As enlightened and forward thinking, indeed, even as progressive as Carrolwood Academy accounted itself, it was a school that still engaged in what was clearly and undeniably sexist behavior. Specifically, since the school had but one soccer field, it was given to the boys to hold their practices on the actual soccer field. The girls were relegated to the outfield of the softball stadium, which was not a terrible location, but was most certainly less. Indeed, Sunni and the other girls had approached the school during their first year at Carrolwood and presented an argument for field access equality.

The school had promised to form a committee which would examine the issue and get back to them. The committee had been meeting ever since without reaching any conclusion other than to say the issue needed “further study.” Tradition, you see, was much valued at Carrolwood, and it stood as a mighty dam, holding back the waters of progress. ‘Isn’t it enough,” some of the older trustees would ask amongst themselves, “that we allowed girls to come here in the first place?”

Oh, did I forget to mention that Carrolwood had started off as an all-male school? It must have slipped my mind. Yes, given that Carrolwood was founded in 1747, some years before America itself emerged from the blood and thunder of the revolutionary war, it can be little surprise that initially it was open only to males. Carrolwood did and does still maintain a sister school for ladies. Songbird Gardens. You’ve probably heard of it. There, young ladies were taught to paint china, host parties, to walk and sit, these skills being quite unknown to the typical young lady of the day, who found the act of walking quite perplexing.

It was in 1967, a full 220 years after its founding, that Carrolwood admitting its first class of co-eds, with much fanfare, announcing this “extraordinary young ladies would be treated as full and equal partners in learning.” Of course, they weren’t.

Because, tradition.

But, I digress. I’m afraid I could go on and on about the shade of sexism that lingers among the ivy-covered gothic halls of good ole Wood. Instead, allow me to point out two other facts which will become quite relevant to dear Carl and sweet Sunni. One, the Carrolwood teams continued the tradition of having different names for the boys’ and girls’ teams. The boys were known as The Hawks. The girls as the Lady Hawks. Many schools have done away with this practice, having come to the conclusion that it was possible to just call all the teams the same name. For example, and please try to follow along as this may seem quite absurd, if the boys’ teams were known as The Spartans, the girls’ teams were also called— The Spartans. Carrolwood did not follow this tradition for a simple reason, which due to some legal concerns was never put in writing. That reason is this: girls must be reminded that even should they exert themselves in athletic competition, they are yet expected to be ladies.

Another reminder for the girls that they were in fact girls, came in the form of everyday school uniforms. The girls were required to wear skirts and blouses. In addition, they wore adorable little ascots, as it was believed ties were too masculine and might lead to confusion should these poor, delicate females be forced to wear something clearly meant only for men.

Now, history lesson complete, I return to the boys’ soccer field, where the manly hawks practiced in preparation to crush any and all who dared stand before them. Carl, indeed, found himself standing before his arch-rival, and the second best boy on the team, Matt Manning.

Face smeared with mud from an earlier spill, eyes blazing with intensity, Matt deadened a long, arcing pass from his goalie that put him and the ball behind the defense of the white shirts— Carl’s unit. There were only three people on this end of the field— Matt, Carl, and Ahmed, the goalie. The word most often used to describe Matt was an athlete was EXPLOSIVE. And he dribbled the ball forward with lightning quickness. Carl felt himself tense, his mind laser focused on Matt, on the ball. He knew Matt had a bad habit of always trying to pass around a defender to the right, and so he moved, seeing it all play out in his mind, how he would steal the ball, make Matt look like a fool and..

Suddenly Carl couldn’t see as thick, lustrous bangs flopped into his eyes. “What?” He squeaked, trying to move where he’d expected Matt to be, kicking at open air as he felt Matt rush past him. Carl was so shocked and thrown off balance that he actually spun and tumbled to the ground, his now long, silky blonde hair falling over his supine form like a blanket.

He heard shouts. Rolling onto his side, he parted his hair like a curtain and looked to see Matt celebrating, his team running to high five, as Ahmed sat on his knees, hands in the air. The soccer ball spun around inside the goal. Carl climbed to his feet, struggling to toss the long hair that now poured down over his shoulders and back out of his face. “What the hell?” Coach Blaser shouted. “What the holy hell?”

Carl shrugged. Matt ran by him laughing. “Nice hair, Carli!” He shouted.

The rest of practice was one long embarrassment for Carl. His bangs kept flopping in his eyes, his hair felt like it weighed ten pounds, and it kept swirling around him, flying into his face and mouth, bouncing around as he ran. The guys, picking up on Matt’s taunt, started calling him Carli. Finally, coach pulled him out. “You and Sunni need to settle this,” Coach said. “Hit the locker. You look ridiculous out there.”

Carl wanted to explain, to plead his case. But, his voice? He dared not speak. He just nodded and jogged back to the locker room, head bowed in shame, one hand holding back his bangs.

The Ladyhawks had also elected to hold a scrimmage. The losing squad would have to run ten laps around the stadium. They were tied one to one, with time running out. If the scrimmage ended in a tie, everyone would have to run. Sunni was not having that. Running more laps was nothing, but she hated losing. “Huddle up!  Huddle up!” She shouted. Her girls gathered around her in a perfect circle. They practiced doing everything to perfection.

“Maybe we should…” Mallory started.

“No,” Sunni said. “This is what we’re going to do.” She outlined a play. Told everyone exactly where to be and what to do. “On three! One! Two! Three!” They all shouted, “Lady Hawks” and broke, Sunni running to the sideline to pass the ball in.

“I feel like I have to do whatever she says,” Kennedy said as she and Mallory took their positions on the other side of the field.

“It’s beard power,” Mallory agreed. “I can’t say no to the beard.”

“She even makes a beard work,” Kennedy sighed.

“That’s Sunni.”

Sunni passed the ball to their best striker, Jane. She attacked the middle of the field, and just as Sunni had anticipated, the defense for the blue squad collapsed on her. Jane kicked the ball all the way to the sideline, where Kennedy headed it to Mallory who’d taken off for the goal. She kicked it hard, bending it like Beckham, and the ball flew just past the fingertips of the diving goalie, who slammed to the turf in a cloud of dust just as the clock expired.

The girls on the winning squad squealed and jumped up and down, then froze as a roar like an angry bear echoed across the field. They looked over at Sunni, who stood with her eyes wide, her hand to her throat. “Oh, man,” Sunni said, her voice sounding like it should be coming from a 6’ 6” three-hundred-pound man. “No way! No way!”

Though both Carl and Sunni had concluded they were not to blame for what was happening, the rest of the school had come to the conclusion that they were. Consequently, Sunni’s friends huddled around her in the locker room and showered her with sisterly support. “Carl is such a jerk! I can’t believe he would even do this to you! Want us to get him?”

“I’ll a get him back,” Sunni rumbled, grossed out that she sounded like a man. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re so brave.”

Was it true, dear reader, that some of those girls secretly enjoyed seeing Sunni suffer? Well, let it be said we are dealing with humans, and teen-agers, and there is always envy among them towards their betters. Yes, they all admired Sunni, and indeed, they longed to be close to her, to warm themselves in the light of her bright soul. But they also enjoyed seeing her brought down a peg or two. More than a few enjoyed the smug thought that as long as this remained her reality, Sunni would not have a boyfriend. Sunni, you see, had decided she wanted to be free for her last summer of high-school, so she’d broken up with Heath— they really weren’t getting along anyway— planning to find a new boy to cuddle for her senior year. Those plans were now— on pause. 

While Sunni’s friends were supportive, Carl’s friends, on the other hand, were boys. “Looking good, Carli! You should be a shampoo model!” Normally, Carl would answer every jibe with one of his own. But, alas, as we all know, he’d lost his voice, or at least a voice he was willing to use, so he suffered in silence, making a quick exit from the locker room, his hair swaying as he walked away to face the next impending dilemma: theater practice.

Sunni, too, made her way to theater practice, testing her voice, trying to find a higher placement, to reclaim her glassy soprano. Much like poor Carl the day before, she found it impossible. All that came from her were manly rumblings. Skipping practice was not an option for either of these over- achievers. Indeed, I must remind the reader, that since they shared the same perfect GPA, it would be their extra-curriculums that won the day. As Sunni walked, she noticed a tall girl in front of her with long hair that trailed halfway down her back. The girl caught her attention because her hair was as pretty and impressive as Sunni’s own— or, almost as pretty. In addition, this girl was wearing trousers, a bold statement that impressed and annoyed Sunni at the same time. She must be a freshman, Sunni thought, as she had never seen this girl before, and she decided she needed to find out who this daring young feminist was, who dared to defy the school and wear pants. 

Sunni hurried he step, ran up beside the girls and gasped. “Carl?”

Carl stopped and looked down at her. He still had one hand in his hair, holding it out of his eyes. The sound of that deep, bear-like voice coming from Sunni shocked him. Glancing to make sure no one was around, he shook his head, his silky hair flowing around his face like water. “Your voice changed, too?” He asked.

“You could say that,” Sunni said, reaching out and touching his hair. It was so soft! “And you have my hair.”

“So, um, like, I know you’re so not doing this,” Carl said.

‘Yeah. Same here. We need to figure who is. Meet me after practice.” 

“Kay,” Carl said, surrendering to the power of the beard.

“You look pretty,” Sunni said, surprised as the words came out of her mouth. 

Carl giggled, immediately covering his mouth with his hand.

“This is too weird,” Sunni said. “I don’t know what I’m saying. See you later.” She walked away.

Carl hurried after. “What are you going to tell Mrs. Calloway?”

“That I want to be a pirate,” Sunni said. “It’s the story I’ve been going with my parents anyway."

‘I’m sticking with lost my voice for now,” Carl said. “I can’t play a boy sounding like this?”

“Maybe you should play Emma,” Sunni said. “You have the voice for her.”

“Don’t be a smart ass,” Carl said.

“Just busting your balls,” Sunni said, shocked even as the words left her mouth. “I can’t stop talking like a guy.”

Carl just tossed his hair and sighed.

The auditorium buzzed with all the boys and girls who were in the play. Some warmed up their voices, others flirted or chatted. Carl watched from offstage as Sunni went right up to Mrs. Calloway and the two started talking. He couldn’t hear what they said, but Mrs. Calloway nodded, seemed concerned, then supportive. Carl couldn’t help but check out Mrs. Callaway’s tight, curvy body. Only 25 and right out of college, she was a dancer and kept herself fit. She had a dancer’s booty, which after school for rehearsal she displayed in tight little pairs of jeans. It was probably wrong, but he often fantasized that she would ask him to stay after school, and they’d end up together, kissing and stripping off each other’s clothes.

As Carl let his mind drift off into blissfully fantasy, he idly toyed with his hair, curling it around his fingers. Then, Sunni and Mrs. Calloway looked toward him, Sunni gesturing and explaining. Carl’s heart began to pound. No. No, he thought. Don’t rat me out!

Mrs. Calloway walked over, smiling. Carl felt himself shrinking in shame as her eyes played across his long hair. He took his hand away from his bangs, and they fluttered down over his right eye. Trying to act casual, he crossed his arms and raised his chin. He was sure Sunni had told Mrs. Calloway all about his silly new voice, and he would refuse to talk. Stick to his story.

“Sunni tells me you lost your voice?” Mrs. Calloway said, looking up at him.

Carl slumped in relief. 

Mrs. Calloway idly reached up and brushed his bangs from his eyes, “She told me about the hair, too. You poor thing.”

Having Mrs. Calloway brush his hair back made Carl feel both a little lightheaded and a little feminine, neither of which feeling he enjoyed. Mrs. Calloway continued to play with his hair as she talked. “You can just walk through today. Alec needs the practice anyway, so he can sing your part.”

Carl nodded. He so desperately wanted to push Mrs. Calloway’s hand away from his hair, but he knew it would be rude. “Your hair is really pretty,” Mrs. Calloway said with a little smile before walking away.

Carl wanted to vomit. He did not want his teacher crush telling him he had pretty hair. Once rehearsal started, he just walked the Pirate King’s staging, learning his positions for different scenes. Alec, his understudy, walked with him, singing the parts while Carl watched. At one point, when the pirates were with the Major General’s daughters, Kennedy started to run her hands through his hair. It just seemed girls couldn’t help themselves. Carl pretended it didn’t bother him.

Sunni sang the pirate parts. Her voiced boomed across the theater. She had the most powerful voice of anyone in the cast, and Carl seethed with envy.

Chapter Four

JUMP CUT! Later. After Theater Rehearsal!

We leap now to the abandoned science lab. Let me set the scene: Carl sits perched on a stool, his long hair draped around him like a veil. From his six foot two and still manly frame, the voice of tinker bell chirps. It is quite disconcerting, for it does not seem such a fully feminine voice could possibly from such a large male. Sunni perches on the lab table next to him, her long hair tied back in a ponytail, but just as long and pretty as his. A massive fern of a beard sprouts from her chin, trailing halfway down her chest, and an equally unlikely voice booms from her petite frame.

They have just arrived and are engaged in a ritual greeting.

“You’re such an idiot,” Carl sneers.

“At least I’m not scared to even talk,” Sunni thunders back.

“You would be if you sounded like this,” Carl says.

“I sounded like that until just a few hours ago,” Sunni said.

“Um, you’re a girl?” Carl said. “You’re supposed to sound like a girl? Duh?”

Sunni chuckled. It sounded like gravel moving around in her chest. “You talk exactly like a girl now.”

“It’s sooo embarrassing!” 

Sunni reached out and started playing with his hair. “Stop!” Carl squeaked, slapping her hand away. “Everyone keeps touching my hair! It’s, like, not cool.”

“It’s so pretty,” Sunni said, a little embarrassed. “So shiny.”

“What are we going to do?” Carl finally snapped, eager to change the subject from how pretty and shiny his hair was.

“We need to find out who’s doing this,” Sunni said. “Someone is making these changes. It has to be someone at this school.”

“Someone with a grudge,” Carl agreed. His bangs had once more fallen across his eye, and he brushed them back, only for them to drop right back into place, sweeping over his right eye completely. 

“Someone also,” Sunni said, “with the capability.” Seeing Carl’s struggle with his bangs, she reached up and plucked one of her barrettes from her own hair. “Which is where I have run into a wall.” She started to fuss with Carl’s hair, meaning to clip his hair back and out of his eyes.

“Stop!” He squealed, once more pushing her hand away.

“This will keep your hair out of your eyes,” Sunni explained. “Though I do have to admit you look sexy as hell with that hair all in your face.”

“Jerk,” Carl said. “Fine.”

“Sit still. Chin up.”

Carl did as he was told, and Sunni fixed the barrette in his hair. It amused her to see the girly little hair accessory sparkling in Carl’s hair, and she unleashed a rumbling chuckle. “You look adorable.”

Carl just through up his hands. “At least I can see?”

“So, I was saying I ran into a wall.”

“We don’t know HOW this is being done, so we can’t narrow the suspects based on skillset?” Carl said.

“Bingo,” Sunni said. “I can’t find a scientific explanation.”

“Which leaves…” Carl started, and they finished together, “magic.”

“You’re thinking magic, too,” Sunni said.

“When you, like, eliminate the impossible…” Carl said.

“ONCE you eliminate the impossible,” Sunni corrected. “Whatever remains, however impossible, must be the truth.”

“You sure it’s once?” Carl said.

“I’m sure.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Carl said, not able to keep a mischievous giggle from escaping his lips.

“Bet?” Sunni said. They had been having bets like this for years.

“Bet,” Carl said. “If you lose, you have to… braid your beard. And come to school that way tomorrow.”

“Oh. Okay. And if you lose, you have to come to school tomorrow— with halo braids.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Carl said.

“Well, you better hope you win, doll face.” Sunni grimaced. “These dumb boy things keep coming out of my mouth.”

“Maybe they’re just dumb GIRL things,” Carl said in a snotty voice.

“Let’s see…”. Sunni did a search with her phone. Laughed, a big, booming laugh that rattled the test tubes. She held the phone towards Carl, who whimpered in frustration. “Once! In your face!” Sunni bellowed.

“I don’t know how to braid my hair!” Carl whined.

“Ask your Mom,” Sunni said. “I’m sure she’d love to teach her son how to braid his long, pretty hair!”

“And we’re talking about my hair again.”

“Better than your voice,” Sunni grumbled.

Carl thought. “Agreed.”

“Anyway, here’s the plan. We go see Dr. Reilly tomorrow. She’s the head of the Wiccan Club. She may have some answers.”

“Okay,” Carl said.

“What, you’re just going to agree without an argument?”

“It’s something about that beard,” Carl said, his voice getting smaller and higher. “You just look so… um… commanding?”

“Hmmmn,” Sunni said, snatching her neck under the beard. “Well, maybe there is an advantage to this after all. I actually kind of felt like my Dad was a little scared of me.”

“Can I touch it?” Carl asked, still using that extra small, extra high voice.

“Knock yourself out.” 

Carl touched the thick hair with his fingertips. “Stiff. But, soft at the same time.”

“Yeah. A conundrum.” Her eyes went to the pitiful little growth on Carl’s lip. “What’s that you got going on your lip? Did you drink some chocolate milk at lunch?”

“Omigod,” Carl said, feeling emasculated as he compared his pitiful facial growth to Sunni’s. Of course, to briefly interrupt, dear reader, Carl was feeling emasculated in other ways as well, with the way his Barbie doll voice contrasted with Sunni’s thunder…etc… It was just that having her draw his attention to his sad lack of facial growth had deepened his feelings that he was the girl in their relationship now. “I know. I should probably shave if off, right?”

“There is no probably,” Sunni said. “Get rid of it. My Mom will be here to pick me up soon. I gotta go.” She hopped off the table.

“I have a doctor’s appointment,” Carl said as he stood, his hair swooshing behind him. “My Mom wants me to get my voice checked out.”

“Maybe they’ll find something useful,” Sunni said, heading toward the door. Just as she was about to leave, she turned back and made a gun with her thumb and index finger. “Be good, babe.”

With that, she left. Carl struggled to get his backpack on. This hair was proving a major pain. It kept getting in the way when he tried to sling the pack over his shoulders, strands getting caught in the straps and pulling painfully on his scalp. Finally, he just leaned to one side, letting all his hair fall in that direction, and slipped the backpack over the other shoulder. He felt triumphant when he straightened up, the backpack safely hooked over one shoulder, his hair not tangled and ouchy. “Yes!” He squeaked, pumping a fist in the air. “I got this!”

When Carl got to his car, he decided to warn his Mom. He got out his phone. “Just a heads up,” he typed, adding a row of smiley face emojis. He couldn’t seem to stop himself. He just had to emoji. He pressed SEND. 

“Someone played a prank on me. Frowny face emojis.”

Send. 

Taking a deep breath, facing his fear, he took a selfie. Glanced at it. The hair on his left was draped over the front of his shoulder, so his Mom would see the long hair for sure. SEND.

He started his car. Just as he was started to pull out of the school driveway, his phone buzzed. He put his car in park and looked at the message from his Mom. It was one word. “Blonde?” Carl groaned and covered his eyes.

“Was it Sunni?” Mom asked as they drove to the doctor’s.

Carl pointed to his throat.

“Oh. Of course. No voice,” Mom said.

The car was silent. Tension built. It was unbearable. 

Carl decided it was time to tell the truth. “I can actually talk,” he said, disgusted to hear his little girl voice here in the car, talking to his mother, of all people. Carl jerked forward, grateful for his seatbelt as Mom slammed on the brakes.

“What? Is that? Did Sunni do that?”

Carl and Sunni had agreed to stick to the widely believed but false story that they were pranking each other. “Yeah, but, um, I pranked her, too.”

“You sound like a little girl!”

“Mom!”

“This is too much!” Mom said, pressing the gas pedal a little too hard, sending Carl slamming back into the seat. “This is beyond a simple prank! I’m going to call her parents!”

“Omigod! Mom! Don’t?” Carl said, hating the tea kettle rage in his ridiculous voice. 

“I most certainly will! Giving you long hair! Making you sound like -- like an airhead!”

“I totally do not sound like an airhead!” Carl squealed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t. It’s just. I am very upset.”

“Please. Let us work out it. Besides. She has a beard and sounds like Terry Crews.”

“A beard?” Mom said.

“A beard.”

“Well, that’s too far on your part. Too far.”

Eventually, Mom agreed to let Carl handle the situation, but said he better handle it NOW. They went to the doctor, as his voice was still off if not gone, and both of them hoped the doctor could do something. Carl was doubtful. His research suggested there was little that medical science could do in his case. But, why not see?

Dr. Janet Mulligoway was pretty, which made talking to her in his little girl voice all the more humiliating. “And you say this just started a couple days ago?” Dr. J asked.

“Trust me doctor. He had a voice any boy would be proud of. He was quite manly,” Mom said.

“Mom!” Carl said.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah,” Carl said. “At least the part about me sounding like a regular guy.”

“Let’s take a look.” The doctor looked. Took some scans. In the old days, there would have been a delay as the scans— X-rays or what have you— were processed. But now, they immediately appeared on a flat screen TV. “Interesting,” Dr. J said, stepping up to the screen. “Most interesting. You say this started just a couple days ago.”

“Yeah,” Carl said. “What is it?”

“Your vocal folds are tiny,” she said, pointing toward the image. “Linear convergence of the glottis. You said this was a prank?”

“That’s right, doctor,” Mom said.

“Well, I don’t know of any way to explain it then.”

“Explain what, exactly?” Carl said.

“The structure of the vocal apparatus in men and women is not the same. This accounts for differences in male and female voices.” She pointed to the image. “This is the biological vocal structure of a female.” 

“You mean?” Mom said.

“Your son sounds like a girl, because he has the vocal apparatus of a girl.”

“How could this happen?”

“That’s the most puzzling part. It’s like asking how a knee can turn into an elbow. The answer, to the limits of my knowledge, is, it can’t,” Doctor J said.

***

“You know, honey,” Mom said as they were driving home. “It’s great that you go to this school filled with all the geniuses and so on, but sometimes it would be nice if you just went to a regular school.”

“Tell me about it,” Carl said. “Oh, that reminds me. I lost a bet with Sunni. Unrelated. Can you teach me how to do halo braids?”

“Halo braids? My son wants halo braids?”

“I don’t want them! Omigod! I lost a bet?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t make such silly bets.”

“Can you please help me?”

“We’ll start right after dinner.”

“The gam is on—”

“It will take hours, darling. Right. After. Dinner.”

“Okay!” Carl said. “God!”

“Don’t you sass me, young lady!”

The car was silent. “Did you just call me young lady?”

“I forgot. You sound like a girl.” Mom said.

Carl covered his face with his hands. He needed to get this fixed. And fast. It was too embarrassing. He couldn’t even!

Once they got home, Dan went wild. He snuck up behind Carl and yanked his hair, running away as Carl shrieked. “You twerp!” Carl was done hiding his voice from his family, though he quickly regretted the decision as Dan added that to the teasing. “Tinker Bell called. She wants her voice back!”

“Idiot!” Carl snapped back.

Finally, Carl knew he needed to reset their relationship. He went to the backyard and sat down on a swing hanging from the old, rusty swings they had since they’d been little. Kicking his legs, he started to rock back and forth. His hair flowed behind him, air swirling under it. It tickled his neck as it settled on the backswing. He heard Dan coming, waited, and just as Dan had gotten close enough to pull his hair, Carl leapt off the swing, his hair floating around him like a cloud. Dan bolted. Carl, still bigger and stronger, ran him down.

Carl tackled him, then quickly twisted his arm behind his back. “Ow! I give. I give!”

Carl, his hair hanging down around his face like a curtain, twisted harder. “Say you’re my bitch!” Carl said, the words sounding ridiculous to him in his fey voice. Nevertheless, he persisted. “Say you’re my bitch you little shit!”

“Okay! Okay!” Dan yelled. “I’m your bitch. Now, stop!”

“You pull my hair one more time, or you say anything about my voice, I’ll break it next time!” Carl screamed. “You hear me?”

“Okay.  Okay. Okay.”

Carl slowly let him up, keeping a firm grip on Dan’s arm. Then, he punched his hard on the shoulder. “Don’t mess with me!”

He let go. Dan ran off. Carl tossed his hair triumphantly, dusted his hands. Just needed to remind him whose queen bee around here, he thought. Mess with this bitch, gonna get clawed.

Carl was only vaguely disturbed by his word choice. Not because he failed to recognize how utterly lacking in masculinity were his words, but because he was starting to accept that, for now, there was nothing he could do about it.

“I don’t much care for this role playing,” Dad said, standing in front of their stone fireplace, packing his pipe. “I liked my little girl pre-pirate.”

“Gender bending is all the rage,” Sunni grumbled. “This is going to be great for getting me into Harvard.”

“She actually invented a chemical to make her voice deep like that,” Mom said. “That’s impressive, right honey?”

Dad had never been self-conscious about his voice. It was a good, solid, male voice. However, now comparing it to the voice of his little girl, he thought he sounded nasal, a little high pitched. He placed it lower in his chest. “Quite,” he said. “She always has been a smart one.”

“Why are you talking like that?” Mom said, amused.

“I always talked like this,” Dad said. “What do you mean?”

Sunni gave her mom a look. They both saw it. Male insecurity. It was so exhausting constantly building them up. “Give me a hug, Daddy,” she said, meaning for it to be one of her patented “you’re my dad and I love you” moments. Instead, it sounded like she was giving him orders. She stepped forward. Dad opened his arms and gave her a hug. Sunni was short enough that her bristly beard pressed against his chest, thankfully, or he would have probably felt the need to go outside and chop wood. “You’ll always be my big, strong, daddy.” Once more, what had once seemed quite sweet, now sounded a bit weird.

Dad was weirded out. Not knowing what to do, he held out his hand, offering Sunni a handshake. “Right you are,” he said.

Sunni, bewildered, took his hand and shook.

“That beard looks quite the sight on you,” Dad said, trying to think of something fatherly to say. “You make quite the pirate.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” Sunni said, reaching up to touch his stubbly chin. Which is when some cruel and masculine urge to put him in his place suddenly surged within her and she said. “Keep growing yours. Maybe you’ll have a beard like mine one day, sport.”

She left.

“I feel a bit diminished,” Dad said.

Mom got up and gave him a kiss. “You look very handsome.”

“Oh, do I? Maybe we have time for — you know?” 

“I need to make dinner,” Mom said. “Enjoy your pipe.”

Mom left Dad to his thoughts. As men go, he was a little in touch with his feelings, as opposed to not at all. So, he discerned that he was feeling threatened by his daughter’s surging masculinity. He just had no idea what to do about it. Maybe we should arm wrestle, he thought, as he stepped through the French doors to the porch. He lit his pipe. “Or I could challenge her to a drinking contest.”

Back at his place, Carl sat down on a stool, his hands in his lap. “Now, sit still. I’ll do this while explaining it to you.”

“Okay,” Carl said, immediately fidgeting. 

“Sit still!” Mom said. She was gathering handfuls of his hair, dividing it.

‘Sorry,” Carl said. It seemed everyone was telling him to sit still anymore. 

“Your hair is gorgeous,” Mom said, unable to help herself. “So silky! This is Barbie hair!”

“Barbie?” Carl said, keeping his head still.

From downstairs, he could hear the sounds of his brother and dad watching the football game. American football, that is. “Come on! Come on!” Dad yelled, and then both he and Dan cheered.

“I really wanted to watch that game,” Carl said.

“Well, that’s too bad. You got yourself into this mess.”

“I know,” Carl said. “Thanks again for helping me.”

“I never thought I’d be giving my oldest boy halo braids,” Mom said. “Your hair is so pretty! Oh! I would kill for hair like this. Anyway, it just shows Sunni is a mean person. I mean, halo braids?”

“What’s so bad about halo braids?” Carl asked. He had no idea what they were.

“You’ll see,” Mom said. “Just you wait and see. Oh! This hair, though!” 

Once mom stopped rhapsodizing about Carl’s lovely hair, she set into a rhythm. She and Carl chatted, talking about this and that, Mom filling Carl in on all the happenings with his aunts and uncles and cousins and more cousins. Sitting there as his mother brushed and ran her hands through his hair, weaving it, Carl felt a kind of pleasant calm come over him, almost like he was meditating. He listened and made little agreeing noises, asked questions, his bright, feminine voice sparkling with energy. He had eased into it so gently, he didn’t even worry the least that what he was experiencing was not manly, that bonding with mom while she braided his hair was pretty much one of the most girly things he could possibly do.

“Ready?” Mom said, when she finished.

“Yes,” Carl said. He was actually quite excited.

“You’re not going to like it,” Mom said, handing him a mirror. “Look.”

“Omigod,” Carl said when he looked at himself. “Oh. Mi. God.” He now had thick braids that circled his head like a crown. He had seen the hairstyle before, he now realized. On the bridesmaids at his cousin’s wedding. It was utterly feminine. 

Which for a guy was not good. Carl gently touched the braids, turning his head this way and that.

“Well?” Mom said.

Carl met her eyes in the mirror. “First, let me say you did a great job. The braids are soooo pretty!”

“And?” Mom said.

“Sunni is evil. I am going to kill her for this!”

Mom made some suggestions to keep them pretty while he slept. They hugged and Carl fled the room, worried the feminine energy was going to make him start crying. He went into his room, reversed the camera on his iPad and looked at himself. “OMG,” he whispered. “I am so screwed.” There were guys these days with braids. Ponytails. Buns. But he had never seen a guy with halo braids. Never. Probably because it looked like something for a princess. He decided to send a pic to Sunni and get it over with. He took three from different angles until he got one he liked. “Well?” He texted, adding a bunch of smiley faces sticking out their tongues. SEND.

Moments later the iPad chimed. Carl grabbed it and looked. Sunni had texted back LUV along with an emoji of a smiley face with hearts for eyes. For some reason, it just struck him as the funniest thing EVER. Carl hugged the iPad to his chest and giggled. Hearing himself giggle made him giggle more. And more. Finally, he rolled onto his tummy and buried his face in his pillow, giggling and giggling, kicking his feet in the air, punching his pillow, giggling until he wept.

Finally, the giggles subsided. Carl wiped the tears from his cheeks. Caught his breath. “Okay,” he said. “That wasn’t weird.” And then he went to work on his book report. The whole time he worked, he found himself reaching up and touching his braids. They were tight and soft, and they felt good against his fingertips.